Russell Andrews - Aphrodite

Manwaring, meanwhile, had his spokesperson yet again vehemently declare his innocence. The spokesperson also said that "Mr. Manwaring would not comment on any specifics of the investigation or any specific allegations. He is proceeding with his life as he normally would. Personally, he is dealing with the trauma this situation has caused his family. He is dealing with that privately with his wife and children. And he is continuing with his professional commitments, including attending an upcoming conference in Montauk, New York. The conference is hosted, as it is each year, by Herbert Borbidge, head of the Wall Street firm Borbidge amp; Company, and it brings together leaders from the media, government, and business communities to discuss wide-ranging issues and problems. Secretary Manwaring is attending as a private citizen, not as a representative of the current administration. And he is attending because he is on several panels discussing topics which he considers crucial to the future of our country. Mr. Borbidge has personally assured him that the secretary's presence is not just welcome but essential to the success of the conference." The story then quoted Herbert Borbidge giving a lukewarm endorsement at best, saying that Manwaring had been invited months ago and that, as of now, there was no intention of rescinding the invitation.

Deena read the story aloud as they drove north. She and Kendall were eating doughnuts. Justin had declined, saying that they were too fattening. When Deena looked up in surprise, he had shrugged and said, "If I'm going to start practicing yoga, I might as well lose some weight, too."

When she put the paper down-after reading the story of Pedro Martinez's two-hit shutout of the Yankees to Kendall-she turned to Justin and said, "Do you think he did it?"

"Which he are we talking about now?"

"Manwaring. Do you think he killed that girl?"

Justin chewed on his lip a moment before saying, "I have to admit, there are too many other murders I've been concentrating on to give that one much thought."

"It'll take your mind off other matters. Think like a cop."

"It's hard," Kendall said from the backseat. "He's rusty."

"He's not as rusty as you think, young lady," Deena said. "Now hush."

Justin accepted her words with a pleased raise of his eyebrows, then he said, "Okay, from what I've read, yes, he sounds like the absolute poster boy for guilt."

"So he killed her."

"Probably."

"Not definitely?"

"When you're working homicide there are two separate and distinct points of view you constantly have to juggle. The first is that people who commit crimes really do incredibly stupid things. It's why we catch them. Every single time you think, 'Well, this guy isn't really going to leave a shirt with the victim's blood lying around in his laundry for us to find' or 'He can't possibly have buried the gun someplace as obvious as his front yard,' and almost every time he does. Most killers either panic or just plain screw up. I'll tell you the most amazing thing criminals do: They can't resist playing around with their own names. If someone's on the run and he checks into a hotel? Well, if his name's Paul Davis, when he checks in he'll use one of three variations. He'll keep the same first name and a different last name, usually the same initial, though. He'll use Paul Dillon or something like that. Or else he'll use a different first name but keep both initials. Phil Dillon. Or else he'll come up with some kind of rhyming scheme or pun. Saul Mavis. I swear. You find ninety percent of the people you're looking for that way. Some of them want to get caught, some of them don't know how to avoid it. But then there's the flip side. Sometimes things are too easy, they fit too perfectly. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. But occasionally it's something that someone else wants you to think is a cigar."

"So you're weaseling out of your answer, is that right?"

"My answer is the guy's a politician. So the odds are he's total scum and did what everybody thinks he did. But there's also a chance that he's just the unluckiest guy in the world, in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Like us?"

"There you go. A perfect example."

"Am I unlucky too, Mom?" Kendall asked.

"God, you have big ears," Justin said.

"The biggest," Deena said. "And no, Dumbo," she told her daughter, "you're the luckiest child on the planet because you've got me as your mom."

"I agree," Justin chimed in.

"Yuck," Kendall said. "Yuck and double yuck."

"I guess I have to agree with that, too," Justin said. Gary Jenkins watched as AD Rollins came into the police station, stopped just long enough to look over at him, a thin smirk lingering on his lips, then kept walking into Chief Jimmy Leggett's office. Gary's stomach clenched when, just a few minutes later, he heard Leggett call him into the office. He stood quickly, cracked his knuckles, and walked to the back of the police station. When he stepped through the office door, Agent Rollins was seated, his legs stretched out casually before him.

"Sit down, Gary," the chief said and indicated which chair the young officer should sit in. Leggett remained standing.

When Gary settled into the seat, Rollins spoke. There was no urgency or anger in his voice. His words sounded as casual as his posture. "Let me get right to the point, Officer Jenkins," he said. "I've been tracking the calls that have been coming in and out of this office. And I know you've received several calls from Justin Westwood."

Gary had a little difficulty swallowing the saliva in his throat, but he forced it to go down and decided he was better off keeping quiet than saying anything.

"As a result of those calls, I got a tap on your office line. I also tapped your home phone, so I know you've called and spoken to Westwood."

Gary decided he was definitely better off keeping quiet.

"Would you like to hear a tape of your conversation at 6:03 this morning, Officer Jenkins? Or do you remember the substance?"

Unfortunately, it was time to speak. "I remember, sir."

"Westwood asked you to get him some information, is that right?"

"Yes sir."

"Phone records."

"Yes sir."

"Are you going to keep yessing me to death, Officer, or are you going to explain to me what happened?"

"You know what happened, sir, if you listened to the conversation."

"I want to hear your explanation."

"Westwood called me early this morning. Woke me up. He asked me to get him a list of the incoming and outgoing calls for a woman named Helen Roag."

"And why would he do that?"

"Because I got him similar information before."

"What info?"

"When this all started to happen. Before you even got here. I got him phone records for a business in Connecticut called Growth Industries."

Rollins nodded, as if that settled something in his mind. Then he said, "Did you get him the records for Helen Roag?"

"No sir."

"Why not?"

"Because he's a criminal, and I didn't think it would be right."

"Are you bullshitting me, son?"

"No sir. I told him I'd do it because I didn't want to upset him. But I had no intention of getting him any more records."

"Why didn't you report this to me or to Chief Leggett?"

Gary hesitated. "Because Westwood's a friend of mine, sir."

"Is that right? Chief Leggett says you never got along with him. Isn't that what you said, Chief?"

"That's right," Jimmy Leggett said. "He and Brian, they never got along with Jay."

"That is right, sir," Gary said to Rollins. "But that was before I knew all the stuff about Westwood and his wife and daughter. I never would have picked on him the way I did if I'd known what had happened. When I heard, it made me feel sorry for him."

"What happened in the past is totally irrelevant," Rollins said. "Justin Westwood's a murderer."