Russell Andrews - Aphrodite

"I don't believe that," Gary said. "He may have done some stupid stuff, but I don't think he really killed anybody."

"I don't care what you believe. I'm telling you what I know. And what your chief now knows."

Gary looked over at Leggett, who took a long time before nodding. "Agent Rollins has told me things," Leggett said to the young police officer. "Things I doubt he's going tell you."

"And you believe Westwood killed that guy in Connecticut?"

Leggett looked over at Rollins. It was Rollins who answered. "It's worse than that, son. We think Westwood is involved in Maura Greer's murder. And we think he probably killed your friend Brian."

"I was there before he was."

"But he's the one who told you to go there. How else would he know that Brian was dead?"

Gary didn't say anything for quite a while. Then he whispered, "That son of a bitch."

"Are you sure you haven't sent him the phone records he asked for?" Rollins said now.

"I haven't even requested them," Gary said. "If you don't believe me, you can check your taps. I have my cell phone here too, sir. You can check every recent call I've made on that. The last call was a callback to that son of a bitch. Right after he called me early this morning. It's the motel where he was staying. Maybe he's still there and the number'll help you track him down. If you heard that first conversation, you'll remember that he said it was a bad connection. He thought it was from my end so he asked if I had a different phone to call him back. That's why I used the cell."

"What was said during that second conversation?"

"It only lasted a few seconds. He made sure I had copied down exactly what he wanted to know, then he told me that he'd get back in touch with me and tell me where and how to send it."

"But you've done nothing?"

"I haven't gotten him what he wanted and I wasn't going to. And I'm sure as hell not going to do it now. That lying bastard. He let me feel sorry for him."

Rollins stared at Gary, held his gaze for several long seconds. "I believe you," the FBI agent said. "Thank you." As Gary turned to leave, Rollins said, "We're going to leave the tap on your home phone, son. In case Westwood calls again. If you hear from him in any way, I want you to let me or your chief know instantly. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." Gary turned to Leggett. "Jimmy, do you mind if I take a quick walk? I'd like to get some air. I'm pretty angry about the way that cocksucker tried to use me. I'd really like to walk it off."

"Go ahead," Leggett said.

"Are you sure about Brian?" Gary asked sadly.

"We're fairly sure," Leggett said. And added, "I'm sorry about all this."

"I'll be back in a little bit," Gary told him, and walked, stiff and angry, out of the police station. Gary walked at a fast pace, heading straight for the photo store at the end of Main Street by the bay. When he stepped into the store, the owner, an overweight, slow-moving woman named Jayne, waved her large hand in a familiar greeting.

"Jayne," he said, "did that fax I asked to be sent here arrive yet?"

"Not yet," she told him. "When it does, just put it in an envelope and hold it. Don't call me, okay? Don't call the station and don't call me at home. I'll come by and pick it up."

"Sounds mysterious," she said, "but you're the customer so you must always be right."

"Can I make a call?" Gary asked. "It's to a cell phone. I don't think it counts as long distance but if it does, just keep track of the bill and I'll pay you back."

She didn't say a word, just handed him the phone and went into the back storeroom. Gary dialed. The phone on the other end rang twice before someone answered.

"Yup?" Justin Westwood said into the receiver of his cell phone.

"You were right," Gary told him. "They tapped my phones. And you were right about the other stuff, too. I guess you're not paranoid after all."

"What else am I supposed to have done?"

"They said you killed Brian."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised."

"Well, this'll surprise you. They're tying you to the Maura Greer thing."

"What?"

"I swear."

"Why? I mean, I never even met her!"

"If I had to guess, I'd say they're gonna have you working with the politician, what's-his-name…"

"Manwaring."

"Yeah. That's the one."

"When Rollins was doing his spiel, did you handle it the way I told you?"

"Yeah. He totally bought the stuff about the phone records."

"I'm sure he's checking it out now to see if you lied. No other problems?"

"Uh-uh. I even improvised a little."

"What'd you do?"

"I called you a cocksucker."

"Great. Sounds like an Oscar winner. Where are you calling from?"

"Don't worry. The photo store. It's safe."

"You get the stuff I want?"

"Not yet. What the hell do you think I am, a magician? My brother's working on it."

"Your brother?"

"Yeah. You said you wanted a hacker. He's fifteen years old-he can hack his way into anything."

"Your little brother is my hacker? Gary, we're going up against the FBI here."

"He put another little buddy on it too. A double team. The other kid's fourteen and he's really scary. I don't get it, but they seem to know what they're doing."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah. If you want me, call this number. I'm sure they're keepin' tabs on my cell now, too." Gary gave him the number of the photo store. "I'll come by here whenever I can. Jayne'll give me any messages. Just tell her"-Gary couldn't help but break into a smile-"just tell her your name's Clint."

"Very fucking clever."

"Take care," Gary said, and hung up the phone.

Jayne came out of the back room. "Sounds like cops and robbers," she said.

"Better than CSI," he told her. "I'll be back later to get my stuff." Deena didn't ask any questions. She could tell that Justin was not yet ready to take them to their final destination, so she let him drive them around Providence. He cruised through the Federal Hill area in the West End, pointing out the Little Italy restaurants and grocery stores and charming town houses. He drove to the East Side, too, took the car through the exquisite and stately Brown campus, showing them the Rhode Island School of Design and the historic John Brown House. He drove slowly through the downtown area, what he called "downcity," staring up at the imposing City Hall, surprised at the plethora of fancy new restaurants. It was as if he had to ease into his past by showing them the city's landmarks and gradually letting himself remember that he had a personal connection to it all.

At twelve-thirty in the afternoon, just as Kendall was beginning to complain about being hungry, Justin pulled up in front of a large, gated mansion on Benefit Street. They could see what looked like a huge public park through the gate. There was a rose garden, a cutting garden, and a vegetable garden overflowing with various lettuces, tomatoes, cucumbers, and squashes. An enormous English cottage garden loomed, too, with brick paths winding through it that led to a picnic table and benches. Acres and acres of green stretched in every direction. The house itself was turn of the century and quite austere, with lots of harsh angles and intimidating columns. It was three stories tall, with three distinct wings, each with four separate chimneys jutting skyward. The brick chimneys gave the house the aura of a mausoleum rather than a country home centered around hearth and warmth.

"Tell me this isn't your parents' house," Deena said, her eyes wide.

"I'll be happy to," he told her. "But I'd be lying."

"Wow," Kendall said. "Is your dad the mayor?"

"It's even better than that," Justin said. "My dad owns the mayor."

Justin now drove the car past the slowly opening gates-they hadn't changed the security code in all these years-and headed up the long driveway, parking in front of the house. He asked Deena and Kendall to wait in the car, just for a few minutes. Deena squeezed his hand and he nodded that he was fine, then he went to the front door and rang the bell.