John Lescroart - Nothing But The Truth

‘I think that’s the idea. Go on, it won’t hurt you.’

But Valens couldn’t seem to force himself to move. After a second or two, Thorne said, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ took the glass and drained it in a couple of swallows. ‘Since when have you been so timid, Al? Did you think I was going to poison you?’

‘No, of course not. I just…’ He met his employer’s eyes. ‘I don’t know, Baxter. I’m just fucking worn down.’

Thorne gave him an avuncular pat on the knee. ‘A couple more days and it’s over. You hang in there and it will all have been worth it. Now’ – back to business – ‘what do you think about my idea?’

‘I’m not sure exactly what it is. Make ethanol cocktails?’ Suddenly Thorne’s face showed some animation. ‘Actually, that might be even better. That’s just an inspired idea, Al. Really. Reporters will always take a free drink, won’t they?’ Valens felt some of his own tension break. ‘That’s been my experience.’

‘Exactly. You see, I was thinking of having Damon drink some ethanol – as I just did – at a press briefing. Think of the contrast…’ Thorne was getting wound up, although his voice never changed its inflection. ‘A few gallons of MTBE finds its way into the water supply and the whole city is shut down, the poisoned water smelling and tasting like turpentine.’ He paused briefly and held up his flask. ‘While the other additive, the natural additive, ethanol, is so safe you can drink it. In fact, people have been drinking it for ever. I love it,’ he said. ‘This could be very strong.’

But Valens wasn’t so sure. ‘If Damon will go for it.’

Thorne’s face clouded. ‘Why wouldn’t he?’

‘Because he’s careful, Baxter. He’s not an idiot. He’s never specifically endorsed ethanol. He’s just opposed to MTBE.’

‘Which if my logic hasn’t failed me leaves only ethanol.’

‘True.’ Valens hated Thorne’s attempts to micro-manage – he’d done a damn fine job with the campaign, and controlling the candidate, to date. He turned to reason. ‘But our strategy, you remember, has always been to let the voters make that leap, which they’re doing by themselves. This other is a little… overt , don’t you think?’

‘Sometimes you need overt.’ The voice was eider down; the tone was cold steel.

Here was Thorne’s defensiveness, which he’d seen often enough before. It was a signal to Valens that he’d better walk softly, because the truth was that Thorne frightened him badly. He wasn’t fooling Valens that he wasn’t behind this water poisoning.

Sometimes, though, such as today, people died.

‘I agree,’ Valens said. ‘Sometimes overt is good. So how about I ask Damon, and get his take on it? If he’ll go, we go.’

‘All right,’ Thorne said mildly, ‘since that’s our only option anyway.’ He was pouring a couple of the airline portions of vodka into his glass. He added an ice cube, topped it off with more orange soda, slid back more comfortably in his chair, and took a long drink. ‘Now, about this Hardy fellow. I’ve done some research. It turns out he may be a bit of a problem.’

This was not what Valens needed just now. He came forward to the first two inches of the couch. ‘How’s that?’

In his low-key way, Thorne outlined what he’d discovered about Frannie, the grand jury, Ron Beaumont, a little of Hardy’s history, and that he was a meddling lawyer who wasn’t always loath to get his hands dirty.

‘We can only assume,’ he concluded, ‘since he buttonholed Kerry, that he’s made the leap – no pun – from Bree’s death to gasoline additives, which is not good news for us. I do wish we could locate Ron.’ A sigh. ‘We should have acted more quickly, I’m afraid. I blame myself, really. I should have just hacked into her system and deleted the damn thing instead of-’

But Valens was shaking his head. He didn’t want to get into another discussion with Thorne about the ‘instead of.’ ‘No,’ he interrupted, ‘she would still have had the hard copy and probably a backup disk. That’s what I was trying to get her to give me, to hold her off until after the election.’

‘Come on in, Al. Thanks for coming by.’

He took in the incredible penthouse at a glance as he came through the door. He ‘d never been here before and the grandness of it surprised him, although maybe it shouldn ’t have – everything about Bree Beaumont made an impression. He was, he believed, largely immune to the attractive power of her physical presence but he wasn’t fool enough to deny its existence.

She was Damon’s girlfriend and as such a campaign factor to control, so he tried not to think of her as a woman. He didn’t care that she was a woman. She was butting into his campaign and his business and he didn’t like her, period.

But this was the first time he’d ever been alone with her. As she led him through the ornate living room and back to the sitting area near the balcony, he was subliminally aware of the tasteful decorating, the fancy art, the panorama out the windows.

There was a better view close up, however. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Bree’s perfect ass, which she’d poured into a pair of designer jeans. He’d never before seen her in jeans. Or in a T-shirt with nothing under it. Or barefoot. Her blond hair cascaded halfway down her back. He thought he could encircle her waist with both his hands.

Somehow all of this made him vibrate with a dull anger – that she could walk around like this, around him, and that the vastness between them was so great that it was literally unthinkable for him to have any reaction to her. She was so far above him that he did not exist. This did more than simply piss him off.

She was making small talk as she led him back. ‘Sorry I’m such a mess,’ she said. ‘I’ve been working all afternoon on the computer and lost track of the time.’ He was half listening and all the way still looking when she suddenly turned – did she catch where his eyes were ? – and motioned to one of the low, upholstered chairs. ‘Anyway, just to thank you again for coming. I wouldn’t have bothered you but I don’t know what to do. I wanted your advice before I burden Damon with anything else .’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ Valens said lamely. He was a few inches under six feet – about Bree’s height – and weighed in at near two hundred pounds. Brown hair, heavy shadow, under-starched white shirt and rack suit. His tongue wouldn’t work . ‘I appreciate your thinking of me .’

Perhaps sensing his reaction to her, she stood a moment, awkwardly, then motioned to one of the chairs. ‘Do you want to have a seat? Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got anything really.’

‘Yeah, I’ll take a beer, thanks.’

He watched her again, then forced himself to look out over the balcony to the city beyond. In a heartbeat, she was back with a bottle of some foreign beer, a chilled Pilsner glass, and a plastic bottle of Evian.

Valens thanked her politely. ‘This is a nice place,’ he said, pouring.

She was unscrewing the cap on the water bottle and she stopped, her face turning wistful. ‘Yes. Though I’m afraid it looks like we’re going to have to let it go pretty soon. But I shouldn’t complain – it’s been very nice, more than we ever thought we’d…’ She stopped. ‘The upkeep s just too much. And anyway, Ron and I – my husband? – well, you know.’

‘He’s not around, is he?’

She shook her head. ‘No. He and the kids went… well, it doesn ’t matter. They’re out now.‘