Jan Burke - Remember Me, Irene

“Do you remember the fax?”

“No, I didn’t get it. Allan said it was some confidential information from the bank. He stood next to the fax and picked it up himself.”

“Wasn’t that unusual?”

“Well, it didn’t happen too often, but Allan would do that on occasion. He had his secrets, even from me. Obviously, or I wouldn’t be packing up my desk today.”

“Did Mr. Watterson seem upset when you spoke to him about the dinner?”

“No, he seemed very calm. Very quiet. Just said, ‘Thank you, Charlotte, I’ve been expecting a call.’”

“Nothing else?”

“No, not a word.”

“No indication that he wasn’t planning to show up?”

“None at all. I guess that’s why I’m shocked…”

“Any of the others say anything when you called?”

“No. I figured they all knew that Allan would be contacting them. They all just took down the information and said to tell Mr. Moffett that they would be there.”

“Do you know what, if anything, these men have in common?”

“No, not really. Allan had dealings with all of them from time to time.” She paused, and I waited while she thought it over. “Nothing too surprising as far as their connection to this office. When I look down the list, they’ve all worked on city redevelopment projects in one way or another. Roland Hill, of course, as a developer; Keene Dage has done a lot of big construction; and as you know, Corbin Tyler is an architect. Ben Watterson’s bank has financed some projects. The other two, Booter Hodges and Andre Selman, are from the college. Las Piernas College has supplied most of the research and planning studies for redevelopment. So all of these men have legitimate business with Allan.”

ITOLD JOHN ABOUTMoffett’s resignation and the connection between Ben Watterson and Moffett. Then I drove over to city hall and spent time that did little more than confirm my initial impression that Moffett’s resignation was as unexpected as a queen’s belch at a banquet. People were either trying to pretend that nothing happened or nervously hiding glee or horror, depending on how they felt about Moffett. Up on the sixth floor, where the city manager’s offices are housed, only the most minor officials were available to see me, and they had little to say. The most powerful had left for lunch appointments. Each of their secretaries quickly closed any appointment books that were open on their desks, then calmly lied to me, saying they had no idea where their bosses were eating lunch.

I looked at my watch. Just after one o’clock. I made a big show of leaving and talking about being too late for my deadline (my own lie) and took an elevator down to the lobby and left the building to call the paper. The potential of this story had rated me the use of a cellular phone for the afternoon, but it was cheaper to make the call from a pay phone, so I used my own coins. I hoped John would balance the righteousness of that sacrifice with the fact that I had bupkis to report. He didn’t.

I grabbed lunch at a noodle shop near city hall, went back in through the lobby, and stood around acting as if I were fascinated with a sculpture that I had seen at least two thousand times before. The sculpture is big enough to hide behind if you’re not wearing red or some other color that will show through the holes in it; I was wearing a dark gray outfit that blended in perfectly.

I saw the secretaries from the sixth floor-those liars-come back from their own lunches, and figured that was as good a sign as any that their bosses would be back soon. They chatted while waiting at the elevator, and the pieces of conversation I strained so hard to overhear turned out to be about a baby shower for a coworker. Not wanting them to warn their bosses that I was in the building, I took the stairs. A few other hardy souls took the stairs as far as the fourth floor, but after that I was on my own.

I stopped on the landing of the sixth floor, looked through my purse for the big rubber eraser I carry for such occasions, and jammed it in the door to hold it open a crack. From this vantage point, I couldn’t see the elevator or any of the office doors. That didn’t matter. Years of covering this particular beat had taught me a lot about the habits of Las Piernas city executives, and I knew where to wait for my prey. I had an excellent view of the door to the men’s room.

Sure enough, Ray Aiken came walking down the hall. Ray was the assistant city manager, and to my good fortune, he preferred the city hall facilities to those of whatever restaurant he was returning from. Ray was nearing sixty. He’s a big man with a small bladder. I know this from watching many long city council meetings.

Ray was alone. My lucky day. I retrieved my eraser and waited in the hall.

He was still tucking the tail of his shirt into the wide waist of his pants when he shouldered his way out of the men’s room door. He looked up, saw me, and said, “Oh, cripes,” turned around and went back in.

I pushed the door open and followed him. “I know no one else is in here, Ray, but I’d prefer not to interview you in here so soon after you’ve-”

“Goddammit, Kelly, this is the men’s room!”

“Really? And I thought those things were baptismal fonts.”

He turned beet red and said, “Have you no shame?”

“All kinds of it, but it won’t keep me from talking to you in here if I have to.”

“What if someone comes in here and sees you in here with me?”

“They’ll think neither one of us has any shame. Come on out into the stairwell and talk with me, Ray.”

He sighed in resignation, and after a furtive look down the hall, followed me into the stairwell. I sat on a step, but he stayed on his feet. “I don’t have to talk to you,” he whispered, craning to look at the landings above and below.

“I know.”

He looked back to me in surprise.

“You don’t have to,” I went on, “but I think you will.”

“Really? What makes you so sure?”

“You’re the guy most likely to be the next city manager. You’ll need the paper’s help to keep you clear of the stink that Moffett’s leaving behind. And it’s especially smelly that Moffett has quit the day after Ben Watterson killed himself.”

“I was sorry to hear about Ben,” Ray said quietly. “I don’t think the two are connected.”

“Maybe not. We’ll leave that for now. But as the man most likely to be the new manager-”

“Big assumption, Kelly.”

“No, think about it. The new mayor has an unexpected chance to reshape the office. He likes you. A total newcomer would bring the city to a grinding halt while he or she learned the ropes-the mayor can’t afford that. You’re known as someone the city employees trust. You’re experienced, but you’re not one of the fossils.”

He laughed at that, but sat down next to me. “Kelly, if I know you, you’d love to see everyone on the sixth floor replaced.”

“Not necessarily. I’ll admit, I’m not one of Moffett’s fans. I don’t think you are, either. You’ve worked hard for him, and he’s needed your expertise, your way with people. But he hasn’t always treated you with the respect you deserve. That’s why I picked you instead of one of his cronies.”

He sighed. “You knew his cronies would never talk to you, so you picked one of his drudges to harass. As for all that respect I supposedly deserve-if some male reporter had followed a woman into a restroom-”

“Look, I apologize. I wouldn’t have followed you in there if I thought you were-”

“Never mind, never mind. I can’t stay in this stairwell all afternoon. What do you want?”

“Just tell me why Moffett’s resigning. The real reason.”

“Resigned. Past tense. He’s out. But the man put thirty years of service into this community, Irene. I can’t drag him through the mud.”