Joseph Finder - Guilty Minds

I just smiled.

“Can we speak frankly, Nick?” She put a hand on my knee and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “People assume if you’re rich you automatically have power.” She gazed directly into my eyes and I could see what a minx she must have been in her prime. She was a very sexual woman. “Well, it sure doesn’t feel that way. Getting your voice out there is harder and harder. I’m sure you remember this from what happened to your father, Nick. The way the press just pilloried Victor Heller.”

“I didn’t have a problem with the press coverage,” I said. “The only one responsible for what happened to Victor is Victor.”

She sighed. “You know, there used to be a saying, ‘Never pick a fight with a man who buys ink by the barrel.’ Now pixels are the thing, not ink. You want real power? You gotta control the flow of information. That’s why I bought Slander Sheet. Stick it to all those hypocrites. And I won’t deny I enjoy making a little mischief. But you ask me if I ‘ordered’ the death of this floozy, like I’m some... some mob boss? Why in heaven’s name would I want to do that? To what end — to cast suspicion on myself?”

“Then who did?”

She was silent for a while. “Damned if I know. Someone who detests Jeremiah Claflin as much as I do — but didn’t mind bringing down Slander Sheet in the process. Nick, how did you find out I’m the owner?”

“Norcross didn’t tell you?”

She shook her head.

Norcross must not have wanted to admit that his law firm’s vaunted security had been breached. He’d just warned her I was coming without telling her how I’d found out who she was.

I said, “I do my homework.”

She laughed.

“Why do you keep it a secret?” I asked.

“Oh, it would be socially a bit awkward for me if people knew I owned Slander Sheet. Anyway, secret pleasures are always the best, don’t you think? And I don’t like having my name in the paper. I don’t do interviews, and I don’t want to have my name dredged up every time Slander Sheet runs a scoop. And now what are you telling me — that I’m under suspicion for this call girl’s death? Nick, you strike me as a direct, honest, no-bullshit fellow. Plus, you’re cute. I like the cut of your jib. If you’re really trying to get to the bottom of all this, I’m willing to help you. Okay? In return, I ask that you keep the ownership of Slander Sheet a secret. Do we have a deal?”

I realized we really had the upper hand. She didn’t want her friends to know she owned such a disreputable rag. I looked at Mandy, and she just looked back.

When we didn’t reply, she went on, “I don’t like being in the dark. I don’t like not knowing. And I don’t like having Slander Sheet turned into a joke.” She turned to look at Mandy. “Now, I know Julian fired you because of this debacle. But I’m going to get Julian on the phone right now and tell him to hire you back.”

“Don’t bother,” Mandy said. “Not interested.”

“You don’t want to clear your name?”

A look of irritation crossed Mandy’s face. “Sure I do. But not for Slander Sheet.”

“Then I’ll pay you. Directly. You find out who did this to you, how this happened, I’ll double your severance package.”

Mandy barely hesitated. “Deal.”

Turning back to me, she put her hand on my knee again. She smiled, a seductive smile. “You, too. What do you charge, anyway?”

She likes the cut of your jib,” Mandy said later.

I smiled and said nothing. I cut the wheel hard to the right and turned onto Route 15 South.

“I don’t even know what a jib is, do you?”

“It’s a sailing term.”

“She was actually flirting with you! She thought you were cute!”

“Why is that so outlandish?”

“She’s like a hundred and twenty years old!”

“I have to say, she looks awfully good for a woman of seventy-four.”

“So now you’re into her.”

I said nothing.

“I could have been a potted plant in that room. A statue.”

“You could have been the Venus de Milo, it wouldn’t have mattered. She prefers men.”

“Clearly. She’s a cougar. She’s also as crazy as a box of weasels.”

“She’s a complicated woman.”

“I’ll say. She’s a racist. She doesn’t like Gideon Parnell because he’s black.”

“Maybe. Or maybe because he marched. She doesn’t like troublemakers unless it’s her brand of troublemaker.”

“I’ll still take her money.”

I smiled. “You did say yes awfully fast.”

“Busted.” She shrugged. “What can I say, I have a mortgage.”

“Why did Slander Sheet never go after Gideon, anyway? Was it because they couldn’t find any dirt on him?”

“Because there was nothing interesting to report... I was working on a story on him before the Claflin thing came in. There was nothing there.”

“Did Julian tell you to do it?”

“He suggested it.”

“Because his boss, the owner, wanted Gideon Parnell taken down.”

She shrugged. “That was above my pay grade. But Claflin’s a much bigger target.”

My phone rang.

“Gideon,” she predicted.

I took it out of my jacket and answered without looking at it first, because I was driving. “Nick Heller.”

“Mr. Heller, this is Detective Balakian from MPD homicide.”

“Yes, detective.”

“I’d like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

“What about?” Mandy was watching my face.

“Kayla Pitts.”

“Is there a problem?”

“I just have some questions for you.”

“I’m out of town and won’t be back in Washington until late. How’s tomorrow morning?”

A beat. “Nine o’clock at homicide branch, 101 M Street.” It was an order, not a suggestion.

“I’ll be there.”

He disconnected the call.

“What does he want?” Mandy said.

“He wants this case to go away, but it’s not happening anytime soon. He wants to talk to me.”

“For what?”

“Just says he has questions.”

“I wonder if he’s getting pressure from above. All this conspiracy talk out there.”

I thought for a minute. “Maybe. Maybe that’s all it is.”

We didn’t get back to DC until late, almost eleven. I drove Mandy to her apartment, which was on Kalorama near Columbia, in Adams Morgan.

“As long as you’re here, why don’t you come up?” she said, touching my knee lightly. “You can pick up my Claflin files.”

To my surprise, I felt my cheeks warm, and I was glad she couldn’t see me in the dark. It was like that Shirley MacLaine line in Terms of Endearment , when she invites potential suitors to come up and look at her Renoir — a welcome invitation that confirmed the vibe that I’d wondered about between us. Apparently I hadn’t just been imagining it.

“Sure,” I said. “That’d be great.”

“Thanks.”

Her condo was on the third floor of a brownstone whose lobby smelled of curry from the Indian restaurant next door. She had three locks on the door.

“Apologies for the mess.”

The place was small but smartly furnished, in IKEA simplicity. An open-plan kitchen with an island. It looked more spacious than it should have. Nothing was out of place. There was no mess. “Slovenly,” I said.

She laughed. “Well, you know. Something to drink?”

“That would be nice.”

“Coke or diet? Or seltzer? Or I can make coffee. Actually, mind getting yourself something from the fridge while I change out of these clothes?”

I located a couple of glasses and clanked in a few ice cubes from the freezer and poured us both some Diet Coke. I felt like having a real drink, but that wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t want to be the only one drinking anyway.