Hades (7 page)

7

Justin was surprised to hear his father’s voice on the other end of the telephone. He looked at his watch, but his eyes weren’t focused yet. He rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. It didn’t help. The room looked as if it were swaddled in gauze. When he spoke, it sounded as if his vocal cords had rusted.

“Are you hungover?” Jonathan Westwood asked.

“No,” Justin said. His sight was coming back. He could make out the numbers on the telephone. He glanced at his watch, and a faint groan escaped through his lips. He hadn’t even slept half an hour. “I was working all night.”

He could feel his father’s hesitation. To ask about his job might somehow signal that he approved of it, which Jonathan Westwood most certainly did not. But because their relationship had relatively recently been repaired—after having been strained, even nonexistent for quite a few years—to avoid any comment at all might be perceived as too hostile. In the end Jonathan went for civility. “I hope things are all right. With your work, I mean.”

Justin couldn’t help but grin just a little bit. Times had certainly changed. “There was a murder here last night,” he said. “The investigation’s going to start this morning.”

“So what were you doing last night?”

“Thinking. You know that’s the tough part for me.”

Jonathan Westwood didn’t respond. He certainly didn’t argue the point.

“Big family reunion coming up?” Justin said. “A Westwood outing to Disney World?”

“Excuse me?”

“I was just wondering why you called, Dad.”

There was another pause from the Rhode Island end of the phone. For a moment, Justin thought he was going to receive bad news. Then he realized that couldn’t be it. His father would not have hesitated giving bad news. He wouldn’t have liked it, but he wouldn’t have shrunk from it. Justin wondered what in the world would make his father hesitate. And he realized immediately. The elder Westwood needed his son’s help.

“Is something wrong?” Justin asked.

“There might be.”

Again the long silence. Then Jonathan broke it with the words “Victoria needs your help.”

Justin’s head was suddenly clear. But his chest was just as suddenly so full he could barely breathe. “She asked for my help?” he said.

“No. She has no idea I’m calling you.”

“What would she say if she knew?”

“What do you
think
she’d say, Jay?”

Justin decided it was better not to answer that question. He knew what her response would be: She wouldn’t say anything. She would just stare at him accusingly. Bitterly. “What is it she needs my help for?” is what he said instead.

“Ronald’s missing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s missing. When Victoria woke up this morning, he was gone.”

“Maybe he went to the office.”

“She woke up at six o’clock.”

“Did he come home last night?”

“Yes.”

Justin gave a half laugh. “So he left early. Maybe he went to the gym. Why do you think something’s actually wrong?”

“Because Victoria
says
something’s wrong.”

Now it was Justin’s turn to be silent. When he spoke, all he said was “Yeah. Okay.” After the next silence he said, “Look, there’s nothing I can do yet. You have to give this twenty-four hours. People just don’t go missing from six to seven in the morning. You can’t send up a flare when he’s been gone for an hour.”

“He was gone before six.”

“Okay,
two
hours. Or three. It’s crazy.”

Jonathan Westwood didn’t have to say anything for his son to tell the deep level of his disapproval. Justin sighed.

“What would you like me to do, Dad?”

“I don’t know. This is what you do for a living.”

“No. What I do for a living is get involved when a crime is committed. There’s no crime here. There’s
nothing
here.”

More silence. Justin was beginning to understand where he got his own poor communication skills from.

“Have you called Billy?” he asked. Billy DiPezio was the chief of the Providence police force. He’d been Justin’s rabbi when Justin was a young cop. Billy was, in fact, the
reason
Justin became a cop. He’d watched Billy in action—a friend of Justin’s had been murdered and he saw Billy hunt down the killer, refuse to give up until he’d brought the man to justice. It had been amazing to watch—someone who did exactly what he set out to do, who let nothing interfere with his ultimate goal. As Justin got to know him better over the years, he discovered that Billy DiPezio never let anything interfere with his goals. The complications came because Chief DiPezio’s goals were often a tad hazy. “Hazy” being the nicest possible interpretation. Justin always described his mentor as either the most honest crook in the world or the most crooked honest man there was. Billy was a great cop. He just didn’t see any reason why, whenever he did a good job, he shouldn’t get something out of it, too. Which he almost always did.

“No,” Jonathan Westwood said into the phone. “You’re the first person I’ve called.”

“Here’s what I can do. Billy would laugh if you called him about this. But he won’t laugh at me. Well, he wouldn’t laugh at you either, come to think of it—you’re too rich. But he wouldn’t do anything after he hung up on you. I’ll get him to do something.”

“What?”

“Whatever he can. Talk to Vicky for one thing.”

“I don’t think Victoria will have anything to say.”

“Well, it’s going to be very difficult to find out anything if the only person who thinks there’s something wrong won’t talk about it.”

Another moment of silence. Jonathan was not used to being chastised. But Justin’s words had their desired effect. “I understand,” Jonathan said. “I’ll tell her to talk to Billy. Thank you.”

“Dad,” Justin said. And before his father could say a word, he finished with, “I’m glad you called me. I know it wasn’t easy. I know what you think of what I do.”

“I hate what you do.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But you’re very good at it, aren’t you?”

“Depends who you talk to,” Justin said.

Father and son hung up the phone at almost precisely the same moment. Justin held the cordless receiver in his hand. He thought about the relationship he had with his father, the years they hadn’t spoken to each other, the pain they’d caused each other, the pleasures they’d each received from their rapprochement. He thought about his mother, how thrilled she’d been when he showed up on their Providence doorstep three years ago, Deena and her young daughter in tow. He thought about how helpful his father had been the year before, when Justin had been in the midst of searching for the solution to the mystery of Midas. He thought about how strange families were, how tenuous their ties, how mutually destructive and supportive. Mostly Justin thought about Victoria LaSalle. His wife’s younger sister. He closed his eyes and pictured the expression on Vicky’s face at Alicia’s funeral. He saw the look of scorn that burned in his direction. A look that, over the course of the service, turned to cold fury and then to deep hatred. It was a look that made it very clear the younger sister blamed Justin for the death of the older sister. Blamed him and would never forgive him.

Justin understood the look very well.

It was the same look he saw on his own face when he looked in the mirror.

He’d spent years running away from that look. He knew he would never truly forgive himself. But he’d learned to live with the guilt and the loneliness. To compartmentalize it so it no longer took up the biggest share of his emotions and his life.

He wanted to help Victoria. After all these years, he wanted to change the expression in her eyes and on her lips.

But Justin knew he couldn’t help her. At least not right now.

He had a job to do first.

So he put the phone back in its base and prepared a pot of coffee. Then he went upstairs to wake up the woman in his bed, gently kiss her good morning, and begin to make his plans to find out who had murdered her husband.

8

Larry Silverbush, Mayor Leona Krill, Justin, and Abigail Harmon met in Justin’s office at the East End Harbor police station. Silverbush went to the chair behind Justin’s desk as if it were his own and waved at the others to sit down. Justin decided to let the slight go unmentioned. He also decided not to bring up the subject of the DA’s comb-over. When it came to hairstyles, Justin had not seen too many even remotely in the same league. It looked as if Silverbush had been walking down the street and a dead squirrel had been dropped from a twelfth-floor window onto his head.

As oblivious as he was to Justin’s displacement, that’s how solicitous the DA was of Abby. He was a politician after all. And dead husband or no dead husband, she was still an important member of a rich political family, so she was going to see law enforcement at its absolute best. Or, at the very least, at its absolute politest. Silverbush began by thanking her for coming in and offering his condolences, which she accepted passively but graciously.

“I spoke to your father-in-law a little while ago,” he said, after her quiet murmuring of thanks.

“I spoke to him this morning, too,” Abby told him.

She had. She hadn’t wanted to but Justin insisted. She did her best to explain that Herbert Harmon would not want to hear from her, had never in his life wanted to hear from her, but Justin said very quietly that Herbert Harmon had also never lost a son before. He said that it was her responsibility to call him. She was as close to a child as he had left. So she called, reached him at his apartment in the city. She spoke to him from Justin’s bedroom while he remained downstairs to give her some privacy. When she came down the steps, she was crying. Justin had never seen Abby cry before. He’d seen her angry and peaceful and bitchy and happy, but he’d never seen anyone come close to wounding her the way H. R. Harmon had in a five-minute phone call.

“He’s very concerned about you,” Silverbush said. “I assured him we’d do everything we could to help you get through this . . . situation. And I assured him, as I will now assure you, we will find the person who did this to your husband. You have my word on that.”

“Did my father-in-law tell you that he already knows who’s responsible for my husband’s murder?” Abby asked.

This threw Silverbush. Justin tucked away in his mind the fact that this man didn’t have much of a poker face. The best the DA could come up with in response to Abby’s information was, “Um . . . no, he . . . um . . . didn’t say anything like that.”

“I’m surprised. He’s convinced
I
did it.”

“I’m sure you’re incorrect about that, Mrs. Harmon.”

“That’s what he told me this morning.”

Silverbush was definitely rattled, although he now did his best to hide it. A little late for the poker face, but at least he recovered for the betting round. “I assure you,” he said, “the senator never mentioned anything remotely like that.”

“It’s funny. Everyone calls him that—the senator. But my esteemed father-in-law only
ran
for the Senate. He never actually won, so it’s not really the proper reference. Well, maybe it’s not really so funny. More pathetic.”

This seemed to push the DA into a deeper state of confusion. The newly widowed Mrs. Harmon was being neither difficult nor cooperative. Those were the only two types of behavior that Silverbush knew exactly how to deal with. So, not on firm footing, he fell back on what he knew best: legal officiousness.

“There was no discussion at all about your involvement.” Silverbush spoke as if he were talking about a parking ticket.

“My father-in-law blames me for almost everything bad that has ever happened to the Harmon family,” Abby said. “And this morning, he made it very clear that this was no exception.”

“I’m sure he was just upset.”

“Have you ever met H. R. Harmon, Mr. Silverbush?”

“I have, as a matter of fact. At several charity dinners and fund-raisers.”

“Then you know that he spent almost his entire life learning what to say and when or when not to say it.”

“I don’t really know him that well,” Silverbush said.

“You will by the time this investigation is over. And if you want some advice, believe him whenever he makes a threat. Any other time, take things with a grain of salt.”

Silverbush had exhausted his patience. He’d paid his respects to the powerful family as best he could; now it was time to move on. Justin was impressed by the man’s ability to stick to his agenda while still maintaining a high level of obsequiousness. “We’ll be investigating every possible angle,” he said. “I promise you we will have a satisfactory outcome for both you and your father-in-law.” Now he turned to Justin. “I assume you’ve prepared an initial report.”

“Preliminary,” Justin said, looking down at the folder clasped in his right hand. “I’m waiting for the ME’s report and a summary from Southampton CSU.”

“I can still start with that. Do you have anything at all to go on yet?”

“I have a few thoughts after seeing the crime scene. And I spent the entire night preparing for the investigation. The first few steps are outlined in the report. Once we’re done here, I’ll be going to the city to talk to people who worked with Mrs. Harmon’s husband. And I’m hoping to see Evan’s father while I’m there.”

“That won’t be necessary. Mr. Harmon will be coming here. This afternoon.”

Abby spoke up now, surprised. “To East End Harbor?”

Silverbush nodded. “He wants to see his son’s body. He’s already on his way.”

Abby said, “Jesus,” and after that there was an uncomfortable silence in the room until Leona Krill spoke up for the first time.

“Larry,” she said, “from what Justin has told me, that might not be a good idea.” Leona looked at the woman sitting next to her, said, “I’m sorry, Abigail,” then turned back to Silverbush and finished. “Apparently Evan was greatly disfigured.”

“H. R. won’t be seeing his son,” Abby said quietly. “He won’t be seeing anything that even looks human.”

“I understand,” the DA said. “I suggested that might be the case, but . . .”

He didn’t finish the sentence, so Abby finished it for him. “But H. R. didn’t take the suggestion.”

“I’m afraid not.” Silverbush inhaled deeply, said to Abby, “Are there any questions you have about what we’re going to be doing?”

She shook her head.

“Anything you need, I’m available twenty-four seven.” The DA then handed her his card, which she accepted with a nod. “I appreciate your coming to meet with me,” Silverbush went on. “I know how difficult this must be. But I want you to know that Chief Westwood has an excellent reputation. We’ve never worked together, but I have the highest confidence in his abilities. I hope you’ll be as cooperative with him as possible.”

“I don’t think I could be any more cooperative with Chief Westwood,” Abby said and smiled for the first time in the meeting. Justin made a point of not smiling.

“Excellent,” Silverbush finished. “I’ll have someone drive you home.”

“I’m not staying at home,” she told him.

“Of course. Understandable. Just tell my driver where you’re going and he’ll be glad to take you.”

“I’d rather walk, if you don’t mind,” she said. “It’s not very far and I need the air.”

“By all means,” Silverbush said. Then he turned to Justin and Leona and said, “I’d like to talk to you both before we disband.”

When Abby was out of the station, Larry Silverbush spoke quietly to Justin, although he never glanced in his direction while his lips were moving. “You do know how fucking important this is?”

“It’s a murder,” Justin said. “On a scale of one to ten, pretty high.”

“I don’t need any smart-ass shit. This isn’t just a murder.”

“Oh, that’s right. It’s a high-profile murder that’ll get you lots of headlines.”

“I know about you, Westwood.”

“My excellent reputation, you mean?”

“Believe me, I fucking know all about you.”

Leona reached over and put her hand on Silverbush’s arm. “Larry, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but Jay is a superb—”

He didn’t let her hand rest on him for more than a moment, immediately shaking it away and cutting off her words. “I know how superb he is. I also know what an asshole he can be.”

Justin shrugged, as if he’d been caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “Nobody’s perfect,” he said.

“Look,” Silverbush said, “I really don’t want this to get nasty. But I want you to understand I know what you’re capable of, good and bad. I know the way you work. I know the trouble you’ve been in and the trouble you’ve caused in the past. This is an important case. It’s highly visible, the media’s going to be all over it in about five minutes, and it’s got political ramifications.”

“For you, you mean.”

“Fuck yes, for me.” He turned to face Leona. “And for you. It ain’t like you’re mayor of New York City, Ms. Krill, but I’m sure you like what you do. Running a cute, little town like East End has its perks. You’re already on thinning ice thanks to your choice of sexual partners.” She started to interrupt, but he barged ahead without letting her speak. “Hey, I couldn’t give a shit who or what you’re banging. But some voters do, so you better make it up to ’em by making sure we find out who killed Evan Harmon. You’re in charge of the police department. This drags on, nothing gets solved, you look foolish, incompetent. Out here you can get away with being a dyke, but a dyke who can’t get the job done, that doesn’t fly. Am I right?”

Leona’s head drooped and her voice was barely above a whisper when she said, “Yes, you’re right. You’re astoundingly offensive, but you’re right.”

Silverbush allowed a faint gloat of a smile to cross his lips, then pursed them and looked at Justin. “Same goes for you, too. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, cowboy, we live in a political world. I know you think you make it up as you go along, but you live by the rules, same as the rest of us. Maybe you bend ’em more than most, but you’ve built up a life here. Got a nice little house; I haven’t been able to find too many friends but I’m sure you got one or two; got the occasional girlfriend. And you took this job, which I know you didn’t have to do, so it must mean something to you. You care about what you do; you care about the people in this town; you care about the results you get. In this instance, I care about the results you’re going to get, too. We got the same goal—make everything come out all right so our happy little lives just keep rollin’ along. So, you see, we’re not all that different, you and me.”

Justin didn’t hang his head and his voice wasn’t close to a whisper when he said, “You’ll be good on the stump when you run for governor one of these days. But what is it you actually want from me?”

“I want you to work with me. I want you to work with my men. I want full cooperation. I don’t want you going off half-cocked, and I don’t want you to talk to anyone in the media.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. I don’t want you messing around in places you shouldn’t be messing around in.”

“Any specific places you have in mind?”

“H. R. Harmon.”

“He’s kind of relevant to the investigation, don’t you think?”

“Obviously, he might be helpful. It remains to be seen just how much.”

“But you’ll be doing the seeing.”

“That’s right. I think a slightly more delicate touch than yours is required here.”

Justin didn’t answer immediately, not that Silverbush was looking for an answer. He was merely looking for acquiescence, which Justin gave him when all he said was “Okay.”

“Good.” Silverbush smiled at them both now. He stood as if waiting for them to leave.

“Can I just point out one thing?” Justin asked.

“Of course.”

“You’re in my office. You’re the one who’s actually got to make the graceful exit.”

Silverbush laughed. It was almost an affectionate laugh—almost, but not quite. Justin handed him his preliminary report when the DA’s laughter stopped. “You might want to read this sooner rather than later.”

“I’m not big on reading. I’m big on action.”

“Well,” Justin said, “as you made clear, you’re the boss.” He nodded toward the report now in Silverbush’s hand. “All I can do is tell you what I know and make my recommendation.”

“Would you like my recommendation?” Silverbush asked. “Don’t fuck up. Or I’ll have your balls for breakfast.”

“If the whole governor thing doesn’t work out, try football coach,” Justin said. “You’ve got that inspirational touch.”

Silverbush laughed once more, this time with genuine good feeling, and left the East End Harbor mayor and chief of police alone in the office.

“Charmer, isn’t he?” Leona said.

“You might want to read my report,” Justin said, handing her another copy, “before Mr. Charm does.”

“Something you didn’t mention just now, Jay?”

“Hey,” Justin said, “I’m not big on mentioning. I’m big on action.” And then he said, “But read it.”