Sleeping Dogs (22 page)
I was on autopilot for the next forty-five minutes. I'd parked my car next to the side door, so loading my stuff into it was no problem. And then I started driving. But even if I wasn't aware of it, I had a destination. I kept on driving.I sat in the car for a long time and just stared at the second-floor apartment. Maybe I should forget it. Just go back to my hotel. You could make a case that he'd done the world a favor. There were too many R. D. Greaveses in the world anyway.
He wouldn't have done it without a good reason. Killing wouldn't have come naturally to him. He would have been pushed into it. That I was certain of.
But then my fear for him became fear for the campaign. I was still a political operative. The implications of all this started scaring me.
Which would be worse? The public knowing that family-values Jim Lake had been unfaithful to his wife and picked up VD because of it?
Or that Senator Nichols had employed a staffer who was implicated in a murder?
But the operative in me was working fast.
How about the family-values man with VD who'd employed R. D. Greaves? Maybe dragging Greaves's history into it would be enough.
I knocked. Inside I could hear the TV. Billy answered the door.
“I thought I'd stop by and see if we owe you any expense money for that Galesburg trip. You didn't hand any chits in. And why aren't you at that luncheon?”
“I'm feeling under the weather, Dev. I didn't go in to work today.”
“I need to talk to you, Billy. I need for you to tell me where you were when you were supposed to be in Galesburg.” The screen door was locked inside. I rattled the knob. “Open up, Billy.”
“Come back tomorrow.”
“Open the door, Billy.”
“You don't have any rightâ”
I looked straight at him through the rusted screening. “Sure I do, Billy. Sure I do.”
He shook his head. Sighed. But he opened the door.
The first thing he did was shut off the TV. The second thing he did was pour more whiskey from the bottle on the coffee table into his glass. The third thing he did was say, “I filed a report, didn't I? So I had to have been there, right?”
“You forgot one thing. Your canceled plane ticket. It showed up on the printout from the airline.”
“Story of my life.”
“Oh, bullshit, Billy. It's not the story of your life. You're a very hot speechwriter. You just made a mistake. You made the mistake most of us would.”
“You wouldn't have made that mistake.”
“Are you crazy? Of course I would've. And so would Warren and
Gabe. Laura and Kate, they probably wouldn't have, because they're smarter than we are.”
Gabe. Laura and Kate, they probably wouldn't have, because they're smarter than we are.”
A brief smile. “That's for sure.” Then, “You want a drink?”
“No, thanks, Billy.”
I sat down. The apartment was comfortably warm and smelled of freshly made popcorn. And real butter. Put that quality of popcorn together with a good movie and you had a decent time for human beings, lonely or otherwise.
He'd already finished the drink he'd just poured for himself. He was now pouring another one.
“So what did you do to Greaves?”
“I don't know what you're talking about, Dev.” But his voice was shaky and he'd taken to blinking for no apparent reason. “We went to a movie.”
“Who went to a movie?”
“Beth and I.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, we went to a movie and then we went and got a pizza and that was when the news came on the TV about R.D.”
“I see. So it was a complete surprise then?”
“I'm not a killer.”
“I know you're not, Billy. And I'm not accusing you of being one. What I'm describing here was accidental. Unintentional. Remember, the police said that was a possibility, too.”
“That's just about the way it happened, too.”
Beth came into the living room from the kitchen. You expect people involved in a death to pull a Joan Crawford. You know, a big melodramatic snit ending in cries of “Yes, I did it and I'm glad I did!”
What you don't expect is a pretty young woman nibbling popcorn out of an enormous blue plastic bowl to come ambling in and say what Beth had just said.
That's just about the way it happened, too.
She went over and sat on the arm of the sofa and said, “You want some popcorn, Dev? I can get you a bowl if you like.”
“No, thanks. Why don't you finish what you were saying? You said that I was pretty much right, the way I scoped it out.”
A shrug of her thin shoulders. “He found out I went to a lawyer.”
“I'm not following.”
Billy said, “The way her mother died. The cops always felt that R.D. killed her by pushing her down those stairs, but they could never prove it.”
“But I wouldn't let it go. And two days ago I got the woman who lives in the apartment above where R.D. and my mom livedâMrs. Neelyâto admit she heard my mom screaming for help. Right after that she heard somebody falling down the stairs.”
“Why didn't she tell this to the police?”
“Scared. Turns out R.D. threatened her. Told her he'd kill her if she said anything to me or the police.”
“So she agreed to talk to you after R.D. was dead.”
She nodded. Extracted a dainty amount of popcorn from the big blue bowl.
“You said you went to a lawyer.”
“Umm-hmmm.” Chewing popcorn and then swallowing it. “And my lawyer drinks where R.D.'s lawyer does and made the mistake of telling R.D.'s lawyer that I'd been to see him.”
“So that when you went to see R.D. he blew up.”
“And came at me with the fireplace poker. I was able to duck, but then he grabbed me by the throat. And that's when I kicked him on the shin. I got free. He lunged at me, but he couldn't get his balance and tripped right into the stone edge of the thing. I called 911 right away and got out of there. Then I called Billy. He canceled his trip to Galesburg. He knew how crazy I was over what'd happened.”
The dispassion told me how little she'd ultimately thought of him.
I suppose when Mrs. Neely confirmed for her the fact that R.D. had actually killed her mother, not even Beth could feel a sentimental attachment to him any longer. Suspecting is one thing. Knowing for sure is another.
I suppose when Mrs. Neely confirmed for her the fact that R.D. had actually killed her mother, not even Beth could feel a sentimental attachment to him any longer. Suspecting is one thing. Knowing for sure is another.
“I wanted to take the blame,” Billy said. He must have been feeling better. He reached over and she pushed the big blue bowl in his direction. Billy's hand was so full of popcorn, some of it was tumbling from his closed fist.
“First thing, Beth,” I said. “Get a different lawyer. In fact, let
me
get you a lawyer.”
me
get you a lawyer.”
“It did piss me off that he told R.D.'s lawyer.”
“Second, I want to ask you a favor.”
She seemed perplexed. “Sure. I mean, I guess. What is it?”
“The other night I asked you about a videotape. Did you ever find out anything about it?”
“No, why?”
“I want you to forget I ever asked you that question.”
“Hell, Dev, what are you talking about?” Billy said.
I smiled. “I'm not talking about anything. I didn't ask you that question the other night and I'm not asking you that question today.”
The confusion remained on Beth's face for a few more seconds and then she seemed to understand what was really going on here. “I see.” She was angry.
“You see?”
“I always told Billy you were a real asshole and maybe now he'll agree with me. You're going to get me a lawyerâyour lawyerâso he or she can make sure I don't mention the videotape to the police.”
“We really need to win this campaign,” I said.
“I hate Lake as much as you do.” She glanced at me and then at Billy and then back to me. “I could go to prison here, but you don't give a damn. All you care about is your campaign.”
“That's bullshit, Beth, Dev's not like that,” Billy said.
She mocked him. “âDev's not like that.' When are you going to grow up, Billy?”
“I don't know why everybody's always picking on Dev,” Billy said. “He means well. I know that.”
“Poor old Dev. Everybody's friend.” Now she was ready for Joan Crawford. She flung an arm in the direction of the door and said, “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Dev. I never want to see you or speak to you as long as I live. And I'll get my own lawyer, thank you very much. Now get out of here.”
There wasn't much else to say. In fact, there wasn't anything else to say. I left.
Warren won. The venereal disease played no role. Jim Lake self-destructed one night with a breathtaking racist rant that marked him as at best a rube and at worst a skinhead. I saw a couple of his people the following day. One of them joked that he was on his way to buy a burial plot and casket.The person I was most wrong about in all this was Warren's wife, Teresa. She'd always seemed to be so unaffected by all the Washington bullshit. But faced with losing her status, she showed us who she really was. The
Post
ran a Style piece a few weeks ago about the returning senators and their spouses. Teresa was shown in a dress by an Italian designer whose name I can neither pronounce nor spell. She was hosting a party for the wives of two new senators, one from each party. She looked very happy. In the background Warren was chatting up a young woman who was undoubtedly on his hunting list.
Post
ran a Style piece a few weeks ago about the returning senators and their spouses. Teresa was shown in a dress by an Italian designer whose name I can neither pronounce nor spell. She was hosting a party for the wives of two new senators, one from each party. She looked very happy. In the background Warren was chatting up a young woman who was undoubtedly on his hunting list.
In the eleven months since I left the campaign, I've never seen any of the principals again. The Cook County state attorney decided
against indicting Beth; Laura, whose involvement was apparently unknown to the police, moved to warmer climes; and Kate still works for Warren and dotes on her daughter. Beth and Billy got married a few months back.
against indicting Beth; Laura, whose involvement was apparently unknown to the police, moved to warmer climes; and Kate still works for Warren and dotes on her daughter. Beth and Billy got married a few months back.
I'm back in my apartment. I've spent time in Virginia, Utah, and Florida talking to men and women who are eager to get to Washington and change how this government is run. I've visited my daughter twice and both times took out the lady professor she was telling me about. We had some good times and she'll be here over the holidays. If I promise to put up a tree.
This morning a woman called and said she'd like to talk to me about running for a congressional seat. Very intelligent, very nice voice. The surprise was that Warren had recommended me. I suppose that was my belated reward for not leaking anything I knew about him.
She laughed when she brought up the subject of oppo research. “I don't have anything to hide, Mr. Conrad. I really don't.”
“Everybody's got something to hide.”
“That's an awfully cynical attitude.”
“Yes,” I said, “isn't it, though?”
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