other words, he had to find some place that’d feed him. I made some crack about the Pequot being the right choice given his intestinal situation.”
“Hodges always said whitefish has medicinal properties.”
Ronny took that briefly under consideration. “He hasn’t poisoned me yet. Though you got to wonder where some of those concoctions actually come from.”
“Far as I know Sullivan never showed up that night at the Pequot. Hodges would have told me.”
“He told me he was making a stop on the way” said Ronny “Pick somebody up. Pequot regular.”
“Regular?”
“You, actually. Said you didn’t care what you ate.”
“Only I was at a fundraiser. He wouldn’t’ve known that.”
“Fundraiser. Pretty uptown.”
“Ross never talked to you?”
“Like I said. Lost in space.”
“Tell him anyway,” I said. “It’s material.”
“Sure, if that’s what it is. Seems like it is to me. Go back to your bag,” he told me, and left me there halfway through my workout and now all the way bugged out of my concentration. I went over to a bench and sat down, resting my gloves palms-up on my thighs.
There were so many things I wasn’t good at that a full accounting would never be completed. But it wasn’t hard to list some principal failings. I could group them around general headings, like the tendency to objectify any ugly, seemingly unsolvable problem until it almost took on mass, creating a focus for my frustration and wrath. When the data points defied organization and whirled around in a crazed Brownian motion of willful disorder it was easier to see it as a living thing. I once thought I could live without uncovering a solution if I could only comprehend the problem. But that was probably another lie. Maybe what I ultimately feared was the loss of control that comes from a failure to understand.
“Over our heads,” I said. “No shit.”
I closed my eyes and tried to see Jonathan standing outside his Lexus tossing the tennis ball into the harbor. But I couldn’t hold the image. Sullivan kept coming in, floating like a pale manatee in the Jacuzzi at Sonny’s. Bullshitting with Ronny Heading home to change his clothes. Putzing around his yard for a while. Checking his watch. Getting in his Bronco and driving slowly, obeying every scofflaw speed limit as he drove from where he lives in Shinnecock Hills over to North Sea. Up to Oak Point. I’m not there, but he’s tired and edgy and really wants to talk to somebody—really doesn’t want to eat dinner on his own. Knows the door’s never locked so he goes in to say hi to Eddie, who’s usually outside. Sullivan doesn’t let him out, having the responsible cop sense to assume I had a reason for leaving him in. Grabs some of Burton’s fancy imported beer from the refrigerator. Goes out to the Adirondack chairs. Drinks the beers. Pissed off that Sam hasn’t showed up yet. Stares at the Peconic. Drinks a few more beers.
I went and told Ronny that I’d call Ross for him, that he’d probably have to follow up, but I needed to talk to him right away.
“No problem here,” he said. “I got a phone in my office. All he’s gotta do is call.”
I think he had more to say about it, but I was on my way to the shower.
—
The Town’s police headquarters was in the pine scrubs north of Hampton Bays, but closer than the nearest pay phone, so I took a chance and drove over there to see if I could intercept Ross. The woman who usually commanded the little sliding window in the reception room looked like she’d been waiting all day for me to show up. She had close-cropped curly brown hair and thick glasses. Wore a starched blue shirt and a territorial attitude. I irritated her, which put me in familiar territory.
“I need to talk to Ross. He in?” I asked.
“And this is concerning?” she asked me.
“He knows me. Is he in?”
“I need your name,” she said, looking at me as if to say, “if you don’t tell me your name in half a second I’ll have you spread-eagle on the floor.”
“Sam Acquillo, Janet. The same Sam Acquillo you nod at when we bump into each other in the grocery store. You could save us both a lot of time if you just called Ross and told him I want to talk to him.”
“I don’t know if he’s back there.”
“Let’s check. What can it hurt?”
She didn’t like it but reached over anyway and dialed Ross’s line, keeping her eyes fixed on me. I wondered if she’d done some time on the street, and then realized that of course she had. Explained why we understood each other so well. She slid the glass window shut while she talked on the phone, then hung up and slid it open again.
“You can go back,” she said, buzzing me in, as if I’d just passed the initiation.
I was always struck by the universality of office environments. I’d been in hundreds around the world and every one was essentially the same. Whether your purpose was cracking hydrocarbons, producing movies or sending people to jail, the desks, phones, cubicles and feigned industry were all fundamentally the same. I snaked my way through the open task room to Ross’s glass-enclosed office in the back. Ross was leaning back in his chair supported by one foot stuck in an open drawer. A cigarette smoldered in the ashtray while he pulled another from a crumpled soft pack.
“I think you offended Officer Orlovsky” he said.
“Probably. I’m good at that.”
“Got to be good at something.”
“How can I get through this without offending you?” I asked him.
“Easy. Can’t offend me. And if you do, I’ll just shoot you. Kidding.”
He got the cigarette lit, so I stubbed out the one in the ashtray and pushed it across his desk so he could smoke without tilting his chair back down.
“I’m guessing forensics did a full deal on Sullivan’s shirt,” I said.
“Yeah, Staties up in Albany. First rate.”
“And you can’t tell me what they found.”
“That’s right. The DA has a little rule about discussing evidence with a suspect.”
“Suspect? You think I stabbed Sullivan?”
“No, but I don’t think you’re telling me everything I need to know. So if the DA wants to like you a little, that’s okay with me. Makes for kind of a bonding thing between us, legally speaking. Gives me the right to keep an eye on you.”
“That’s great. Thanks a lot, Ross.”
“You know my old man used to fish with yours.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Said he was a Grade A son of a bitch.”
“That’d be generous.”
“But honest. Too honest. Said whatever he thought. My dad was a cop, too. Suffolk County.”
“I think I knew that.”
“Still alive. Has a place in the Village. He remembers you. Said you were like a weird version of your old man. Tough little shit. Never knew how to back down. We pulled your sheet after that last thing. Seems like you still don’t.”
“I’m over that now.”
“Your old man told my old man he could never push you past a certain point. He liked that about you. Bragged about it.”
That was news to me. I never thought my father even noticed I was living in the same house except when I was in the way of the TV or when he wanted me to go get a tool from the shed. I tried to imagine him talking about me to other people, but couldn’t. It made me a little light-headed, so I stopped.
“What if I just asked you stuff about the shirt and you can tell me if I’m hot or cold.”
I figured that worked with the FBI.
“We’ve been on Fleming and his people like white on rice, but haven’t seen anything but Statie undercover
