The Silent Hour

daughter and his ex-wife and the new stepfather. What was it he’d said that day at Sokolowski’s? Nine times out of ten I conclude that my wife was right to go, and that my daughter’s better off for it. I wondered which one of the ten he was on right now.

“Maybe tonight wasn’t an impressive audition,” he said, “but I’m not going to worry about it. I’m here to see it through, and I’ll do that.”

The light changed, and I pulled across the street and into the parking lot, bringing the truck to a stop outside the door closest to his room.

“I’ll talk to Graham, and give you a call in the morning,” I said.

“All right.” He opened the door, then paused with one foot on the pavement and one still in the cab. “We’re going to see this thing to the end, Lincoln. Twelve years I’ve been waiting for that.”

“Maybe we will, or maybe we’ll still be talking about it, pissed off and annoyed, ten years from now. That happens sometimes, Ken.”

He shook his head. “Not this time. No, I’ve got a feeling about it.”

My apartment was dark and empty when I came inside, and I felt a surge of disappointment that Amy wasn’t there. No surprise—we hadn’t made plans for the night, and she rarely came by unannounced—but some nights you can’t help wishing that someone were waiting for you, had a light on. Of course, the first time that happened I’d probably wince at the sight of the light in the window and think longingly of a quiet, empty, and dark home. What can I say? We private eyes are dualistic creatures. It’s one of our human traits.

I wanted to call Amy but figured Graham should come first. Sitting on the couch, I unbuttoned my shirt, removed the wire, and checked the recorder to see if all looked right. It did, but I wouldn’t be sure until I hooked it up to the computer, ripped the audio file, and played it back. That would wait until morning. I found Graham’s number and called.

“I’m about to get in bed with my wife, Linc. In other words, you best have something worthwhile to say.”

I looked at the clock. “It’s not even nine, Graham.”

“Said I was getting into bed with her. Didn’t say anything about sleeping.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, ah. Now, what do you have?”

I took him through it as accurately as I could, albeit with a touch of varnish on my description of Ken’s contributions. It wasn’t a heavy enough coat.

“He told Harrison that Bertoli was a suspect?”

“You wanted us to drop the name.”

“Drop the name, not call him a suspect! You think that’s one and the same?”

“The implication would’ve been there anyhow.”

He grumbled at that but let it go. “So Salvatore’s name gave Harrison a little stir, did it?”

“Felt that way.”

“Interesting. What do you think of that bit he said to you at the door?”

“That Alexandra asked him to stay because she was afraid? I’m not sure what to think of it.”

“I’ll ask you this, then—suppose you a woman, and you afraid. A convicted murderer is who you turn to for help?”

“Could be she trusted him.”

“Uh-huh, even if I buy that, I still go back to the convicted murderer element. She wants a guy with those credentials around for help, then what do you think she was afraid of?”

“Husband, maybe.”

“Guy’s a scholar, Linc. Weighed maybe a hundred and forty pounds, spent his day stuck in a book.”

“You’ve been around long enough to know that doesn’t mean a thing.”

“No, but if she’s afraid of him, why not call her brother?”

“So maybe it was the brother she was afraid of.”

“That’s what I like about your mind, Linc. It works just like mine, only slower.”

“That’s a big jump, man, suggesting Dominic would go after his own sister.”

“Who said anything about going after her? We’ve got one person confirmed dead, Linc, and it ain’t Alexandra.”

“You think she was afraid for her husband.”

“Makes sense, since he turned up dead,” Graham said, but then rushed out, “Look, let’s don’t get too sidetracked with this. Only reason we’re even talking about it is because of what Harrison said, and I don’t know how high he’d score in truthfulness. What do you think?”

“About Harrison?”

“Yeah. You were the one sat there and talked with him tonight. Give me your instinct. You feel he’s being straight? That he doesn’t know a hell of a lot more about this than he’s saying?”

I thought about it, remembering his words, his body language, his eyes.

“No,” I said. “I don’t trust him.”

“Exactly. Now, you expect to hear from him? Think he’ll take the bait?”

“Here’s what I expect—if he takes it, he’ll do so knowing damn well that it’s bait. He’s smart, Graham. He’s awfully smart.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Graham said.

I was—And that’s why, when I got to the office at eight thirty the next morning to discover Harrison had left a message three hours earlier, I didn’t view it as any sort of victory.

He’d called at five twenty in the morning and prefaced the message with an apology for the early hour, explaining that he needed to be at work by six.

I know this is your office number, though, so I assume it’s not a problem. I gave your offer some consideration, Lincoln, and I’ve decided to accept. I’ll put a new retainer check in the mail today. For one thousand dollars. If that’s not enough, let me know. The check will be made out to you. If you’d like to pay Ken Merriman the full sum, that’s your decision, but the only way I’ll approach this is with you as a go-between. I think that’s fair, seeing how you’re the one who brought him to me. It wouldn’t be right for you to be completely removed from this. I’m not comfortable with that.

He paused there, and I could hear his breathing, fast and shallow, in direct contrast with his patient, careful manner of speaking.

I imagine you might be speaking with Detective Graham at some point. Feel free to give him my regards.

Another pause.

All right, so, I’ll mail the check. Now, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your business, but I suppose since you’re working for me, it’s fine if I make a request. Leave Mark Ruzity alone. He shouldn’t be of interest to you, and he shouldn’t be bothered. I’d like you to keep your distance from Mark.

That was the end of the message. I listened to it a few times before Ken showed up, and as soon as he sat down I played it again and watched his face darken as Harrison talked.

“You get the sense he may know exactly what we’re doing?” he said when the message was done.

“I suggested that to Graham last night.”

“And?”

“Graham doesn’t agree, or doesn’t care. I’m not sure which.”

“What Harrison said about him . . . that felt like a message, didn’t it? Like he was telling us—”

“That he knows we’re doing this at Graham’s direction? Yeah.”

“You talk to Graham since this call?”

“Tried and didn’t get him. Left a message.”

“Harrison still seems quite taken with you, Lincoln. Supposedly he just hired me, right? But he did that through a call to you and a check made out to you. What do you think of that?”

I shook my head. “No idea. Why’d he come to me in the first place? Why keep writing letters after it was clear I wouldn’t respond? Why show up at my office after months of being ignored?”