The Silent Hour

done right.”

“Which means—”

“Which means you probably ought to go on back home.” He said it gently but met Ken’s eyes. “That’s no disrespect, Kenny. Okay? The truth of it is, man, there ain’t nothing for you to do that the police can’t do better.”

Ken looked at me, eyes hot, as if he were waiting for me to jump into the fray and argue. When I stayed silent, he turned back to Graham.

“What are the police doing? A few days ago you were in here telling us how overstretched you are. Sounded to me like you needed the help.”

“All right,” Graham said, still with the temperate touch in his voice, “then why don’t you tell me what you’re going to do to help?”

Again Ken looked at me. “Detective work, Graham. That’s what we’re going to do.”

“And that means?”

“Getting out on the street, talking to witnesses, running down leads,” Ken said, anger in his voice now. He seemed to think Graham was talking down to him, patronizing, but I didn’t read it that way. Graham was trying not to bruise egos, but the reality was he wanted us out of the way because he didn’t think we could do anything but harm.

“All of which I’ve done, and will continue to do,” Graham said. “You’ll end up right where I am now, Kenny— staring down Sanabria and Harrison.”

“So you’re saying this one’s unsolvable?” Ken said. “Time to put it under wraps, nothing left to do?”

Graham shook his head. “I intend to solve it. I think we will. We should have lab results from the body and the grave in a few months, maybe in a few weeks if we’re lucky, and hopefully those will open up some doors. I expect that they will.”

“So you want to shut us down,” Ken said, “but at the same time you want us to communicate with Harrison. Well, the communication he wants is about our progress on the investigation. Going to be pretty difficult to sit around and chat with him if we’re not doing anything.”

Graham’s jaw worked as he looked at Ken.

“He makes a fair point,” I said. “You can’t have it both ways, Graham. Either we’re involved or we’re not. You make the call.”

“Okay—you’re out.”

Ken bristled, but I just nodded. “All right. I guess I better call Harrison, then, tell him tonight’s meeting is off.”

“You plan a meeting with him?”

“No. He called today and requested one. Seems he’s got some things on his mind. Wanted to have a talk.”

Graham was looking at me as if considering how satisfying it would be to pop my head right off my neck, but finally he sighed and nodded.

“Go talk to him, then. See what he says, get it on tape, and then call me. Do not, under any circumstance, talk to anyone else until you’ve cleared it with me. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“While I’m here, I want a copy of the tape from your last talk, too.”

“I burned it onto a CD for you.”

“Good. At least I’ll get something out of this drive.” He stood up and reached for the CD. “You have any idea what Harrison wants?”

“None,” I said.

Graham slid the CD into his pocket, then looked at both of us silently.

“Don’t worry, Graham,” I said. “You’ll learn to love us.”

“That’s what my wife told me when she got a dog—and you know what?”

“What?”

“Time to time, dog still shits on my rug.”

22

__________

Ken wanted to ride out to Harrison’s house with me, but I didn’t like that idea. Harrison had requested a one-on-one meeting, for whatever reason, and I didn’t want to irritate him by leaving Ken sitting in my car in the parking lot. So instead I left him sitting at a bar, with Amy for a conversation partner.

“You’re not real good with the art of relationships,” she observed as I drove her to the Rocky River Brewing Company, a microbrewery that was one of Amy’s favorite drinking venues. “It’s not exactly standard for a guy to take his girlfriend to a bar and drop her off with orders to entertain another man.”

“I’m not telling you to sleep with him. Just buy him some drinks, maybe give him a shoulder rub.”

“Yeah, it’s a stunner that your fiancee ended up with another guy. A true puzzle.”

By the time we got there, Ken was already at the bar, halfway through a beer called the Lakeshore Electric. He stood up when we approached, and I made introductions, wishing like hell that I could just stay with the two of them instead of driving off for yet another strange conversation with Parker Harrison.

“I’ll head back this way when I’m done with our boy,” I said to Ken. “Until then, watch your ass around Amy. She’s a mean drinker.”

By the time I got to the door, I could already hear her apologizing for me. It’s not an uncommon occurrence.

Then it was back to Old Brooklyn, as the twilight settled in warm and still and with the wet touch of humidity that promised real summer. I kept the windows down and turned James McMurtry up loud on the stereo and thought that it would be a perfect night to sit in the outfield, watching one of those spring games that can’t help but be fun because it’s too early to feel much concern or disappointment over your team. Maybe if Harrison didn’t want too much of my time, we could do that. I knew Amy would be up for it, and what else did Ken have to do?

By the time I reached Harrison’s apartment, there was nothing left of the sun but a thin orange line on the horizon, the streetlights were on, and James McMurtry had just finished explaining why he was tired of walking and wanted to ride. I’d put the recorder and wire on before I left my apartment, and now I adjusted my collar and gave one quick look in the mirror to be sure the microphone wasn’t visible. It wasn’t. I got out and walked up to Harrison’s apartment, found the window dark. The door opened at my first knock, though, and Harrison stood in front of me with a dish towel in his hands, his forearms streaked with moisture. Behind him I could see a light on in the kitchen, the living room gloomy with nothing but the fading daylight.

“Lincoln. Come in.”

I stepped through the door, and he closed it behind me. Now I wanted a lamp on.

“You mind turning on a—”

“You both need to stop.”

“What?”

“You and Ken Merriman. Tell him to keep the money. Or you keep the money. Either way, I think you both need to stop. Send him home.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer but also didn’t look away.

“Harrison? What the hell is going on?”

He wet his lips. “Lincoln, do you remember what I told you at first? The reason I wanted to find Alexandra?”

“You wanted to be in touch with her.”

“No. Well, yes, that was part of it, but what I told you I wanted most was—”

“To know what happened. To know the story.”

He nodded. “It’s not worth it.”