father.”
“That much is true,” he says. “You're not even close.”
“Victor Markham gave a proffer for a plea bargain, Philip. He said that you were there … that you all took Julie McGregor to this house.”
For a moment there is a flash of uncertainty in Philip's eyes, but it is immediately replaced by confidence.
“I don't believe that is true. But even if it were, his death renders that useless.”
“You know,” I say, “Julie McGregor's body was never found.”
Philip smiles, serenely confident. “Is that right?”
“If it was me, if I were a pig like yourself, I would have buried the body. And then I would have covered it up … like maybe with a guest house. Which was built not long after that night. You didn't build it as a future home for your child, Philip. You built it as a headstone for Julie McGregor.”
I see it, a quick look of panic, a steel blade of truth cutting through to the bone. “Andrew …”
“Philip, you went to Yale Law, so how about we try a legal riddle? Ready? When is a useless proffer not useless?”
Philip doesn't answer, so I continue. “Give up? It's when you want to use it to get a search warrant.”
He knows I have him, but he's not giving up. He smiles, almost sadly. “We can reach an accommodation, Andrew. It was so long ago.”
There are some things that I've got to know before this is over. “Why did you do it, Philip? A guy from your family, good-looking, smart, you could have had a lot of women. Why did you have to have Julie McGregor that night?”
“She was no innocent, Andrew. She wanted to as much as we did; then she pretended to change her mind. Well, the unfortunate fact was we hadn't changed ours.”
“So you did what you had to do.”
“And we have had to live with it ever since. Not an easy thing, I assure you.”
“Yeah, you've really suffered. Where was my father when all this happened?”
“In the house.” Philip laughs, as if recounting a funny story from long ago. “He drank too much and he was throwing up.” He laughs again, even harder. “He had a weak stomach and it cost me two million dollars.”
It is all I can do not to strangle him. “You are a scumbag, Philip. My father lost a piece of himself that night- and he never got it back. And you deserve everything that is going to happen to you.”
Philip starts to speak, but when I hear a voice it is not his. “Andy, what are you doing?” It is Nicole, having walked in on us. I'm not sure how much she has heard, but my guess is it's enough.
“I'm sorry, Nicole. It's already done.”
“Andy, what will this accomplish? For God's sake, he's my father.”
“Your father is a rapist and a murderer.”
Before she can respond, Pete, Wallace, and two patrolmen walk from the house to the pool. Frederick walks with them, as if he is escorting them. Wallace goes up to Philip and hands him a piece of paper, which Philip does not take. Wallace puts it on the table.
“This is a search warrant for these premises, Senator. It authorizes us to excavate under the guest house, and it will be lawfully executed this afternoon.”
Nicole goes over to Philip and grabs on to his arm. “Daddy …” she says, as if he is going to fix this.
He just sits there, nothing to say and nothing to do.Nicole sits there with him. They'll probably still be there when Julie McGregor's body is dug up. But I won't be here. I want to get as far away from this as I can.
“RICH OR POOR, IT'S GOOD to have money.” That's what my mother used to say, tongue firmly tucked in cheek, when she'd see an ostentatious display of wealth. Of course, she had no idea she was already rich by virtue of my father's hidden fortune, but I'm learning to accept that and deal with it.
I'm having more trouble learning how to be rich.
It's been two months since the end of the Willie Miller trial, and I still haven't touched the money. I make plans to touch it, I come up with strategies to touch it, but so far no actual contact has taken place.
Laurie thinks I need psychiatric help, an opinion that has become more strident since she happened to be at my house when the mail arrived. The thing is, I've taken to ordering catalogues of every conceivable product ever produced; my mailman has vowed to bill me for his hernia operation. A lot of the merchandise is appealing to me, and Tara has her eye on a cashmere dog bed featured in the “Yuppie Puppy” catalogue. But I haven't actually purchased anything from anywhere. There's time for that.
Philip has resigned from the Senate and is in prison awaiting trial. He's in an actual prison, as the justice system in its infinite wisdom decided that, based on the Victor Markham experience, the ankle bracelet idea just might have some flaws. Philip was arrested the moment poor Julie McGregor's remains were unearthed.
I speak to Wally McGregor at least once a week. He took the news about Philip in stride, and we got back to talking baseball. Wally thinks Willie Mays was better than Mickey Mantle, which pleases me, since it means we'll always have something to argue about.
I haven't heard from Nicole since that day at Philip's house, but I did see her on television at the arraignment. I've tried calling her a couple of times, but she hasn't taken my calls.
Cal Morris is still nowhere to be found. I have an image of him on a Caribbean beach, drinking pina coladas and selling
I've been busy, working on a bunch of cases at once. I'm trying to lure Kevin out of the Laundromat, but he's resisting. If he doesn't relent soon, I'm going to have to hire someone else to help keep up with the workload.
Laurie and I have settled into a nice rhythm, going slow and enjoying ourselves. She's as much friend as lover, and I don't want to do anything that might rock that boat. I made mistakes with Nicole, mistakes I'm wary of repeating.
I've never been accused of being an intellectual, and I get my philosophy wherever I can find it. In the movie
I want Laurie to be a leading player in my “life after that.”
