Sweet Dreams, Irene

“Okay, suppose you’re right. He doesn’t want a story to appear. That doesn’t mean he isn’t guilty.”

“No, but it doesn’t mean he is, either.”

“I don’t know, Lydia. I’m not in any shape to write anything up. Why would he be worried, when I’m not even back at the newspaper?”

“You said he knew about the warrant?”

“Yes. He has highly placed friends, all right.”

“Well, don’t you see? You’re already causing him to call in his markers, just to keep any possible link with these murder cases quiet. Even if he has nothing to hide, he probably can’t afford the notoriety an investigation would cause.”

I had lost interest in the pizza.

“Look, Irene, you could be right. But I’m just trying to get you to keep an open mind about it.”

“Maybe you’re right. If it’s not Gannet, I don’t have any idea of who else it might be. Maybe that’s why I was so anxious to have Frank pursue him — I don’t have anyone else in mind.”

“You don’t?”

Something about the way she said it caught my attention. “Am I missing something?”

She shrugged. “Ignoring someone, maybe.”

“Who?”

“Jack.”

“No way.”

She didn’t say anything, just went back to her pizza.

“Lydia, you can’t say something like that and then just go on eating. Jack saved my life, remember?”

“Did he? Or did he shut Paul up before he could tell you who put him up to killing his grandmother?”

“Jesus Christ, Lydia! That is an incredibly cruel thing to say.”

“Forget it,” she said, shoving her pizza away.

“Listen, I know he looks frightening, but he’s really a very gentle person. Every time I’ve felt down lately, Jack has been able to cheer me up. He’s smart and funny and—”

“Forget it!” she said again, much more sharply.

There was an awful silence. She started to stand up, but I reached over and took hold of her arm.

“No, wait — don’t go. I’m sorry, Lydia.” She sat back down. I shook my head. “Lately I seem to just steamroll over other people’s feelings without thinking. If it’s any comfort, you’re not the only one I’ve done this to. Ask Frank. He’s put up with a lot.”

“I’m sorry too. I forget that you haven’t really had time to deal with any of this yet. It’s only been a couple of weeks. I never should have said anything about Jack, even introduced a worry about him. You’re scared enough as it is. I’m certain Frank would never leave you here alone with someone who couldn’t be trusted.”

“Let’s forget the whole thing. You’re probably right about Gannet. And I’m sure that if you get to know Jack, you’ll like him as much as Frank and I do. There could be any number of other people interested in Mrs. Fremont’s land. I’m just not able to research that right now.”

We settled into safer topics, primarily newsroom gossip. Sitting at the City Desk at the Express, Lydia had the best seat in the house for gathering it. We then went on to Catholic school memories, which have provided an unfailing distraction for both of us in times of trouble over the years. There was, for example, our running disagreement on how many days suspension I served for barricading Sister Mary Elizabeth in the school library in eighth grade.

Frank got home at about nine o’clock, and Lydia left. He looked tired. He took off his shoes, loosened his tie, and plopped down on the couch. I mixed a scotch and water for him; he appreciated the effort. As he drank it, I showed him the knife, and explained that Devon and Raney had bought the other three.

“So that’s where the deer hair came from,” he said, studying it. “I’ll have to show it to Carlos. Of course, any number of these knives may be available at other places in town, but given what Zoe told you and what you heard Devon and Raney say, I’d assume we now have some idea of what the murder weapon looked like.”

“If we found Paul’s knife, could we prove anything against Gannet?”

“I don’t know. Carlos could run DNA tests on the blood on the knife to see if it matched Gannet’s. If it did, it would be up to the D.A. to decide if that would help make a case against him.”

“The same D.A. who apparently decided to tell Gannet you were seeking a search warrant?”

“We don’t know that it was the D.A.’s office that gave us away. To be perfectly honest, I doubt we could get more than an accessory charge out of any of this, and a good defense lawyer would be able to get him off without a lot of effort.” He paused, then said, “You’re scared of him, aren’t you?”

“He knows who we are and where we live; he knows our friends — he even knew Rachel spoke Italian. Just this morning you asked about getting a search warrant, and he must have learned about your request within minutes. He found me out on the streets of downtown Las Piernas, when only you and Rachel knew we were going shopping at all, and when I was the only one who knew what store we were going to, so someone must have been following us. Yes, I’m afraid.”

He was quiet.

“I’m afraid,” I went on, “but I also realize that if he’s putting that much effort into trying to make us back off,