the rest of us who are emotional ciphers, in his mind. What was it that Ted Bundy said, with a shrug? There’s a million brown-haired girls out there in the world; who’s going to miss another one or two?
Or three dozen.
And it’s the fear, I’m guessing, of descending to that state that drives a certain type of borderline narcissist, like me, to his obsession with ‘goodness.’
Which notion Sheila deftly used to steer me off the abstract plane.
That might explain all the strong women, she said.
How is that connected?
You’ve always needed a woman.
I can’t deny that. But that hardly makes me unusual.
But more particularly a strong-willed woman. One who will tell you what to do and think, in no uncertain terms. Because you can’t trust yourself to make those decisions.
Yes. Melissa had been like that, once. Long ago.
38.
I called up Russell Graham, Ada. Maybe I could scare up a little more intelligence. Not likely, but worth the try. It seemed to me that there was all sorts of stuff going on here. Tangled relationships. Hatred. Vengeance. Anger. Drugs. There had to be some tortured paths to follow, see where they would lead. Maybe he’d see it that way too.
There was only one way to find out.
I asked for a bit of his time, and a look at the crime scene photos.
I got lucky. Somebody had copped a plea. He had a free hour.
I grabbed a cab. It smelled of broiled octopus and seaweed. It made me hungry. I resisted the urge to stop off at a sushi joint.
Russell Graham, ADA, made me wait again.
Warwick was the same way. When you were granted entrance to the august chambers, he’d sit with his back to you, reading e-mails. Just long enough for you to imbibe the crucial fact that you were nothing to him. A speck. A mote. Worthy of attention only at his whim.
Like I said, this Russell Graham kid was going far.
After the suitable interval I was nodded in to the dusty, weathered room. This time his sleepy colleague had absented himself in advance. I sat on a creaking metal chair. Russell Graham sat, poised and professionally correct, behind his army-issue metal desk.
I guess you won’t mind if I take a look at the photos? I said.
I do not, he said with exquisite politeness. In fact, I’ve had some copies made for you. He pushed a manila envelope across the desk. I glanced in quickly. Photos all right. I’d examine them closely later. Didn’t want him to read anything into me, watching me look at them.
I decided to get right to it.
What about these twins? I asked.
There was a moment’s pause. The ADA looked into my eyes. His look was searching. Not impolite. Earnest. Ambiguous. Well chosen.
The twins, he said at last. The adoptive brothers. Yes. We’ve checked them out.
And?
An interesting story, all of that.
He said no more.
Interesting, I said, yes. Any connections, you think, to the Larry Silver thing?
Another pause.
Haven’t found any, he said.
Ah. But you’ve interviewed them?
We’ve talked to anyone who might have information.
I took that for a yes.
Seriously, I said, just between you and me…
He laughed a good-natured laugh, which I ignored.
… just between you and me, doesn’t the whole thing strike you as a bit of a snake pit?
What whole thing? he asked disingenuously.
The twins thing. The mother thing. The whole thing.
I was being deliberately vague. I didn’t want to tell him anything he didn’t already know.
He reciprocated.
Ah yes, he said. It’s an interesting family.
Don’t you think there might be some rather tangled motives in all of that? Stuff worth following up?
We follow up whatever seems appropriate to follow up, he said, a testy edge creeping into his voice.
Well, can you tell me anything about these twins? Without revealing any trade secrets, of course.
He gave me a wan smile. Thought an inordinately long time. I pulled out a cigarette. Lit it. What the hell. I figured I was entitled. He wrinkled his nose slightly, but didn’t protest. That was good enough for me.
They’re curious, he said at last.
Curious?
Yes. Curious.
In what way?
He thought again. I could almost see the wheels spinning inside that handsome head.
They’ve certainly taken full advantage of their position, he said. In what way?
The phone rang. The ADA looked me in the eye while he answered it.
He nodded his head once or twice.
Okay, he said into the phone. I’ll be right there.
He smiled apologetically.
The audience was over.
I bowed to the inevitable. I very politely excused myself. He very politely excused the interruption. I understood, I assured him. It’s the nature of the business.
The elevator ride to the street seemed to take forever.
Damn. The guy could have given me a bone. Dropped a crumb.
39.
I needed to get out of town.
I popped into a record store. Picked up a couple of Allman Brothers CDs. Grabbed a cab. Curiously, it had no smell. I directed the driver to the local Avis shop. Rented a generic pale blue car, with Utah plates. I’d hit the road. A good long drive would give me time to think.
On second thought, I didn’t want to spend that much time with myself.
I called Butch.
Butch, I said, let’s hit a casino.
I hope you don’t mean what it sounds like you mean, he said with a laugh.
No, no. Let’s go play poker.
Ah. Poker. I’m tempted.
Come on. Take the rest of the day off. I did. If I can do it, you can do it.
I’m not sure that’s always true, he chuckled. But today, it just might be. I don’t have a whole lot on my plate.
