me in its spell.
He seemed very nice, she said.
Nice?
Yes. He seemed to want to know the truth.
I guess that makes him nice.
Nicer than most.
Right. Okay. What did he want?
I told you. He wanted to know what happened.
What did you tell him?
The truth, Daddy. What do you think I told him?
I felt weak. I felt dizzy. I was having trouble following.
Let’s talk about it tomorrow, I said.
No. I mean yes. Fine. But there’s something we have to talk about now.
What?
He said you wouldn’t give a DNA sample.
Oh God. What business did he have bringing that up with you?
She looked at me with accusing eyes.
It’s insulting, I explained.
Insulting, she said, with a disdainful air.
I thought about a bottle of Scotch. I’d finished off the talisman, but there had to be another one, stashed somewhere in the house.
They’re just doing their job, Daddy.
I know, I said, resigned.
Some macho guy. Brought low by a sixteen-year-old girl.
I sat and thought. Kelly didn’t take her eyes off me. Waiting for a verdict. Damn. Was it really pride, that made me refuse? How sure was I that I’d had nothing to do with it? I’d convinced myself. Consciously. That the memory, the dreamlike state, had been indeed a dream. Or the recollection of a dream. A confused recollection bred by excess substances and guilt and, God help me, perhaps a touch of wishful thinking. But I hadn’t done it. Hadn’t done a thing. And even if I had – that doubt again – so what? I hadn’t killed her. If she’d killed herself, as a result? Was that my responsibility?
Probably, damn it.
But not legally.
Not murder.
I’d rot in goddamn hell. But I wouldn’t go to jail.
Okay, I said. I’ll do it. For God’s sake. I’ll do it.
All right, she said, and became herself again.
She gave me a small sad smile. A hug.
God, how I needed that.
74.
The morning was ugly. In eighteen different ways. Not counting the blotched and pallid face that met me in the mirror.
I slapped myself. Enough goddamn self-pity.
Or was it self-loathing?
What was the difference?
I made a mental note. To explore that with Sheila.
I called Dorita.
Meet me at my office, I said.
Dorita floated into Starbucks on a ridiculous velvet skirt. Red. Splayed about her like a tutu.
You’re going to love this, she said, in a tone that said I wasn’t.
Great, I said. More bad news. That’s what I crave.
Remember the Gang of Eight?
My fellow probationists? The ones whose meetings I keep forgetting to get myself invited to?
That’s the one. Well apparently they actually did something.
And what, dear girl, did they actually do?
They brought in some business.
All of them? Together?
Sort of. They drew up a plan. They called everyone they knew. Set up lunches with all their contacts. Invited in some outfit to give them lessons in how to pitch business.
Jesus. They got serious.
They did. And the funny thing is, it worked.
Really?
They already got six new matters in the door.
You’re kidding.
I’m not. And Warwick is crowing about it.
What the hell does he have to do with it?
He’s taking all the credit, of course.
For threatening to fire us all?
The probation thing. A masterful stroke of management, he says. Lit a fire under them.
Shit, I said. It wasn’t really Harwood, was it? All Warwick needed was an excuse. To get rid of me.
You were the only one who didn’t participate, Rick.
They never invited me, goddamn it.
You never asked, Ricky. Doesn’t exactly show initiative, does it?
Yeah, yeah. Shit. I’m doomed.
There’s always hope.
I’m close to concluding that there is not.
Is not?
Always hope.
Oh dear.
I sat and thought about my fate.
I resigned myself to it.
It was time to get down to business.
Time’s running out, I said. The preliminary hearing’s in less than two weeks.
Let’s get to work, then.
What next?
Sounded like you had something in mind.
I don’t. Sue me.
Jesus. Okay. Let’s go talk to the twins.
Sure. We can appeal to their sympathy. Tell them I’m in danger of being fired. They’ll confess.
Just talk to them. Get to know them. God knows what information they may have. Maybe without even knowing it.
I suppose.
All right, then. Pick one.
I’ll take Raul. I’m not sure I’ve exactly ingratiated myself with Ramon.
All right. I’ll take Ramon.
But there’s just one thing.
