Eye of the Beholder

who’s wearing a wire. And if the government calls, don’t say a damn thing to them without me-or some lawyer- present.

The human impulse is to talk, to explain away something that appears to be incriminating. The instinct is also to lie, or if not lie, to massage the truth. Cops and prosecutors count on the vast majority of people succumbing to these basic principles. Federal prosecutors make a living on it. Even if they can’t prove an underlying charge against you, if you abused the truth a little they will get you on that, and use that to flip you, or put you behind bars, for that reason alone.

Resist the impulse, I tell them. Let the government remain suspicious of you. It’s better than being caught in a lie. You can always talk later.

Thing is, I have nothing to hide.

Stoletti is enjoying this. McDermott is trying to read me.

“This,” I tell them, “is bullshit.”

“Another name that’s come up in the investigation,” McDermott says, “Amalia Calderone. That name ring familiar to you?”

I shake my head no.

“You never made her acquaintance?” Stoletti asks.

“It doesn’t ring a bell,” I answer.

“Two nights ago,” McDermott joins, “she was bludgeoned to death. Does that ring a bell?”

Bludgeoned. Bludgeoned. It doesn’t fit with the second verse’s lyrics. Next up is a straight razor, then a chain saw, then a machete.

“It doesn’t ring a bell,” I repeat. “Should it?”

Stoletti takes the folder from McDermott and produces three eight-by- ten glossies, in color, that she slides across the table.

I take one of the photos and a groan escapes my throat. It’s a close-up of her face, turned to the right. A wound to the right temple, and then massive contusions on the top of the skull. A violent death. She was beaten severely. Whoever did this enjoyed doing it.

“Molly,” I say. The woman who lured me outside of Sax‘s, when I got jumped and robbed. I look up at the cops. “You don’t honestly think I killed her?”

“You tell me, Counselor,” McDermott says. “Explain to me why your fingerprints were found on the murder weapon.”

31

THE SIGN OVER the front of the store says VARTEN’S TOOLS AND CONSTRUCTION EQUIPMENT, a run-down shack attached to a large lumberyard. A bell rings as Leo walks in. The store is empty, save for the clerk, an old guy behind the counter on the phone. Leo walks up to the counter as he looks over the chain saws attached to the wall.

Leo looks at the clerk, who holds up an index finger to him while he finishes his phone call. Leo drums his fingers as he looks around the store, looking casually, just strolling through the neighborhood, thought you might have a chain saw, yeah. Then his eyes move back to the clerk, and then to the counter behind which the clerk is sitting.

He sees a scrap of paper taped down on the counter, a single word on it: TRIM-METER.

He sucks in his breath. Trim-Meter. Pretend to cough, buy some time.

“Help you, sir?”

Leo nods to the wall. He says the words again: Chain saw. He isn’t looking at the clerk when he says it, but he notes the pause, a couple beats too long, long pause-

“Any, uh, any brand in particular?”

Shrug the shoulders, act casual. Like you don’t care.

Look at the man, elderly guy, spotted forehead, tiny neck, seems relieved, he likes the answer-

Leo says the brand the other guy mentioned: Husky.

“Sure, yeah, sure.” That makes the man even happier, he taps the counter and comes around it, now much more animated, happy, shiny and happy“ ‘Course, the Husky isn’t gonna be the cheapest.”

Follow him to the wall, good, he’s away from the counter, follow up with him, he said Husky isn’t the cheapest, ask him what is.

“Cheapest? Honestly, whatever’s oldest.” The man nods to the wall. “Got a Burly 380 that’s good for shrubbery or small trees. Think it’s about ten years old.” He slaps another one. “This here’s a Trim-Meter 220. Has a little wear and tear on it. Probably fifteen years old. These two are my oldest. What do you need it for?”

Same thing the other guy asked.

“Sir, what I mean is, what are you sawing? Shrubs, tree branches, that kind of thing?”

Nod your head yes.

“Give you either one for fifty,” the man says.

Shrug your shoulders, ask him something, say something, say something-

What do you recommend? What do you recommend?

But he doesn’t speak so well.

The man puts a hand on Leo’s arm, like he’s trying to help out someone stupid.

Leo recoils, a sharp pivot to the right.

The man withdraws his hand. His lips part and he breaks eye contact with Leo. He begins to slowly backpedal. “Okay, sir, well-well, I’ll tell you what, I-I might have something in the back that’s cheaper.”

Leo shakes his head.

The man freezes, looks into Leo’s eyes, then over toward the counter-

“Take whatever you want, sir,” he says. “Please.”

He feels a chill. He opens and closes his hands. Looks at the elderly man.

“I wish,” Leo tries. “I wish it-wasn’t me.”

Do it fast, use your hands, no blood, snap- snap.

Scan the place for cameras. Anyone watching? No time. Drag him through a door that says EMPLOYEES ONLY and arrange some boxes in front of his body, in the corner. Go to the front door and reverse the OPEN sign to CLOSED, go back to the employees’ room and finish up with the man.

Grab the Trim-Meter chain saw from the wall, open the door, the chime bids Good-bye. He makes it to the car before the pain in his stomach doubles him over.