“I have. I’ve read most of them twice.”
“What do you like best?”
“I lean toward the classics, but I get a kick out of some of the genre fiction. Especially cop stuff.”
“Do you have a favorite writer?”
“Dozens of them. Did you come over here to ask me about my tastes in literature?”
“I came to tell you something, but to be honest, I’m feeling a little awkward.”
“Would you like a glass of wine? Maybe that would help. I’ve already had one myself, but after the past couple of weeks, I wouldn’t mind another.”
I drank two beers with Bates, but it’s been more than an hour. I don’t think a glass of wine will put my blood-alcohol level over the legal limit, but the last thing I want to do is catch a buzz and start blathering. The room is so cozy, though. So warm. And she’s so damned easy to look at.
“Sure, a glass of wine would be nice.”
“I’m drinking Chablis. Do you like Chablis?”
“I have no idea. Not much of a connoisseur, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She goes to the kitchen, and I wander around the room and look at some of the photos. Most of them are of a handsome black man. In a couple of the photos, the man is young, wearing the uniform of the United States Air Force. I notice silver bars on his collar. He’s a captain. In another photo, he’s older, wearing a police officer’s uniform.
“Is this your father?” I ask when Anita comes back into the room.
“Yes. He just retired from the Memphis Police Department. He worked there for more than thirty years.”
“And your mother? Is this her?” I point to a photo of a middle-aged woman sitting on a porch swing.
“That’s my grandmother. My mother left us when I was very young.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s all right. It was difficult at the time, but I learned to deal with it. I didn’t hear from her until I graduated from law school. Turned out she didn’t go any farther than Collierville. She was living with a man there. My father never divorced her, though. I think he still loves her.”
“Why did she leave?”
“She was lonely, I suppose. My father worked all the time. He thought he was doing what he was supposed to do. It’s all he’s ever known.”
Anita walks back over to her chair and sits down. I take a sip of wine. It’s warm going down my throat.
“How do you like it?” Anita says.
“Excellent.”
“Do you like Chopin?” She waves her hand slightly. “I think it’s beautiful.”
“I like classical music in small doses. I’m more of a rhythm and blues guy.”
“So what did you come to tell me?”
I take another sip of the wine and look at her. I’ve been struggling with this for weeks now. Before I start to talk, I raise the glass to my lips and take a long swallow. I set the glass on the table, rest my elbows on my knees, and fold my hands.
“I saw Tommy Miller the morning Judge Green was killed. I found him sleeping downstairs on a couch at my house before I left for work. I didn’t really think anything about it at the time. I thought he probably just didn’t want to go home the night they buried his dad. But later, after I found out what had happened to the judge and after I talked to you at the crime scene, I guess I should have told you.”
She’s holding the wineglass under her nose with both hands, gently swirling the liquid and breathing in deeply.
“Now you’ve told me,” she says quietly. “It doesn’t really change anything, does it?”
“There’s more. I found out later that the clothes he was wearing when he woke up smelled like gasoline. He had what seemed to be a reasonable explanation at the time, so I didn’t say anything to anyone.”
“What was his explanation?”
“He was drunk, and he spilled gas on himself when he stopped at a station.”
“That should be easy enough to verify, provided we can ask him which station he went to.”
“You’ll have to find him first.”
“Did he tell you all of this?”
“No. I haven’t talked to him. It’s all secondhand.”
“And what became of this clothing?” Anita says.
“I’m not sure. I think it might have been destroyed.”
“Intentionally destroyed?”
“I’m not sure.”
“By whom?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it could potentially harm someone I love very much.”
“Your son?”
“Someone I love very much. That’s all I’ll say.”
Anita leans forward, the wineglass still dangling from her slender fingers.
“You realize you’re telling me you may very well be guilty of a crime, Counselor. And this person you love so much, he or she could be guilty of a crime as well.”
“I know.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know.” I hesitate for several seconds. “I still don’t think Tommy killed the judge, but I guess I just wanted to apologize for not being honest with you from the beginning.”
She’s silent for a minute, and then she does something that takes me completely by surprise. She gets up from the chair, walks over, and sits next to me on the couch. I feel a tightness in my stomach, a rush of excitement. My face flushes, and I immediately feel guilty.
“I owe you an apology, too,” she says. She smells like lilac.
“Really? For what?”
“For getting you fired. Indicting Tommy Miller was my boss’s idea. But sitting there listening to you rip the case apart and thunder away at Mooney made me realize I should have stood up to him. I guess I was feeling a little desperate with all the pressure to make an arrest. Judges and politicians from all over the state were calling my boss, and he was starting to lean on me. You know how cops are. The last thing you want to admit is that you have nothing, that you can’t prove a single thing. So when Harmon came up with this bright idea to go to Mooney, I went along with it. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”
“You’re not the first cop who’s given in to the temptation to use the power of the grand jury prematurely,” I say, “and I’m sure you won’t be the last.”
“I never dreamed it would cost you your job,” she says.
She places her hand on my thigh, and my skin tingles. I take another drink of the wine.
“I’m fine,” I say. “We’re fine. Don’t worry about it. Listen, I need to get going. Caroline should be home by now. Thanks for talking to me.”
I set the empty wineglass on the table and stand. Anita leads me back through the condo to the door. She opens it and I step out into the night air. Relief washes over me. I’ve escaped. But I turn back.
“May I ask you a personal question?”
“Sure.”
“Why aren’t you married? I mean, you’re bright, you’re beautiful, you’re talented. I can’t believe they’re not standing in line to snatch you up.”
“I’m waiting for a man like my father,” she says. “I’ve only met one who could even come close, and he’s taken.”
She smiles at me and winks, and gently closes the door.
