Tuesday’s Child

some pain but refuses to take any pain meds. He’s going to tough it out. He tries to do more therapy than the doctors want, hoping that will speed up the healing process. Men can be stupid sometimes. That’s the good news. The bad news is his other hip is not good. He says his career is over if he has to have his other hip done. That’s not quite true, he actually said that his career is over now. He’s angry with his doctors, and he has a slew of them. None of them will commit to anything, so, of course, like any other stubborn guy, he’s thinking the worst.

“Between you and me, I think his days as a professional golfer are over. He’ll be able to play recreational golf, but no more grueling ten-hour practices, and no more tournaments. There go all his endorsements, but he isn’t even worried about that. All he keeps saying is he’s washed up at the age of thirty-four.

“One good thing is he has no money worries. He’s made some wonderful investments, and he’s always been frugal. They taught us that at the orphanage. He has those two golden retrievers that are at his side night and day. They’re good for him. He walks them religiously, and that’ll keep him active. He’s going to be fine physically. It’s just going to take some time. All he really wanted to talk about was Sophie. I couldn’t tell him anything positive one way or the other. I did share what we have and what we hope to do. That seemed to please him, but he wants it quicker and faster. What can I tell you, Kala, he’s a guy.”

Kala smiled. “Enough said. I want you to think back to the day you and I went to the precinct to pick up Sophie’s belongings after her sentencing. Do you remember that day?”

Patty squeezed her eyes shut to ward off the burning in them. “I remember,” she said softly. “Why are you asking?”

Kala explained about Spenser’s lawsuit and the search warrant. Then she told her about the check that was supposed to arrive via Spenser’s hand tomorrow at ten. “Tell me what you remember about that day.”

“I met you there because you had to go to court that morning to file something, and you were going to be cutting it close by going with me. We went to this… it looked like a dungeon to me at the time, and you signed off for Sophie’s personal effects. You explained to the cop on duty that she was to give me the stuff as you had to head to court. The officer said okay. You left, she went to get it, and came back with a box. She opened the door of the cage where she was sitting, handed me the box. She asked if I wanted to look at it, and I said no. I never did look at it, Kala. Was I supposed to? Is something missing? Sophie didn’t have a whole bunch of stuff, you know. She was even more frugal than Nick. She only had a few changes of clothes with her at the Stars’ and would come back to the apartment on her days off, do her laundry, catch up with me, then head back. Now that we’re talking about it, I do remember thinking the box was kind of heavy, but I wasn’t in any frame of mind that day to want to… you know, look at her things. I just couldn’t cry anymore.”

Kala nodded. “I understand. Where is that box now?”

“You know what, Kala? I don’t know. I don’t mean that it’s lost or anything like that. Nick and his friends moved me out of Sophie’s and my apartment that very same day. They put me into an investment house Nick had just purchased, and I bought it from him. He holds the mortgage on it. You’ve seen it, it’s small. Not a lot of storage, normal closets, no basement. But to answer your question, it’s either in my garage or at Nick’s. He took the overflow to his house because it’s bigger, and he has a three-car garage. By overflow I mean all my research from the paper. I had like fifty boxes of stuff.”

Kala nodded again, and said, “We need to find that box and go through it.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present. Let’s go and give Nick a thrill, two visits in one day. I say we make him give us lunch, too. It will give him something to do. I’ll call him and tell him we’re on our way.”

“Now, that sounds like a plan,” Kala said happily as she got up to follow Patty out of the office. She called out hers and Patty’s plan to anyone listening.

Kala rather thought they were on a roll.

Chapter 18

RYAN SPENSER TOOK ONE LAST LOOK AT HIS REFLECTION IN THE mirror of the men’s room. Time to beard the lion. Such a cliche, but of late his life seemed to be one huge cliche. Once he had been the media’s darling. Today he was The Devil. Right or wrong, he knew that his goose was cooked. There was no way he could recover politically from the slaughter he was going through. Another cliche. If his father had his way, he’d fry his ass. Was that a cliche? He didn’t know or care.

No way was he going to walk away from any of this. No way in hell. Well, goddamn it, his conscience was clear. He had presented what he had to a jury and a judge. He turned the ball over to them. And now here he was as The Devil. He stared hard at his reflection. He’d lost weight, his summer tan was fading. He almost looked ghostly. His Armani suit hung on his big frame. A month ago, he’d looked smashing and debonair in the seven-thousand-dollar suit. A real Renaissance prince to be sure.

Spenser slammed his way through the door. His feet picked up speed as he strode down the marble hall to the EXIT sign, where reporters were waiting for him. He knew they were out there-they’d been dogging him for two weeks. No reason to think they wouldn’t be there again. Look like a winner, and you are a winner-his father’s favorite bit of advice. Look like a loser, and you are a loser. “Bullshit,” he muttered under his breath.

He was on the courthouse steps in the bright sunshine. He wished he’d thought to keep his sunglasses out, but they were in his briefcase. The aviator shades, in his opinion, made him look like movie-star material. If he was guilty of anything, it was of being vain. And he looked like a washed-up movie star.

There were just four reporters trailing him. More proof that he was a has-been. Right then, right that very second, he thought he would sell his soul to the devil if he would magically be given a smoking gun. He felt sick to his stomach as he stood tall and waited for the onslaught of questions. All of which he would respond to with, “No comment at this time.”

The four reporters shouted their questions, talking over each other.

“Is Sophie Lee going to get the payoff she deserves?”

“How do you feel about that payoff? Do you feel guilty?”

“What’s your feeling on Kala Aulani these days?”

“You still going to try to run for governor?”

“Where is Sophie Lee?”

“Do you have any proof Kala Aulani stole evidence from the evidence locker?”

“Did you lose weight, Mr. Spenser? Is that Armani you’re wearing?”

“What’s the Speaker of the House saying about all this?” Then, as an afterthought, “What is your uncle the governor saying?”

The questions kept coming. Spenser felt sick to his stomach. He tried for a smile, but it was sickly at best. “I’ll have a statement shortly. You know I can’t comment on an ongoing situation like this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m already running late.”

“Where are you going, Mr. Spenser?”

He wanted to say, “Home to lick my wounds,” but he clamped his lips shut. They’d all know soon enough where he was going because they’d follow him.

“I’m going home because it’s the only place I can work uninterrupted. I owe the taxpayers my time, and I can’t fulfill my obligations if I’m constantly interrupted. Please, show some respect, okay?”

Finally, finally, he was in his car, a Mercedes 560 SEL convertible. It was blistering hot inside the small car, so he removed his designer jacket, jerked at his tie, then rolled up his shirtsleeves. Hot air blasted from the AC unit. Within seconds, he was drenched in his own sweat. He longed for a drink and a cigarette. He never smoked in public, but he did at home. And then he sucked on mints. Ten minutes and he’d be home and he could indulge himself. Just ten more minutes.

It wasn’t ten minutes but seventeen minutes because somehow he managed to hit every red light on the way home. He roared his way down the ramp, waited impatiently for the guardrail to rise, then raced up to the fourth level of the garage. He hopped out of the car, grabbed his jacket and bulging briefcase, and headed for the private elevator that would take him straight up to his penthouse apartment.

He always enjoyed coming home to his apartment. He loved it there, with the panoramic view of a town he loved, the town he’d sworn to protect as an officer of the court. And now that same town was out to skin him alive