He awoke and knew he had slipped to that inky world that Mama had shaped. She used to say, with her sure smile, right before she warmed the wrench on the stove or clicked the clothespin shut on his little flick of a penis: We’re together forever, honeybunch, and don’t you ever forget it.
Thank God, he would think, that he had managed to become the hero of his own story. Mama had not won. He had. He would still.
His phone rang; he picked up and chatted through morning niceties, then listened.
‘This young woman who found Pete’s body,’ the familiar voice murmured into his ear. ‘Do me a favor. Give her some money. Get her out of town.’
‘Sure,’ said the Blade. ‘I can do that for you.’
‘Santa Fe is lovely this time of year, and I bet there’s a nice, affordable youth hostel. Or perhaps Florida, if she’s still set on a beach.’ He listened to detailed instructions and hung up the phone.
His thumb began to itch for the keen sharpness of his knife. If Heather Farrell needed to leave town… well, many were the avenues. A hefty bribe paled compared to other options. He’d gotten away with this every time. (Well, except that one time, so very long ago.) Why not again? He was already in the mood.
He considered how best to approach the problem and how to avoid any messy ramifications. A lure, simple, would do. Nothing could interfere, after all, with his plan for Velvet. He ducked under the sagging bed he slept on and reached for his bowie knife. It was lovely, stout, and sharp enough to cut hopes and dreams. He rummaged in a box with MAMA’S STUFF written on the side in thick Magic Marker and found a worn sharpening stone. The Blade dragged the knife back and forth across the stone, a rhythmic caress that whispered: Heath-er, Heath-er, Heath- er.
The Blade flicked on his stereo. The Beach Boys sang in perfect harmony about their 409, and the knife moved to the beat.
14
Claudia wrote a terse report on the investigation’s status and left it on Delford’s empty desk. She grabbed a cup of thin coffee from the kitchen. When she got back to her desk, the dispatcher was buzzing her. She had a visitor in the lobby, Faith Hubble.
‘I get the feeling,’ the dispatcher whispered, ‘she don’t like waiting.’
The lobby was barely ten feet by ten feet, cramped with a chair, a side table of old magazines, and a rack of flyers on safety and community policing. The woman sat in the chair, pulling a loose string from the tattered upholstery and snapping it with her fingernail.
‘Mrs Hubble? I’m Claudia Salazar.’
Faith stood and offered a hand. They shook hands quickly, and Faith followed Claudia back to her office.
From their phone conversation, Claudia had pictured a different woman. She’d imagined one of those no- nonsense Austin politicos, health-club firm and sorority-girl petite, blond-helmet hair, with a crisp suit and jump- when-I-say demeanor. Faith Hubble was a big-boned woman, approaching six feet tall, generously chested and thighed, with a creamy complexion and thick brown hair arranged in a hurried French braid. Pretty but loosely put together. Her Italian suit was tailored, black with a white silk blouse, but the jacket was already rumpled and a smear of jam soiled the cuff. Claudia imagined Faith more at home on a honky-tonk bar stool than a campaign trail.
‘Have a seat, Mrs Hubble.’
‘Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, hon. I assume we’re both pressed for time, so I won’t dilly-dally with you – what’s the status of the investigation?’ Faith kept her eyes – bright hazel beauties – firmly fixed on Claudia’s face, like a drill sergeant surveying a sweating recruit.
‘Mostly we’re waiting for lab reports.’ Claudia was uneasy with the idea of snapping to and giving this woman a complete rundown, but she suspected Delford would provide the Hubbles all the information. There was little point in being evasive.
‘And when will the lab geeks deliver?’
‘Tomorrow. Or the next day.’
‘Any way to rush them?’ Faith asked. ‘Obviously the family wants to know what happened as soon as possible.’ Her voice was low and throaty, as though corroded by cigarettes or whiskey.
‘Science can’t be rushed. Certain tests take a certain amount of time.’ Claudia paused. ‘I’m sure you and the senator wouldn’t want the tests to be inaccurate.’
‘Honey, I’m dealing with a devastated mother and a heartbroken son. They need some sort of closure.’
No grief of your own? Claudia thought. Faith Hubble carried herself more like a woman inconvenienced than bereaved. How would you feel now if David died, though? A sense of loss would be inescapable. David had not been a bad husband, just not the right one for her. Their life had not been all misery. She hoped her heart would be big enough to mourn his passing.
Faith straightened her sleeve, noticed the jam, and muttered in anger. Her fingernails were painted cranberry red, and she clicked them together impatiently.
‘I’m also dealing with a press corps with a decided lack of scandal or news in this campaign, and they’re gonna be on Pete’s death like dogs on ribs. They got deadlines and imaginations, hon, and they’re gonna write. I’d like to be sure your department doesn’t feed them newsy tidbits that are inappropriate.’
‘We’ve told the press nothing but the bare essentials. That a man was found dead on a boat at the marina and we’re investigating.’
‘Pete’s death was all over the radio this morning, Detective. They knew his name, that he was Lucinda’s son.’
‘I’m sure the press spoke to people at the marina. People could see which boat we swarmed over, I guess they knew his name. I’m afraid we can’t stifle the public. Or Pete’s friend Velvet.’
Faith rubbed her forehead. ‘Do you know what it’s like to have your life be tabloid fodder? It’s like showering in a glass bathroom.’ She shook her head. ‘I know… that y’all know what Pete did for a living. Delford told us. And I can’t let Aaron Crawford use this to defeat Lucinda. He could use Pete’s suicide as an unfair disparagement on Lucinda’s abilities as a mother.’
He was your husband. Father of your child. Do you even care one bit about him? Claudia wondered. ‘Such a tactic might backfire. Voters might see it as a rotten attempt to gain from Mrs Hubble’s personal loss.’
‘Never overestimate the voters,’ Faith said.
‘No confidential information will leak from this department. I’ll be sure all press inquiries are routed to me or Delford.’
‘I’m thinking of my son. Not the political damage to Lucinda,’ Faith said. ‘Sam… doesn’t know. You understand.’
‘Sure.’
‘And I would like to review any announcements that your department makes on the investigation.’
Claudia stiffened. ‘That’s not going to be possible.’
Faith set her chin in her palm and kept her tone relaxed. ‘Let me clarify, hon. I said review. Not approve or edit or block. If you’re going to release damaging information about Pete, I’d like the opportunity to prepare a statement on the senator’s behalf. Surely that’s reasonable.’
Claudia suddenly felt dumb in the face of this woman’s impenetrable confidence. ‘We’ll try not to blindside you.’
‘Thank you, Detective. I sure do appreciate it.’ Faith stood to go.
‘I need you to answer a few questions first,’ Claudia said pleasantly.
‘Delford took our statements. Surely you’ve taken the time to review them.’
‘It’s best if I can hear it from you. Please.’ Claudia gestured at the chair. Faith sat, folding her small Italian purse in her lap. It too was black. All the trappings of widowhood without the teary inconvenience of grief.
‘Were you in regular contact with him?’ Claudia asked.
‘Not until he returned to Port Leo. Before that – perhaps a couple of times a year. Sam’s birthday, if he remembered, and at Christmas. I imagine Christmas is his slow season.’
