Cinderella (16 page)

    "No, she'll be coming home early," Joanna said.

    Matthew tried to keep from smiling. It was not easy.

    He thought Jesus Christ, I'm falling in love with my own wife!

    All through dinner, Joanna was uncommonly silent.

    Matthew had known this kid for a long, long time, and he knew better than to pry when she was in one of her dark and pensive moods. Usually, he waited her out. Eventually, she told him what was bothering her. Tonight she did not seem about to tell him anything.

    She had ordered clam chowder and the soft-shell crabs. He had ordered oysters on the half shell and the broiled swordfish. That was at seven-thirty. It was now close to eight-thirty. She had said perhaps three dozen words in the last hour.

    "Could we get some lemon wedges?"

    And…

    "My fork is dirty."

    And…

    "Can I have a little white wine or will they take a fit?"

    And…

    "Please pass the salt."

    And…

    "I wonder if they have brewed decaf."

    Silence now as they drank their coffee.

    He decided to break his own cardinal rule.

    "Something wrong?" he asked.

    "Nope."

    "You haven't said much all night."

    "I'm tired," she said. "Too much sun. I was on the beach all day."

    "Sure there's nothing you want to tell me about?"

    "Nothing."

    Silence again.

    "Did you enjoy yourself in Palm Beach?"

    "Yep."

    More silence.

    "Joanna, what is it?" he said.

    "What is what?" she said.

    "Whatever it is."

    "It's nothing."

    "Well, I know it's something."

    "Okay, you want to know what it is?"

    "Yes."

    "I found your tie."

    "My
what?"

    "Your tie. I found your tie at the house."

    "What house?"

    "Mom's house, whose house do you think?"

    "What tie? You found my…?"

    "The blue tie with the pony on it, the blue Ralph Lauren tie."

    "Oh."

    "Do you know the tie I mean?"

    "Yes, I know the tie."

    "I found it out by the pool," Joanna said. "You know where the two lounge chairs are? That's where I found the tie. On one of the lounge chairs."

    "Uh-huh."

    There was a long silence.

    "Were you at the house this weekend?" Joanna asked.

    He hesitated.

    "Dad?"

    "Yes," he said. "I dropped by after work Friday."

    "Mom didn't mention it," Joanna said.

    "Well," he said.

    "Did she ask you to come over or what?"

    "Joanna," he said, "what business is this of yours?"

    "Well, I just think it's
odd,
that's all."

    "It is," he said.

    "I mean, was there something you had to discuss with her? Something about me?"

    "No," he said, and hesitated. "Joanna," he said, "this really is none of your business."

    " 'Cause you usually discuss things on the
phone,
you know?"

    "Yes, I know."

    "In fact, you usually wait outside in the car for me, you toot the horn and
wait,
you know? So it just seems
odd
that you'd go to the
house
to talk to Mom, if that's why you went there. I mean, it's not exactly a
secret,
Dad, that you don't get along too well, you know what I mean? I mean, a person wouldn't exactlyy call you
pals,
you know what I mean? So I think it's really
strange,
I mean actually
peculiar
that you'd go over to the house while I'm away in Palm Beach!"

    "Lower your voice, please," he said.

    "I'm sorry," she said, and looked quickly around the room to see if any of the other diners had reacted to her somewhat strident outburst.

    "There was some kind of mix-up," he said calmly. "I didn't know you were going to Palm Beach. I went to the house to pick you up. Your mother invited me in, and we had a few drinks together. Okay?"

    "Then why is that none of my business?"

    "Because it isn't," he said.

    "And also, why didn't you tell me on the phone when I talked to you earlier today that you'd seen Mom over the weekend? And how come you're saying there was a mix-up and you didn't know I was in Palm Beach when on the phone you didn't seem too surprised when I was talking about her calling you and telling you all
about
Palm Beach? So what's going on, Dad?"

    "Nothing's going on," he said.

    "Okay, fine," Joanna said, and took her napkin off her lap and put it on the table. "Could you get the check, please, Dad? I want to go home. I'm really very tired."

    "Joanna…" he said.

    "Get the check, okay?"

    They rode out to Stone Crab Key in silence. The house was dark when they got there.

    "Have you got your key?" he asked.

    "Yeah, I've got it. You want your tie?"

    "There's no hurry, I'll-"

    "Maybe you can pick it up some other time," she said, "when I'm not home again," and got out of the Ghia and ran to the front door.

    He watched as she put her key into the latch.

    She unlocked the door, opened it, and went into the house.

    The lights came on.

    He realized all at once that she'd told him she'd bought him a nice present.

    Apparently she'd decided not to give it to him.

    He waited another moment, and then pulled the car away from the curb, trying to remember what Susan had said about Electra.

    

    

    Andrew Hacker was a detective who probably stood six feet two inches in his stockinged feet and maybe weighed a hundred and ninety pounds, but standing alongside Cooper Rawles he looked stunted. Hacker hadn't said a word since they'd entered the office. Matthew wouldn't even have known his name if Cynthia Huellen hadn't announced them both on the phone before she led them down the hall and showed them in.

    Rawles in person was a mountain of a man, intimidating by his very presence, more intimidating because Matthew knew he was a good cop and a tough cop, and he was here now laying down all kinds of law. Hacker just stood beside him, looking small and being silent, shock of red hair hanging on his forehead, freckles all over his face, all he needed was a piece of hay in his teeth to look like a shit-kicking redneck. This was Rawles's show, and Hacker knew it. He just kept listening to his partner, his face expressionless. It was raining outside. Really raining. What they called a frog-strangler here in Calusa. Outside Matthew's window, the pavements were sending up steam. Rawles was doing a little steaming of his own.

    "What I understand," he said, "is she called you first."

    "I guess she did," Matthew said.

    "There was a burglary, so the first person she calls is you, not the police. That's the first thing pisses me off, Mr. Hope," he said, and poked a thick forefinger toward Matthew's desk. "The second thing pisses me off is there was a tape stolen from that office and the first time I heard about it was when the Chinese lady told me it was gone."

    "I don't know which tape you mean. A
lot
of tapes were stolen, Detective Rawles. As well as file folders and uncashed checks and petty cash and-"

    "I'm talking about the Nettington tape," Rawles said. "Did you know this tape existed?"

    "Yes."

    "Why didn't you tell me about this tape?"

    "The last time I told you anything…"

    "Never mind the last time, which by the way we located that Toronado."

    "Oh?" Matthew said, and waited for more. Nothing more came.

    "I'm talking about
this
time," Rawles said, "where we're concerned here with a tape that may have had something to do with Samalson's murder, and you
knew
about this tape, and you didn't see fit to tell the police about it. Did you
hear
this tape, Mr. Hope?"

    "Yes."

    "We listened to it a half-hour ago," Rawles said. "The
original
of it, which was in the safe. Whoever busted in there stole a copy the Chinese lady made."

    
"Plus
a lot of other things. Including a tape deck and two typewriters."

    "That's a very interesting tape, Mr. Hope. It's also a tape that makes your Mr. Nettington-"

    "My Mr. Nettington?"

    "His wife is your client, isn't she?"

    "Yes?"

    "Well, this tape nails him to the wall where it concerns adultery, which by the way is a crime in the state of Florida, I refer you to Chapters 798.01, 02, and 03. Living in Open Adultery, Lewd and Lascivious Behavior, and Fornication, all second-degree misdemeanors punishable by terms of imprisonment not to exceed sixty days. Did your Mr. Nettington know that tape could send him to jail?"

    "He's not
my
Mr. Nettington," Matthew said.

    "Admittedly on a bullshit violation, but sixty days ain't hay when you're an attorney and not a professional burglar, huh? Did Nettington know this tape existed?"

    "Yes."

    "How did he know?"

    "His wife told him."

    "She informed you of this?"

    "No. He did."

    "What?" Rawles said.

    "Yes."

    "When?"

    "Yesterday morning."

    "Said his wife had told him about the tape?"

    "Yes."

    "You went to see him? I goddamn well told you to-"

    "He came here," Matthew said.

    "For what purpose?"

    "He wanted the tape."

    "So now Samalson's office is busted into and the tape is gone."

    "Yes."

    "What time did she call you?"

    "Who?"

    "The Chinese lady."

    "Oh. Nine this morning, a little after nine."

    "To tell you somebody'd busted in, huh?"

    "Words to that effect, yes."

    "So she called you."

    "Yes. She called me."

    "Why?"

    "I think she didn't like the condition of the files you returned."

    "What?"

    "I think she feels you messed up her files."

    "We didn't mess up any files," Hacker said.

    It was the first time he'd said anything. Matthew looked at him, surprised.

    "All we done was Xerox 'em," he said. "And bring 'em back to her. That's all we done with her files."

    "She should've called us," Rawles said. "That was her obligation. Not a lawyer. There's a burglary, you call the police."

    "That's what I advised her to do. As soon as I got there."

    "No,
not
as soon as you got there," Rawles said. "As soon as you found out the
tape
was gone."

    "As soon as I recognized the extent of the burglary. On the telephone, it didn't sound-"

    "Whatever it sounded like, you should've called us immediately," Rawles said. "This is just another example of your running around us, doing things your own way, sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Maybe you're not much impressed with homicide, but
we
are."

    "I can assure you-"

    "You can assure me this is the end of your butting in, okay? That's what you can assure me. Keep your fucking nose out of this fucking case from now on, okay?"

    "Which is also a misdemeanor," Matthew said.

    "What?"

    "I refer you to Chapter 847.04. Open Profanity. Whoever-having arrived at the age of discretion-uses profane, vulgar, and indecent language in any public place or upon the private premises of another is guilty of a second-degree misdemeanor. Punishable, as you mentioned earlier, by sixty days in jail."

    Rawles blinked.

    "Yes," Matthew said.

    "I think you heard me," Rawles said, recovering at once.

    "Yes, I heard you," Matthew said.

    "Let's go," Rawles said to Hacker, and both men went off in a huff.

    

    

    There was no question in May Hennessy's mind that whoever had broken into the office was a pro. Whatever else Daniel Nettington could do well-and he seemed to be an ace in the sack-he did not seem to be the kind of man who could pick a lock without leaving a scratch anywhere on it. Moreover, and May had told this to the police, she wasn't at all sure the Nettington tape was what the burglar was really after. May had worked too many cases with Otto not to recognize a possible smokescreen when she saw one. She had told this to Rawles and his freckle-faced partner. The Larkin file was missing, too, wasn't it? Plus a dozen other files, some of them on cases only recently closed out. Not to mention seven or eight
other
tapes that could've got a lot of people in trouble with their spouses if somebody was looking to make trouble. So she had suggested to Rawles that he shouldn't jump to conclusions when he heard the tape-which she was lucky to have the original of, and which was pretty hot and incriminating stuff-but should instead keep an open mind.

    She had reported all this on the phone to Matthew not twenty minutes before Rawles and Hacker came barging in. Matthew doubted that Rawles was keeping an open mind. Rawles was smelling real meat, and Rawles was eager to close in. That was what Matthew sensed. That was why Rawles wanted him to keep out of the way. He didn't want his case screwed up on any technicality. Rawles was going to find Nettington, sit him down, have him listen to the tape, and then ask a hundred questions about the burglary of Samalson's office and incidentally the murder of Samalson himself.