Habit (26 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE / MONDAY, 9:54 AM

Taber let Brendan into his office. He pulled out a chair and offered to help Brendan sit.

“I got it,” said Brendan. He put on a smile.

“You’re not looking too bad,” Taber said. He took his seat on the other side of his desk.

“Thanks, I think. And thank you for calling Argon.”

The Sheriff looked embarrassed and bypassed the situation. “Considering what you’ve been through, I’m surprised you’re even up and walking about. Which makes it very hard, what I’m about to ask you.”

Brendan raised his eyebrows.
What fresh hell is this
?

“Alexander Heilshorn wants to meet with you, that’s one.”

“He does?”

“Have you been watching the news?”

“Not really. I don’t have TV.”

“Good for you. So far, we’re lucky. Nothing has leaked about Rebecca Heilshorn’s involvement in . . . erotic entertainment.”

“That’s good.” Brendan paused. “Is it good?”

“It’s good. It’s . . . well, it is what it is. Sometimes the media can help. They got contacts for us at Cornell before we even knew she was a student there. But other times, well, there can be pressure. Undue pressure that doesn’t help anyone, and can scare off people who might otherwise come forward, assured of their anonymity.”

“I understand.”

The Sheriff paused and considered what he was going to say next with a grave air. Brendan looked around the office. There were two large sets of bookshelves behind Taber. There were file cabinets in the corner with a coffee maker on top. Two windows overlooked the street below. The room smelled of coffee and aftershave.

“This is pretty wild for your first case here,” Taber said. Brendan felt like the Sheriff was stalling.

“It is.”

“Normally, I would never ask this of you, to meet with Heilshorn. We don’t cow to civilians, even when they are related to the deceased. It never does any good. But Heilshorn, to my surprise, indicated very strongly that he wanted to speak to you.”

“I thought he didn’t want anything to do with me, considering.”

The Sheriff looked uncomfortable. “That was Delaney’s call.”

“Delaney made it up?”

“No, no. He had every reason, every reasonable reason to think that Heilshorn would have a chip on his shoulder about you, to say the least.”

Brendan suppressed the urge to comment on Delaney’s judgment. “What has Heilshorn said? Relating to the case?”

“Not much. We get the impression he’s been estranged from his daughter for some time. They only communicate through the mother. You know how that goes. And the family accountant handles affairs that affect them both, financially.”

“Is the accountant anyone interesting?”

Taber lifted his eyebrows and looked at Brendan, then dropped his eyes to the desk, he rubbed at some stain only he could see. “No, not at all. But Heilshorn is. I believe that he’s not telling us things. I’m not sure exactly what, but we need to know.”

“And you think he’ll speak to me.”

“He seems to want to.”

Both men took a breath and settled back. The air in the room seemed to become cloying, and now the coffee smelled a touch burnt.

“Okay,” said Brendan.

“It’s not that easy. You’ve been involved in two major incidents. IACP wants to run full diagnostics on you. I’m sure they’ve indicated that.”

“They’ve been forthcoming, yeah.”

Taber looked serious, and held his gaze. “I made the right call, putting you on a short leave.”

“I know you did, sir.”

“And it seemed appropriate, given my instincts about Heilshorn, that you be the one to look into the erotic entertainment.”

“Yes, it did.” Brendan realized that a moment ago, the Sheriff had indicated that Delaney had made the call about Heilshorn wanting Brendan booted from the case, but now the Sheriff was taking responsibility for that prejudgment. He knew Taber wasn’t the type to scapegoat, and wondered if the admission about Delaney had been a slip.

“And now I think – I hope – it’s the right call to have you fully reinstated on this case. That is, if you want it.”

Taber searched Brendan with his hazel eyes.

“I want it,” said Brendan.

“Okay. We’re going to see this thing through to the end. Together.”

“And Delaney?” Brendan couldn’t help but ask. He saw something like a twitch under the Sheriff’s eye.

“Delaney has turned up bupkiss, frankly. I’ve worked with Ambrose for over twenty years, and I trust him, but on this one . . . I’ve got to go with my gut.”

“And your gut is telling you to put the rookie, who has shot someone, been shot at, almost run over, is in need of psychological treatment, and is on crutches, back on the case.”

Taber looked across the desk at Brendan, gauging him. Brendan reminded himself that levity usually didn’t go down well, because of how matter-of-fact Sheriff Taber was. But the Sheriff surprised him.

“We’re short-handed,” he said, and offered a grim smile.

* * *

Alexander Heilshorn was not what Brendan had expected. For some reason, maybe it was pop culture stereotypes, Brendan had for all this time envisioned a tall man who was tow-headed and hawkish. Heilshorn was short, dark-haired, and if anything, looked a bit like Adolf Hitler, though his mustache was gray and made the full bridge above his lips.

He was spry and quick for his age – Brendan guessed that he was almost seventy. He looked in good shape. He stepped down from the front door of the house he apparently owned, just outside of Rome. He crossed the yard to greet Brendan, who stepped out of the passenger side of a Sheriff’s Department vehicle. Deputy Bostrom was at the wheel. He watched Heilshorn approach, looking like the cat that had swallowed the canary. Brendan waggled his eyebrows at the deputy and pulled his crutches out of the back seat.

The Sheriff had commissioned Bostrom to stay with Brendan until otherwise instructed. Brendan hadn’t argued, but Bostrom had looked less than pleased to play chaperone. Brendan closed the car door and turned his attention back to Heilshorn.

The man was smartly dressed, with the aesthetic of a rich guy doing a stint in the countryside. His slacks were crisp and flat, and a fresh flannel shirt sprung from an LL Bean catalogue showed beneath a grey wool sweater. He wore pristine hiking boots and stepped onto the driveway with his hand out in salutation.

Brendan took it. The man’s grip was dry and warm.

“Please, come inside,” said Heilshorn. “Can I help you?”

“No, thanks, I can make it okay,” said Brendan. He caught Heilshorn looking in through the windshield at Deputy Bostrom.

“Is he coming in?”

“No, he’ll be fine there.” Brendan got his crutches hooked into his armpits and started towards the house before stopping a moment. “Is that alright with you?”

“That’s fine,” said Heilshorn.

Brendan nodded and let Heilshorn lead the way. He realized he could scarcely believe the man’s conviviality. Less than two weeks ago Brendan had gunned down this guy’s only son. And now here he was acting as if Healy was the gentleman suitor for his daughter instead of the lead investigator on her murder.

It couldn’t be real. He wondered what awaited him inside the house. In a moment of weakness, he felt glad that Bostrom was with him.

* * *

Inside, the genial host continued with the pleasantries, offering Brendan tea. Brendan accepted. It reminded him of Olivia, and he found himself wondering where she was, how she was doing. He realized he hadn’t left things very well with her, and felt a sting of guilt.

With the tea made, Heilshorn inquired as to where Brendan would be most comfortable.

“Hardback chairs actually seem to be better,” he said.

Heilshorn nodded as if he understood perfectly, and showed Brendan to a small table in the kitchen. He put down the tea, and the two men arranged themselves across from one another.

Brendan suddenly felt aware that life was just a series of meetings. A string of encounters with another person. It was barely eleven o’clock and he’d already had three appointments; three times he’d sat across from someone to share information.

He may have fancied himself a tracker, but mainly he accumulated data. With that same sudden assurance, he felt that this would be one of the last meetings of its kind on this case. There might be only one left.

Heilshorn looked wistful. “Ma’am is with our granddaughter today.”

“Greta, your wife.”

“That’s right. They’re going apple-picking in Westchester. That’s where you’re from, isn’t it? New Rochelle? Hawthorne? I’m sure you know I have a private investigator in my employ.”

Brendan was taken aback. The man had gone from conversational right down to business in almost the span of one breath. He also realized he’d forgotten about Heilshorn’s P.I. He felt heat start to creep up his neck as he thought about someone peeking in his window at any point over the past few days. They would have gotten an eyeful to report back to Heilshorn.

“That’s right; I lived in Hawthorne before I moved here. Mr. Heilshorn, let me say something right away. I want you to know how deeply sorry I am for your loss. Both of your losses.”

Heilshorn’s lower lip quivered, and he looked away for a moment. Another surprise. Brendan had imagined him as unemotional, made of stone. Unless it was an act, after all. But Brendan didn’t think so.

“A parent should never have to outlive his children. I know that sounds like a platitude. People just have no idea. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. To know it, is to live with the worst suffering I think imaginable.”

He turned to face Brendan again.

“But you know it, Detective.”

Heilshorn was referring to Brendan’s daughter. Unexpectedly, Brendan felt emotion rise up in him, too. “I know it,” he said in a quiet voice.

He wondered, as they sat there in their shared grief, where the conversation could possibly go from here.

“I understand you’ve had a very rough time on this case,” Heilshorn said. “My purpose here has not been to make things any harder on you, or on your department. I know you work with good men who have pursued my daughter’s killer very diligently, and I thank you for your service.”

Again, Heilshorn’s cordiality was unexpected. Brendan offered a wan smile. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I’m sure you still have a lot of questions.”

“I do.”

“One of the things you’re likely to have hanging is about my granddaughter Leah. Rebecca’s little girl.”

“I’ve wondered about her, yes. You say she’s apple-picking today. That sounds nice.”

Heilshorn gave a brief nod. “You have been unable to uncover her birth records.”

“That’s correct.”

“That’s because I’ve hidden them. Sealed them away.”

Brendan opened his mouth, perhaps to ask why, but thought better of it and resumed listening.

“This whole situation . . . I have to take my responsibility. That’s what a man needs to do, yes? Be accountable for the things in his life, just like you have done. I never wanted to push Rebecca away. She was just so much like me, we often butted heads. You understand. I couldn’t have imagined what she would turn to, what she would have gotten herself into.”

So, Brendan thought, Heilshorn already knew. Unless he was referring to something else, but Brendan doubted it.

“One day she came to the city to collect some of her belongings – one of the last times I saw her before things became . . . more complicated. Normally I wouldn’t have seen her until she came up to our floor. But this day I was on my way back from the hospital – I live only four blocks away – and I saw her getting out of a car, a blue sedan. There was a bumper sticker on the back that said ‘Four Doors for More Whores.’ I couldn’t believe Rebecca would be with someone like that, but I chalked it up to the times. You lose touch as you get older. We’re not stodgy in our family. I guess we’re liberal.”

He offered a short, humorless laugh. Then he diverted from the subject.

“I knew your father, Doctor Gerard Healy.”

Brendan was shocked. “You knew my father?”

“Yes. I recognized your name right away after . . . Rebecca’s death. I looked into you right away. Your father was a cardiac surgeon. Very good, too. And you – you went to school for neurobiology at New York University. You wound up in the Vesalius Program. But you never obtained your doctorate.”

Brendan was unsure which part to respond to. “I did research at Langone, and I also taught two classes.”

“It was a struggle for you.”

“I was trying to follow in my father’s footsteps, in a way.”

“But then you found a new father of a sort. A policeman named Seamus Argon.”

The man knew everything. “Yes.”

Heilshorn nodded. “I only knew your father by name. We never met. It’s a small world, but perhaps not that small.” He drew himself closer to the table, and lowered his voice. “I’ve lived a very compromised life.”