Simple (33 page)

“We could go outside.”

It was muggy. There were squat trees in a row outside the insurance office. Cars went by slowly.

Rita Sandler was a surprise, not the person Colleen had pictured Todd with. She'd been sure she was going to see a long-haired, short-skirted young thing in heels. This was a down-to-earth woman wearing pants and a top without much style. Her hair, a thick wavy brown, looked as if she ran fingers through it much of the time. If she wore any makeup it was virtually invisible. How could Colleen have guessed so wrong?

“How do you do both? Full-time job and all the politics?”

“It isn't easy. I'm always tired.”

“I'm going to need your address and phones and all that.” She handed over a notebook. Sandler propped it against the outside wall and wrote.

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes. With my dog. Not really alone.”

Colleen smiled. “And you have a relationship of some sort with Todd Simon?”

Sandler paused. “It isn't serious. But yes.”

“Oh. He thinks it's serious.”

Sandler frowned.

“He's talking marriage.”

The woman let out a surprised laugh. “Poor fellow. I'm not the marrying kind.”

“Neither am I. I'm with you there. How often do you see him?”

“Oh, once a month. Maybe three weeks.”

That was a lie, so clearly less often. And Todd's concern about privacy and protecting the woman's reputation made little sense. “Are you nervous about people knowing you see him?”

“I never advertise what I do.”

“You're very private.”

“You could say so.”

“He seems like a pretty devoted fellow.”

Sandler paused again. “He's a lot of fun.”

“So the question I have is when you last saw him.”

“It was about a week ago.”

“I think you know the night I'm asking about. Did you see him on Thursday, August 13?”

“If that was the night of the Steelers game, yes, we watched the Steelers together and one of the talk shows.”

“Which one?”

“Letterman. He had Paul McCartney on.” The woman looked toward the street as if there were help there. Colleen followed her gaze but saw only Christie, way in the distance.

“And you would swear to this in court?”

“Yes, of course.”

“By the way, what time did he get here?”

“Oh, seven or so. But why are you asking about him?”

“Because the night that for you is only memorable for a Steelers game—and a McCartney interview—is the same night a woman he had cocktails with only hours before was murdered. What time did he arrive?”

Sandler froze. So she hadn't known about the cocktails.

Finally she rallied. “Look, I don't remember what time he got here. We watched most of the game, but he wasn't here at the beginning. If this is something to do with smearing the party, I won't stand for it. I'll blast it open.”

Colleen steadied herself. “This is a homicide investigation. Nothing less than. And it has its own protocol and rules. We may be in touch with you again. You need to stay available to us for questioning. That's it for today. Thank you for your time.”

Christie was pulling out and passing her before she got anywhere near her car so as not to give the impression he was there for her or following her. But as soon as she was in her car and around the corner, her phone rang.

“She was a surprise,” Christie said.

“Yeah. I thought he'd go more for Cassie's type. He talked about possible marriage to Sandler. To keep her from testifying?”

“Interesting. You have her home address?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You go to her house. I'll wind back to the business. We'll give it an hour and a half, no more. Dolan said Simon was getting on 322. So he's probably coming here. I want to see whatever I can see. If he goes to the house, call me. We'll go in together. Give me the address so I have it.”

As she did, he said, “What did we ever do before GPS? I can't even remember.”

Two hours later, Simon hadn't showed, and so they went back to Pittsburgh. Christie rehearsed mentally for a squad meeting at eight the next morning and the hearing for Cal Hathaway at ten thirty.

*   *   *

CONNOLLY GOT HOME
from work earlier than usual. He went straight to the chair he liked in the yard and sat. He needed to do something, something, but he didn't know what. Haigh had called him midafternoon. “Stay cool. I know they're checking your alibi. You're fine. We have to hope this goes away before any of the news media make it smear.”

“Look. I really want to know what happened to that girl. I can't talk to Todd. There's something funny about the way he talks.”

“Look. All I know is some guy killed this unfortunate young woman. You need to keep clean, watch your nose, and talk about
other things,
for God's sake. We have a lot of money and labor in so far. You're not going to pull out. Gotta go. Call you later.”

Haigh sounded just like Simon. Nobody was talking straight.

He heard a noise behind him. It was Elinor.

“Mr. Connolly. I heard you drive up. I have to tell you, I won't be here tomorrow morning. My son's hearing is tomorrow. I need to be there.”

“Of course. I totally understand. How … how is he?”

“He's trying to be brave around me.”

“What does he say about the charges?”

“He feels they pushed him—those police—talking about blackouts. He tells me he didn't do it. He says he doesn't believe he had any blackout.”

Connolly stood to talk to her. “I know this is horrible for you.”

“I keep thinking of the bad luck of it, how once those boys beat him up, he never was the same, and now this. There's violence in jail. I don't know how he's going to make it through.”

He took her hand. “Let me know if there is anything I can do. I'm very concerned.”

“Thank you. I'll probably be here by afternoon.”

“Don't worry about tomorrow. It doesn't matter.”

He thought for a while after she went back indoors and then punched a number into his cell phone. He had to do something, something. What good was he if he couldn't help a woman like Elinor? His call was to the courts to find out which magistrate was on tomorrow morning. A clerk gave him the name and the time of the hearing.

He'd met the guy once. Only once. He asked for the number even though he assumed he'd have to get it some other way, but the clerk simply gave it to him, and he dialed it as soon as he terminated the first call.

The magistrate answered. His name was Lord, which was sort of funny. When he heard who his caller was, his brusqueness faltered only a little. “What can I do for you?”

“You have a case tomorrow. A person I'm concerned about. His mother works for me and
has
for nearly forty years. She's quite a wonderful person.”

“This is the Hathaway hearing?”

“Yes. Her son is someone I know and … and a gentle creature. She's obviously concerned about him. He's not tough. He's not a fighter. He's not particularly social. If there is any way to make his experience more suited to his temperament—” He got stuck. What was he asking? Semisolitary with kindness thrown in?

There was a long silence. “I'll be aware of the character reference,” Lord said drily.

They ended the call.

In his heart, he doubted Cal Hathaway had anything to do with the murder at all. Probably less than he did.

He was corrupt, corroding. He felt filthy.

Monica came into the yard and up to him. He put an arm around her and rested a head against her belly. They stayed that way for a long time. “Let's go somewhere,” she said. “Let's talk.”

*   *   *

“MARRIAGE,” RITA SAID.
“What do you take me for? What makes you think I want that?” She began taking pots down from a counter.

“Maybe I want it. Maybe I need it, to stop running, running, all the time. To be with one person.”

“It's in your nature to run.”

“Why do you bother with me, then?”

“My life is very dull. I need excitement now and then. I lied for you. That's a form of excitement, but not exactly what I prefer. Don't worry. I won't go back on it. But I would surely appreciate it if I didn't have some police detective looking at me with suspicious eyes.” She banged around for a while. “All I have is the makings of an omelet and some red potatoes.”

“We could go out.”

“I don't feel like it. I had a long day. I have to walk Keeley.”

“I'll go with you. Then I'll take you someplace for dinner.”

“No. I
want
to stay home. It's eggs and potatoes or nothing.”

“Fine,” he said. He didn't plan to stay, but he was looking for a way to make things nicer between them.

She was silent as they walked. He tried to put the rough meeting with Haigh away in some side pocket. He concentrated on facts. Haigh was sending that secretary of his to court tomorrow morning. The secretary was to pretend he was sitting with the family to write a book about their daughter and them. God bless America—hearings were public. They would all know a lot more tomorrow.

Todd congratulated himself that he had not stopped working today. He had taken and made calls to various county chairmen as he drove away from Haigh. He had stopped and had a big meal—he wasn't the least bit hungry—with a drink midafternoon, not at all his usual practice, which was more like a piece of pound cake and several cups of coffee. He had driven down the country road where he buried the evidence, and he had done it to test himself—his grit, his memory—and to be alone. He found his markings. He found the bit of earth. He didn't dig. He just looked at it.

*   *   *

WHEN MONICA ASKED
to go out, Connolly thought she meant to dinner. She said, “No. Someplace where I can cry. Someplace private.”

It was funny. He couldn't think where to go. She couldn't either.

Finally she said, “Let's walk over to the campus. Use their chapel. If it's locked, we can go into one of their other buildings. Let's just go.”

He still had his briefcase with him. He put it in his car as they walked down their drive and off their property.

When they got to the chapel it was empty. “It might not stay empty,” she warned. “We might be interrupted. We'll have to chance it.”

He felt a great dread pulling at him. He thought he would go through the ground, he felt so heavy with it.

“I heard you and Todd talking. Tell me about Cassie Price. You were seeing her.”

After a long while, he nodded once. “I'm so sorry.”

“I'm not the worst victim here. Did you love her? Do you?”

“I think so.”

“I can always tell when you're falling in love. The way you talk to me, the way you hold me. The absence of lovemaking. Some men, you know, make love to their wives even more when they're straying.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Am I so unattractive to you?”

“No.” He didn't say her toughness made her unattractive sometimes.

She had begun to cry. She had promised to cry and here it was. “I am what I am. I'm middle-aged and I like to work. That's … that's not what I wanted to talk about. It's what's going through my mind. It's about that girl … woman. She was a young woman. How did she die?”

“I don't know.”

“Please don't lie.”

“I'm not lying. I don't know.”

“I believe you. You didn't do it, right?”

“I didn't do it.”

“Somebody who cares about the election did. Who was that? Haigh? Todd? That's what I think, Haigh or Todd.”

“I've thought it and thought it. They deny it. Then I think, Well, maybe Cal did it after all.”

“Maybe it was convenient that Cal happened to kill her? Nothing is ever convenient.”

“I don't want to lose you.”

“Oh, I don't know about that. We're very far apart. We've been just a couple of people smiling for the cameras for a long time.”

“Don't give up on me.”

She shrugged, wiped her eyes. “You've made me be … guarded. I don't like how I am any more than you do.”

“Do you want to call Christie? Do you want me to call him? I go back and forth. There's nobody I can talk to. I try talking to Haigh and Todd—and it always comes down to the hordes of people already counting on me to get elected. If this comes out, it's going to mean no more election. And shame. For my father. The whole firm. Our kids. I'm totally, totally stuck.”

She began to hit him with her fists. “… for what you do. For touching someone else's body. I've given up everything for you. I don't want this, any of it. And all the while you have to fuck somebody else.”

He tried to grab at her hands. They were in a chapel. He tried to tell her it was important to wait twenty-four hours, to see what happened at Cal's hearing. Maybe their worst fears were wrong; he prayed they were wrong.

*   *   *

“BUZZ SAYS YOU HAVE
a hearing tomorrow,” Sidney said, taking a seat at Cal's table. “I take an interest, see?”

It was hard to get food down with Sidney there, but Cal had thought it important to choose a seat on his own. He had instructed Levon to sit somewhere else, which the kid did, but now Levon looked nervously over at Cal's table.

The next person to sit down was the man who had made him eat cake. And then, in the fourth chair, that man's friend.

“Let them eat cake,” Cal said.

The man who had made him do just that laughed a little, saying, “What's that from?”

“Some history class in high school.”

“Yeah, I always heard that.”

They all kept at their meat loaf. Cal swallowed hard to get his down his gullet.