Smoke and Mirrors (43 page)

He looked at Erin, whose face shone with the tears that slipped unchecked down her cheeks. "You don't want to hear the next part," he said. "I managed to get hold of Mary Sue and lead her out. The smoke was pretty bad; she fell down and I had to drag
her most of the way. I thought the others were right behind me. When I got over coughing and being sick, and realized they were still inside ... I tried to go back in, but the fire department had come by then, and they held me back."

Nick cleared his throat. "The paper—the newspaper—said the police found no evidence of arson."

"I heard one of the fireman say the building wouldn't have gone up so fast if it hadn't been torched," Jeff said calmly. "And there was one other thing. They said it started in the room under ours. Quite likely it did. It was an inferno when I saw it, on my way out. But it wasn't the only part of the building that was burning. There was another, separate fire on the stairs. The lowest flight. I pushed Mary Sue off the landing and jumped after her. If I'd been a minute later we wouldn't have made it. '

Nick shook his head dazedly. "Jesus."

"It took me a long time to figure it out," Jeff went on in the same icy, dispassionate voice. "Years. It was several years before I could think about it or remember it. Sometimes I almost convinced myself it had never happened—that it was just a recurrent nightmare. Because afterward, everything was completely different. Like a new life—born again, right? There we were, Mary Sue and I, in a fancy hospital, with everybody treating us like paying patients; and after we got out, we went in different directions—Mary Sue to a family in Wyoming, me to Arizona. The Rosses were respectable, middle-class folks; he was manager of a hardware store, and she taught school. Two kids, both younger than I. At first I was in such a numbed state I didn't question what was happening. I had a room of my own, plenty to eat, clothes that fit, with no holes or patches—and a nice, kind mother-type who came in and held me at night when I woke up screaming. Mary Sue got on better. She was younger. I see her every now and then. She's married, with a couple of kids. I didn't tell her what I was planning. She doesn't know anything about . . . anything."

His voice was as calm as ever, but when he talked of his sister his hands twisted and curled, with a horrible life of their own, tearing at each other like small animals. "I was in high school before I started asking questions. That's the rebel time, I suppose, the time when you question everything. God knows I had plenty to
wonder about. Like where the money was coming from. A couple of years of psychiatric treatment costs a bundle. And there was my college fund, they kept talking about graduate school or med school as if there'd be no problem about paying for it. I finally asked her point-blank. She didn't lie to me, I'll give her that. The money was part of the deal—every month till I was twenty-one. She tried to tell me they'd have taken me anyway, even without it, but I knew it was a lie; I remembered enough to know what I must have been like when they got me, a sullen, shivering, bed-wetting, screaming idiot. I knew the money must be coming from him, and I figured he must have something pretty heavy on his conscience to lay out such a big sum. I remembered those two separate fires—one of them cutting off our only means of escape. And I knew what I had to do.

"That took more years. Getting a fancy education so I could compete in whitey's world and find out what I needed to know. I was in my second year of law school before I had the expertise to trace it back, the complex pattern of interlocking companies that had been designed to conceal the real ownership of that building. I figured it was your father, Erin, who had handled the trust for me and Mary Sue, but I knew he wasn't the one I was after. My daddy, the one who owned the building, was a rich man, an important man. Some daddy, huh? So I followed the trail and there it was in black and white—his name, and hers right next to it.

"You can't imagine how I felt when I found out he was dead. I was so disappointed I got stinking drunk. Then . . . well, for a while I just let it lie. I probably wouldn't have done anything if Rosemary had been . . . oh, you know, sick or poor or miserable, or anything but what she is. But then last year she announced for the Senate, and I saw her on some television program, and she looked so young and successful and everybody was bragging on her and saying maybe the White House someday, and I thought of my mother, and how she'd died, and how she d looked like an old woman, what with worry and hard work and all. She was twenty-seven years old. Twenty-seven! And I couldn't—I couldn't ..."

The even voice finally broke. He hid his face in his hands. Erin started impulsively toward him, but Nick caught her and held
her back. He knew, as did she after a moment of thought, that sympathy would have been an affront just then. Lines from a poem she had once read came to her with stinging poignancy:

What voice can my invention find to say So soft, precise, and scrupulous a word You shall not take it for another sword?

Jeff lowered his hands. His eyes were dry, and his voice rose to a pitch of almost childish indignation when he spoke. "And you know what's really funny? I had decided to call it off. You probably won't believe me. If I caught a burglar red-handed, and he swore he had changed his mind and didn't intend to rob me, I'd fall down laughing. But it's true. The crowning irony was that it was the damned birthday party that did me in—the party I set up, in my infinite cleverness, to dispel suspicion. I hadn't been feeling too fond of myself anyway. Rosemary treated me so ... ah, hell, I knew it was professional habit, she turns it on and off without even thinking about it, but it's awfully effective, you know? I started wondering whether maybe she didn't know about the fire. Maybe she was a victim of that swine too. She never once showed any sign of doubting me, but it seemed to me Kay was looking askance. She had been Marshall's confidential secretary and I felt sure she was in on the whole thing; at least she must have known about the trust, and about me. So I made a point of casually mentioning my birthday was coming up, just in case it occurred to her to check up on l'il ole Raymond Wilson. And then she—Rosemary—that goddamn watch ... I mean, of all the cornball, manipulative stunts. . . . And it worked, just the way she intended it should; I felt like a piece of shit. I had a couple of other things planned, but I couldn't ..."

He got up and turned his back to them, his arm resting on the mantel, his head bowed on his arm.

"What do you mean, you couldn't?" Nick looked as forbidding as a Grand Inquisitor, but Erin knew he was fighting unwilling sympathy. "You did. I could almost overlook the other things, nobody was endangered by them; but the Mercedes was different. If Kay had been driving—"

"That wasn't me." Jeff did not raise his head. "There's no
reason why you should believe that either, but it's true. If I hadn't already made up my mind to pack it up, that would have done it; it scared the hell out of me. I felt like Frankenstein, creating a monster and losing control of it. Only I didn't mean to ... Leave me alone for a while, will you?"

Nick had to clear his throat before he spoke. "Yeah, all right. Look, Jeff, you stay here. If you try to run—"

"You've got the car keys," Jeff said, not turning.

"Oh, yeah. Okay. I'll just . . . We'll be back."

They tiptoed out, as from a sickroom. The sun was setting in a horror of dull flame; the crimson light made Nick's face look as if it had suffered a bad sunburn. They retreated to "their" bench before either spoke.

"Jesus," Nick said, wiping his brow. "That's the worst thing I've been through in a long time."

"It was awful, wasn't it?" Erin collapsed beside him.

"I can't decide whether I've just had my heartstrings lacerated by the most tragic story I've ever heard, or been conned by a consummate liar."

"Nick! You don't really believe he was lying!"

"No, I don't, but then I'm the biggest sucker on two feet. Hell, I cry over lost puppies. Everything he said about Rosemary applies to him, Erin. He's learned political tricks from the pros, and there are no bigger con men in the world."

"He meant every word he said," Erin insisted.

"Okay, so he meant it. That doesn't mean it's true. He's sick, Erin. Possibly psycho. Did you notice what he said about Kay— that she was getting suspicious? If he thought she was about to blow the whistle on him—"

"No. I don't believe it."

"1
feel sorry for him too, " Nick said gently. "One part of his story is certainly true, and it was horrible enough to turn anyone's brain. We'd better get back inside and find out what the cops are doing. Then we'll decide whether to tell Rosemary, or talk to Jeff again, or ... Let's get away from this god-awful sunset. Your hair looks like it's on fire, and although it is astonishingly beautiful, the imagery doesn't exactly soothe me right now."

Nick's afflictions were only beginning. They arrived at the
front of the house in time to see a car pull up and park by the steps with superb disregard for the convenience of others.

"Oh, God, it's Laurence again," Nick groaned. "I forgot he was coming. No use trying to duck, he's seen us. '

Erin expected to hear a joking comment about their habit of playing hooky but the columnist was in no jesting mood.

"What a hellish evening," he said, contemplating the lurid sunset. "The sky looks like one of Turner's more frenetic efforts."

"Uh—yeah,' Nick said. "Coming in?"

"Naturally. You hadn't forgotten our appointment? But then," Laurence added, as they climbed the steps, "I suppose you might be excused for doing so, you've had other problems on your minds. '

"You don't know the half of it," Nick said under his breath.

Laurence was reputed to have the hearing of a bat, among other, even less attractive characteristics. "I do, though, " he said. "I've seen situations that were a lot worse. This will blow over in time, don't worry."

As they entered the hall, a man rose from one of the chairs. He looked perfectly at ease, and Erin felt a flash of deja vu that had nothing to do with her earlier sight of him. A memory older and less direct . . . That was it—a fifties film, colorized, of course— featuring one of the suave, sophisticated leading men who specialized in urbane comedies about the upper classes.

Nick stopped. "Who's that?" he hissed. "Not ... he doesn't look like a cop."

"Ssssh."

Laurence showed no sign of surprise. He stepped forward with all the aplomb of the master of the house.

"Cardoza, isn't it? What is the D.C. criminal investigation department doing in the wilds of suburbia?'

"You've got a good memory, Mr. Laurence," was the smiling reply.

"You are a memorable individual," Laurence said. His eyes lingered on Cardoza's face just long enough to suggest that it was his good looks, not his professional talents, that made him so memorable.

"Let me see," Laurence went on. "It was five—no, six years
ago we last met. The Martin case. Quite a remarkable series of events. You handled it admirably, as I recall. But you haven't answered my question. Aren't you out of your jurisdiction?"

"I'm not with the D.C.P.D.," Cardoza said. "I'm living in Leesburg now and working for the county sheriff's office."

"How delightful. You must find it a pleasant change."

"In some ways. If you'll excuse me, Mr. Laurence, I'd like to have a word with this young lady. You are Miss Erin Hartsock, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am."

Cardoza smiled at her. His teeth were as perfect as his other features, they all but shone with their own light. He was obviously trying to put her at ease. "The description was a good one. I won't take much of your time, Miss Hartsock, I know you people are pretty busy. Perhaps you wouldn't mind coming upstairs with me."

"Not without me," Nick said. He took Erin's arm. She glowered at him and tried to shake him off, to no avail.

"You must be Mr. McDermott, " Cardoza said. "Certainly, come along if you like. I have a few questions for you too. Excuse us, Mr. Laurence."

The hint had no effect. Laurence followed them up the stairs and into Kay's room. "What's this all about, Cardoza?" he asked.

"I'm surprised you should have to ask, Mr. Laurence. The feeling around town is that you know everything before it happens."

Laurence leaned against the door and folded his arms. "It doesn't require clairvoyance to conjecture why you are here. What was the result of the autopsy?"

Cardoza looked him over from head to foot, in silence. "Come, come," Laurence said impatiently. "This child isn't going to answer any questions until you tell her what has happened. "

"Just what I was going to say," Nick added.

Erin finally managed to detach herself from his grasp. "I would prefer to speak for myself, if you don't mind. Naturally I'm anxious to find out what is going on, but I'm chiefly interested in—in getting this over with. What is it you want to know, Mr. Cardoza?"

Cardoza's attractive smile seemed to be reserved for her. "A
very sensible attitude, Miss Hartsock. I'd like you to try to remember yesterday morning. I'm sure it was a very shocking experience for you; no doubt your memory is somewhat blurred. But did you notice anything that struck you as unusual or unexpected?"