The 56th Man (46 page)

The knock came on December 30. Ari was on his
mattress, having fallen asleep in the mid-afternoon after a
particularly hard session on the computer in which he had not only
identified a killer, but the decapitated head of a victim. The
insurgency was feeding on itself. The Americans would probably find
this a hopeful sign.

Before logging off, he had checked out a news
site. He spent an hour reading, watching streaming videos, and
drinking before falling onto his mattress.

He opened his eyes, then closed them, trying
to ignore the visitor. But the knocking became louder, more
insistent. Whoever it was would not give up.

Rolling to his side, he knocked over the
glass sitting on the floor next to the mattress. There wasn't much
whiskey left in the glass, but spilling even a drop was a sin. He
swore in Greek and Farsi.

Struggling to his feet, Ari pounded
downstairs and threw open the door.

"What!" he demanded.

The man and woman on his stoup were taken
aback as much by his appearance as by the violence of his
greeting.

It was an unseasonably warm day. The man and
woman wore light jackets. She had dark hair and round, thick
glasses. He wore dark sunglasses against a sun that was going
down.

"Good evening, sir," said the girl. "We were
wondering if you had heard the Good News."

She held up a Bible.

"Good evening Fred," said Ari. "Good evening,
Deputy Karen Sylvester."

The girl lowered the Bible. "Shit," she said.
"Okay, invite us in, and try to look normal about it. Look like
you're a lost soul or something."

"Howie Nottoway can't see my front door from
his property."

"There could be someone in the woods. There
could be someone watching from the river, from one of those
islands. There could be a fucking satellite focused on us. Will you
invite us in before I bang you with this?" Sandra/Karen held up the
Bible again.

Ari stood aside and they entered.

"You look like shit," said Karen after
he closed the door. Then she peered at him closely. "Have you been
crying?
You
?"

"Forgive my appearance. I wasn't expecting
company."

"You mean you always look like this when
nobody's around? I don't believe it."

“
You are wise not to.” He nodded at
Fred. “It's not the season for yard work, is it?”

“
I'm not allowed to see you without
backup, anymore,” said Karen.

“
Ah, Fred is your
bodyguard.”

Fred grinned sheepishly and cracked his
knuckles. “I prefer it to trimming hedges.”

Karen removed her wig and glasses. “I hate
going in disguise. And we had to make it look legit. Went to a half
dozen houses like this. They all slammed their doors in our face.
That was great.”

“
Until we reached your neighbor,” Fred
glowered.

“
That idiot Nottoway invited us in for
punch,” Karen fumed. “He wouldn't shut up. Jesus this and Jesus
that. I had to promise to go to his church before he'd let us
go.”

“
I didn't realize the Methodists were
so…evangelical.” Ari gave her a drunken, angelic smile.

“
What's your problem?” Karen glanced
about the bare living and dining rooms. “You haven't gotten any
furniture yet? Where can I put this?” She waved her wig and
glasses. He led her into the kitchen and pointed at the table.
"This is still all you've got?"

"As you see."

She glanced at the dirty sink, then went down
the hall and poked her head in the bathroom.

"Well at least you keep your kitty litter box
clean," said Karen, coming back into the kitchen.

"I only have two chairs," said Ari.

"That's all right," said Fred, leaning
against the counter.

"You've been crying," said Karen. "It's
obvious."

Ari did not answer.

"Didn't you see the news this morning,
Karen?" said Fred, practicing a sneer. "They executed his fearless
leader in Baghdad. There's a big stink. Someone secretly filmed the
hanging. Caught Saddam yelling, the executioners cursing at
him...really fun stuff. Our government wants to know how the Iraqis
could put something like that on the air."

Karen looked at Ari with near horror. "You
were crying over that son of a bitch?"

"You wouldn't understand," said Ari in a
tight voice.

"I would hope not."

"I was thirteen when he became president, but
he was the leader long before that, and everyone knew it. When I
was a child, one day…” Ari looked down.

“
You look like shit, but I didn't
realize you were thinking shit, too.” Pulling a gun out from under
her jacket, Karen sat at the table, across from Ari. "You want to
wait outside, Fred? I have some personal things I want to discuss
with Ari here. I can take care of myself."

Fred looked doubtful.

"Go on," Karen persisted.

"All right, but I'm keeping the front door
open."

"If you think you need to."

Karen heard the front door open, waited a
moment, then leaned forward. "How the hell do you know my
name?"

"An old high school classmate of yours told
me."

"Who?"

"Moria Riggins."

Karen briefly thought he was making a sick
joke, then a sickness of awareness caused her face to sag. "You've
seen a yearbook."

"In one of your local libraries."

"I didn't even know they carried them," said
Karen.

"And Tina Press was also part of the
cheerleading squad."

"Yes."

"She said nothing about knowing you, and she
told me she had met Moria in a shopping mall. There was no reason
why she would do this, unless she knew you. She understood that if
I became curious enough I might track down one of those yearbooks
and see all three of you together."

"You really believe she can think that far
ahead?"

"So you have kept in touch over the years and
know her current situation."

Karen bit her lip at being so easily snared.
She had not been prepared for this, but for something completely
different. The gun said it all. She was here about Carrington.

Ari took out a cigarette.

"Would you mind not smoking?" said Karen.

"It would be considered extremely impolite in
my country for you to ask me not to smoke in my own home."

"This isn't your country."

"This isn't your home." Ari lit up.

"Okay, listen, there's been some question--"
Karen sneezed. Ari watched as she fussed with a Kleenex.

"Some question...?"

"About Carrington."

"You mean the detective who killed the
Riggins family?" Ari blew a cloud. "That's what the newspapers say.
The ballistics tests--"

"Yeah, I know. But we've heard rumors coming
out of the RPD. Unofficial things."

"I don't see how there can be any questions.
He felt deep remorse over what he had done and he killed
himself."

"There weren't any traces of gunpowder on his
hand," said Karen.

"Ah..." Ari shook his head. "Are the tests
for these traces always accurate?"

"Usually. And not only that. The ground
around the car was messed up when the rescue crew arrived. But it
looks like there was a van of some sort parked nearby that same
night."

"How near?"

"On the other side of a footbridge, about
forty yards away."

"And someone saw this van?"

"It left tire marks."

"Interesting. So you think it wasn't
suicide?"

"Where were you that night?"

"Here, I believe."

"Do you have anybody who can corroborate
that?"

"Certainly. Jack."

"Jack who?"

"Daniels."

"I'm not talking about your current
company."

Ari nodded his head in confession.

"So?"

"Karen...Miss Sandra...I know Detective
Sergeant Carrington committed suicide because I'm the one who drove
him to it."

The deputy’s eyes narrowed. "How did you do
that?"

"I presented him with the evidence. He was a
murderer. True, he only murdered one person, but about that there
is no doubt."

"You sound even more pompous when you're
drunk." Karen sneezed again. "Do you really have to smoke that shit
around me?"

"You're free to leave."

"No..." Karen wiped her nose. "Go ahead and
prove to me what an asshole you are. You already tried to strangle
me. What's a little suffocation after that?"

Ari stubbed out his cigarette. "I deeply
apologize for what happened--"

"When was the last time you saw
Carrington?"

"Two days before he killed himself. In this
house. He sat in that chair."

"And you showed him your 'evidence'."

"I convinced him that members in his own
department probably knew the truth, that they were suspicious from
the beginning because his investigation was so deeply flawed, and
that one day he would be confronted about it by his peers."

"That's not what we're hearing."

"What you're hearing is idle speculation. The
people who know the truth have no need to spread rumors. 'Justice
has been served' is the curious phrase you have here. I'm satisfied
that the van treads that the police found are unimportant. They
could have been left there at any time."

Ari felt dizzy. He got up and went over the
sink.

"Are you going to puke?"

"One moment..." He leaned over the basin
until the nausea passed. "I think I'll make some tea. Would you
like some?"

"What did you say to him?" Karen
demanded.

Ari filled his new kettle with tapwater and
placed it on the burner.

"Did Tina mention to you that Tom Massington
had become convinced that he wasn't Moria's father?"

"I don't know what you're--" Karen stopped
herself. She took a deep breath. "Did you put enough water in there
for two cups? I think I'll have one, too. And yes, Tina mentioned
it to me."

"Who do you think the real father is?" Ari
added some water to the kettle.

"What? You're saying it was Carrington?"

"Tina met Tom and Heather Massington many
years ago. Did you..."

"I was with Tina that day. Moria had invited
us over."

"And did you ever meet Carrington?"

"No," Karen said.

"Look in the newspaper archives for a picture
of Jerry and Moria accepting an award from the detective. You'll be
impressed by the resemblance between father and daughter."

"Are you implying he murdered his
daughter?"

Ari took a deep breath. He was going to lay
out a tale that squeezed probability at both ends. But it had to be
elaborate enough to keep Karen guessing.

"I believe Heather told him the baby was his.
For years, he followed Moria’s childhood progress from a distance.
Perhaps Heather gave him annual updates, like the investment
reports sent out to shareholders. He was the one who came to the
Massington house to tell the family about the death of the son in a
car accident.

"When Moria grew up and left home, he could
finally play the part of doting father. He may not have thought
much of Jerry. No man likes to see his daughter marry an artist.
But he learned to accept him. He included Jerry in his little
plaque ceremonies and was his booster for other considerations. I'm
sure Detective Carrington could be very persuasive in front of an
award committee. Even more persuasive when he got committee members
alone in a stairwell."

“
He was persuasive enough to take over
the case from a lieutenant,” Karen said grimly.

“
Ah.”

The kettle began to whistle. One of two cups
Ari had prepared was new, bought with the possibility of a visit
from Lynn in mind. But he had not yet invited her to Beach Court.
While the tea steeped, he brought out a box of sugar cubes and set
it on the table.

"Unfortunately, Detective Carrington had no
sense of proportion. Although he had three legitimate children of
his own, his affection centered on Moria. This did not present a
problem while Jerry and Moria lived in the countryside. It was only
when they moved back to the city that Carrington's visits became
excessive."

"You don't think Moria and him..." Karen
looked down at the tea Ari placed before her.

"In my country, cousins frequently marry.
This results in some intense feuding within the family and between
families. I'm convinced that's part of the reason for Saddam's
downfall. But that's another, and much longer, story."

"With a tragic ending, according to you."
Karen's mockery wilted under Ari's harsh glance. "All right, so you
don't think Moria's father was bopping her."

"Not her biological father."

Karen's head shot up. "Tom Massington?"

"Mr. Massington's reaction when he found out
about Moria's true parentage was extreme. It had happened over two
decades ago. If he felt inclined to punish anyone, it should have
been his wife, not the innocent daughter. He behaved more like a
jilted lover."

"But there was Jerry."

"Whom Moria herself referred to as a
'dickless wonder'. I realize this can be interpreted as a metaphor
for a general inadequacy. But it can also be seen--"

"Haven't you heard?" Karen interrupted.
"Impotence doesn't exist in this country anymore. We're the Viagra
nation."

"I wasn't speaking of impotence." Ari took a
sip of tea. He scowled. "I want something stronger."

Karen holstered her Glock, grabbed the box of
sugar, and dropped several cubes in Ari's cup. "Try a little more
of this, instead. I don't want you passing out on me."

Ari nodded reluctantly and stirred his tea
until the cubes dissolved.

"You think Jerry was gay?" she said after Ari
had taken a sip.