The Silent Places (23 page)

“Yeah, I heard.”

Reese waited for the boy to call the lawyer a name or otherwise cuss him. But the boy didn’t. He just returned to work. For some reason, this affected Reese.

Reese said, “What’s your name, son?”

“Connor.”

“You’re Mrs. Mangan’s son?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“You handled that guy pretty well.”

“I didn’t do anything. He’d’ve kept yelling at me if you hadn’t come along.”

“That’s all he would have done. He’s a bully. If he comes back and gives you any more trouble, give me a call.”

“I can handle it,” the boy said, his tone defensive.

Reese smiled. “Okay,” he said, and moved away.

A couple of hours later, Reese was working on the rifle when he heard the knock on his door. He knew who it was, but he called out “Who is it?” anyway.

“Mrs. Mangan.”

“Just a minute,” Reese said, and stored the gun under the bed. He answered the door.

Molly said, “Connor told me what happened. Is it true?”

“I don’t know what he told you,” Reese replied.

“He said that the guest from Lexington was being rude to him and that you ran him off.”

“I didn’t run him off. I just made him see that he was … being unpleasant. It was not a big deal.”

“It was to Connor. He was very impressed by it.”

Reese made a sort of shrug. He was self-conscious. He said, “Would you like to come in?”

The woman looked at him, a startled expression in her eyes.

Reese said, “I don’t mean—I didn’t mean any—”

“I know,” the woman said. “I know you didn’t. No, thank you. I guess I was hesitating because I wanted to tell you something else. Connor asked me to apologize to you.”

“For what?”

“He thinks he may have been rude to you after you helped him. He feels bad about it. He was embarrassed and he, well, he didn’t know what to say.”

“He handled himself very well. You’ve got a good kid there.”

Mrs. Mangan smiled. “Yes, I think so. Do you have children, Mr. Bryan?”

“No. We’ No.”

There was a silence between them, the woman hesitating.

Reese said, “Well.”

“Well,” Molly said. “Good night, Mr. Bryan.”

“You can call me Paul.”

“Good night, Paul.”

She looked at him in a way that was terribly unself-conscious, and it struck Reese that she was actually very pretty. She smiled at him again and turned and walked down the hall.

Hastings was stopped at the subdivision containing Preston’s house. There were four black Chevy Suburbans that he could see. A man in black jeans and a black turtleneck held a hand up in front of his Jaguar. Another man, also dressed in black, came to the car window as Hastings rolled it down.

Hastings took him in. Tall and hard-looking. No security contractor here. This was a mercenary.

Clu Rogers said, “What do you want?”

Hastings showed him his identification and gave his name. He said, “I’d like to speak to the senator.”

Clu said, “You’re not on the list.”

“What list?”

“The list of approved guests.” Clu pointed back down the hill. “So beat it.”

“It’s police business,” Hastings said. “You interfering?”

“I’m doing my job. You gonna arrest me?”

“If need be,” Hastings said.

They looked at each other impassively for a few moments, both of them armed and trying to hide their anger.

Clu said, “You want to try that, you better come back with more men.”

Hastings smiled at him. “Are you a tough guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what are we arguing about?” Hastings said.

It confused the man for a moment. Then he regained himself. Clu said, “Listen, I’m going to—”

“Hey!”

Clu Rogers turned around to face Sylvia Preston.

She was in her overcoat, putting her icy glare on him.

“Mrs. Preston,” Clu said.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Ma’am,” Clu said, “he was trying to barge in here.”

“It didn’t look like that to me. Now get out of the way.”

“Ma’am, he doesn’t have an appointment.”

“This is my home and nobody is going to tell me who comes and goes. Now step aside.”

Clu looked at the other bodyguard, trying to save some face; then he stepped back and Hastings drove past him and parked the car. When he got out of it, Mrs. Preston was walking up to him.

She said, “I saw you from the window.”

“Thanks,” Hastings said. “Sorry about that. I guess I should have called first.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Sylvia Preston said. “About them. And about something else, too.”

“What?”

“We can talk about it later. Do you mind if I ask what you want to see my husband about?”

“I don’t mind. I’d like to talk to him about the speech he’s going to give before the VFW.”

Sylvia said, “You don’t want him to do it.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Come on,” she said, touching him on the arm, leading him into the house.

Preston was alone in his study and on the telephone when Sylvia escorted Hastings in. Preston was dressed casually, slacks and a sweater. He saw Hastings, made a point of not acknowledging him, and continued talking on the phone. Hastings heard him say, “Well, he’s finished anyway. … Yeah, down by eleven points, and there’s no way he’s going to catch up.…” Then he laughed at something and bid the caller a warm good-bye.

Preston said, “Mr. Hastings, I was informed you were no longer on this case.”

“That’s right,” Hastings said.

“Then what can I do for you?”

Hastings said, “I’m conducting an investigation.”

Silence as the men looked at each other. Then Preston said, “On who?”

“John Reese.”

The senator took his eyes off the policeman and put them on his wife. “Sylvia,” he said. “Would you excuse us?”

Sylvia Preston looked at her husband, then at Hastings. Hastings nodded at her, a gesture of gratitude, and she left the room.

When she was gone, Preston said, “I have a golf game in a half hour. I would appreciate it if you would come to the point.”

“You’re going to play golf?” Hastings said. “Where?”

“Not that I need to tell you, but a private club in Chesterfield. I doubt you’re familiar with it.”

“Senator, there is a man in town who wants to kill you. And you’re golfing, making speeches outdoors. You’re exposing yourself to unnecessary risk. Why?”

“
You
say there’s a man.”

“No, you said it. You specifically asked the chief for police protection because you thought John Reese would come after you. It turns out you were right.”

“My wife—”

“Please don’t put this on your wife. It would not have been done if you hadn’t wanted it done.”

The senator gave Hastings one of his authoritative glares. “Are you questioning my integrity, Lieutenant?”

“Senator, I’m sure you have your reasons for doing what you’re doing. But I’m trying to find a man who’s threatening to kill you. For reasons I cannot comprehend, you seem unwilling to help me.”

“Let me ask you something,” Preston said. “Just what is it you saw that night? Did you actually see the man who shot at you?”

“No. Not up close.”

“Well, I have seen him up close. I prosecuted him and put him behind bars, where he belongs. I spent the better part of a year building that case. And now you, who knows nothing about him, you come into my home and deign to tell me about him. When you didn’t even see him.”

“The man who shot me was no junkie. He used a high-powered rifle. We have it. Do you want to see it? Will that make you believe it was him?”

“I’m not interested, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, he’s interested in you. And he’s not going away.”

“Just what is it you propose I do? Stay here the rest of my life? Give up public service? I can’t do that.”

“No one’s asking you to. Just lie low for a few days. I’ll bring him in. I’ll see he goes back to prison.”

Preston shook his head. “This is not a homicide, Lieutenant. It’s not your jurisdiction.”

“The city of St. Louis
is
my jurisdiction. And John Reese is wanted for assault with a deadly weapon.”

“Well,” Preston said, “good luck with that. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Burning at the senator’s patronizing tone, Hastings turned and walked out of the room.
Fuck it
, he thought. Fucking senator talking down to him, using his prosecutor’s voice.
Let me ask you something?
Jerkoff. Hastings told himself to write a report when he got back to the station, summarizing this conversation. At least his ass would be covered when the senator got shot playing the back nine.
This officer tried to warn the senator that he would be killed by John Reese and the senator told this officer to go pound sand up his ass. Respectfully submitted, Lt. Hastings
.

Sylvia Preston caught up to him in the driveway.

“Lieutenant,” she said. “Is that it?”

Hastings stopped and took her in. She was a very pretty woman, too good-looking to be married to such an asshole.

“Yeah,” Hastings said, “we’re finished.”

Sylvia said, “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t, either. Mrs. Preston, a few days ago, you told me your husband was afraid. Is that still true?”

“…I don’t know.”

“What has he told you?”

“He’s been … keeping his own counsel the last couple of days. I wish he would tell me more.”

Hastings looked at her, saw that she was frightened. Maybe unhappy, too.

Now she said, “Was it John Reese out there in the park?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Why? Why is he so intent on…”

“I don’t know. Does your husband?”

“Maybe. He won’t tell me.”

“Ask him,” Hastings said.

Sylvia Preston’s face contorted. “And then what? Report back to you?”

“It would be for his benefit.”

“Are you sure?”

Hastings said, “Are you going to second-guess me, too?”

“No,” she said. “It’s not like that. You’re asking me to—to do things behind his back.”

“Mrs. Preston, I want to catch John Reese, and your husband seems not to want to help me. Or himself. Maybe you know why.”

“I don’t know why. Really, I don’t. I do know he doesn’t like you.”

Hastings smiled, a bit flattered by this. “No, he doesn’t.”

Sylvia said, “My husband has a big ego, Lieutenant. It’s helped get him where he is. You’ve got quite an ego yourself. Though you’re a little better at hiding it. A little.”

“Perhaps there’s something in what you say,” Hastings said. “But I’m not interested in competing with him.”

“I wasn’t suggesting—”

“I know you weren’t. I wasn’t, either.”

The senator’s wife was blushing. She turned away and Hastings said, “Mrs. Preston.”

“Yes?”

“If he’s in trouble, you should tell me.”

She didn’t answer him.

Hastings handed her a business card. He said, “It’s got my cell number on there. If there’s something you want to talk about, call me.”

She took the card without looking at him. Then Hastings turned to walk to his car.

“Lieutenant.”

Hastings stopped and turned. “Yes?”

“He never thanked you, did he?”

“For what?”

“You know. For chasing that man and getting shot. He never thanked you for it.”

“No. But … that’s all right.”

“
I’m
thanking you.” Sylvia Preston looked at Hastings now. “He is my husband and the father of my daughter.”

“I know that,” Hastings said, aware now that she was a woman, too, not just a senator’s wife. A flesh-and-blood woman with the same marital troubles and fears as any other woman, unresolved by money and power and access. Hastings looked at her eyes and said,“Will you think about what I’ve asked you, please?”

“I’ll try.”

The boy got up from his table when Reese came into the dining room. He asked Reese if he could get him anything.

“No, thanks,” Reese said. “I’ll get it.” He walked to the coffee stand and poured himself a cup. “Sit down,” Reese said. “I’m okay.”

The boy sat down and picked up a paperback book. Reese looked at it.

Reese said, “You reading
Lord of the Flies
?”

“Yeah. It’s for school. I have to do a book report on it next week.”

“You like it?”

“It’s okay. Have you read it?”

“A long time ago,” Reese said. “When I was your age, we had to read
Huckleberry Finn
for school.”

“They recommend that,” Connor said. “I mean, it’s on a list of recommended books. But they don’t assign it at school. I guess it’s controversial because it’s got the
n
word.”

“That’s right; it does,” Reese said. “But I don’t think that’s what the book’s about.”

“I know,” the boy said. “Yeah, Huck calls Jim that, because everyone said that back then. But he treats Jim as an equal when no one else really does. And that’s the point. It’s like the teachers don’t think we’re smart enough to figure those things out.”

Reese smiled. “Maybe
they
haven’t figured it out. You like school?”

“It’s okay. I kind of want to get out, though. Move on.”

“Have you thought about what you’d like to do?”

“My mom wants me to study mechanical engineering. I like working on motorcycles, you know, things. But … I don’t know yet.”

“You have time to sort it out.”

Reese sipped his coffee. A few moments passed and the boy said, “A friend of mine, he’s got an old car, a Datsun 510? You know what I’m talking about?”

“Not really.”

“It’s over thirty years old. Kind of boxy? It’s got a stick shift. Really cool-looking car. It’s got some rust and it needs a new engine, but me and my friend, we’re going to buy it this summer and fix it up. Rebuild it. It’ll only cost four hundred dollars. I mean two hundred each. That’s not too much, right?”

“Probably not. But it sounds like a lot of work.”

The boy saw no downside. He only looked forward to things. He said, “When we’re finished, it’s going to be great.”

“I’m sure it will,” Reese said. He was trying to remember if he’d ever had a conversation like this with a kid. He didn’t think he had.