"No, no girlfriend," I told him. "The only realistic candidate... is my daughter Christine."
The silence was even longer this time. I listened to the sirens reach a peak, then stop outside the building. "I remember Christine," Dooley said. "And I also thought I remembered that she, uh, had died a while back."
"You're right," I said. "She did."
Given the Longworth family's social prominence (and big fat bank account), the chief had sent a captain down to supervise the cleanup. I bet Internal Affairs was going to spit blood over that.
Captain D'Agostino brought a team of eight detectives with him. He said it would be a while before they got to me, so I spent the time wandering around the condo, being careful not to touch anything or disturb the forensics techs.
Like the rest of the place, Jamieson Longworth's bedroom didn't look especially lived in. It contained a king-sized bed (where I gus he fucked all those nice girls his mom had mentioned), some new-looking furniture, and a big, elaborate computer, but not much of his personality was imprinted on the room. Considering what I knew about his personality, the room should've considered itself lucky.
I wandered over to the huge computer desk that looked like it was made out of teak. It had drawers, cubbyholes, paper trays, and even a cup holder. Wouldn't want to spill any cappuccino on the keyboard, would we?
The machine itself was a Dell PC that I assumed was top-of-the-line. It looked like it had everything but warp drive, and I decided not to bet against that feature either. I would have loved to go through its files to see if I could shed any light on Longworth's threats, but Captain D'Agostino would probably boil me in oil for messing around with his crime scene.
I'd have to see about getting access to the computer through channels later, assuming it was even impounded as evidence and the Longworth family didn't demand its return immediately. The Longworths, I was learning, tended to get what they wanted. But even they couldn't fetch sonny-boy back from Hell, where I hoped he and some especially sadistic demon were having a nice chat right about now.
Some scraps of paper and index cards were strewn around the keyboard and mouse pad, and I bent over them to see if Jamieson Longworth had obligingly left all his secrets written down for me, just like on TV. I took out my pen and used its blunt end to move some of the stuff around a little for a better look, but all I learned was that Longworth wanted to remember to "Call Mom," had a dentist appointment next week he was unlikely to keep, and was running low on pineapple juice and cottage cheese.
From the living room, somebody called my name. I started a little, and my hand brushed the computer's black and silver mouse, where it lay on a rubber pad that had "Carpe Noctem" printed on it in spooky-looking letters. The machine must have been in sleep mode, because that slight movement of the mouse woke it up. I heard my name again, and it sounded like the voice's owner was closer now, and getting pissed.
As I straightened up, I saw that the monitor was now showing a professional-looking photo of a small stone building with water around it. It looked like it belonged on a calendar from Ireland, or someplace. You'd think Longworth's tastes would run more toward splatter porn. Go figure. I didn't recognize the image on the screen, but there was something…
"What are you doing, Detective?"
One of D'Agostino's guys, in a blue pinstripe suit and hundred-dollar haircut that made him seem more like a corporate lawyer than a cop, stood in the door. He looked like he'd caught me buggering a donkey right here in the bedroom.
"Just killing time," I said. "Sorry I didn't hear you at first – daydreaming, I guess."
He stepped into the room and glanced at the computer screen, then looked at me hard for a few seconds. But when I didn't turn into a weeping puddle and confess to the Lindbergh kidnapping, he jerked his head back in the direction he'd come from. "Come on – you're up."
"You bet," I said, and followed him out of the room. The photo on Longworth's monitor wasn't either significant or sinister. Just a little pastoral art, unlikely as that might be. But I was irritated that it had some kind of association for me that I couldn't put a finger on.
I didn't get to dwell on it for long. I soon had other irritations to replace it, all of them wearing expensive suits and power ties.
I didn't have a lot to talk about, since my role in both the raid and the shooting was one of observer. I told two of D'Agostino's detectives what I'd seen, and agreed to provide sworn testimony at any proceedings, departmental or legal, that might stem from today's tragic events. Then I got to say the same thing to two more of them. Then two more. Karl, I found out later, went through the same fucking round-robin. Then, when they finally ran out of idiotic questions, and big words to ask them with, they cut us loose.
"I wonder who's gonna get the job," I said to Karl, as we walked back to the Rite-Aid lot.
"Who, Dooley's? He won't get fired, Stan. I don't care who the fucking kid's family is. It was a righteous shoot, with lots of witnesses."
"No, I mean the job of bringing the bad news to Mrs. Longworth. Glad it won't be us."
We'd walked another three or four paces before Karl said, "Maybe they can tell her it was done by werewolves."
Karl had made a light on yellow that I hadn't, so he was just getting out of his car as I pulled into the police department lot. He walked over and waited while I locked the Toyota. "You heard what Longworth said back there," I said.
"About your loved ones? Yeah, I heard the fucker. You think he meant Christine?"
"I don't see who else he could've been talking about. I mean, I kinda like you, Karl, but you don't really qualify as a 'loved one,' you know?"
"I guess that means no flowers on Valentine's Day," he said. "How about Lacey?"
"No, she doesn't quite make the list, either."
"Okay, so it's Christine," Karl said. "You got a plan?"
"Not much of one. But I'm for damn sure gonna be right here, come sunset."
We started walking slowly toward the station house.
"Think I'll tag along, if that's okay," Karl said.
"Sure, the more the merrier," I said, then, "Thanks, man."
"No prob. Anyway, if you don't mind me saying so, I think Christine's kinda cute."