Still leaning back, Justin wondered if he really knew what the hell he was doing. He decided, as usual, that he didn’t, but he was damn sure going to go ahead and do it anyway.
18
The doorbell rang at exactly 6:30 A.M. Justin knew that Leona would be prompt; he’d planned on opening the door with a flourish seconds before she was due to arrive. But his timing was off. He chalked it up to a combination of the early hour, the icy chill that permeated his house, and the half a bottle of scotch he had consumed the night before. He hadn’t been able to sleep. He chalked that up to the phone conversation he’d had with Marjorie Leggett, in which he’d told her not to worry, that he’d tell her everything she wanted to know real soon; to the fact that he spent much of the night trying to force himself not to call Reggie Bokkenheuser, whose house he could see from one of his living room windows; and to the scotch. At some point he’d had the choice of sleeping or drinking. Sleep wasn’t nearly as delicious as the single malt.
“You look like hell,” Leona said as she stepped inside.
“It’s not my best time of day.”
“What is your best time of day, Jay?”
“Good point.” He shrugged. “I guess I don’t really have one.”
Leona Krill stood by his couch but didn’t sit. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“Are you going to want every detail of what I’m doing? ’Cause I don’t really work too well that way.”
“The town’s paying for this trip, I assume. Don’t you think that gives me the right to ask?”
“I’ll submit my expenses. If you don’t want to pay them, I’ll pay myself.”
“You’re an arrogant bastard sometimes, aren’t you?”
“I’m an arrogant bastard most of the time, Leona. It just comes out more when I have to get up before dawn. Plus I’ve got a few things on my mind.”
She shook her head. “Did you make coffee?”
“And bought skim milk.”
He disappeared into the kitchen, came back a moment later with a mug. Steam curled out of the top.
Leona thanked him, took a sip of the coffee, and said, “I don’t know anything about murder investigations, Jay.”
“No reason you should.”
“But I’m the mayor. And whatever happens, I’m going to be responsible.”
“Feel free to shift the blame to me. If that’s why you’re here, I give you my permission.”
“I’m here because I want to make sure that you know how to handle a murder investigation. Because if you don’t, I can get help.”
He held back the laugh that wanted to come out. But he couldn’t hold it back entirely. “Leona, I don’t think you’re going to find anyone who’s gonna be much help on this one.”
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s a lot more going on than you should know about. I wasn’t really kidding about taking the blame. If I’m right, this is gonna get messy and dangerous. If I’m wrong, at least you can say you didn’t know anything about it.”
“And you don’t think maybe you could use some support? Some help?”
“Probably. But I’m not asking for any.”
“You know, I was meeting with Jimmy once and I asked him about you.”
“Was this before you decided to switch teams?”
“I was asking about you professionally, not personally. You want to know what he said?” When Justin shrugged, she took another sip of coffee and said, “Jimmy was a fairly solid guy. Nice, he cared about things, not exactly a philosopher. But what he said struck me as smart, not the kind of thing I ever would have thought of. He told me he thought you were the most trustworthy person he’d ever met. I said that was quite a compliment, and he said he didn’t really mean it that way. So I asked him what he meant and he said that most people were honest because they thought they’d get caught if they weren’t. If someone found a suitcase full of cash, and no one was around, he’d usually keep it. But if someone else was there, if someone was watching and could tell on him, he’d do the right thing and turn it in. Because he’d be afraid of what might happen to him if he didn’t. But Jimmy said that you didn’t care if anyone was watching. You’d do what you thought was right no matter the situation. If you thought it was right to keep it, you would. If you thought it was right to give it back, that’s what you’d do.” She took one more long sip of coffee. “He said the reason was you didn’t care about getting caught. He said you didn’t care at all about what happened to you. That’s why he said he trusted you. Because you’d tell him what you were going to do with that suitcase, and he knew you’d be telling the truth. Because you didn’t care. Interesting, don’t you think?”
“Well, like you said, Jimmy was a pretty good guy. He wasn’t a genius, though.”
Leona started to put the mug down, looked for a coaster, couldn’t find one, so she got up and took it to the kitchen sink. From there she went straight to the front door, stopping only to say, “Thank you for hiring Regina. I appreciate it.”
“I hired her because she’s good, not because you asked me to.”
“Okay, then I don’t appreciate it. Check in with me when you get back.”
“Yes, boss,” he said.
“Don’t forget it,” she told him.
Justin tried to pay attention. But it was almost impossible. For one thing, he was thinking about what Leona had told him, what Jimmy had said about him. For another, the woman across the desk from him would not stop talking.
She was not unattractive, although she did her best to downplay any hint of a feminine side. She was probably in her early forties, her skin was clear and smooth, her dark brown hair drably cut, absolutely straight with no faddish layering. She wore a Nancy Reaganish red wool business suit-jacket buttoned nearly up to her neck and a matching skirt that came down to mid-calf. Shiny, trim brown boots with a thin two-inch heel rose up to meet the hem of the skirt, leaving no room for even an inch of skin to show through. Underneath her jacket was a dark blue shirt. The only thing left open in her outfit was the top button of the shirt, which allowed perhaps two inches of her neck to be exposed. She wore delicate and tasteful pearl earrings; other than that her only jewelry was a simple gold watch clasped around her right wrist on an equally simple gold band. As a package, it added up to something that was very conservatively marketed, refusing to draw attention to itself, insisting that the viewer concentrate on the substance rather than the nonexistent glitz.
Her voice was another thing altogether.
It was nasal and too high-pitched and did nothing but draw attention to itself. It lacked confidence and firmness and was just a shade too quiet. Mostly it was empty. It belied her substantive appearance and did little more than timidly whisper that underneath the surface there was absolutely nothing.
Justin Westwood wondered which half of this woman was for real-the substance or the emptiness. If he had to bet, he knew which way he’d go. She was a bureaucrat. Bet empty.
Justin was not, for the most part, prone to self-analysis. He did not usually care to examine the reasons he acted the way he did, because, with rare exception, he had little interest in acting any other way. Jimmy had definitely been right in that regard. When Justin mourned, it was because he wanted to mourn and had no interest in overcoming his grief. When he retreated from the world-which he’d done, in his own way, for quite a few years after Alicia and Lili died-it was because there was no desire to come out of hiding. When he got drunk or stoned, it was because being high felt better than not being high. And when he was sober it was because it seemed right to be anchored to reality and any ensuing pain was worth the effort. He might not like what he was doing at any particular moment but whatever he was doing it was because he liked the alternatives even less.