“Joe,” she began to interrupt, her voice softer, but I stopped her again.
“Let me get this out. I’m not playing for sympathy here. I’m trying to be realistic. For whatever reasons, you’ve been given a second shot at life, and you’re going at it hammer and tongs-as you should. It’s not all that different from before, after all-being a Realtor, a selectman, all those board positions you had-but now there’s an intensity that wasn’t there before. You used to do what you did because life just turned out that way. Now I don’t know if I can keep up with you, or if it’ll be any good if I try.”
One of the things I liked most about Gail was her reluctance to tell people what they wanted to hear. She didn’t say she was sorry when she wasn’t, didn’t offer condolences when she didn’t feel them, and didn’t dole out sentimental soothings just to make an issue go away.
She could have argued against what I’d just said, but I wasn’t surprised she didn’t.
“Does this tie into when the AG threw the book at you?” she asked.
I thought about that for a moment. The year before, I’d been framed by people who’d wanted me out of the way, and a Young Turk from the Attorney General’s office had wasted no time playing into their hands. Only a revelation of the truth and a last-minute pardon from the governor had saved my job. Part of the AG’s reasoning had been that my living with a younger, richer, upwardly mobile woman-with whom I could no longer keep pace-had made me open to corruption. He’d been wrong on the facts, but he’d cut close to the bone emotionally. I had been feeling outdistanced.
“Partly,” I admitted. “One of the reasons we always worked so well together was because we gave each other lots of space. We moved in together because you needed the company-you were wounded. Temporarily. But now that you’re healthy again, I’m feeling a little like the nurse who’s been allowed to stay on just for sentimental reasons. You’re so strong and so motivated and so wrapped up in the things you’re doing, I guess I’ve started to feel a little sorry for myself.”
“And you want your old life back,” she said.
I shook my head. “That’s oversimplifying it. I want to know what you’re feeling. I want us to find something that works for both of us. I’m not pretending we can just turn the clock back, and I sure as hell don’t want us to split up. What I used to feel being with you was an inner calm-a sense of completeness. I just want to know if that can be revived.”
There was more welling up inside me-all on the same theme. But I fell silent, knowing that to go on would be either futile or unnecessary-and fearing that I’d said too much already.
Gail got up and circled the small table and pulled me to my feet. She kissed me long and hard, her arms wrapped tightly around me. When she pulled back, her eyes were moist, as were mine, but her voice was recharged with purpose. “I’ll never meet another man like you-ever-and I don’t plan on losing you now. But I don’t want to talk anymore. I want to take you to bed. Okay?”
I nodded and followed her upstairs.
17
Ron found me the next morning in the officer’s room, pouring myself a cup of coffee.
He waved a fax at me. “Finally heard back from the Portland court clerk. Five years ago, Jim Reynolds defended Katahdin Trucking on a case of illegal shipping of hazardous materials.”
I took the sheet from him and studied its contents. “I’ll be damned.”
“That give us enough for a duces tecum search of his office yet?”
I shook my head. “He’s a defense lawyer-this just proves it. And most of the other things we have, or had, against him still don’t amount to much. Even a judge who hated the guy wouldn’t cut us papers on this. And Derby sure as hell wouldn’t.”
Ron looked disappointed.
“Which only means we’re jumping the gun slightly,” I added to cheer him up. “Find out who in Katahdin was involved. Let’s see if we can form a link between Resnick, Katahdin, and Reynolds. That might give us enough to get through his door.”
I saw the morning paper lying on the kitchenette table amid the debris of several people’s fast-food breakfasts. The headlines were still screaming about the killing of Billy Conyer two nights ago. “I guess they’re having a field day,” I commented between sips of coffee.
Ron followed my glance. “You read it yet? Katz wrote an article about undue force, violence in general, and the irony of our being more part of the problem than part of the solution.”
“Catchy. Sammie in yet? I never got a chance to compare notes with her about Conyer yesterday.”
Ron told me she’d come in early, and I followed him back to our squad room.
Sammie didn’t look good. She was disheveled, had bags under her eyes, and appeared to have gone all night without sleep. I sat next to her desk and asked quietly, “You okay?”
Her answer was almost curt. “Fine. What’d you find out from the Conyer brothers?”
“And good morning to you.”
She sighed irritably. “Andy and I had a fight last night.”
“Gail and I had one the night before.”
She looked at me for a long time and then allowed a half smile. “What a drag, huh?”
“I don’t know. We made up.” I didn’t add to what ambiguous effect.
Her shoulders slumped slightly. “I suppose we will, too. I forgot how hard this junk is.”
“You haven’t had a lot of experience at it, Sam. It does get easier. What happened?”
She hesitated before admitting. “The job got in the way. You know how I was supposed to check into Conyer’s inner circle? Well, Andy cropped up again.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh?”
“Yeah. I mean, I know he’s no choirboy. I also know he doesn’t have a record. But he did hang out… I guess I should say he does hang out with some guys who do.”
I smiled to hide my concern. “So do we. What makes this different?”
“One of Conyer’s favorite dives was the Dirty Dollar. Andy’s a regular there. They knew each other, and Andy never fessed up to it. The son of a bitch fired a shot at me, and Andy never admitted he knew him. I had to go to the Dollar, poke around, and find it out for myself. I felt like a total jerk.”
Her pallor gave way to flushed cheeks as she worked herself up. I had no problem imagining the scene at her place last night. “He might’ve been hoping you wouldn’t find out. Did you dig up any criminal ties between him and Conyer?”
“No. As far as I could tell, they just drank together sometimes.”
“Then that’s probably all there was to it. After all, it wouldn’t have changed anything if he had told you he’d known Conyer, right? The guy was already dead. What’s Andy’s take on your job?”
“He doesn’t think much of it, and he sure as hell doesn’t like Kunkle. And from what he told me, I’m about ready to tear Willy a new asshole myself.” She suddenly leaned forward, speaking right into my face. “Andy said Willy’s been checking up on him-talking to neighbors, co-workers, hanging out on his street. I couldn’t believe it. Like everybody I know’s been holding out on me, like I was some fucking retard.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Whoa. Take a breather. You know that’s not true. Come on-sit back.”
I pushed her slightly and she settled back in her chair. But her face remained grim.
“Sammie, you checked him out yourself. You just told me so.”
Her mouth tightened.
“Willy thinks more of you than he lets on. You’re probably the one person on the whole squad he considers a friend.”
“Some friend.”
“Yeah, some friend. You fall head over heels for a guy you found at an all-night poker game during a homicide investigation. Wouldn’t you have been concerned if you’d been Willy? You two are partners, for Christ’s sake.”
She didn’t answer, but I could tell I’d hit home.
“I’ll admit he might’ve gone a little overboard. Tell me that’s out of character.”