“I’m sure you do,” I said as I headed for the door.
I found Willy Kunkle in the squad room, reading a book. “Thanks for the info about the neighbor. What made you think of that?”
Willy marked his place with a thumb. “Old-fashioned police work. Just noticed nobody else had done it.”
“Is the neighbor credible?”
“Enough. Retired schoolteacher, working on the great American piece of shit. Stays up half the night looking for inspiration. Seems to do it staring out the window, though, ’cause he knew the habits of everyone within sight. I quizzed him on it.”
“Any hint of a girlfriend tucked away?”
“For Reynolds? Nope. I asked. The teacher’s never seen anyone other than the Mrs. and the kids and the standard politicos. And usually the senator stays put after lights out. That’s why this stuck in his memory.”
“So his car was parked early on, then vanished, then reappeared before dawn?”
“Yup. His guess was it was gone from about nine till four-thirty or so.”
“You ask Reynolds about it?”
“I figured that was your job.”
Tony Brandt found me in my office about ten minutes later and made a seat out of one of my low-profile filing cases. “You recovered?”
“Oh, sure. I just wanted to leave him dangling. He’s not the first prosecutor to have a hissy-fit. I just hope he improves with age.”
Brandt nodded in agreement. “Tell me more about Maine.”
“There isn’t much more. Looks like Reynolds was doing his lawyer thing, rounding up witnesses and the rest, when he came across Resnick, who was doing the same kind of contract work for Katahdin he was doing for Timson. The guy we talked to thought Reynolds probably caught wind of Resnick’s Mob connections and dropped him like a hot rock to make his case look better. Perfectly reasonable.”
Brandt looked disappointed. “What about Reynolds not being in his apartment the night Resnick died?”
“I just talked to Willy. The source sounds good. Whether Derby likes it or not, I’m going to have to ask Reynolds to explain it.”
“That’s fine,” he said. “Just fly low when you do. Jack asked me to issue a press statement about how Reynolds is no more a suspect than anyone else we look at during a case. It would probably help if Katz isn’t given any more than is necessary.”
“Speaking of which, are you going to look for the leak?”
“Yeah. I’m not at all happy about that, Derby or no Derby. We all use the press now and then to our own advantage, but this was way over the line. If I find the guy, he’ll be out of a job. What is your strategy going to be on the Resnick case?”
“Now that I’ve been given my marching orders?” I asked with a smile.
“Regardless.”
“Well, right now it seems like Billy Conyer’s our best inroad. Given his homebody personality and habits, at least one of his two co-killers must be local, or at least have local ties. Billy didn’t get around much. I was planning to organize an alibi dragnet, put the squeeze on anyone and everyone who had anything to do with him, and see what popped out.”
Brandt looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, “That’s probably what Derby’s most worried about.”
“Jesus, Tony-”
“I know, I know. Hold your horses. Do what you’ve got to. Just warn your troops to tread carefully. Derby may be wet behind the ears politically, but it won’t be good for any of us if Owen Tharp’s case gets thrown out of court on some technicality. Remember, if you start asking questions of people who’re planted in both the Resnick and Tharp cases, and one of them blabs something revealing about Tharp, that’s got to be shared, either with Derby or McNeil-if it looks like he could use it.” He slid off the filing cabinet and moved toward the door. “That’s the law. So watch out. That’s all I’m saying.”
I waited until he was gone and then rubbed my face vigorously with my hands, wondering what the hell else could go wrong.
As things turned out, I didn’t have to chase down Jim Reynolds to ask him about the night Phil Resnick was murdered. He called me, and he didn’t sound pleased.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I took the phone away from my ear and looked at it, wondering how many other politicians were going to rake me over the coals today. I seriously considered hanging up on him.
“Shouldn’t you be asking Stan Katz that?” I asked instead. I had since read the article in the Reformer. It did make for some serious entertainment. Katz had done the writing himself, much to Alice Simms’s irritation, no doubt, and he’d done a good job. It had been suggestive to the very brink of libel, without falling over.
“I’m leaving Katz to my lawyer,” he blustered. “I want to find out what your beef is with me. I know a lot of cops are upset about my bill, but I thought you, of all people, were above this kind of character assassination.”
I almost laughed at the narcissism of it. I was looking into a homicide, and he thought I had an ax to grind over his bill. “Believe me, Senator, I couldn’t care less about what you’re doing up there. You want to get together, though, I’d be happy to oblige. I have some more questions to ask you.”
There was a surprised and wary silence at the other end. “What about?”
“I’d prefer to do it in person.”
Anger crept back into his voice. “Fine. I’ll be at the house tonight. Come at eight.” He hung up before I could answer.
Laura Reynolds opened the door, looking less than thrilled to see me. She was polite, though, and took my coat, showed me to the living room, and offered me something to drink. I declined, she happily abandoned me, and I sat alone by a crackling fire, surrounded by tasteful indirect lighting, soft carpeting, and furniture that looked like no child had ever thrown up on it. It was unusually pristine for a house full of kids. Then again, few of my house calls were to places with live-in help and heated garages.
Reynolds let me stew for a while, either testing me or trying to put me in my place. But I was content to enjoy the fire and the comfortable sofa, and spend the night there if necessary.
It wasn’t. He appeared fifteen minutes later, with no apology, and sat in a wingback opposite me, crossing his legs in a commanding manner-the lord of all around him.
“What’ve you got for me now, Lieutenant? My car been seen running people down again?”
“Where were you on the night Resnick died?” I asked bluntly, tiring of the theatrics.
He froze for a split second and then furrowed his brow. “Ah. You found out about that, did you?”
Brilliant, I thought. He’d headed me off at the pass, skipping a denial altogether.
“Where were you?” I repeated.
“At a clandestine political meeting, the nature of which I’d like not to disclose.”
“You won’t necessarily have to, if the other person or people involved can corroborate your being there.”
He tapped his chin with his fingertip and glanced up at the ceiling. “To reveal one would be to reveal the other. I’m afraid that would be too risky, especially given what’s already happened. I am sorry.”
I merely stared at him.
“Lieutenant, I know you told me earlier you couldn’t care less, but what I’m trying to do in Montpelier is to change something running all the way back to the state’s beginnings. That isn’t going to be easy. There are many people who think I’m right, but most of them can’t afford to admit it in public. That means my dealings with them have to take place discreetly, as on the night in question. That was the first such instance, as I’m sure my nosy neighbor told you. But it won’t be the last. Be prepared to hear him report all sorts of midnight sorties, because the back room deal-making has only just begun.”
“What was your relationship with Phil Resnick five years ago, during the Katahdin Trucking case?”
He smiled indulgently, getting on my nerves. “Right. The trip to Maine. My ‘relationship,’ as you call it, consisted of a single interview, during which I asked him about his working for the company. I discovered as a result that he would be playing no part in my defense strategy, and thus I never spoke with him again.”