“And he got a hammer and beat her brains out one night?”
“Maybe he had it done.”
“By somebody that would use a hammer?”
“Possible.”
“Sure,” I said. “But likely?”
Farrell shook his head slowly.
“Not likely.”
“Stratton know you’ve been investigating him?”
“Shouldn’t,” Farrell said.
“I’d like to bring them all together and confront him with it.”
“All of who?”
“Tripp, his kids, Stratton, see what comes out of it.”
Farrell stared at me for a couple of long moments. Then he shook his head slowly.
“You’re still trying to fix that family,” Farrell said. “You just want to shake the old man out of his trance if you can.”
I shrugged, drank some coffee.
“You could just stick to finding out who killed the woman?”
“Might make sense to bring them together,” I said. “Something might pop out. No harm to it.”
“No harm to you,” he said. “Might be some harm to a detective second grade who accuses a U.S. Senator of a felony without all his evidence in yet.”
I nodded.
“Be stupid to do that,” Farrell said. “Especially if being a gay detective second grade made command staff ill at ease anyway, so to speak.”
I nodded again.
“Unless, of course, you made the charge,” Farrell said.
“Without saying how I knew it,” I said. “And you simply called us together to give the Senator a chance to respond privately, before any formal inquiry began.”
“A chance to lay these baseless charges to rest,” Farrell said.
“Sure,” I said.
“Want to meet here?”
“I’m the guy making the baseless charges,” I said.
“Okay,” Farrell said.
There was silence while we both drank the rest of our coffee. Then Farrell put his cup in my wastebasket and stood.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said.
“I know you are going out a little ways on a limb,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Nice of you to come to the funeral,” Farrell said.
chapter forty-five
THEY CAME. NOBODY seemed very pleased about it, but Farrell got them there. The three Tripps came together, and Stratton came with two guys in London Fog raincoats who waited in the corridor outside my office, and looked intrepid.
Stratton looked at neither Farrell, nor at me. He shook hands with Loudon Tripp and put a hand on his shoulder while he did it. Unspoken condolence. Then Stratton shook Chip’s hand and they gave each other a manly hug and clap on the back.
“Great to see you, Bob,” Chip said. He wasn’t very old and you could tell he liked calling a U.S. Senator by his first name.
We got arranged. Stratton and Loudon Tripp in the two client chairs. Farrell leaning on the wall to my left. The two Tripp children to my right, a little back from the group. Chip looking aggressive, ready to slap a half nelson on someone, Meredith looking passively at the floor.
“Okay, gentlemen,” Stratton said. He smiled at Meredith, who made no eye contact. “And lady. Let’s get to it. You called us together, Officer. What have you got?”
Stratton looked tanned and healthy. His hair was perfectly trimmed and trying its best to look plentiful. His pinstripe suit was well cut. His white shirt crisp and new. He still wore his trench coat, unbuttoned, the belt tucked into the pockets. All in all he was direct, competent, square dealing, straight shooting, judicious, and nice.
Farrell looked edgy and tired.
“Spenser here came to me with some allegations which I thought we’d best confront privately, Senator.”
Stratton’s glance shifted to me. The pale blue eyes as hard as chrome.
“Allegations?”
“Involving the Tripps,” Farrell said.
Stratton continued to stare at me.
“You are becoming something of a pain in the butt,” he said, “Maybe I should have put you out of business a while ago.”
“Being a pain in the butt is my profession,” I said. “What’s the first word that comes to mind when I say The Better Government Coalition?”
Stratton’s eyes became more opaque.
“The American Democratic Imperative?” I said.
Stratton didn’t speak.
“Mal Chapin?”
Stratton stood up.
“That is just about enough of that,” he said. “I am not going to sit here and listen to some cheap private eye trolling for some way to make a name for himself at my expense.”
“I’m cheaper than you think,” I said. “The only check I got for this job bounced.”
Stratton turned toward the door. Farrell went and leaned against it.
“Why not hear him out, Senator, in front of witnesses. Maybe he’ll do something actionable.”
“You get out of my way,” Stratton said.
Farrell’s voice was soft. He was standing face-to-face with Stratton.
“Sit down,” he said.
“Who in hell do you think…?” Stratton started.
“Now.”
Stratton stepped back from the force of the single word.
“I’m sick of you, Stratton,” Farrell said. “I’m sick of the phony macho. I’m sick of the self-importance. I’m sick of the way you comb your hair over your goddamned bald spot. Sit and listen or I’ll bust your stupid senatorial ass.”
“What charge?” Stratton said.
But it was weak. The game was over the moment Stratton stepped back.
“Violation of no-dork zoning regulations,” Farrell said. “Sit down.”
Stratton sat.
“What’s the first word that comes to mind,” I said, “when I say The Better Government Coalition? The American Democratic Imperative? Mal Chapin?”
“Mal works for me,” Stratton said. His voice shook a little. “In my office. I don’t know those other things.”
“Mal work for you full-time?” I said.
“Yes. He’s my chief of staff.”
“Hard job?”
“Hard.” Stratton began to make a comeback. He was on familiar ground. “And thankless. We are involved in very many crucial national and international issues. Mal works ten, fifteen hours a day.”
“Not much time for another job,” I said.
Stratton realized he’d been led down the path. He tried to backtrack.
“Certainly he works hard, but what he does in his off-hours…” Stratton shrugged and spread his hands.
“He’s listed as the President of The American Democratic Imperative,” I said. “A charitable organization based in Washington.”
Stratton shook his head in silence.
“Before her death, Olivia Nelson regularly made large contributions to The Better Government Coalition, in Cambridge. The Better Government Coalition is listed as a subsidiary of The American Democratic Imperative, which is headed by your chief of staff.” Stratton stared straight ahead.
“And you have told me directly that you were intimate with Olivia Nelson,” I said.
The words hung in the room, drifting like the dust of ruination.
Then Loudon Tripp said, “Enough. I’ll hear no more, Spenser. I’m responsible for all of this. I hired you. I brought you and your dirty mind and your gutter morals into all of this. And now you contrive to dirty my dead wife and my friend with one lie.”
“He’s not your friend, Mr. Tripp,” I said. “He slept with your wife. He stole your money.”
“No,” Tripp said. “I’ll hear no more.”
He stood up. Chip stepped in beside him.
“You can’t stop me,” he said to Farrell. “Come on, kids.”
“Last chance,” I said to Tripp. “For all of you. You’ve got to look at this. You’ve got to stop pretending.”
“Get out of my way,” Tripp said again. His voice sounded strangled. “Not my wife, not with my friend.”
He moved past Farrell toward the door. Chip went with him, knotted with excitement, frantic to explode. Meredith stared at him with her mouth half open, motionless.
“Come along, Meredith,” Tripp said. Except that his voice was strangled, he spoke to her as if she were dawdling by a toy store.