“Right, but, Cyril… we’re keeping you closer than that,” said Evans slowly.
Hayes turned around. “Closer?”
“Yes.”
“What’s closer? How close?”
“In-house,” said Evans. “You’re being restricted to interviews in-house.”
Hayes’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“Yes.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. Interviews of lower-level men in the company.”
“Lower-level?” said Hayes, outraged.
“Yes. Foremen, managers, team leads. Working-class leaders. Suspicious subjects. We have a list of names here, scheduled interviews, and you’re going to interview them.”
Hayes came back over and sat. “That’s not… That won’t…”
“Listen, Cyril, you’re lucky they kept you on. They just want to start you out small and controlled. Build you up.”
“Build me up.”
“Yes. And we’ll need to keep you stabilized, too.”
“What’s stabilized? What does that mean?”
Evans nervously scratched the back of his neck. “It means supervision.”
Hayes’s face went dead. All the thought in his wide blue eyes faded until they could have been painted on.
“Nothing in the way of an obstruction,” said Evans hastily. “No interference. Merely someone to take note of your duties, schedule meetings and appointments, and report to me.”
“A secretary,” said Hayes.
“An assistant. An organizer.”
“A spy. You’re spying on the spy, is that it?”
“My God, Cyril, don’t be dramatic.”
“This is going to hamstring me. It’s going to fucking hamstring me until I can barely move. You know that.”
Evans sat forward. His voice dropped until it was dangerously soft. “I know this makes you mad,” he said. “I know it does. You’ve been out on your own for so long, running your game. You did good for a while. But you’ve forgotten that there’s a company behind you. That there’s money riding on everything you do. You’ve forgotten that. But we haven’t. So we need to watch you, and remind you when it’s needed. You can see why giving you an assistant is both reasonable and necessary.”
“I don’t need one,” Hayes said fiercely. “This meeting, almost being tossed out… That’s enough. I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll be a good boy. All right?”
“No. No, Cyril, it’s not enough. We want someone on the ground with you. Matching you step by step. You’ve always been difficult to handle. We’re just trying to curb you a bit.”
“Curb me. Like a naughty dog.”
“Cyril, you need this,” Evans said. “You need someone to keep an eye on you.”
“I have Garvey.”
“You and Garvey are addicts. Dependents. Every month you run yourselves ragged over something, egging each other along.”
Hayes pulled at his hair, bunching up the blond-white fronds and then teasing them out again. “What if I don’t want to come back?” he asked quietly.
“What?” said Evans.
“What if I don’t want to come back? What if I say no thanks, Jim, I prefer it the old way or no way at all? What about that?”
“Well. Then you don’t come back. Then we go our separate ways. And that’s the end of it. But there’s no choice in this. You either take her or you’re out.”
Hayes’s brow crinkled. “Her?”
“Yes, her,” said Evans. “I think you’ll quite like her. She’s top-rate, a former army nurse. And she’s well traveled, like you. Spent a lot of time looking after wounded British soldiers in Egypt before we scooped her up and brought her into the company.”
Hayes kept frowning for a moment longer. Then epiphany flooded his face and he put his chin in one hand. “Really,” he sighed.
“Yes, really.”
“Was she last working in Cairo?” he asked, defeated.
Evans blinked. “Yes. She was. That was fast of you.”
“That wasn’t exactly intuition.” He shook his head. “Well. Go on. Bring her in.”
“Why?”
“Why not? We might as well get it over with.”
Evans frowned, then stood and walked to the door. He opened it and stuck his head out and murmured something and then opened it fully. When the girl walked in Hayes was twisted around awkwardly in his chair, watching her through the fingers of one hand, his expression resigned and half-amused. She looked at him cautiously, as if she had just stumbled across a wounded dog and was not sure if it would bite.
“Cyril, this is Miss Samantha Fairbanks,” said Evans. “Miss Fairbanks, this is Mr. Hayes.”
She looked him up and down again. “Mr. Hayes?”
“Yes,” said Evans. He put his hands behind his back and bounced forward on the balls of his feet like he had just presented a marvelous surprise.
Hayes shut his eyes and stuck one hand out in the air. The girl looked at it for a moment before stepping forward and shaking it.
“Well. We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, Mr. Hayes,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “Would you like your handkerchief back now?”
“No. Feel free to keep it for as long as you’d like. As I told you, they gave me more than enough.”
“Handkerchief?” said Evans. “You’ve met?”
“In the waiting room,” said Hayes. He opened his eyes and peered at her. “So. You’re going to assist me. With all my inquiries and interviews and daily rounds. Is that it?”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s a simple way of putting it, but yes, it is.”
“Sounds like it should be fun. Should be a grand old time. So when does this start?” he asked Evans. “And exactly what the hell are we doing, anyway, if you all are calling all the shots?”
Evans cleared his throat. “Well, the first interview is the day after tomorrow at nine at Southern Regional, but I thought it would be best if we showed Miss Fairbanks your station and you two could get somewhat-”
“No,” said Hayes sharply. “No, it’s best to hit the ground running. Get along better with plenty of work going on. Don’t you agree, Miss Fairbanks?”
She surveyed him briefly, taking in his bone-white hands and haggard eyes. “I suppose I could, Mr. Hayes,” she said. “If you think you’re better in working circumstances then that’s certainly where I’d prefer us to be.”
“Fine,” said Hayes. “Beautiful. I’m sure things will go swimmingly. You’ve done interrogations before?”
“Interviews,” interjected Evans. “They’re interviews.”
“I’ve been present during them before,” she said. “But never done one, no. I’ve been in plenty of stressful situations, regardless.”
Hayes looked at her closely, leaning forward. She shifted slightly from one foot to the other, uneasy.
“Yes,” said Hayes quietly. “You know, I almost believe you have.”
“Excellent,” said Evans. “Splendid. I’m sure you’ll get along well.”
Hayes fought to his feet. He pitched forward slightly and grappled with the chair back for support. Then he swallowed and said, “Yes. We will. The day after tomorrow. But until then, I’m off. Not… Not feeling well, you see.”
“Off?” asked Evans. “Off to where? Will you be at your apartments?”
“No,” said Hayes, heading toward the door. “No, Mr. Evans, I will not be at my apartments.”
“So how will we reach you?”
“You won’t,” said Hayes. He opened the door. “Lovely meeting you, Miss Fairbanks.”
“And you, Mr. Hayes,” she said.
Then he shut the door and it clicked behind him.
CHAPTER FIVE
Garvey pulled a particularly thick file from the stack on his desk and flipped through it. After scanning a few pages he identified the case as an ancient one, not even his, an heirloom from a previous detective. He set it to the side, knowing that it had to die eventually, and then he pushed deeper into the stack of remaining papers.
Garvey was never entirely sure how much work he had left at any given moment. He’d often meant to arrange his paperwork according to some structure, but before he could begin he needed to clear out what was still left to do. After several months of delays he now saw little chance of that. Usually his desk resembled a battlefield, or even an architectural miracle; stacks of files slouched up against one another, propped up by cups or boxes or envelopes or even silverware, with corners or edges bent up to form little flags or markers whose meanings he soon forgot. Sometimes he thought his desk was sentient, lurking in the back of the Homicide office and soaking up the perfume of burned coffee and stale cigarette smoke that pervaded the upper floors of the Department. Every other day he’d prune it back, removing one of the more outrageous towers of paper and shuffling it off to elsewhere, but then the next day the growth of papers would have almost magically regenerated until it threatened to spill over the edges.