“Even revolutionaries have to party,” I said. And caught movement from Milo. An eye-blink. Volitional?
Neither of them saw it, Milo’s back was to Latch. And Ahlward was preoccupied with his gun.
Another blink. Or had I just imagined it?
I kept talking. “With both Ike and Sophie Gruenberg gone, your immediate problems finally seemed over. But there was still the matter of Massengil. You’d already started thinking of him as a dead man. So it was annoying to have to change that mind-set. And if the deed was going to be done, the timing was important. He was well into his current term, had already been nominated for the next one. So it was to your advantage for him to be eliminated before the next election. Too late for the governor to appoint someone else. The seat would lie fallow for a few months, giving you time to build up political steam and enter yet another image-stage: great conciliator, mature statesman. Sure, the widow would get first dibs, and if she didn’t want the job, some hack or crony would move in. But you had plans to take care of that, per the lovely Ms. Bramble.”
Latch said, “I do believe Ocean Heights and I will reach our own rapprochement.”
I said, “Better do it soon, before Randy pulls the purse strings closed. Or were you intending to ask for alimony?”
Sudden panic in his eyes.
Ahlward’s eyebrows were hot-pink crescents of surprise.
I said, “Oops. Sorry. I thought you knew, D.F.”
Ahlward looked at Latch.
Latch said, “He’s full of shi-”
I said. “Little Bandy definitely wants out, D.F. She’s filed papers. Check for yourself- it’s public record.”
Ahlward swiveled slowly in his chair and stared at Latch.
Latch said, “It just went down, Bud. I was going to bring it up, had it on the agenda.”
“Oops again,” I said. “Not quite true, Gordie Pordie. She filed two weeks ago. Not the greatest thing to happen at a time like this, is it, D.F.? Vis-à-vis public relations. And money-wise.” To Latch: “What happened, Gordie? Did her political enthusiasm wane? Or is it just you she’s tired of? Guess all that discipline and bondage stuff wears thin after a-”
Latch said, “Shut your filthy mouth.”
Ahlward cleared his throat.
Latch said, “It’s not a problem, Bud. She can be taken care of. She’s on so much fucking Seconal, nobody’ll-”
Ahlward’s turn to say, “Shut up! You know, Gordon, it’s real pleasant hearing it this way.”
“C’mon, Bud, you can see what he’s-”
“And you’re giving him exactly what he wants.”
Latch sank back down and played with one of his cuffs.
Milo winked. This time I was sure.
I said, “We’re talking thick coats of tarnish on your rising star, D.F. You might start thinking about a replacement.”
Ahlward raised the gun and sighted down it again. To my surprise I felt no fear, only weariness at his Little Dictator routine.
He said, “I’ve heard enough.”
Two winks from the couch. Milo’s big body remained motionless.
I said, “You mean you don’t want to hear the rest? The part you took charge of personally?”
He lowered the gun. “Go on.”
“Shortly after Ike and Grandma were taken care of, another unpleasant surprise came your way. Someone else Ike had confided in. So much for pledges of secrecy- guess Gordie wasn’t very convincing. A mentally dull shut-in who welcomed the cheer and conversation Ike brought with him when he delivered the groceries. Who appreciated the time he took to get to know her. And as he got to know her better, he lapsed into his favorite topic: politics. Not that she had more than a hazy idea of what he was talking about. Social justice, the evils of capitalism. But she was able to pick out the juicy parts. Conspiracies, murder. Wannsee Two. She sat there and listened. The perfect soundboard. Because Ike’s visits filled the emptiness in her life, she didn’t want them to stop.
“Then one day, they did stop. Forever. She found out he was dead. Murdered. People were saying he died buying dope, but she knew that was a lie became he didn’t take dope. He hated dope. She knew something was wrong- probably one of those conspiracies Ike had talked about. She withdrew further, confused. Just like when her mother died. But this time she came out of it angry. Wanting to understand why bad things happen to good people. To talk to someone who could explain it to her. Not her father- they never talk; he treats her like a servant. And she barely knows her brother. But she does recall a name Ike mentioned consulting. A former comrade of his parents who’s gotten famous- even been on TV. Someone Ike had suspicions about but didn’t share with Holly because he didn’t want to put her in jeopardy.
“Would someone like that talk to her? She was afraid. But she couldn’t forget Ike- his death. So she built up her courage and called the famous guy’s headquarters. One of the famous guy’s staff answers and hears her babbling about stuff no one’s supposed to know about, and knows this is a job for the High Command.”
I looked at Latch. “What’d you tell her?”
He smirked. “That she’d done the right thing by getting in touch with me. That I was investigating Ike’s death and she had to promise to keep everything secret until I got back to her.” He laughed. “She ate that up like cornflakes.”
I glanced at Ahlward. He’d put the gun down on the desk, had taken the knife out again, and was cleaning his nails.
“Proud of yourself, huh?” I said to Latch. “But D.F. here wasn’t too proud. He figured you’d fucked up. Decided to handle this one personally.” To the redheaded man: “You met with her- as Gordie’s assistant. Debriefed her to find out exactly what she knew, found out it was just enough to make her a threat, and realized she was custom-made for another try at Massengil, A better dupe than Ike, because she lacked the intellect to think critically. She was ripe to obey. So you went to work on her. Building rapport, gaining her confidence. Putting on the old paramilitary thing. Secret meetings in out-of-the-way places when her father was out of town. Night walks. You’d pick her up and drive her away. She had no job, no schedule, no one to miss her, no one else to confide in. You fed her secret codes, high intrigue- giving her a sense of purpose for the first time in her life. Resurrecting the old Massengil-as-Satan fantasy. Massengil as the vicious murderer of her friend. Feeding her rage, nursing it, bringing it to bloom. Making her sense of self-esteem contingent upon carrying out her mission. And she did eat it up. Snow White gobbling a poisoned apple. She was so eager to act, she told you she even had her own weapons- a closetful of guns. You got into her house when her father was away and took a look. Most of them were antiques, unusable. Except the Remington. But in her hands it might as well have been a flintlock.”
More winks from Milo. Keep going, pal.
“You spelled out her assignment, went over it with her, putting her through dry runs, until you were sure she had it down. Her sister-in-law saw her holding the gun, weeks before, muttering about Wannsee Two, Which she thought was gibberish. As would anyone else hearing it. The worst that could happen was she’d freak out before the big day and start rambling on about conspiracies. Who’d believe her? As it turned out, she didn’t talk to anyone. Never saw anyone. And the big day drew near. You notified her with a coded call. Monday morning. Perfect time and place for a hit. Bramble had informed you of Massengil’s plans to use the school for a press conference. You knew exactly what time he’d show up, precisely where he’d be standing. But getting Holly out of the house was a problem. Her father was an early riser, so sneaking out early on Monday was out of the question. You had her do it Sunday night, while he was still asleep. Told her to take the Remington out of the closet and wrap it in something, close the door to her bedroom so he’d think she was still asleep, then sneak out really quietly, sure to close her bedroom door. Disengaging the alarm, resetting it, and slipping out of the house with the wrapped rifle. Though Ocean Heights is so deserted at night, she could have carried it out in the open.