Another Dead Republican (16 page)

“How so?”

“The percentage of turn-out and the total votes around the state averaged forty-nine percent. That’s what it was until the announcement at the press conference. In Harrison County the turnout was announced now to be at eighty-one percent.”

“So?”

“The eighty-one percent happened in only three heavily anti-recall precincts. The anti-recall precincts in the rest of the state averaged forty-nine percent, as did the pro-recall precincts.”

“Oh.”

“The upshot is the Republicans in this county have come up with eleven thousand missing votes. More than enough to win the election for their side.”

“Rigged?” I asked.

“Of course. Will they get away with it?”

I shrugged. “What do you think?”

Scott said, “I almost felt bad for Mrs. Grum at that press conference. Having to be there dealing with politics instead of her own grief. Who would be such a brute to require her attendance?”

“I sort of did too, but she’s been in public life long enough in the electronic age.”

“No, I meant having to do that kind of thing with her son murdered a few hours before.”

I asked, “Why didn’t they have some flunky on stage? Why did she even wind up being in front of the media? There’s got to be more than one repub in this county who can talk to the press.”

“Maybe because she’s in charge of voting?”

“I don’t care. At a time like this with her son murdered? Who gives a crap about an election?”

He asked, “Are you going to investigate the murder?”

“I will do what I can for Veronica. There’s going to be enough people in and out of the house that I can talk to.” I related what Veronica had told me a few minutes before about what she’d seen in Edgar. “Despite what she told me, I still don’t understand why Veronica loved him.”

He touched my arm. “We find someone with whom we can share the dark places of our hearts with. If we spend time toting up their good points and bad points and comparing them with our own, well, I think that way lies madness. No, my sweet dearest, are you sure there’s any point to speculating on the nature of love?”

“Well, no. It just amazes me.”

Scott said, “She was in love. There was or is nothing to be done.”

I agreed then added, “Veronica confirmed that Mallon dated Edgar.”

“I’m not sure I want to think about that much less begin to envision it.”

“Republicans must have sex. There’s always more of them.”

“And his dad indulged him and his mom ignored him?”

I said, “That’s what we’ve got from our sources so far. Doesn’t help solve who killed him. Yet. If he was a brat used to getting his way, maybe someone tried to thwart him. Maybe Edgar had to fight to get his way, and it got out of hand.”

“Yeah, but he’s dead. Not someone he was trying to thwart.”

I said, “Thwarts to the left of me. Thwarts to the right of me.”

He smiled. “Volleyed and thundered. So you’re going to investigate?”

“Talking to these people will be a start. Look what we got today without even deliberately doing it. I’d like to try and go to some of his old jobs and see if I can’t find some people there to talk to. Of course, at the rate people are coming here, it may make our job…” I raised an eyebrow at him. He nodded yes. “Our job easier. If I can thwart this family in the slightest way, I will. If they’re guilty of a crime, I’d love to get them all thrown in jail.”

Scott said, “I tried not to think about this next thing.”

I feared his next thought.

He continued, “You know when Mister Grum was yelling about him being the decider…?”

I looked in his eyes and asked, “We didn’t have the same thought?”

“That maybe he decided his own son needed to be dead.”

We looked at each other in silence for several moments. I said, “They are evil, awful, vile people, but I don’t want that to be true.”

“Me neither. It’s amazing we both thought of it.”

I asked, “Is that what being married means?” I snuggled close to him.

He said, “This election was so vital that they’d be willing to kill their own son? I just can’t believe that. I don’t want to believe that.”

I agreed.

He took a deep breath then said, “You know what I think was the most amazing thing?”

“What?”

“When Mister Grum claimed we were out of control. Is he that blind to reality?”

“Obviously so.”

“Or is he just used to telling any lie and being believed.”

“That too.”

“And his wife lying to back him up.”

“Totally nuts.”

“And Azure Grum and Harold Avery looking over their shoulders?”

“That was more nuts. What the hell kind of hold do the Grums have on these people?”

“Same thing with that crap about Veronica’s gynecologist being told she was near the point of collapse. Why?”

“The answer to why is easy. Somebody is trying to screw over, or cause suspicion of, at the very least tarnish, Veronica. Tarnishing her doesn’t make a lot of sense. Then again, we aren’t getting a lot of sense from the Grums right now. Although the killer gains if she comes under suspicion.”

We both began to repeat the mantra about giving them slack at the time of losing a son. We stopped, shook our heads. Things were not connecting.

He slowly rubbed the tips of his fingers over the hair on my arm. He said, “You know the Grums have money to buy off half the planet, but we are not poor. We are not without contacts. We could call our attorney in the morning. He might have some connections up here. We may or may not have as much money as this whole family, but what we’ve got should be enough if we get in a short term cash-for-cash race.”

I said, “If it’s as simple as cash, you’re right, but this could involve not just cash, but cops, politicians, egos, and right wing insanity. Plus Edgar’s death. I’m not sure we’re fighting just cash, but we’ve got to start somewhere. You’re right. We should call our attorney in the morning.”

I rearranged the covers around us. “Nobody much noticed how famous you are.”

“Kind of a relief. Edgar’s family was familiar enough with me. The cops, who knows? They were busy, and Achtenberg was polite but not excessive. That was nice.”

“Did you hear what David said outside while you were walking with Gerald and Patricia into the house?”

“No, what?”

“He wished you were his dad.”

We held each other’s eyes. With one hand, I caressed the top of his right ear, his hair. I said, “I’m glad I know you. I’m glad I love you.”

I put my head on his chest, my arm around his waist. He smelled so good, as he always does.

He said, “I love you.”

“Do you think lightning would come down from heaven and strike us dead if we had sex in this house?”

Scott nuzzled my shoulder. “If Mrs. Grum is right, Edgar could be looking down at us right now from heaven.”

“Would he be checking porn sites from there or watching random people screwing in his house?”

“I’ve never understood how that “looking down from heaven shit” is supposed to work.” He nibbled my earlobe.

“Should we wave?” I asked. A vision flashed through my mind of a heaven with railings crammed with people craning their necks to get a view of what was going on down on Earth. Did they observe when their loved ones were taking a dump? Or did they see a sort of Super Bowl highlight reel of people’s lives put on for them by a department of angels who spent their time editing people’s lives? I thought the whole thing was just nuts.

Scott said, “If I believed in heaven, he wouldn’t be in it.” He turned out his light. He was humming ‘Stormy Weather’ as we reached for each other. I can’t ever imagine being too tired to be close to him.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Thursday 3:00 A.M.

Sometime later I was nearly asleep when I heard a loud crunching sound. I swung my legs onto the floor and listened. I heard a loud crack. Scott sat up beside me.

He whispered, “What was that?”

“It came from outside.” We threw on T-shirts, jeans, and shoes. We stopped in the kids’ playroom and picked up a couple of baseball bats. No one else in the house put in an appearance.

Together we made a complete circuit of the downstairs. This took about fifteen minutes in the mansion-sized house. We found no evidence at any of the windows and doors of a break-in or attempted break-in.

In the kitchen we turned on the lights for the backyard. Their glow illumined about fifty feet out from the house. We skulked outside, stood at the edge of the light at the end of the patio, and peered into the darkness. I hefted the bat. I whispered, “You see anything?”

He shook his head. “We’re exposed here against the light.”

We moved into the shadows on the side yard, the light to our left. A few owls hooted, a slight wind rustled to the newly budding tree and bush branches, but we could see nothing that might have caused the noises.

Scott said, “That sounded like a human doing something, not something that occurred naturally.”

“It’s not going to do us much good stumbling around in the dark.”

We listened for several minutes, but the sound did not repeat itself. We went back into the house, turned out the lights, and went back to our room. We kept the bat with us.

If there were other suspicious sounds in the night, I slept through them.

TWENTY-NINE

Thursday 6:00 A.M.

Thursday morning I left Scott in our room exercising with two mini-dumbbells. We were ritualistic about exercising and with major rehab, he was extremely faithful in following the doctor’s orders. The dumbbells were the smallest available. He had a series of repetitions that he did with each arm. He’d build up to heavier weights over time. I’d gotten far too little sleep, but things needed to get done.

Before I left, I stood next to him where he sat on the floor and waited until he finished a set of repetitions.

I leaned down and kissed him on the lips while I let my hand linger on his crotch. I sighed. Long day today, and I was tired from the very early start and long emotional day yesterday.

First, I checked the Internet. I found the Wisconsin papers were filled with the news of the Grums’ announcement at the news conference of the newly discovered votes. I wondered where they’d found time to come up with them what with the death of their son, or if they’d had it well planned for a very long time. News of Edgar’s death made the papers, but the articles told me nothing new.

Second, I called
Todd Bristol,
our attorney.
Early as it was, no doubt he was in the breakfast nook of his high-rise condo on Lake Shore Drive in Chicago. He would be fully dressed and ready for work. I often thought he slept in his courtroom attire: charcoal suit, trousers held up by black suspenders stretched over a white shirt, black socks, black shoes. He wore a perfectly knotted tie and glasses with thin gold rims. His live-in housekeeper, a twenty-three-year-old college student, would be serving him very strong coffee, black, and a piece of unbuttered toast.

I told him everything. He said, “I’m sorry for your loss. If it is appropriate, convey my sympathies to your sister.” He harrumphed, took a sip of coffee. “As to the investigation of the moronic son-of-a-bitch who married your sister, stay out of it.”

“Excellent advice.”

“You’re going to ignore it as you usually do.”

“Do you know anybody up here who might be able to balance influence with the Grums?”

“Hmmmm.” He thought several moments. “I shall check. Be careful. What you say about the police sounds ominous.”