Dead Politician Society (28 page)

Where did you take this thing?” Roberta picked a large dead bug off Clare's windshield.

Clare cracked a can of Bud, and passed Roberta one from her workshop fridge.

“I drove to Orillia on the weekend.”

“Yeah?” Roberta's eyes lit up. “Your parents must have been ecstatic.”

“I didn't make it home.”

“You just went to Orillia for the hell of it.”

“I meant to stay. Or at least say hello. Instead I drove back to the city.”

“I don't get it.” Roberta heaved Clare's bike up onto its center stand. “You're stronger than this.”

“I know.”

“So what are you afraid of?”

Clare sipped her beer. She liked the way the cold bubbles felt as they moved down her throat. “I don't want to remember them like this.”

Roberta put her hand on the motorcycle's gas tank. “Tell me again what was wrong when you were driving.”

“Backfiring. I've checked the spark plugs, obviously. And I tried adjusting the air/fuel mixture, but no luck. I don't know what else to look for.”

“It's your state of mind. Here, hand me that plug wrench. Some days, if my head's not in it, I can do more harm than good to an engine.”

Clare passed said wrench. “I told you I already checked the plugs.”

“I'm checking again. Do you miss being a cop?”

Here was better ground. “No.”

“You left the force on good terms, right?”

Clare shrugged. “I didn't tell anyone to go fuck themselves.”

“And the university let you stay on, like a regular student.”

“Pretty much. If I do well enough this year, I can enroll like a regular student next year.”

“That's great.” Roberta held up a plug — clean, like Clare had told her — and checked the gap. “Are you going to stay in political science?”

“For now. I think I want to study law. Be a lawyer, not a law enforcer.”

“You'd be a powerful opponent.” Roberta cracked a grin as she replaced the spark plug, then went on to check the next one. “You really want to spend your days in offices and courtrooms?”

“I'm sure I can find a way to make it work for me.” Take that, Lance, and your stupid bimbo wife. Clare hoped she would one day have the privilege of defending Slutty Shauna for some petty misdemeanor. Like whoring herself out for beer money. Clare would do that job
pro bono
. “So how's Lance?”

“He's good. Not that you care.” Roberta let out a heartfelt belch.

“I care that he's happy.”

“It's not the plugs.”

“No kidding.”

“Have you drained the gas?”

Clare shook her head. “I didn't think of that.”

Roberta found an old container that she set under the bike. “You care if I drain this, or did you want to ride tonight?”

“Go ahead.” Clare's apartment was just up the street, and she could take the subway to school in the morning.

Roberta opened a valve, and gas came pouring out of the engine. “You need to go home, Clare. Avoiding the place doesn't change what it's doing to you.”

“What's it doing to me?” Clare thought she was fine, overall.

“It's taking away your empathy.”

“I have plenty of empathy.”

“Sure, for the rest of the world. But for your parents you have judgment. They're polar opposites.”

Clare was quiet.

“It's the fuel.” Roberta looked pleased with herself. “There was water in it. Your little bike's gonna be fine.”

“Cool.” Clare smiled.

“Which bodes well for you being fine, as well.”

“Why?” Clare said. “Are you going to fix me, too?”

“Nope. You are.”

Susannah stretched her legs underneath the kitchen table. “I guess I know where you were coming from.”

Laura scrubbed absently at the counter. “You told me the truth. I should have believed you.”

Susannah shrugged. “We're all human, right?”

“Does that mean you're home to stay?”

“It means I'm not taking any grudges away when I go. I can't stay. Trust is too big a thing for me.”

Laura set down her scouring pad and looked at Susannah's long, muscled body. Would she never feel it pressed against her again? “But I do trust you.”

“Now. When it's not being tested.”

“Susie, that's not fair.”

“Isn't it? If all the signs were pointing to you sleeping with Penny Craig, and you said no, you were being faithful, that would be enough for me.”

“You'd still have doubt.” Laura thought Penny was a strange example.

“No.” Susannah laughed bitterly. “That's just it. I wouldn't have doubt. Because I trust you.”

Laura tossed the pad in the sink, and sat opposite Susannah. “So you'll never —”

“I don't think so.”

“This is sad.”

“You'll be fine.” Susannah reached across the breakfast table and took Laura's hand. “You need to get out in the world and date more, anyway. Between Hayden and me, you've never had those free-wheeling single years that every thinking woman deserves to have. But maybe,” she said with a smirk, “when you get another girlfriend, try not to accuse her of murder unless she's guilty.”

Laura couldn't find a smile.

Susannah took her hand away. “I'm going upstairs, to figure out what else I need to pack. Come if you want.”

“No.” Laura was on the verge of tears, and knew she wouldn't be able hold them back if she watched Susannah put her things away for good. “I'll stay down here.”

“Okay. Well. If you need me . . .”

Laura watched her go.

The phone rang. Penny Craig, calling from her desk.

“Laura! Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Kind of. Susannah's here, taking the last of her things.”

“I'm sorry,” Penny said. “Is it awkward?”

“Sad, but not awkward.”

“Of course. I'll let you go. But I was wondering if . . . later on, I mean, tonight . . . you wanted to go get a drink somewhere?”

Laura was caught off guard. “Sure. Is there something more about the case?”

“Nooo.” Penny dragged the word out. “Well . . . god, this is hard to say.”

Penny didn't sound like herself.

“What's hard to say?”

Laura heard Susannah walking around upstairs. She decided she did want to be with her when she packed, tears or not. She wished Penny would get to the point.

“I meant that, well, maybe tonight could be . . . more like . . . a date?”

“What?!” Laura didn't know what she felt. “You? Perfect Penny Craig? My world is upside down enough at the moment.”

“I thought you might say no, but that's a strong rejection.”

“It's not a rejection. It's a yes to the drink and a who-the-hell-knows to the rest. I'm shocked to find out you're a lesbian.”

“I thought you knew all along. Why do you think I've never been married?”

“For starters, there's your acerbic personality.”

Penny laughed. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

Laura ended the call and clicked off the handset. She had no idea if she liked Penny romantically or not. She definitely hadn't considered it, but at the same time, the idea wasn't repulsive.

Susannah clomped down the stairs and tossed her large duffel bag down at the front door. “I think that's everything.”

“You're done? I was headed up to join you.”

“It's better this way. Thanks again for the coffee.”

“My god, Susie. Don't get polite on me.”

“Sorry.” Susannah grimaced. “I'm a bit lost. I'm going to miss you.”

“Well, let's stay friends.” Laura meant it.

“Yeah.” Susannah picked up her bag. “I'll see you at the Brighter Day.”

Jonathan sat alone in his cell. He didn't have a roommate, which was lucky. But that was for now. Soon he would be some guy's bitch, and there wasn't fuck-all he was going to be able to do about it.

He was terrified of prison. This holding jail was bad enough. They had taken away his computer and iPhone, and he couldn't talk to anyone without the fear of being overheard or recorded.

What had he been thinking, talking to Annabel fucking Davis without any encryption? Was he so capable of leaving the real world that he believed Annabel wouldn't go to the cops in the end? And if he had believed her, why had he antagonized her, made her fear for her safety? Of course Annabel's life had never been in jeopardy. The politicians were the only victims, real or imagined.

But she had been as deluded as he was. The two of them, with their
folie à deux
. “I'm killing politicians.” “Really? I'm writing a bestseller.” How was that healthy in anyone's world? Maybe if Jon was lucky he'd convince a judge to send him to a psych prison. Crazy people didn't rape each other in jail, did they?

Who had he been trying to save? His mother's business was still closing, and his relationship with Jessica wasn't going anywhere good as long as he was locked away. Is this how Elise Marchand had felt, when the adrenaline was gone and the consequences had loomed massively in front of her?

He picked up his paperback, and was about to attempt to get lost in a world of fantasy fiction, when a guard tapped on the door of his cell.

“You have a visitor.”

Had Jessica finally come? Jonathan moved slowly from his bunk and walked with the guard to the visiting area.

“Here she is.”

Not Jessica. Annabel.

“We finally meet.” Jonathan wouldn't have bothered to hide his disappointment, but he was trying to hide it from himself as well. “That was fast.”

The guard moved away, and Jonathan took the seat across from her.

“I'm sorry for getting you arrested,” Annabel said.

“You are? Oh, no problem then.” Jonathan stared at her. “Don't be sorry for all the lives you could have saved by going to the police sooner.”

“Excuse me?” Annabel looked stunned.

Jonathan studied her face. “You're ugly in person.”

“What?”

“I thought you were pretty, when I looked up your picture online.”

“But in person you're not so sure.” Annabel didn't pull off the amused look she seemed to be going for.

“No, I'm sure.”

“Why did you ask Matthew to send me?”

“For the book. I've figured out how you can pay me.”

“So you'll work with me?” Annabel leaned forward into the table. Hungry little bitch.

“You can donate my share — I think fifty percent is fair — to Habitat for Humanity. You'll be donating it in your own name, so you'll get some of it back as a tax credit.”

“Sounds fine. Is there a reason you've chosen that charity in particular?”

“Someone I hate brought it up in an argument we were having.”

“Isn't there a cause that's more connected to your motive?”

“My motive is to make the world a better place.”

“Killing the politicians wasn't enough?”

“I wish I could explain.”

“You can. That's why I'm here.”

“I'm sorry. I know I called you here. I thought I'd be ready to talk to you today. But I'm still too angry. Why didn't you turn me in sooner?”

“I didn't turn you in. I went to the cops when you terrorized my family.” Annabel looked like she was losing patience with him, and Jonathan didn't blame her.

“Can you come back tomorrow? I want to do this. I want to tell you everything, so you can write your book and maybe get the message out.”

“But not today?”

He shook his head.

Annabel stood up. She was trembling so much that it took her almost a full minute to put her things away and do up her slim leather briefcase.

When she left, Jonathan stood up to be led back to his cell.

“You can stay,” the guard said. “You're popular today.”

Please let this be Jessica. His mother had already been in, and Dr. Easton wouldn't come until later. Jonathan stared at the door where the visitors were shown in and out. His heart leapt a thousand feet high when he saw her. He got up to run over, to give her a hug. He was confused when the hug she returned held no warmth.

“I'm going to confess.” Jessica slung her shoulder bag over the chair where Annabel had been sitting.

“Don't be insane. I already have.” Jonathan took her hand, but she wrestled it gently away. Jessica sat in the visitor's chair, and Jonathan had no choice but to sit back down, too. “What's wrong?”

Jessica met his eye. “What do you think is wrong? You've confessed to a series of murders you haven't committed.”

“What are you talking about?” Jonathan's eyes skimmed the room for microphones. But they'd be well hidden. And the guard was probably listening in anyway. “Of course I'm guilty.”

“Right. Well, even if you were, why would you confess? That makes it so much easier for them to prosecute. All the evidence they have is circumstantial.”

“They have my iPhone. And my mom said they came by for both my computers at home.”

“Why would you . . . ?”

“I don't know.” Jonathan held his hands in the air. “I have no idea why I did any of it.”

Her eyes met his with so much sudden kindness that suddenly everything had been worth it. “I'm sorry, Jon. I know you did it for me.”

“Do you care if I tell the story?”

“The real story?” Jessica frowned. “About my dad, and my mom's suicide, and everything?”

Jonathan nodded. “The obituary writer is willing to work on it. I told her I want my side of the proceeds going to Habitat for Humanity. But if you can think of a better cause — maybe something environmental, 'cause your dad was so into saving the planet — let me know.”

“Something environmental would be wonderful. But I can't believe . . . screw it, I'm going to confess.”

“Confess to what? Go live your life. Do something great with it, like you're meant to.”

“I'll try,” Jessica said. “By the way, confessing was Brian's idea first.”

“What?” Why would Brian confess to the murders?

“I think he was really, really grateful for how you got him into the society. He figures that if we all confess, we can create enough confusion to get you into minimum security, if they don't end up throwing out the entire case. My point is that Brian's not as dumb as he seems.”

“No,” Jonathan said. “He's even dumber. Come on. I appreciate all the support. But I was stupid. Let me see this through to the end.”

“I can't.” Jessica took his hand.

“You can,” he said. “You've got the power.”