In This Rain (31 page)

“When the hell did you get to be Pollyanna?” The mayor threw open the door to Lena’s office. “Get me Ford Corrington. Don’t stop until you find him.” He dropped into the chair behind his desk, swiveled it around, and stared up at the bright morning sky through the branches of the chestnut tree.

Heart’s Content

Again, Joe heard the ringing as he jumped down from the truck. He unlocked the door and grabbed for the phone, surprised to find that he was worrying, not that it was trouble, but that the ringing would stop before he reached it.

“Joe? It’s me. Did you see the news?”

He paused, somewhere between relief and fear. Ann, calling with news. The last time he’d spoken to her was two days ago; she’d told him her friend Jen was dead, had been murdered.

“How are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She brushed that away with a single-minded briskness he knew well, and knew better than to contradict. “Well, have you? Seen the news?”

“No.”

Silence. She was waiting for him to ask. Why didn’t he? To confound her? No. Because he didn’t care? Not that, either.

Because he did.

“We searched Walter Glybenhall’s office,” Ann said. “And his apartment, and the Southampton house, and the goddamn yacht. And his safe-deposit box. He can’t produce the gun.”

“You got a warrant for all that?”

“There are things you don’t know. Things that happened since I was up there.”

Joe looked out the window to the porch, where vines spiraled up the posts. The clematis had opened, perfect six-point burgundy stars. That’s what had happened since she’d been up here.

“I talked to Greg, and to Mark Shapiro,” Ann went on. “They talked to Charlie Barr.”

“What did he say?”

“Summit meeting; I wasn’t there. But next thing I knew, we had our warrants.”

Joe tried to keep his attention on the sea-swell motion of the breeze moving through the grass. Still, he heard himself ask, “But you didn’t find the gun?”

“Walter says it’s gone from the bedside table where he keeps it and he doesn’t know what happened to it.”

“That’s it?”

“He obviously hoped it would be. He expected us to say, ‘Oh, well, in that case sorry to have bothered you.’ When we didn’t leave he called Charlie Barr to back us off. Charlie wouldn’t take his call.”

“But you still don’t have the gun.”

“We have something better.”

The triumph in her voice glittered through the phone wire. Down the center of each clematis petal ran a thin, glowing line of white.

“Bling,” she told him. “A god-awful gaudy platinum-and-diamond chain. And a ring.”

“You think they’re that kid’s.”

“Kong’s.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. We’re checking it out. But it’s so Walter: shoot the guy, and take his diamonds. Walter takes trophies. So he can prove who won.”

“What does he say?”

“He says they were a gift, too ugly to wear but too valuable not to lock up.”

“Any chance— ”

“No! No no no! Who would give Walter Glybenhall anything like that? Joe, this is for real! We’ve got him. It’s all over the news already. And wait until tomorrow.”

“What’s happening then?”

“Assuming the bling checks out, we’re arresting him. Me and Luis Perez. Luis so NYPD can get in on the publicity, but it’s a DOI collar. Do you get the New York papers up there?”

“No.”

“I’ll bring them up.”

“Ann

”

“What?”

In the evening’s cool some flowers had closed, waiting for daylight to show themselves again. Not the clematis, though. Once open, those blooms remained, through night, chill winds, clouds, and rain.

“See you later,” Ann said, and was gone.

Harlem: State Office Building

Edgar Westermann shook out the Post and folded it to the inside page to read every word of the story. Of course, there weren’t all that many words, the Post being a paper for the workingman. But for that self same reason the pictures were much better than the ones in the Times. The best the Times had were the police crawling all over Glybenhall’s yacht and mansion yesterday afternoon, and except for the grin on that blonde from DOI none of those was really worth spit. But this photo right here? Walter Glybenhall in handcuffs, being led away by some Puerto Rican cop and that same blonde?

Now that was worth a million bucks.

City Hall

“My God, Charlie! How could you let this happen?” Louise’s eyes, blazing from her dressing-room mirror, walloped Charlie as he walked through the door. When she swung around to face him the impact was even worse.

“What did you expect me to do?”

“He’s your friend!”

“Not if he killed someone, he’s not.”

“A gangbanger. Who was probably threatening him.”

“What the hell makes you think that? And that would make it all right?”

“Don’t get all holy with me, Charlie! You know what I mean! For Christ’s sake, do you really believe Walter could have done this?”

“I don’t know. I hope not. But I told you yesterday: there was enough evidence for a warrant. I might as well blow my political brains out as screw around with this.”

“Are you sure you have any political brains? Did you have to arrest him?”

“I didn’t arrest him. DOI and NYPD determined— ”

“DOI doesn’t determine anything without talking to you.”

“All right, that’s true. But what was I going to say? ‘Leave him alone, he’s a pal of mine’?”

“And what are you going to say now? ‘Sorry you’re in jail, Walter, but about that campaign contribution

’?”

“Don thinks we can make the money up.”

“Oh, Don! Don’s an idiot!” Louise spun to the mirror to fasten her earrings. Her eyes in the glass held his. When she turned to him again her voice was quiet, disappointed. “All this work, Charlie. We were this close.”

“We could still be all right.”

“Is that what Don says?”

“Yes.”

She stood, her eyes softer now. She smoothed his lapels, leaned forward, and kissed him. Her perfume brought him a lazy velvet evening, a tropical garden, banks of flowers whose names he didn’t know rolling away into the purple twilight.

He folded her in his arms and stroked her hair.

Holding him, she whispered, “Don’s wrong.”

Heart’s Content

It was morning again; again, Joe woke beside Ann.

When she’d come north last night, arms full of the New York City late editions, he’d tried to tell her she couldn’t stay. “Joe,” she’d said, “if you didn’t want me to stay you would’ve told me not to come.”

And that was true.

So again in the pale dawn he searched the ridge for the glow announcing the sun, and he felt Ann stir. The blanket rippled and shifted as she slid a hand across his hip and nuzzled his neck.

“See?” she whispered. “I was right.”

He found himself laughing. “You’re always right.”

“Only about some things. You were right about Walter. He didn’t spend ten minutes in jail.” Her fingers wandered him both tentatively and surely, an amazing mismatch, like her eyes. “Listen. I need to be in the office today. Dotting and crossing. So I have to leave soon.”

“It’s Sunday,” he said, as if she didn’t know that, as if he hadn’t once spent Sundays in the office himself, as if he’d rather she didn’t leave.

“Yes, well, duty calls. But before I go, do you think

?”

“With that? All men do.”

This time it was she who laughed.

Harlem: Frederick Douglass Boulevard

“You taken to corralling the congregation to make sure folks get to church, Ray?”

Ford sauntered up the avenue, hands in the pockets of his Sunday slacks. A stickiness waited in the warm, hazy air, about to blossom into full-blown, shirt-wrinkling damp.

Ray fell into step beside him. “Only when I want a private word with them.”

“I’d listen to you anytime. Right now I’m feeling especially benevolent.”

“I know that, son. That’s why I wanted to speak to you.”

“Ray! You about to put the bite on me? I told you I’d put your Activist’s Library pitch in our newsletter— ”

“Nothing like that. Though you find yourself with cash got no home, we’ve got shelves full of Audubon Ballroom papers could use a curator.”

“How about I lend you an intern?”

“You got one you can spare?”

“A volunteer from Columbia. I had a full schedule for her, but truth is, I just picked up three more volunteers, behind this Glybenhall thing. Can’t beat those rare times when you look like the underdog and the winner.”

“I’d be appreciative. But it’s those rare times I want to talk to you about, Ford. You’ve been a hard man to get to, last day or so.”

“Sorry about that. A lot of reporters calling, to get my point of view on Walter Glybenhall.”

“I can see that every time I pick up a paper or turn on the TV. Ford Corrington’s face, Ford Corrington’s name.”

“Uh-oh. Do I hear a sermon? Am I rejoicing too much in my enemy’s downfall?”

“If I had your immortal soul on my mind, I suppose I might make mention of it. I intend to preach on Proverbs 16:18 later, anyway.”

“I’ll be sure to pay attention.”

“See that you do. But that’s not it. Just strikes me, son, there’s some danger in all this.”

“Danger of Ford Corrington getting too big for his britches?”

“Besides that. Way the headlines read this morning, Charlie Barr gave you the key to the candy store, left Glybenhall outside with his nose against the glass.”

“You can see why Charlie wants it to look that way. Get as much distance between himself and Glybenhall as he can.”

“Sure, but it don’t sit right.”

“Because it’s not true?”

“That’s between Charlie and the Lord. It’s just, it stands you worrisomely close to Hizzoner.”

“In this case, I think the trade-off’s worth it. Charlie’s just about publicly promised us Block A now.”

“Only if nothing goes wrong. Mud starts flying, you could get hit.”

“You don’t mean ‘mud,’ do you?” Ford grinned.

“In the Bible, they call it ‘dung.’ ”

“I’ll keep it in mind, Ray. But I don’t know exactly what to do about it. I didn’t plant the leaks the reporters are writing from.”

“He told you it was coming, though? Charlie did? Asked if you’d go along, help him out?”

“Yes.”

“Well, son,” Ray said, “I just hope there’s no snake hiding in this high cotton.”

Sutton Place

With the Boxster’s top down, Ann raced south through crayon colors: daffodil sun in an azure sky, crimson flowers dotting emerald hills. She’d tied her hair back but the wind pulled tendrils loose and whipped them around her face.

On the Autobahn at thirteen, with her dad beside her, she’d opened his Ferrari to 105. Her mother had been horrified when they told her. Jen had been wildly jealous; she’d begged Ann to swipe the keys and take her for a ride. Ann’s dad’s only comment was that if Ann planned to drive like that she might consider short hair. Less than a year later he’d plowed the Ferrari into a stand of pines. Ann had never stopped driving like this, and she wore her hair long.

In the noise of the wind, she almost missed the phone ringing. By the time she pressed the button it had gone to voice mail: Greg Lowry. She raised the Boxster’s top, casting the interior into shadow, and hit speed-dial.

“Greg? It’s Ann. Good morning.”

“I just left you a message.”

“I know, but I didn’t hear it yet. Tell me.”

“Where are you?”

“Just south of the Tappan Zee. Heading in.”

A pause. “What are you doing there?”

“Visiting a friend. What’s up?”

“Glybenhall’s lawyer called. He has the gun.”

“What? Say again?”

“Glybenhall found the gun. The lawyer’s bringing it in.”

“The Wilson? What do you mean, he found it?”

“In the back of a closet.”

“We searched the closets.”

“As soon as it gets here I’m sending it over to the NYPD for testing.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

*

When Ann pushed through the door of the NYPD lab she found Perez there, too. The cop was leaning on the wall while Greg Lowry scowled in an orange molded chair.

“We’re running it again,” Lowry said, skipping any greeting. “To be sure. But it looks like it’s not the one.”

It took her a second, and even then all she could manage was “What?”

“The rifling’s clear,” Perez said. “We don’t need a second test. It’s not our gun.”

“Hell,” Ann breathed. “But it’s Glybenhall’s? The one the permit’s for?”

Lowry nodded. Perez shrugged.

“And tell me again where he said he found it all of a sudden?”

“In a guest bedroom closet in the Hamptons house,” Lowry said.

“Greg, that’s absurd! We had a guy out there and NYPD had two! They searched every inch— ”

“Were you there?”

“Me? No, I did his office.”

“Then you don’t know. They may have goofed off. Maybe it was lunchtime. Maybe Glybenhall’s French maid distracted them with margaritas by the pool.”

“Not my guys,” Perez growled.

“You weren’t there either.” Lowry stood. “There’s no way around it: this is a mighty fuckup. If we’d tested the gun two days ago we wouldn’t have arrested him.”

“If he’d produced it two days ago we would have tested it!” Ann objected. “And even without it— ”

She stopped as the door opened. A plump lab tech gave them an abashed smile and handed Lowry a printout. “Sorry,” he said.

Lowry stared at the paper. “Shit,” he muttered. Stuffing the sheet into Ann’s hand, he stalked out.

Sutton Place

“Princess,” said Perez, “what the hell happened?”

“What happened? For God’s sake, he didn’t use this gun. He shot Kong with some other gun— ”

“This is the one on his license.”

“So he has one that’s contraband! How surprising would that be? He gave us this to throw us off.”

“Why wait? If he gave it to us two days ago, like your boss says, it would’ve saved him a lot of embarrassment. If we have it, we stop searching, we don’t find the bling.”