Galileo

by Ann McMan

  Evan took hold of her hand and gave it a warm squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “About us?”

  Evan nodded.

  Julia leaned forward and kissed her gently. “Yes. I’m sure.”

  Evan smiled at her. Maybe that lottery card in her pocket would turn out to be a winner after all.

  “Me, too.”

  Julia tugged her closer. They spent the next few minutes in a focused exploration of how “sure” they both were. How far things certainly would have progressed was interrupted by the intrusion of Evan’s cell phone.

  “Is that you?” Julia muttered against Evan’s neck.

  “Is what me?” Evan was multitasking at the time and wasn’t exactly sure which part Julia was referring to.

  “That buzzing.”

  Buzzing? Evan drew back and blinked up at her. “What buzzing?”

  Julia ran her hand up along Evan’s side until she made contact with the hiding place of the offending object. She pulled it out of the inside pocket of Evan’s jacket. “This buzzing.” She held it up so Evan could see it.

  Shit. Evan thought she’d turned the damn thing off. She took it from Julia and read the screen.

  “It’s Dan.” She tossed the phone down on one of the discarded sofa pillows. “He can leave a message.” She pulled Julia back down on top of her.

  “Works for me . . .”

  Exactly ninety seconds later, Julia’s cell phone rang.

  Julia pushed up and rested her weight on an elbow. “One guess who that is.” She rolled into a sitting position and reached out to grab her phone off the coffee table. “Hello, Dan.”

  Evan groaned, and sat up, too.

  “I’m fine,” Julia was saying. “Is Stevie okay?” She gave Evan a thumbs-up. “Yes, she’s here. Of course, you can talk with her. Hang on.”

  Julia suppressed a smirk as she passed her phone to Evan. “It’s Dan.”

  Evan scowled and took the phone from her. “What the hell do you want?”

  “What crawled up your ass?” Dan barked. “Did I cause a little coitus interruptus?”

  “Fuck you. I’m not gonna satisfy your voyeuristic tendencies. This better be important.”

  “You tell me. I just got a call from a reporter at The Hill. Miller is dead.”

  “What?” Evan was stunned. “When?”

  “The call?” Dan asked. “About twenty minutes ago. They knew I worked on his senate campaign.”

  “No. When did he die? How?”

  “I don’t have many details. The reporter said that hospital staff found him this morning. Apparently, he swallowed something that shredded his insides. He bled to death in his room over-night.”

  Jesus Christ. Evan was having trouble taking in what Dan was saying. Swallowed something? What the hell?

  “Are you still there?” Dan asked impatiently.

  “Yeah,” Evan said belatedly. “I’m just taking it in.”

  “Well, if they called me, they’re likely gonna sniff you out, too—especially since you were just up there to see him. I didn’t want you getting caught off guard.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you gonna cite as your reason to go see him? I don’t want us to wave any red flags about Cawley.”

  “I’ll come up with something plausible. Don’t worry.”

  “Did you get any hint that he was this unstable?”

  “Dan . . . he was living in an asylum. What do you think?”

  “Hell if I know. Your report didn’t suggest that he was suicidal.”

  “That’s because he wasn’t regarded as suicidal by the hospital—not because of any assessment I made.”

  “Does that mean you thought he might do something like this?”

  “I don’t know what I thought. I need time to think about it all in a different context.”

  Dan knew her pretty well, and his next question did not surprise her. “So, that means you think it’s possible he didn’t commit suicide?”

  “I’m not prepared to say that.”

  “Well, let me know when the hell you are prepared to say something—and soon. By my calculation, we’ve got another week at best to wrap this shit up. If there’s nothing to report that we don’t already know about this asshole, he’s gonna sail right through the committee.”

  “I know that.”

  “Okay if I come see Stevie on Saturday?” It was like Dan to speak in non sequiturs.

  “Sure. She’d like that.” She thought about her conversation with Stevie and forced herself to issue an invitation. “Maybe you and Kayla can stop by for drinks?”

  It was Dan’s turn to be silent.

  “Dan?” Evan asked.

  “I’m here. I’m just surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, to put it bluntly, you’re not usually so open to spending time with Kayla. I’m wondering if I should start looking around for giant seed pods.”

  “Very funny, asshole. How about two o’clock?”

  “That’ll work. We’ll bring some wine. See you then.”

  “Right. Thanks for the information.”

  Dan hung up and Evan passed Julia’s phone back to her.

  “What was that all about?” Julia asked.

  “Edwin Miller.” Earlier that evening, Evan had filled Julia in on the visit to the asylum. “They found him dead this morning.”

  “Dear god . . . how awful. What happened?”

  “An apparent suicide. He swallowed something and died from internal bleeding.”

  “But you’re not convinced?”

  “Convinced?” Evan asked her. “Convinced of what?”

  “That he killed himself.”

  Evan sagged back against the sofa. “Right now, I don’t know what I am.”

  “Fair enough.” Julia stood up and reached for her hand. “You may be unsure about what you think, but I have no confusion about what you need.”

  “And that is?”

  “A good night’s sleep.”

  Evan reached for her hand. “Right behind you.”

  Chapter Five

  The first call Evan made on Thursday morning was to Ben Rush. She filled him in on Miller and asked him to head to North Warren to see what he could find out about the circumstances surrounding the former senator’s death.

  “Why the fuck do I have to go there?” he complained. “Why not let me try to wrangle it out of the local coroner the usual way?”

  “For starters, we don’t know if the coroner in Warren County will even talk with you, and I don’t have time to wait around for him to figure it out. And I want you to find out if anyone else visited Miller after I was there. That part is especially important. I saw the logbook when I signed in, and there hadn’t been any recent visitors. See if you can get into the hospital and schmooze somebody. The woman who works the front desk seems like your type.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Ginormous tits and platinum hair.”

  There was a pause on the line. “If I leave now, I can be there by two.”

  Evan stifled a laugh. “Screw driving. American has a commuter flight to Erie that leaves at 10 a.m. You can rent a car when you get there. Keep your receipts. And, Ben?”

  “Yeah?”

  “The only billable expenses for this trip will be your airfare and car rental—and maybe lunch. Any motel bills are your own to sort out. Give me a call tonight with what you find out, okay?”

  Ben muttered an expletive before hanging up.

  Evan resolved to engage in a little spelunking of her own. Why the hell not?

  She logged into Signal and sent a message to her new pal, Moxie.

  Since we’re now helping each other, I wondered if you had any useful insights into the sudden death of Edwin Miller?

  It took less than a minute to get Moxie’s response.

  I appreciate the compliment. But I’m sorry to report that I
know nothing about the poor senator’s untimely demise.

  You’re too modest, Evan wrote back. But it’s comforting to know you keep up on current events.

  I’d hardly be of much use to my employer if I didn’t, Moxie replied. Good luck with your fishing expedition.

  Well that certainly clarified things—not.

  It pissed Evan off that this Moxie creature always seemed to be one step ahead. And who the hell was their “employer?” Why bother to reach out to Evan in the first place, unless it was to throw her off the scent of something else?

  She still suspected Marcus Goldman. No one else made her scalp crawl like he did—and it was crawling so badly right now she had to fight not to claw it off.

  Dan swore Marcus wasn’t involved in the party’s oppo project to throw a hand grenade into Cawley’s nomination—which, if true, meant maybe the DNC had finally wised up and refused to work with him anymore.

  It could be they had learned their lesson after the whole Andy Townsend debacle, and Marcus’s role in covering up the late senator’s involvement in Tom Sheridan’s murder. Not to mention, Marcus had been the one who’d stashed all the nasty details of Evan’s research findings on Miller in a drawer back in 2005, allowing the pedophile to win his own U.S. Senate race.

  Yeah. Marcus was a real prince.

  So . . . maybe the party had finally gotten smart?

  She doubted it.

  If Marcus wasn’t working with them now, it only meant he was playing in somebody else’s sandbox.

  Yet . . . the scumbag sent Dan that original photo of Cawley with Bishop Szymanski. Why? She doubted it was for philanthropic reasons.

  None of it made any sense. It wasn’t like Marcus gave two shits about the sex abuse scandals tearing the Catholic Church apart. Her experience with handing him the goods on Miller was proof enough of that. So why tip them off about the connection between Cawley and Szymanski?

  And why had Moxie sent her the second photo of Szymanski with Cawley?

  Something occurred to her . . .

  Maybe leading her to follow a connection between them diverted her from looking into something else. Maybe it wasn’t about them at all. Maybe it was something about Joey Mazzetta—or one of the other boys on the basketball team?

  They’d have no idea about Evan’s relationship with Tim—and Tim’s ability to identify Joey in each of the two photographs.

  She had a feeling she might be inching closer to something. And the thought that maybe Marcus and Moxie were both working to toss red herrings into her path began to make more sense. If true, their respective goals could simply be to slow her down long enough to allow Cawley’s nomination to move through the Senate before the Christmas recess.

  Dan said they had less than a week to wrap things up. That meant this little game of beat the clock had to start working in her favor, instead of theirs.

  Now she just had one problem: how the hell to do it . . .

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “Murder wasn’t part of the equation.” Maya was annoyed and wanted answers.

  “We’ve already had this conversation.” Zucchetto sounded annoyed. “Your instructions were explicit at the outset. You are not to contact me at this number unless it’s an emergency.”

  “Silly me for considering the murder of a former U.S. Senator qualifies as an emergency.”

  “You overdramatize the matter, surely. What leads you to believe Mr. Miller was murdered? I have seen no such suggestion of that. If anything, it’s an unfortunate coincidence.”

  “Don’t kid a kidder. I wasn’t born yesterday. There are no coincidences in this kind of work.”

  “To what kind of work might you be referring? We engaged you, quite simply, to manage the unwelcome proliferation of negative public relations.”

  Maya laughed at his ridiculous characterization of their understanding. “Let’s be clear about something. You may employ all the euphemisms you desire, but my stipulations were unambiguous. If murder is now part of your ‘solution,’ the contract price just went up—exponentially.”

  “It’s comforting to see how deep your scruples go.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Zucchetto. My only issue with the evolving objectives of your organization relates to the particulars of my compensation package.”

  “I can assure you that my associates had nothing to do with the Senator’s death. And if our needs ever change, you may be certain you’ll be informed and properly compensated. Until then,” he added coldly, “please be kind enough to adhere to our agreed-upon protocols for communication.”

  He disconnected.

  Insufferable prig.Maya tossed the ‘special’ cell phone down on the bed.

  Miller had been murdered. There was no doubt of that. And if Zucchetto were telling the truth—which might be possible—who did it? And why?

  Not Evan Reed. That was impossible. Reed was too much of a girl scout. She didn’t have the stomach for it—no matter the power of her motivation. That thought was humorous for its irony. Reed’s “Catholic” values would hamstring her at every turn.

  What a supreme little ray of sunshine in this pathetic costume drama . . .

  So, if not Reed, who?

  She paced the hotel room before stopping to stare out the large corner windows overlooking Independence Hall.

  There were a finite number of people who would be paranoid and opportunistic enough to neutralize a harmless, crazy man. And only one of them made sense in this context.

  Marcus.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Julia got a reprieve from the Boston trip when her assistant called to tell her that their recalcitrant author had relented and consented to sign the second book contract after all—with a lengthy rider of caveats that Julia would be forced to review and either approve or reject.

  At least this much progress was welcome news, and not just because it represented a very important acquisition for Donne & Hale. Julia was still tired from all the hours spent traveling yesterday, and neither she nor Evan had got much sleep last night. Evan had been too unsettled after Dan’s call to wind down. Even after they took a long, soaking bath together, and snuggled beneath the covers, Julia could still feel the tension in Evan’s body.

  “Try to relax,” she urged. “You can’t do anything about it tonight.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Evan rolled onto her back. “I don’t mean to keep you awake, too.”

  “You’re not keeping me awake. Do you need to talk about it?”

  “It won’t do any good. Not until I can get some information about what really happened.”

  “Why do you say what ‘really’ happened? Do you think Dan’s account was inaccurate?”

  Evan rotated her bad shoulder a couple of times. Julia made an effort not to comment on it. “Not so much inaccurate as incomplete.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I simply don’t believe in coincidences. Miller didn’t just happen to drop dead the day after I went to see him.”

  “I’m tempted to ask why you think you’d be the common denominator here?”

  Evan laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re talking about grandiosity? Not me?”

  “Well. The thought did occur to me . . .”

  “I won’t deny that this propensity functions as a go-to reference point on my psychological profile. But I promise, it’s not what motivates me to be suspicious about the timing of whatever in the hell happened to Edwin Miller. He didn’t meet an untimely end because of me—but I’m not persuaded that my poking around in his past connection to Judge Cawley didn’t raise some nervous hackles that set some darker things in motion.”

  “Evan, that’s terrible. Do you honestly believe that?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. There are other minor key vibrations in this mess. And none of them support a theme that points toward anything good.”

  Julia began to grow alarmed. “Is it dangerous?”

  “Not for me.”

  Julia sat up. “I’m not su
re I believe you.”

  “Honey . . .”

  “No. I still have nightmares about how things ended with Andy—and how close you were to getting killed.”

  Evan laid a hand on her knee. “He wouldn’t have killed me. Maya stopped him.”

  “She nearly killed you in the process.”

  “That wasn’t intentional.”

  “I’m not so sure. Maya does nothing by accident. Ever.”

  “Honey.” Evan squeezed her knee. “Let’s not go down this rabbit hole tonight. Okay?”

  Julia covered Evan’s hand with her own. “All right. Not tonight. But you have to promise me that you’ll tell Dan if this case gets any more . . . complicated.”

  “Tell Dan? Why? So he can have Kayla run a blistering op-ed in Media Matters?”

  “Okay,” Julia reached over and snapped on the bedside light, “enough. This thing of yours with Kayla is no longer cute or funny. It’s toxic, Evan. And it needs to stop.”

  Evan blinked back at her with surprise while her eyes adjusted to the sudden blaze of light. “Are you pissed at me?”

  “What tipped you off?”

  “Well, the floodlight, for one thing.” Evan rubbed her eyes. “And it’s not like you to issue ultimatums.”

  “I don’t recall there being an ‘or else’ at the end of my sentence.”

  “It was implied by the context.”

  Julia took a moment to consider her remark. “I suppose that’s true. I really am over this—and so is Stevie.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?”

  Evan shrugged.

  “What’s behind this, Evan? You love Dan. I know that. So why don’t you want him to find happiness?”

  “It’s a trust thing.”

  “A ‘trust’ thing? You don’t trust Kayla?”

  “Not really. But that’s not it. I don’t trust Dan.”

  “Dan?”

  Evan nodded. “He makes profoundly bad choices that end up hurting him. Always has.” She raised a hand. “In case you’re wondering, I’d be Exhibit A in that argument.”