Hades w-4

by Russell Andrews

  "He looked like he suffered a lot," Harmon said. "Evan."

  "It's hard to say exactly, sir," Silverbush answered.

  "I don't like bullshit, son. I much prefer truth."

  Silverbush nodded. "Then I'm sorry to say that your son probably suffered a great deal. It was a very sadistic murder." Harmon didn't seem to have anything to say in response. The DA did not want him to fall back into silence, so he went on. "Do you have any thoughts… Do you know anyone who might have wanted to do this to your son?"

  "Abby-my son's wife-she saw him? She saw him like this?"

  "She saw his body at the scene of the crime."

  "That must have been even worse," Harmon said. "Those marks all over him… they looked like burn marks… What are those?"

  "I'm waiting for the final coroner's report, sir. But I spoke to him earlier today and his initial inclination is that they're the result"-he hesitated, but the senator had said he wanted the truth-"they're the result of contact with a stun gun. That's what the coroner thinks."

  Silverbush saw something change in H. R. Harmon's eyes. Just a minor shift, a brief hint of recognition.

  "Sir?" Silverbush said.

  "Yes?"

  "It's just that… it looked as if that meant something to you-the fact that a stun gun might have been involved."

  "It's not a phrase that one hears very often."

  "Does that mean you've heard it used recently?"

  "What the hell's your name again? Silverberg?"

  "Silverbush. Lawrence."

  "Larry, you said. People call you Larry."

  "Either one is more than fine."

  "Well, Larry, I have heard something about a stun gun recently. But I don't want to be throwing around wild accusations."

  "With all due respect, Mr. Harmon, I don't think accusations can be too wild at this particular time. Someone has brutally murdered your son, and we need to investigate any possible lead. I can assure you that no one will be treated unfairly."

  Harmon nodded a few times, as if digesting that information. Then he said, "I never answered your question, did I? The one about knowing if anyone might want to harm my son."

  "No, sir, you didn't."

  "Will you give me a little bit of time? Not much, just an hour or two. I want to figure out exactly how to answer that question. Both questions, really, because they're connected to each other."

  "All right. I suppose that's fair."

  "And if I decide I do have an answer for you, either I or someone else will call you and give you the information you need."

  "Someone else?"

  "It's a delicate issue. It might be necessary for me to step back a bit. There are entanglements. Family entanglements."

  "Do they have to do with your daughter-in-law?"

  "Why do you ask that?"

  "Because when I spoke to her, she said you'd accused her of murdering your son."

  "As always, she got it wrong. I told her she was responsible."

  "I'm afraid I don't understand the difference," the DA said.

  "I was speaking philosophically, referring to a much grander sense of guilt. Do I believe that Abigail literally did what I just saw was done to my son? I doubt it very much."

  "But you won't say for certain?"

  "I won't say anything until I look into the matter we just discussed."

  Silverbush nodded, although he wasn't satisfied. But he knew that H. R. Harmon didn't give a damn about his satisfaction. "Then I'll wait to hear from you."

  The two men stepped into the elevator, took it one flight up, walked together back outside to the parking lot. They shook hands at the door, and Silverbush watched as a chauffeur in a dark suit opened the back door of a black Mercedes sedan and H. R. Harmon stepped inside.

  Silverbush wondered what the chauffeur's salary was, if it was possibly higher than his own.

  Sadly, he decided it probably was.

  They were not more than a few feet out of the hospital parking lot when H. R. Harmon leaned forward and spoke to his driver. Harmon spoke quietly, as if there were someone else in the car whom he didn't want to disturb.

  "I'd like to use your cell phone, please, Martin."

  Keeping his left hand on the wheel, the driver handed his phone back to the senator with his right hand. He was not surprised when the old man in the back told him to close the glass partition that separated the front seat from the back. Harmon often made calls and had conversations he did not want the help to overhear. What wasn't usual was that the old man was not using his own phone. There was a permanent phone built into the armrest in the backseat. Martin thought about reminding the senator about the phone, then decided he'd be better off keeping his mouth shut. H. R. Harmon did not much like being reminded of anything. And particularly today, Martin thought. He was probably just a tad disoriented. After all, who wouldn't be on the day you found out your own son had been murdered. No, Martin thought, he should just keep quiet.

  As a result of his deference to his employer's whim, Martin did not hear the brief conversation that took place on his own cell phone. He did not hear H. R. Harmon say to the voice on the other end that he'd just left the Long Island district attorney behind. He did not hear Harmon say that the DA had identified the wounds on the body as having come from a stun gun. Nor did he hear Harmon say the words "The source is solid?" And then, "You're absolutely sure?" Glancing in the rearview mirror, the chauffeur did catch a glimpse of old man Harmon nodding his head. He did see the senator close his eyes for a moment before tapping on the glass and indicating that Martin could now open it back up. As he took his phone back, he saw the senator's eyes in the mirror. He thought he saw a deep sadness in those eyes, a sadness that was startling in its scope and strength.

  Only natural, Martin thought. Only appropriate.

  What could be sadder than outliving your own child?

  The DA watched H. R. Harmon's limo disappear down the street, then he walked slowly over to his Lexus and got behind the wheel.

  To absolutely nobody, he said, "Home, please, Roberto," and then he turned the key, listened as the ignition came on, and began to wend his way in and out of traffic on his way back to Riverhead. After twenty minutes of moving probably less than four hundred feet, Silverbush couldn't stand it anymore. He pulled his car onto the highway's shoulder and sat for a moment, staring straight ahead and sweeping his head clear of any thoughts whatsoever. The peace and quiet didn't last long-Silverbush was incapable of letting it last for very long-and when he came out of his brief reverie he reached for his briefcase and pulled out the report that the cop Justin Westwood had given him.

  Larry Silverbush's reading experience lasted just slightly longer than his quick moment of nonthinking silence. Before he finished the second page of the police report, he was honking his horn furiously, maneuvering his car into the middle of the highway, driving across the grass divider so he could head in the opposite direction from which he started, and began speeding back toward East End Harbor.

  Now there were no thoughts of Roberto or Matthew or any other fantasies about drivers and wealth and power. The only thought he had as he sped back was: I hope some damn fool cop decides to pull me over for speeding. Oh god, I hope someone tries because I really want to rip somebody a new one.

  But no one pulled the district attorney over. No one interfered with his drive back to East End Town Hall. He didn't slow down until he reached the town limits, at which moment his cell phone rang. He eased his foot off the gas pedal, and he listened to the man on the other end of the phone. He said nothing until the man had finished, and then all he said was "Thank you, sir. Thank you very much, I can't tell you how important this is" before hanging up. And by the time he'd stormed into Leona Krill's office, he wasn't even thinking about ripping anyone a new one. He was way beyond that.

  Way beyond.

  Justin was on his way to midtown and the Ascension office when his cell phone rang. It was Leona Krill.

  "Where are yo
u?" she said. Her tone was brusque and formal. It was as if she was talking through clenched teeth. She wasn't really asking a question-it was more of a demand.

  "I just left Rockworth and Williams. I'm on my way to Ascension."

  "In the city?"

  "Yes, in the city."

  "Get back here immediately."

  "Leona, let me just go to this meeting at Ascension, then-"

  "That meeting's canceled. Get back here immediately, Jay. Be in my office in exactly three hours."

  Justin hesitated. Leona rode roughshod over the brief silence.

  "Did you hear me? And do you understand what I'm telling you?"

  "Silverbush read my report, huh?"

  "Three hours, Jay. Do you understand?"

  Justin told her he understood. And unfortunately he did.

  11

  At 6 P.M., exactly three hours after speaking to Leona, Justin arrived at the East End Harbor Town Hall on Main Street. Reporters-maybe ten or twelve of them-crowded around the front of the building. Justin had driven past his house before coming into town but hadn't bothered to stop there. Inches outside his driveway-just off the official property line-was another group of reporters. Also two news vans parked across the street, one of them with a satellite dish perched on top of it. A helicopter hovered overhead, circling the house. So he just kept driving, found he couldn't park at the station because there were more reporters there, too, tucked his car in an illegal spot behind the old-fashioned five-and-dime, the one that had the 1960s mechanical horse ride in front of it-put in a quarter and it rocked back and forth, holding a small child on its back, for several minutes-and headed up Main Street on foot.

  Justin pushed his way past the reporters at Town Hall and walked into the mayor's office. Leona was waiting for him, along with DA Silverbush and a uniformed police officer. No one looked very happy.

  "You goddamn piece of shit" was how Larry Silverbush greeted him. "You were balling the victim's wife?! You were fucking one of our key suspects?!"

  Justin kept his voice steady and low. "If you want to be technical," he said, "my relationship with Mrs. Harmon was prior to anyone being either a victim or a suspect."

  "I don't want to be fucking technical," the DA screamed. "I want you to know that you are this close to being indicted!"

  "On what charges?" Justin asked.

  "Obstruction of justice, aiding and abetting a homicide, possible conspiracy to commit murder-how many fucking charges do you want?"

  "I understand you're a little pissed off, but what the hell are you talking about? Who am I aiding and conspiring with?"

  "Abigail Harmon."

  "Don't be an asshole. I put the whole thing in my report. How can you turn that into a conspiracy?"

  "I told you not to fuck with me, Westwood. I told you to play along. But no, you had to go on being a stupid cowboy. You let her spend the night in your own goddamn house last night?!"

  "It's what I would have done for anyone in her position. She couldn't spend the night at home, so she stayed upstairs and I slept on the couch. There was nothing improper about it."

  "Bullshit."

  "There's nothing about our relationship that would hinder me from doing my job the way it should be done."

  "You've already screwed up your job, you asshole."

  "Since when is Abby a real suspect?" Justin asked. "What is it you think you know?"

  "I don't think I know anything. While you were out screwin' around and pretending to be a cop, my men solved the whole goddamn thing already! And guess what, cowboy? You were played for a sucker. Big-time. At least you better hope that's all we find out was going."

  "What are you talking about?"

  The Long Island district attorney turned to the uniformed cop who, up until this moment, hadn't uttered a word or changed his expression. "This is Captain William Holden of the Riverhead PD. Captain Holden. If you don't mind…"

  The captain turned to Justin. "We've ascertained that Mrs. Harmon was having an affair…" He didn't let a smirk cross his face, but the sense of satisfaction was unmistakable when he continued, "… another affair with a man named David Kelley. I believe you know him."

  Justin's face was blank for a moment. Then he said, "Dave Kelley? The contractor?"

  Holden said, "That's right. He operates here in East End."

  Justin nodded. "I know who he is."

  "You've never met?" This was Silverbush jumping back into the conversation. His tone made it clear that he felt he knew about every moment that Justin had ever been in Dave Kelley's presence.

  "We've met."

  "You spent time with Abigail Harmon and Kelley together. At Sylvester's Restaurant."

  Justin started to shake his head. Then he remembered. Maybe a month ago, he and Abby had had lunch at Sylvester's, a kind of general store that served good sandwiches. They'd sat at the small counter and, while they were eating, Kelley had come in. He saw Abby, sauntered over, and said hello. Justin picked up a strange vibe. He'd met Kelley before, seen him around town, nodded to him at Duffy's, but didn't really know him. Abby had said that Kelley was a contractor, was doing some work on her house. Justin remembered now because she'd said "my house," not "our house." He always noticed when she went out of her way to avoid any mention of her husband. Kelley had looked on edge when he'd come over, seemed uncomfortable in his presence. At the time Justin wasn't sure why. Now he was.

  "Yeah. I was with Abigail having lunch and Kelley came over and sat with us for a few minutes."

  "A few minutes? That's all."

  "That's all."

  "What'd you talk about?" This was Silverbush again, not Holden.

  "Nothing very interesting. Something about the work he was doing for the Harmons."

  "Anything about the security system?"

  "What?"

  "It's more interesting than you think. Or at least than you're pretending to think. That's one of the things Kelley was doing, overseeing the security system that was being installed in the Harmon house."

  "That didn't come up."

  "Did Mrs. Harmon ever talk to you about it separately?" This was Holden. His tone was less hostile than the district attorney's. In fact, it showed no emotion whatsoever. Justin decided that Holden could go one of two ways: Either he was probably a very good cop, capable of digging up the truth, or he could be in Silverbush's pocket, in which case he was a very good cop capable of doing a lot of damage.

  "No. Never."

  Silverbush sneered. "So, you being a supercop and all, she never even asked your advice about it?"

  "No."

  "Hard to believe."

  "I can't help that. It's true."

  "When you were with Kelley," the Mid-Island police captain said, his tone still calm and smooth, "having lunch-"

  "We weren't having lunch together. He sat down for two minutes, that's all."

  "Uh-huh. In those two minutes, did you talk about Evan Harmon?"

  "No."

  "Never came up?"

  "No."

  "It never came up, let's say, how to set up various ways to establish alibis for all three of you while Harmon was being murdered?"

  "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

  "No," Larry Silverbush said, jumping forward to stick his finger in Justin's chest, "he's not out of his fucking mind. And you want to know why?"

  "Okay. Why?"

  "Because you know those burns that were all over Evan Harmon's body? Well, they came from a stun gun. And when we searched David Kelley's house, you want to know what we found?"

  "Can I take a wild guess?"

  "You got it, cowboy. A stun gun."

  "How'd you know to search Kelley's house?" Justin wanted to know. "How'd you know about his relationship with Abby?"

  That threw Silverbush for a moment. His eyes shifted from side to side, and he wasn't sure exactly how to respond. Holden saved him the trouble, stepping in, quietly saying, "We had a tip."

  "From who?"

&n
bsp; "Doesn't matter who it was from. We're not ready to reveal that. It proved accurate. Kelley even used the stun gun in front of both Evan and Abigail Harmon. There's a witness. The son of a bitch liked to use it on animals. I guess your part-time girlfriend figured out if it worked on them, it'd work like a fucking charm on her husband."

  Justin started to say something, realized he didn't have all that much to say at this point. He decided he was better off being quiet and listening.

  "You want to know what else is gonna prove accurate?" Silverbush asked. And without waiting for Justin to answer, he said, "Kelley's fingerprints all over the crime scene. And phone logs that show Kelley talking to your girlfriend the morning of the murder. And another witness who heard Kelley say that that same girlfriend of yours had talked to him repeatedly about killing her husband."

  "And what has Kelley said about all this?"

  "So far nothing. But we're confident he'll roll. And when he does, he'll give us the lovely Mrs. Harmon as the one who planned the whole thing."

  "You thinking of giving him a deal?"

  Holden spoke up now. "We're thinking of doing whatever it takes to put two murderers in prison. Maybe three."

  "Three?"

  Silverbush's eyes flashed angrily. "That's right. 'Cause you want to know what else we're thinking, cowboy? We're thinkin' she couldn't have gone through with this unless you were involved. We think you helped her plan it."

  "Do you have even the remotest shred of evidence to back that up?"

  "Not yet. But we will."

  "Where's Abby now?" Justin wanted to know.

  "Over at your police station. Behind bars, waiting for her lawyer."

  "And where's Kelley?"

  "Mid-Island," Holden said. "In one of our jail cells."

  "You have anything else to say to me before I go talk to Abby?"

  "Yeah," Holden said. "If you have a weapon, surrender it now."

  Justin looked at the police captain curiously, but Silverbush was the one who answered the silent question.