The Edge of Reason

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “Who said anything about loving you?”

  As she stalked to the door she saw his cheeks flare with color. She had hit a nerve and she took a bitter joy in hurting him.

  They had the cozy corner booth at Graze, one of Albuquerque’s more upscale restaurants, which offered a selection of “American tapas.” Since they offered half glasses of wine, Angela sampled a red or a white, depending upon the dish. Richard drank water and one of the fancy bottled teas.

  “So Weber goes into the cell with a turkey baster and starts sampling the air all around the perp. The man is becoming more and more agitated, and finally he asks what Weber’s doing. So Damon tells him that he’s taking samples of the gentleman’s pheromones and he’s going to compare them with samples he took at the house.”

  Richard had a musical little chuckle, and Angela enjoyed just listening to it. “So what happened?” she asked.

  “What you’d expect. He immediately confessed to the burglaries.”

  “If you think that’s good, get Weber to tell you about the bunny suit and the two-by-four carrot sometime,” Angela said.

  “Bunny suit? Carrot?”

  “You need to hear it from him.”

  Their waiter arrived and set down several plates with a flourish. “The Mediterranean grazing plate, French country pâté, and tilapia in banana leaves,” he announced. “Enjoy.”

  Angela spooned some of each entree onto her plate. She looked up to find Richard gazing with amusement at her plate, and she realized that she was ending up with well more than half. Making a rueful face she said, “You should have taken me to the all-you-can-eat buffet at Bella Vista. You’re going to go broke feeding me here.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Despite his amusement over Weber’s antics, Angela could tell that something was bothering the young detective. Figuring it was lingering embarrassment over their disastrous night in Taos, she decided to take the issue head-on.

  “So, I want you to know that I’m not expecting anything from you. At least not until you’re ready and I have an idea how to help you with that. What you need is a good casual fuck with a total stranger.”

  Richard stared at her, the blood rushing to his cheeks and even to the tips of ears. Then he burst out laughing. “Angela, could we not discuss my …” he lowered his voice, “ … sexual dysfunction in quite such a public forum?”

  “Nobody’s listening,” she protested.

  Richard leaned in and pressed his forehead against hers. “Well, let’s hope not. I’d like to keep a shred of reputation.”

  The fire from the pennies sent shadows dancing across the scarred pine of the study carrel and across the shelves of books. One spun on the top of the computer monitor. The other two flashed on the desk to either side. Rhiana murmured power words and swept the palm of her hand across the screen. Sullen colors began to crawl through the black surface. A picture, small and remote, appeared in the center of the screen. It was Richard and Angela. Their heads, pale and dark, were close together. Plates of food lay on the table before them.

  “And by the way, I prefer to make love rather than f … well, you know,” Richard was saying, and Angela laughed. A sob broke from Rhiana’s lips and she bent forward over the hurt in her gut.

  A long hand reached over her shoulder and picked up the pennies. For the first time Rhiana noticed Madoc’s nails, long and very sharp. The picture on the screen vanished and there was a sharp pop as the motherboard, stressed by its unnatural use, died.

  “He’s just a human,” Madoc said softly.

  “But I want him.” Rhiana drew her sleeve across her face and sniffed.

  “There’s time.” His hand played in her long hair. “Why don’t you come away with me?”

  “Where?”

  “Venice, Paris, London. What would you like?”

  “I thought you meant …” She hesitated, then said, “Home.”

  His cat’s smile caressed her. “I don’t think you are quite ready to make that choice, or that journey. But I know your dreams. Let me answer a few of them.”

  Monday morning. A sad, cold rain fell outside and the room smelled of wet coats and strong coffee. The incident board was filled with new murders and assaults. Richard stood in front of it and shook his head.

  “It’s worse than last weekend. What is going on?” he asked Weber as the older man sauntered up to join him.

  “It’s just going to get worse. The holidays are hell. Disappointments, expectations and stress. Nice lethal combinations.”

  They walked to their desks. Weber gathered up his giant coffee mug shaped like the ass end of a horse.

  “Do you think the captain is going to let me take vacation over Christmas?” Richard asked anxiously. “I put in my papers, but I haven’t heard yet.” Richard got out his mug and a tea bag.

  “You are the new kid.”

  “So don’t count on it?”

  “Yep.”

  They headed over toward the coffeepots. There was a knot of cops, both uniform and detective, near the coffeepots. Snyder was prominent in the center. The low-voiced conversation stopped and all of them looked at him. Richard reached up and straightened a suddenly too-tight tie. He heard the single muttered word.

  “Faggot.”

  Richard stopped. Snyder grinned nastily at him. The seconds seemed as long as hours as he faced the pack. Damon’s face darkened.

  “What is this shit?” Weber asked.

  “Richie’s friend came by yesterday lookin’ for him,” Snyder said and batted his eyelashes.

  Terror and shame fluttered in his belly and his throat felt too narrow. Richard forced himself to walk over. They all seemed so tall.

  “If you have something to say, say it to me,” Richard said. Yankee pride kept his back straight and his words clipped.

  “Okay. Your sweetie came by lookin’ for you.”

  “Does this person have a name?”

  “It’s on your desk.”

  Richard could hear Kenntnis’s voice urging him to do something outrageous, take control of the situation, but he couldn’t. A few short days ago all these men had looked at him with admiration and friendship. Now disgust etched their faces.

  Turning on his heel, Richard went to his desk and looked down at the yellow legal pad. In large print surrounded by hearts he read Sal Verzzi and a telephone number. In an instant he felt the burn of sunbaked sand beneath his feet, smelled the briny scent of seaweed and ocean water, and heard the shouts of children darting like minnows in and out of the waves. Fire Island, a few months before he started work for Drew Sandringham. The young actor he had met. It began with a glass of wine, and became a wild and passionate weekend. They had promised to stay in touch, but a few weeks later Sal had landed the leading role on a new television drama and moved to California.

  Most actors hid their proclivities so something—or someone, Richard thought—had happened to lead to this betrayal.

  He wanted to flee, but he forced himself to sit down, pulled the pad and phone close and started to dial. Richard noticed that Weber stayed in the knot of detectives around the coffeepot, listening as they talked. One young detective flung out a hand and went swishing toward the copier accompanied by raucous laughter. Cheeks burning, Richard bent to his task.

  Soon he was talking to the front desk clerk at the Night Lighter Inn on Central. The Night Lighter was a rundown dump on east Central Boulevard that hadn’t quite sunk to catering to whores, junkies and dealers, but it was hanging on by its fingernails. The clerk’s soft voice held the lilt and song of subcontinental India and he sounded tired as he provided the information that Sal Verzzi had checked out that morning.

  A growing fury hammered in Richard’s temples. It wasn’t strictly proper to use his status as a police officer for private use, but he figured he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. A few more calls and he’d learned that Sal Verzzi was booked on a Southwest Airlines flight to L.A., departi
ng at 10:20 a.m. Grabbing his overcoat and radio Richard headed for the door.

  He couldn’t help it. He looked over to Weber. The older man’s eyes slid away, and he turned back to face the other officers. The broad expanse of his back said it all.

  Richard flashed his badge to the TSA screeners at the security checkpoint, and was waved through. Usually he savored a walk through Albuquerque International with its Southwestern furnishings, wood-beamed ceilings, tile floors and leather chairs. It was a pleasant change from the usual sterile plastic and cheap carpet found in most airports. This day he stormed through.

  Sal sat reading by one of the wide windows that offered a view of the towering mountains. Richard thought for a moment that the actor seemed huddled and hunched, but decided that was merely wishful thinking on his part.

  “Hello, Sal.”

  Sal gasped, jumped and dropped his Newsweek. “Ri-Richard!”

  “How nice to see you again, Sal. Pity you couldn’t stick around to actually say hello after stabbing me in the back.”

  Four years had brought a few changes. The forehead shone high and white because of a receding hairline. There were a few etched lines around the wide mobile mouth that looked more like sorrow and disappointment than dissipation. The eyes were the same, a warm golden brown. As Richard watched, tears welled up and hung on the long dark lashes. Richard’s anger faded, replaced with a weary sadness.

  “They didn’t tell me you were a cop,” Sal whispered.

  “Telling you to go to APD headquarters wasn’t a clue?” Richard asked.

  “They just gave me an address.”

  “You could have walked away once you realized.” Sal shook his head. The tears left damp streaks down his cheeks. “What have they got on you?” Richard asked in a gentler tone.

  “Nothing.” It seemed to require an effort but Sal managed to meet Richard’s eyes. “It was what they offered. I’m in terrible shape, Richard. I needed help desperately.” Richard looked down into the pinched face. AIDS? he wondered. Hepatitis C?

  With a sigh Richard sank into the chair next to the young actor. “Tell me.”

  Sal swept away the tears and rotated in the chair to face Richard. “I haven’t worked in two years.”

  “What happened to your series?”

  “Canceled after four episodes. You don’t understand how tough it is out there. You’re only as good as your last job and I was associated with a bomb.” Resentment laced the words and flashed in his eyes. “But you’ve got to keep up appearances.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’ve got to look hot. Keep the right address. Not have an area code in the Valley. Drive a nice car. Well, it’s all about to collapse on top of me. And then they turned up and offered me a series. All I had to do was pay you a visit.”

  Richard stood up, pity fading. “This is about a job!”

  “What else would it be?” Sal was honestly puzzled.

  “I thought you were sick, or … or something,” Richard replied.

  “No.”

  “So you bought your life with mine. Thanks so much. And what makes you think they’ll keep their promise? You’re flying a cattlecar airline and staying in a fleabag motel. Doesn’t look like they value your efforts much.”

  Sal’s jaw sagged as he stared up at Richard. “You think they’ll back out?”

  “They don’t need you anymore,” Richard said coldly.

  “I’ll … I’ ll tell.”

  “Who? And tell them what? That you outed a bisexual cop? Not exactly earthshaking. Except to the cop,” Richard added bitterly.

  “I’m … I’m sorry. I didn’t think,” Sal began.

  “Yes, yes you did. You just didn’t care!”

  His heel squeaked on the tile as Richard spun and walked away. He made it all the way out to the main concourse before shame over how he’d treated Sal and dread at the prospect of returning to work overwhelmed him. He dropped onto a bench behind a tall pillar to hide from everyone and everything.

  But there was no escaping his thoughts.

  “Look, all you have to do is give us what we want, and we’ll support you in any and all of your goals. Chief of Detectives for New York? Director of the FBI? A brilliant concert career? A contract with the Met?” Grenier’s liquid baritone echoed in his memory.

  He had been both cruel and sanctimonious with Sal. If Richard hadn’t had the memory of Naomi, Alice and Dan, their cold, mutilated bodies fresh in his heart and mind, he might well have been tempted by Grenier. All Sal had had was a driving need and massive insecurity, and nothing to temper the wanting.

  Richard’s thoughts moved on to his own situation, and he sat studying his options. Quit and try to go to a new city and a new police force?

  How long before they locate another lover and send him in to wreck everything? Or got Snyder to make a few calls to his new job?

  Try going back to music?

  Work for Lumina?

  But once again he would have been given a job.

  Give up police work?

  Simply thinking about it brought him even lower. The grief he felt at giving up his profession was far more profound than his dread at facing his fellow officers. Richard thought about the cases waiting on his desk.

  The dead were beyond his help, but their memory could be honored by bringing their killers to justice. Their loved ones would find some small measure of comfort, and other potential victims would be protected. It was good work, honorable work, and he didn’t need the approbation of his peers to accomplish it. He was good at this—

  He was surprised and startled by the ringing of his cell phone.

  “Hello?” Richard cautiously.

  “Will you give us the sword?” came Grenier’s voice.

  Richard came to his feet. “You son of a bitch.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “Is this the best you got? Because it wasn’t enough,” Richard shouted.

  “Remember, things can always get worse.”

  Chapter TWENTY-THREE

  “Just bring bare necessities. I’ll rig you out when we arrive.” Rhiana smiled with anticipation, remembering Madoc’s instructions, as she tossed a couple of sweatshirts and another pair of pants into the dufflebag.

  “You’re traveling light,” Kenntnis’s voice came from the doorway.

  “Well, I’ve got stuff at home,” Rhiana replied, and focused on zipping up her makeup bag while she uttered the lie. She didn’t think Kenntnis had any abilities greater than those of a perceptive human to detect a lie, but she didn’t want to test the theory.

  Looking up, she glanced around the room and wondered if she would ever inhabit it again. It was beautiful, with peach-colored curtains draping the sleigh bed, and elegant carving on the dressing table and chest of drawers, but it wasn’t hers. She had been a beggar, and now that she knew she belonged somewhere she didn’t want to live on anyone’s charity any longer. Maybe Madoc would actually let her come home this time.

  Kenntnis entered the room and began picking up items randomly from the mantlepiece—an eighteenth-century couple in Meissen white porcelain. From the table by the deep armchair in front of the fireplace—a Limoges box. From the bedside table—the Diana Gabaldon novel she was reading. Everything seemed very small in his wide, powerful hands.

  “I’m worried about you,” he finally said. “These assaults on Cross are a preparation for something. I don’t want you to be on the receiving end of … well, whatever they throw at us.”

  “I’ll be fine. You’ve taught me how to hide and ward myself,” Rhiana said, zipping the duffel shut. “And I haven’t seen my family for months.” She slung the duffel onto her shoulder and started for the door.

  “You haven’t seemed all that fond of them.” Kenntnis’s voice was dry. And maybe a little suspicious? Rhiana shook that off as nerves on her part.

  “You can change your mind about things … people,” she said.

  “True.” Kenntnis surprised Rhiana by
pulling her into a hug. “Just be careful. I’ve grown quite fond of my ‘roomie.’”

  Rhiana felt doubt assail her. The phone on the bedside table rang. Rhiana answered, listened and handed it to Kenntnis.

  “It’s for you.”

  Rhiana could faintly hear the words from Kenntnis’s secretary.

  “Mr. Kenntnis, Detective Oort is in your office. He’s says it’s urgent.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right down.” Kenntnis hung up the phone and pointed at Rhiana. “Don’t leave. We’re not quite done yet.”

  “I have a plane to catch. I can’t wait.”

  “And I have to go talk to Richard.”

  “It’s always going to be about him first, isn’t it?” Rhiana asked.

  “For obvious reasons—yes.”

  She watched him walk out, and threw a surreptitious finger at his broad back. Fuck ’em. Tomorrow she’d be in Venice.

  Kenntnis sat behind his desk and listened while Richard poured out the story. The young cop paced the room, flinging himself back and forth until he suddenly dropped into the armchair, as if the recitation had exhausted him.

  “This wasn’t entirely unexpected,” Kenntnis said.

  “I know, but it just seems so … petty. Why not just kill me and take the damn thing?”

  “Because they don’t leave fingerprints, metaphorically speaking. They sent golems after Rhiana, they used the gang members to ‘kill’ the college kids. And killing a cop brings down a hornet’s nest of problems.”

  “Do they actually think this will work?” Richard was up and pacing again.

  “Probably not, but it’s going to take a toll on you emotionally, and they might get lucky and you’ll fold. Remember they didn’t manage to talk to McGowan. They think you’re a fragile weakling. Grenier doesn’t know he’s just going to stiffen your backbone with this.”