The 8th Circle

by Sarah Cain

  A car door slammed, and he jerked up his head.

  Theresa’s street hadn’t been plowed, and most of the cars still stood buried under thick drifts. Only Theresa’s footsteps leading away from the house disturbed the pristine white. At the end of the block, though, Danny could see a black Crown Vic parked lengthwise. It blocked the intersection.

  Novell walked toward the house alone.

  46

  Ravel’s “The Fairy Garden” played, and Mason settled back on his white brocade divan to watch his movie. Though a tad underlit, the film possessed a softer reality, and the gold lights on the ceiling twinkled like fairy lights.

  Amazing what you could do with those miniature cameras. You could hide them almost anywhere.

  Mason clasped his hands together. It was all so lovely, except that Danny Ryan hadn’t been like he’d imagined. He pictured a meeting of minds, a joining of souls, but it wasn’t that way at all.

  Ryan preferred that tarty redhead. Lovely skin, but clearly a harlot. She draped herself around Ryan like a boa constrictor. Mason clicked off the movie in disgust.

  The woman came between them. Kate Reid, Robert Harlan’s assistant. She looked oddly familiar. He would have to find out more about her.

  It didn’t matter. They’d promised him. They wanted information from Ryan, but after that, Mason had a special place for him. Right here.

  Mason looked up at the wings that glittered above his head; they spun slightly in the air. Pale streams of sun bled through the skylight. It reflected off the jewels and sequins and sent shimmers dancing across the room. Fairies come to call.

  For a moment, his wall of photographs glowed with an unearthly golden light, and Mason felt his breath catch at the back of his throat. Those eyes. Tears slid down his cheeks.

  Here was beauty wrought by the exquisite hand of suffering. That was Ryan’s destiny, his true purpose. It was glorious, really, to bear such torment in life.

  And Mason knew it was his purpose to help Ryan find redemption through his pain. It would be his greatest achievement. His masterpiece. The last photograph he would add to his collection. The one he would take when Danny Ryan’s spirit fled his body forever.

  47

  Vic Ceriano was a drug dealer, a wife-beater, and a low-life son of a bitch, but he had an extensive gun collection. Danny gave him a silent blessing for that when he pulled out the gun case from under Theresa’s bed and selected a Glock. It was oiled and loaded. Danny took a moment to enjoy the feel of it in his hands before he chambered a round.

  He heard the front door creak open. Novell would check out the downstairs first. Danny unscrewed the hall light and crept to the stairwell. He listened to Novell’s measured footsteps and heard him click the light switch. The hall remained murky.

  If he was lucky, Novell was hungover.

  The footsteps came closer, and Danny gripped the gun in both hands. He saw Novell’s feet and then his knees. He pointed the gun at Novell’s chest and said, “Detective Novell, I’d say nice to see you, but I wish you’d leave me the hell alone.”

  “You really don’t want to point that gun at a police officer.” Novell sounded calm, but Danny could see the irritation and surprise that twisted his mouth into a grim line.

  Danny came down three steps. “I can use it too. My father made me learn to field-strip a gun before I was eight. Impressive, don’t you think?”

  If he didn’t get it right, the old man would make him start from scratch. If he still couldn’t do it, the old man would take his belt to him. Instruction through intimidation. Thomas Patrick Ryan wrote that book.

  “You can’t stay here,” Novell said.

  “And you can’t force me into protective custody. I’m a citizen. I’ve got rights.”

  “You won’t have anything if you’re dead.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d lay your weapons on the floor. You can start with your SIG and finish with the .22 strapped to your ankle.”

  “I just want to talk.”

  Danny’s fingers tightened on the butt until his knuckles blanched. Guns always had that power over him, as though when he picked one up, a switch went on. Maybe that’s why he was able to hit those perfect clusters on the shooting range—one of his few skills that had always earned his father’s approval. He was the best shot in the family.

  Danny met Novell’s eyes. “The guns. On the floor. Now.”

  Novell laid his SIG Sauer on the floor, and Danny watched him gauge the distance between them.

  “Put down your backup and step away.”

  “This case is bigger than Michael Cohen’s murder.” Novell nudged the SIG toward Danny, but it stuck in the brown shag carpeting.

  “No shit, Sherlock. Your backup too.”

  “All right. The feds have been looking into the Inferno for more than eight years, and you want to know whose name keeps popping up?”

  “I thought you weren’t a fed anymore.”

  “I’m not. That doesn’t mean I don’t have connections. I was part of the original investigation. I knew all about you long before Michael Cohen crashed into your duck pond.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You were under FBI surveillance for a year and a half.”

  Danny leaned against the wall and tried not to let Novell see the impact his words had. Christ, was someone peeking through the windows of his home? He cringed when he thought about the times Beth and he made love in the pool or on the floor in the family room. When they fought. All their intimate moments.

  “Why in the hell would I be under surveillance?”

  “As a possible link to the Inferno.”

  “You pull my name out of your ass?”

  Novell shrugged. “You sold drugs for your brother-in-law.”

  “And that’s bullshit.” A red haze began to cloud Danny’s vision. He was tired of Novell’s head games. “You know, I might be a little out of practice, but I can probably take out your kneecap from here.”

  “You aren’t that stupid.”

  “I’m that pissed off. Why investigate me?”

  “You put down the gun, and I’ll tell you.”

  “Do I look like a fool? I put down the gun, and you arrest me.”

  “I won’t arrest you. You have my word.”

  “What assurance do I have?”

  “None. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  Trust me. I’m from the government; I’m here to help. One of the five great lies. Danny’s finger tightened on the trigger. He could shoot the bastard and plead self-defense, but he knew he wouldn’t. Some doors were meant to stay locked.

  “Tell you what,” Novell said. “I’ll give you a name, then you can decide whether or not to shoot me.”

  “All right, Novell. Go ahead.”

  “Senator Robert Harlan.”

  48

  Kate balanced her notebook on her knees and scribbled. Her pen jerked when the limo bounced over the cobblestones on Dock Street and then turned onto Delaware Avenue. She hoped she’d be able to read her writing when she got back to the office.

  “And, Kate,” Senator Harlan said, “one more thing. Albert will take you out to the house this morning. Mrs. Harlan needs you.”

  “Sorry?” Kate almost dropped her pen.

  “For the party at the Pyramid Club. She’ll go over the guest list so you can get out the press releases. She may have a few errands. You know how important this night is going to be.”

  “Of course.” Kate swallowed. She was sure there’d be more than a few errands, and the next two weeks now promised to be pure hell. The real reason Mrs. Harlan wanted her was it was almost Christmas and she had errands to run. Stamps that would have to be stuck on letters—and not just stuck: measured and placed exactly one-sixteenth of an inch from the top and right edge of the envelopes. Thousands of them.

  He leaned a little closer. She wanted to move away but forced herself to sit still.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but
it’s been awkward with all the unpleasantness over the weekend.”

  Unpleasantness? An odd way of putting it. “You mean Linda Cohen?”

  “Exactly.”

  His black eyes seemed cold and dead. Then he smiled, and she thought she must’ve imagined it. Why did Novell’s warning keep echoing in her head?

  He’s a predator.

  She knew he could be difficult. He expected his staff to perform up to exacting standards, but he had an image to uphold. When she went out into the world, she represented him. Naturally, he worried about her behavior. That was normal. Wasn’t it?

  “I’m concerned about you.”

  “Me? Why?” A niggle of unease began to bubble in her stomach. She closed her notepad and folded her hands.

  He’d fired his former legislative aide because she had a smart mouth. She wore her skirts too short and too tight. She dated the wrong guy. Whatever happened to her? Kate didn’t know. She moved away. Didn’t leave a forwarding address.

  But the senator was different with her. Kate heard the whispers in the office. She knew everyone thought they were sleeping together. Hell, even she expected him to put the moves on her. What difference would it have made? One more guy she had to fake it with. When he didn’t, it confused her because he seemed weirdly paternal, kind in that formal way of his. Sometimes she caught him watching her, not the way the pigs in the bars did, like they were ready to take her right on a table, but with a strange, almost bemused look, like maybe he’d surprised himself.

  The senator cleared his throat. “At the Cohens’ party, Patricia and I noticed you dancing with Daniel Ryan. You seemed . . . intimate.”

  “Intimate?” Kate frowned. “We were dancing. He’s very good at it.”

  Good at dancing. Good at a number of things. An unexpected rush of warmth coursed through her body. Mother of God, she was blushing.

  “You know I feel . . . well, protective of you, Kate. I hate to say this, but Daniel’s a very troubled young man.”

  “Troubled?”

  “You know he was married to my daughter.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Unhappily, I’m afraid.” The senator pressed his lips together. “Patricia and I warned Beth, but she only saw the charm. The good looks.” Tears welled in his eyes, and he paused to catch his breath. “He came from an abusive background, so I suppose it wasn’t entirely his fault.”

  “He was . . . abusive?” A cold lump in Kate’s stomach replaced the nice, warm glow. She didn’t expect this. Danny always seemed so gentle, but so did Thomas. Her saint. She knew he’d been a drinker. She knew he took his rages out on his sons. Even if she hadn’t read Danny’s notebooks, she’d seen the scars on his body.

  “My father was handy with a belt,” he’d said when she fingered the fine web of white lines on his back, though he didn’t comment when she touched the ugly six-inch line that cut through his dark hair into his scalp. If you called abuse discipline, did that make it acceptable?

  The senator put his face in his hands. “I was such a fool. I should have stepped in, but I didn’t want a scandal. I was weak, Kate. I lost my daughter. My grandson.” His voice shook. “I’m sorry. It sounds trite, but to lose a child . . . Beth was everything to me.”

  “I’m sorry. I know—I . . . I’m so sorry.” Kate squeezed her pen against her damp palm. It was horrible. She didn’t know what to do. In the entire time since the funeral, the senator never once betrayed any emotion like this in front of her.

  Even at the funeral, he was calm. It was so terribly crowded that she never went through the receiving line, but she remembered Senator Harlan. He spoke to people like they were there for cocktails. Smiled, shook hands. Worked the crowd.

  Danny was the one who looked hollowed out and alone. She didn’t know how he could be surrounded by people yet appear so solitary. Maybe that was part of his appeal. He was a lost one too.

  Ryan’s still in love with his wife.

  She tried to forget Novell’s words, but they remained stuck. She hated him for saying them. Why was it never her turn? A tear spilled down her cheek before she could blink it back, and she swiped at it in horror. Thank God the senator was still looking down.

  The car stopped at City Helicopter, and Kate watched the senator take another deep breath. When he looked up at her, though, his face appeared composed. That quickly, he pulled himself together.

  “I’m sorry to have burdened you, my dear,” he said and patted her hand. “It’s just that you’ve been with me for some time now. I think of you as, well, family.”

  “I appreciate your concern, sir.”

  “Then you aren’t seeing him?”

  “We were dancing. You’re kind to worry though.”

  He watched her for a moment longer, and Kate wondered why she felt like he was reaching inside her, touching her in some strange, intimate way, as if she sat naked in front of him. Kate clasped her notebook and pen against her like a shield. “Is there anything else, Senator? Any last-minute instructions?”

  “There is one thing, Kate. You’ve worked for me for some time now.”

  Kate nodded. Almost three years, but who was counting? It was a good job, and she’d been lucky to get it. The only time trolling the clubs ever paid off for her. She picked up the senator’s campaign manager. He got laid, and she got a job. A good deal all around.

  “I’ve been thinking it’s time you made the move from Philadelphia to Washington.”

  “Washington?” Two weeks ago she would’ve been elated. Today it sounded like he condemned her to Siberia.

  “I know it would be a change, but you don’t have family here, do you? And it would mean a raise in salary as well as many other benefits.” His voice spread over her like oil, thick and suffocating.

  “It’s so sudden.” Kate couldn’t look at him. “I’m flattered.”

  “Of course, this move is your choice, Kate, but I’m sure you’ll recognize it for the opportunity it is.”

  “Yes, Senator.”

  Kate knew that Washington wasn’t a choice. She would go or else. Kate wasn’t sure what the “or else” was.

  He leaned forward and placed his palms on either side of her legs. His long fingers just brushed her thighs, and her skin shuddered away from his touch. She was trapped, his face inches from hers.

  “You’re a very bright girl, Kate, and a lovely one. You’ll make the right decision.”

  It was a wonder she could hear him at all. Her blood pulsed so hard that it seemed to roar inside her head. The air felt thick and heavy, and she wanted to scream, but it was as if a boulder lodged in her throat. When she looked at the senator, his eyes glittered in triumph.

  “We’ll have a more intimate discussion after the holidays, my dear.”

  He sat back and knocked on the window. Albert opened the door, and Kate watched the senator walk to a waiting chopper. His navy overcoat flapped like giant wings.

  49

  “Jesus, Andy.”

  Andy huddled on a bench just inside the ICU waiting room. His unshaven face looked gray, sunken. His hands shook. Andy still wore his tuxedo, and his white hair stood in matted clumps around his head. Danny sat next to him.

  Andy licked his raw lips. “You wouldn’t have a pint in your pocket, babe? I keep asking, but no one will humor me here.”

  “How bad are you feeling?”

  Andy’s eyes filled, and he took wheezing breaths that sounded like he was choking. “Ran out this morning.”

  Danny glanced around the room. He wondered where all the party guys were—the ones who sucked down Andy’s liquor and snorted Andy’s coke, who vacationed at the Palm Beach house and partied at the clubs, always on Andy’s dime.

  “I’ll get you a pint.” Danny put his arm around Andy. “You need anything else? A change of clothes?”

  “Goddamn woman. Drove me crazy. I cheated all the time.” Andy’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “But we’re a team. I love her.”

  “I know you
do.”

  Andy pulled back and ran his hands back and forth through his hair. “No, you don’t. You don’t have a clue. You didn’t love Beth. You didn’t give a damn about her.”

  But it wasn’t true. That was the hell of it. Long after the giddy melody of their courtship faded, Danny would watch Beth in those unguarded moments when she was just drifting off to sleep or reading to Conor and see the sunlit woman he loved. She had always hidden her best self: the woman who would buy gourmet treats for Beowulf, who would build Legos with Conor, and who would ruin a four-thousand-dollar dress pulling him into the swimming pool to make love.

  “Do you need anything else? Besides a pint.”

  Andy’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, but Danny wouldn’t look up. He concentrated on the white tile floor, trying to shut out the tightness in his chest. Andy leaned closer. He smelled fetid. “I want you to go to my house. I’ll call ahead and have them pack me a suitcase, but I want you to go to my bedroom. There’s a safe in the wall behind the Picasso. I’ll give you the combination. When I die, I’m leaving it to you. The Picasso, that is.”

  “Don’t you think a museum would be more appropriate?”

  “You are a museum, with a head filled with little factoids. Someone should display you in a case.”

  Andy looked entirely capable of sawing off his head, like some insane mortician with his spotty tuxedo and three-day-old beard.

  “What do you want me to take?”

  “There’s a package inside.”

  “What kind of package?”

  “Just get it.” Andy pulled Danny against him. “I’m sorry, Daniel. Sorry you got dragged into this. I thought we’d get a chance to work together again.”

  “Andy, I—”

  “Don’t waste your breath, and don’t come back without a pint.”