Impasse

by Royce Scott Buckingham

  “Those were his words?”

  “Verbatim.”

  “You’re sure? You’ve been through a lot here.”

  “I’m sure. In fact, I’ll never forget them.”

  She tapped, then stared at what she wrote, thinking. “Somebody put him up to it. There’s no other reasonable interpretation.”

  “That’s what I think.”

  “I think it too.” She started a new paragraph. “Okay, what next?”

  Stu took a deep breath, but he couldn’t say it, so Audry did.

  “The, um, gangster in your wife’s bedroom is a bit of a red flag.”

  “True. You can write down that a known criminal is blackmailing Katherine and my partner.”

  Audry typed, then cocked her head. “Or not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Audry gave him a sympathetic look. “I mean that we should consider all possible explanations.”

  “That is the possible explanation.” Stu frowned. He didn’t like where Audry was going.

  “It’s just that … they didn’t look blackmailed.”

  “Yeah? And how would you describe the blackmailed look?

  “I dunno. Not-okay-with-it, maybe?”

  “You think my wife looked okay with … with that?”

  “Hey, it’s just an observation. Woman’s perspective, maybe. Just a feeling I got.”

  “I don’t do karma, remember?”

  “Got it. But, for what it’s worth…”

  “It’s worth very little.”

  “Fair enough. I’m typing worth very little next to it in our notes.”

  “Look, if I hadn’t feared for Katherine’s safety, I would have gone right in there.”

  “I’m sure you would have.”

  “He could have had a gun.”

  “Can’t imagine where he’d have hidden it.”

  Stu stood. “I need a long hot shower. Where’s the bathroom?”

  The shower had a frilly white curtain and was littered with seven bottles of different types of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, most of them pink and half full. The bar of soap was the size and shape of a potato chip. He used green-tea-scented liquid soap on his body and chose nourishing coconut milk shampoo that promised to “volumize” his hair. The first time he rinsed, the water was brown. He shampooed four times with different products before it ran clear. There was a razor, also pink.

  Stu emerged forty minutes later wrapped in a towel with a rough goatee and his long hair swept back with sculpting cream to keep it out of his eyes. He looked vaguely like a middle-aged surfer.

  Audry put down her tablet. “Wow. Look at you.” And she did look, shamelessly.

  “Have you got any clothes that would fit me that aren’t pink?”

  “I think so. Want me to burn those?”

  She sent him back into the bathroom with a UConn T-shirt and purple sweatpants that said SASSY across the butt. Audry giggled when he walked out, but assured him that he looked lovely.

  They argued about calling the police, then switched sides and argued again to be sure they hadn’t missed anything. In the end Audry reluctantly agreed that Stu’s biggest advantage was that he didn’t exist. He could investigate with impunity as long as he was a ghost. As soon as the police stepped in, any suspects would scatter or circle the wagons. But Audry made Stu promise that he would turn things over to them as soon as possible.

  “In the meantime you should sleep,” she said. “You look exhausted.” She opened the door to her daughter’s smallish former bedroom, which was home to a fluffy cat named Sasha. The room was as ridiculously tidy as the front room and, again, pink. The single bed was tiny—and the most comfortable-looking sleeping accommodations Stu had ever seen.

  “Rest up,” Audry said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Tomorrow we go to work.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Katherine lounged on the brass bed, a heavy four-poster that sat solidly on the slightly tilted wide-plank floor of the historic Willimantic Inn’s uppermost room. The huge 1700s house had also been a tavern in its heyday, and then a home for unwed girls during the downturn of the textile industry. A Kennedy had once slept in the very bed upon which she was stretched out like a yawning cat. Rich in history, the inn sat on ten acres of land in southwestern Windham County with easy access to Thread City, as historic Willimantic had been known when the American Thread Company, ATC, had been located there. ATC had been one of the largest producers of thread in the world at the time and the first factory ever to use electric lighting. There were still mill buildings on the river, which Katherine had spent hours shooting the evening before. Afterward she’d gone for a run, then purchased an armoire, which the Afterlife Antiques dealer promised he’d rush ship to New Bedford so that she’d have it waiting for her when she got home.

  Home.

  The beach house was beginning to feel less empty, and she thought she’d be ready to tackle it again after her little vacation. Moving had been a difficult and trying experience. She’d labeled more than one hundred boxes, and the movers she’d hired had failed to show up. She’d had to completely rearrange her schedule and call another company. She’d left the old appliances at the William Street house and gotten rid of most of the old furnishings, and she’d had to spend weeks shopping for new furniture. It was hard work, and when she was done, it would take another week of decorating and styling before she could throw a party to show the place off.

  The photo trip had been a brilliant idea. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was from managing the move and buying things—and from the residual stress of her husband’s disappearance, of course. It was the best vacation she’d had in a long time. It helped that Clay was in a good mood.

  He sat at the room’s antique desk in his underwear. Katherine noticed that the bikini style was starting to look a bit small on him; the flesh of his belly was creeping over the waistband. They’d eaten well at some fabulous restaurants over the last few months. And he’d been too busy at the office to work out, he’d said. Whatever the case, it looked like it was time for him to make the jump from bikinis to briefs or boxers.

  “I’d like Margery to cater our housewarming party,” Katherine said.

  “Sounds great. I’ll invite our star clients.”

  “I’d hoped our personal gatherings wouldn’t always have to include the big two. Maybe some new blood? The chair of the arts commission, maybe. Or the operations manager at Acushnet—his sister went to UMass with me.”

  “You need to keep in mind who’s buttering your biscuit, darlin’.”

  “I’m quite aware of that.”

  “Good. Then it’s settled.” He smiled. When she pouted, he walked to the bed and took her head in his hands. “Look, you’re a social dynamo, but you need me to harness that energy, to point it toward the real money. Would you like some live music at your party?”

  “Ooh, that sounds fabulous. A string quartet. Music students from UMass play for an hourly rate. And I’ll invite the department chair. That’s perfect.”

  “See. You’re a networking genius. And maybe he’d like to stay for the private after-party.”

  “Puh-leez, he’s seventy.”

  “Then he’ll be even more grateful.”

  “You’re wicked.” She playfully swung a pillow, which he caught and wrenched out of her hand. “But you’re not serious, are you?”

  Clay held her by the wrist, smirking. “No. We can’t get his business. The university already has lawyers.” He gave her a firm buffet in the head with the pillow, then threw it on the nearby love seat and sat down beside her. “Besides, we’re doing fine. It’s funny, I’d almost lost hope that life could be this good. Guess it took a tragedy to make me realize it. He was a good guy, Stu. But you have to admit, he was holding us back. Both of us.”

  Katherine nodded, but frowned. “I don’t want to think about that right now. He’s in the past. Have you thought about our future?”

  “Of course. Our next step is to bu
y the Bluestone Building.”

  Katherine smiled, but it wasn’t what she meant. “Together?”

  “As partners. A couple hundred down and we can split the mortgage. Fifty-fifty or seventy-five–twenty-five—whatever you’re comfortable with. We’ll write off the interest. Imagine: no rent. It’ll be heaven.”

  “I’d rather have a summer place. All my friends have second homes.”

  “You just got a house on the water.”

  “But an apartment in the city would be exquisite. Manhattan, or even Boston.”

  “Someday. Let’s stop paying rent first.”

  “Do we have a couple hundred?”

  “We have a banker named Joe to front us the cash, and a financier named Molson who is going to pay it all off in about a month.”

  “And what about our future?” Katherine ran a hand over his thigh so that there could be no mistaking her meaning this time.

  A look of annoyance flashed across Clay’s face, a dark shadow that came and went as though the sun had briefly ducked behind a cloud. He swatted her rump. “You just enjoy the trip, partner, and I promise life will keep getting more interesting.”

  CHAPTER 39

  “Here’s a list of follow-up I’ve done so far this morning,” Audry said.

  Stu looked up with his mouth full of Cheerios. She sat across from him with her computer tablet. She’d been up for hours, researching, and had let him sleep until ten. She turned the tablet toward him. Her list was a page long. It was Internet research on Roff.

  Joseph Roff was sixty-three years old. His name had originally been Koph, but he’d changed it—Audry noted the reason as “unknown.” He had four sons, a daughter, and a deceased wife. A state business license showed that he lived in Providence, but he owned properties in New Bedford through a limited liability corporation called New England Imports, of which he was president and sole board member. Audry’s list indicated that NE Imports showed up in searches for Bolt Construction three times and twice with Reggie Dugan. Interesting. Roff had also acquired an interest in a bankrupt Thai restaurant in New Bedford called the Poor Siamese, which was odd. The man had made the news only twice, but once it was in connection with an embezzler named Hranic, with whom Stu was familiar. In the article, it noted that Hranic had previously worked for NE Imports.

  Stu skimmed the rest of Audry’s list and raised an eyebrow. At the bottom was the name Sophia Baron.

  He pointed. “Sophia Baron? What’s this about?”

  “You mentioned that Clay had dated a woman who whacked out and quit law school. I found her.”

  “I doubt I used the term whacked out, and I didn’t know we were looking for her.”

  “You said to cast a broad net. Those were your words.”

  “I meant cast it at Roff. The criminal.”

  “We don’t know who the criminal is. Besides, I have this nagging thing.”

  “Thing?”

  “A feeling.”

  Stu rolled his eyes. Audry acted on feelings more than he was comfortable with. But he was curious about Sophia. She was, after all, the most beautiful classmate he’d ever had. “Fine. You have an e-mail or phone number for her?”

  “Better. She’s in Manhattan right now.”

  “That’s four hours away. We can’t waste that much time just to talk to one of Clay’s ex-girlfriends about … What are we even talking to her about?”

  “She’ll meet us halfway.”

  “You already contacted her?”

  “That’s why I’m wasting your time.”

  “Why? What did you tell her?”

  “That I’m investigating a matter involving Clay Buchanan. And she was very eager to help.”

  * * *

  They met Sophia Baron in New Haven at the local park. There was a gazebo with a table. Audry brought a cappuccino for her. She was waiting on the bench and accepted the coffee gratefully, sipping while hiding behind the Grande-size cup. Stu marveled again at how beautiful she was, a woman approaching forty with grace and elegance, her only noticeable imperfections being troubled frown lines and the repeated tucking of her hair behind her ear, even when it was already tucked.

  “Hello, Stu,” Sophia said quietly. “Your partner said you’d be here. Thank you for coming.”

  “Of course,” Stu said, confused. He took her hand to shake it. “You remember me?”

  “Oh yes. Everyone always said you were a nice guy, and people’s hearts don’t change, not deep down.” She shook her head. “I should have dated someone like you.”

  Stu could feel her discomfort and need to talk. He gently placed his other hand on top of hers and patted it, something he would never have had the courage to do in law school. To his surprise, she smiled gratefully and added her other hand so that their four hands formed a mutually reassuring pile on the table between them.

  Audry kept the discussion moving. “Sophia didn’t want to go into detail with a stranger over the phone.”

  “This is extremely personal,” Sophia said.

  Stu nodded. “We appreciate whatever help you’re willing to give us.” He was still unsure what sort of help she could give them.

  “Audry promised that what I tell you won’t end up in a lawsuit. I won’t testify.”

  “Correct,” Audry assured her. “We’re just gathering background on Clayton Buchanan. Any prior character evidence we uncover wouldn’t be admissible in any event.”

  “Character evidence?” Stu said.

  “He did something bad, didn’t he?” Sophia’s comment was more statement than question.

  “We don’t know,” Stu said.

  Sophia tucked her hair. “I know.”

  “Go ahead, Sophia,” Audry urged.

  Sophia took a deep breath. She looked across the grass—not at Stu, not at Audry, but at some point in the distance.

  “We met when he arrived at law school. He seemed confident. I was too, I thought. A good match. A power couple, you know. He was good-looking. I was modeling. Both future lawyers. We did the normal stuff at first; we met up for coffee with mutual friends, tried to run into each other at the same parties. He didn’t seem to need to study like I did, and so I assumed he was brilliant.”

  No, Stu thought. Just allergic to work.

  “When we began to hang out alone, I was ready to take it further, but he waited a while, which surprised me. Then one night he started asking me about other boyfriends I’d had and what sort of things I’d done with them. Sexual things. It was playful, and he told me it didn’t bother him. In fact, he wanted to hear, so I told him about something I’d done with my college boyfriend. A thing in the library. Clay got really excited, and we did it for the first time. I didn’t think much of it. It was a little naughty, and I just thought he was open-minded, not jealous. Those are good things, right?

  “But every time after that he wanted to know more about what I’d done and with who. And how. And where. Whenever we had sex, he’d ask me to talk about guys I’d been with. When I’d tell him, he’d encourage me to say how much I liked doing it with other men. After a while I’d described every sex act with everyone I’d ever dated. I even started to make some up; it was what got him going. That was our routine.

  “Then one day he asked if he could tie me up. I was actually relieved to do something besides talk about other men, and the first time we did, it was actually kind of fun. He just tied my hands and used a blindfold. Normal stuff.”

  Normal? Stu fought to keep his expression neutral, but having Sophia Baron explain to him that she liked having sex blindfolded was not in any way normal for him. In fact, it was an unreachable fantasy. And she trusted him, which made Stu feel guilty just hearing it, like a dirty little boy peeking at his beautiful babysitter after promising to turn his back while she changed into her swimsuit. Telling the story was uncomfortable for her, he thought, and it wasn’t fair for him to imagine it out of prurient curiosity. He tried to will himself clinical as she spoke.

  “It became a thing
,” she continued, her purging creating its own momentum now. “He called our bondage sessions ‘private parties.’ He’d blindfold me, gag my mouth, then tie me to the bed on my stomach and put headphones on me. He made sure I was comfortable, and he played my favorite songs. I actually thought it was kind of sweet. Then there was the sex, usually after drinking. One night we did it four or five times, or so I thought.”

  “What do you mean by you thought?” Audry said gently.

  “The blindfold slipped. I could see a sliver of the room, and there was Clay, my supposed boyfriend, sitting in a chair next to the bed.”

  Stu waited for her to go on.

  “He was fully clothed,” she added.

  “And what happened?” Stu asked.

  “He wasn’t behind me,” Sophia said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “… someone else was,” Audry finished for her.

  “Several someones, I think,” Sophia said.

  “Oh,” Stu whispered, sucking in a breath, “my God.”

  Sophia tucked her hair again and blinked away a tear. “The crazy thing is, I would have been willing to try things for him if he’d asked, if he’d loved me.”

  “Really?” Stu said, unable to stop the curious boy in himself.

  “It’s true,” Audry cut in. “We girls will do all kinds of kinky stuff if we trust a guy one hundred percent.”

  “I still don’t even know who the other men were,” Sophia said. “Except one—this fat jerk who hung around Clay and wrote his Con Law term paper for him.”

  Stu immediately knew who she was talking about. Tom Franken. A classmate. Loudmouth. Drinker. Smart, and ready to let you know it. But Stu was surprised Tom would help Clay cheat.

  “Whenever this guy was around me that semester, he made crude puns about sex. I had no idea what he meant until the night I discovered that our ‘private parties’ had not been private. Then I understood why he’d written Clay’s paper for him.”

  “Clay pimped you out,” Audry concluded.

  Stu grimaced. “Did you report him?”

  “I couldn’t.” Sophia tucked her hair yet again. “I had orgasms.”