with common notions of ethics and morality. What is
nonetheless important is loyalty and that loyalty must be absolute. Do I make
myself clear?”
I nodded slowly. “Absolutely.”
“Good. Then we can go forward. I’m sure you have
questions.”
“Just two, or rather one with two parts. How and
when did you become aware that Cicero Lamont was not actually killed in a
hit-and-run?”
“That’s the rub. I should have been on to it
earlier. I found out two hours ago when the death certificate arrived in the
mail. Here, let me show you.” He rose, crossed to his desk, picked up a piece of
paper and handed it to me, shaking his head.
It was signed by a Dr. Joseph Tarkanian. Cicero
had died at home on August 16, 2007. Myocardial infarction. The document seemed entirely unremarkable.
“It was the birthday of a Spanish diplomat, whom I
represent in his American business interests and I was in Ibiza, staying with
mutual friends. I was pursuing a 28 year old woman who didn’t care that I’m old
enough to be her grandfather. One thing led to another, and when it became
clear that she was mine for the taking, I turned off my phone and bedded her.”
“Expensive?”
He ignored me. “My staff have instructions not to
contact me when I’m on vacation, unless it’s an emergency. When it became
obvious that my young beauty was not going to wake up, I got out of bed and
checked my voicemail. Lindsay had apparently thought that the death of one of
my oldest clients was sufficient cause to leave a message.”
“Efficient.”
“You’re the master of understatement.”
I smiled. He didn’t.
“Anyway, it was Saturday morning, which meant it
was around midnight, Friday, in California. I had to wait ‘til evening to
contact anyone. Cicero was dead, so as it really made no difference, my young
lady and I spent the day swimming and sunbathing.”
I tried hard not to envision Halladay in a speedo,
tan and leathery, an old satyr cavorting on crystalline beaches with his
youthful trophy, but the horror of it was already etching its way into my
memory.
“I called Lindsay at home at 9:00 a.m. California
time. She informed me that an Officer Fishburne had phoned Friday afternoon
with the news that Cicero had been killed, and the Department had been unable
to contact his next of kin. Although his body had been badly mangled, his face
was largely intact.”
“Allowing for the dental record ID.”
“Yes and Nick, at that moment, I felt the cold
fingers of death creep down my spine. I had been very fond of Cicero. He wasn’t
necessarily a good man, but he was a real man and he was my friend.”
“Who ID’d the body?”
He gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “I called
Dominique and even though we’ve never been friends, we’ve always respected one
another. She didn’t take it well. Estranged or not, you don’t disconnect
overnight from someone you’ve spent over twenty years with. Dominique requested
that I make arrangements to have Cicero cremated and buried at Forest Grove.”
He drained his water and grabbed another, spun the
cap and took a long drink.
“In retrospect, I should have flown back to L.A.
immediately, and not waited as long as I did to contact Jade. I just couldn’t
bear to make the phone call.” Halladay paused and his grey eyes misted.
“Yeah, those calls are tough to make.”
He nodded. “Instead, I stayed there for another
three days. Cicero’s death reminded me of my own mortality, which I denied by
pretending I was still young and in love. On Tuesday morning, my new girlfriend
told me she was married and lived in Minneapolis with an insurance executive.
Somehow I wasn’t surprised. We flew back to the States together and separated
at LaGuardia. It was not a heartfelt
good-bye.”
I felt no sympathy and wondered how many times
Halladay had had his way with pretty young things, based on his position and
innate power. In the silence, we both knew it was time for me to make the
nonetheless important is loyalty and that loyalty must be absolute. Do I make
myself clear?”
I nodded slowly. “Absolutely.”
“Good. Then we can go forward. I’m sure you have
questions.”
“Just two, or rather one with two parts. How and
when did you become aware that Cicero Lamont was not actually killed in a
hit-and-run?”
“That’s the rub. I should have been on to it
earlier. I found out two hours ago when the death certificate arrived in the
mail. Here, let me show you.” He rose, crossed to his desk, picked up a piece of
paper and handed it to me, shaking his head.
It was signed by a Dr. Joseph Tarkanian. Cicero
had died at home on August 16, 2007. Myocardial infarction. The document seemed entirely unremarkable.
“It was the birthday of a Spanish diplomat, whom I
represent in his American business interests and I was in Ibiza, staying with
mutual friends. I was pursuing a 28 year old woman who didn’t care that I’m old
enough to be her grandfather. One thing led to another, and when it became
clear that she was mine for the taking, I turned off my phone and bedded her.”
“Expensive?”
He ignored me. “My staff have instructions not to
contact me when I’m on vacation, unless it’s an emergency. When it became
obvious that my young beauty was not going to wake up, I got out of bed and
checked my voicemail. Lindsay had apparently thought that the death of one of
my oldest clients was sufficient cause to leave a message.”
“Efficient.”
“You’re the master of understatement.”
I smiled. He didn’t.
“Anyway, it was Saturday morning, which meant it
was around midnight, Friday, in California. I had to wait ‘til evening to
contact anyone. Cicero was dead, so as it really made no difference, my young
lady and I spent the day swimming and sunbathing.”
I tried hard not to envision Halladay in a speedo,
tan and leathery, an old satyr cavorting on crystalline beaches with his
youthful trophy, but the horror of it was already etching its way into my
memory.
“I called Lindsay at home at 9:00 a.m. California
time. She informed me that an Officer Fishburne had phoned Friday afternoon
with the news that Cicero had been killed, and the Department had been unable
to contact his next of kin. Although his body had been badly mangled, his face
was largely intact.”
“Allowing for the dental record ID.”
“Yes and Nick, at that moment, I felt the cold
fingers of death creep down my spine. I had been very fond of Cicero. He wasn’t
necessarily a good man, but he was a real man and he was my friend.”
“Who ID’d the body?”
He gave an almost imperceptible shrug. “I called
Dominique and even though we’ve never been friends, we’ve always respected one
another. She didn’t take it well. Estranged or not, you don’t disconnect
overnight from someone you’ve spent over twenty years with. Dominique requested
that I make arrangements to have Cicero cremated and buried at Forest Grove.”
He drained his water and grabbed another, spun the
cap and took a long drink.
“In retrospect, I should have flown back to L.A.
immediately, and not waited as long as I did to contact Jade. I just couldn’t
bear to make the phone call.” Halladay paused and his grey eyes misted.
“Yeah, those calls are tough to make.”
He nodded. “Instead, I stayed there for another
three days. Cicero’s death reminded me of my own mortality, which I denied by
pretending I was still young and in love. On Tuesday morning, my new girlfriend
told me she was married and lived in Minneapolis with an insurance executive.
Somehow I wasn’t surprised. We flew back to the States together and separated
at LaGuardia. It was not a heartfelt
good-bye.”
I felt no sympathy and wondered how many times
Halladay had had his way with pretty young things, based on his position and
innate power. In the silence, we both knew it was time for me to make the
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