get back in the race. Ambition is an attribute, and a curse.”
“
You
did it,” Clarise said. “The two of you. Big-time law practices abandoned for an art gallery and mortarboard.”
“Guilty,” Mac said. “But the NEA needs you, Clarise. Most of our clients didn’t need us, or shouldn’t have. More coffee? Port?”
“Thanks, no. Being here has been wonderful. An oasis. And forget what I said about cabins in the woods. ‘The NEA needs me.’ I like that. Senator Topper Sybers needs me, whether he knows it or not. Everything was great. You’re special people, special friends.”
“Give a call tomorrow?” Annabel asked after calling a cab and walking Clarise to the elevators.
“Sure. Count on it.”
Mac and Annabel again settled on the terrace after clearing the dinner table and loading the dishwasher.
“She’s an impressive woman,” Mac said. The clouds had broken, and a full, white moon seemed within their reach.
“And beautiful.”
“I sometimes think you two look as though you could be sisters.”
“I feel bad for her. She was questioning what sort of mother she’s been.”
“Jeremiah didn’t have the most stable of homes, as I understand it. Classic case of mother and father pursuing demanding ambitions and schedules without a lot of time to devote to their kids.”
“Which doesn’t necessarily mean the kids have to turn out bad.”
“Of course not. What’s her relationship with Lerner? They seem to stay in touch.”
“Yes, they do. She’s told me they do it for the sake of their son, which can’t be faulted.”
“Maybe a little late.”
“Maybe.”
Mac stood and stretched. “Time to walk the beast.”
“Maybe we should stop calling him that in front of him,” Annabel said, following Mac to the kitchen where Rufus’s leash hung from a wooden peg on the wall.
“What? Calling him ‘the beast’?”
“Yeah. Maybe it hurts his feelings.”
Mac looked at the blue Great Dane. “Are you offended, big guy?” he asked.
Rufus replied by clamping his large mouth on Mac’s wrist and wagging his tail.
“Somehow, Annie, I think Rufus’s ego is intact enough to overcome any emotional trauma. Be back in a flash.”
They kissed, and Mac and
their
child disappeared through the door.
SEVEN
“S O, M R. P ARTRIDGE, tell us again what you claim you saw.”
Detectives Klayman and Johnson, and Sergeant Hathaway, sat with the homeless man in an austere interrogation room at First District’s headquarters building. The cops had brought Partridge two candy bars and a Coke from a snack machine in the lobby, which he consumed with gusto, complaining later that he would have preferred cheeseburgers and a Pepsi.
Now, with something in his stomach other than whiskey, and benefiting from a few hours’ sleep and cold water splashed on his face, he sat at the scarred oak table with the bearing of a decrepit, disheveled CEO.
“I saw the man kill the woman,” he said, belching and twitching. His right shoulder kept coming up in an involuntary motion, matched by rapid blinking of his right eye.
“What were you doing back there?”
“Relaxing,” he said, pleased with his answer. “No law against a man being where he wants to be and relaxing.”
“You were sleeping it off,” Hathaway said.
“Just a nap. Takin’ a nap.” As though suddenly struck with a better answer, he shifted in his chair, lowered his voice, and said, “I was working undercover.”
“Is that so?” said Johnson. “Were you there in the alley all night—working undercover?”
“All night? No. Got lots of places I go to. Was there, maybe, an hour, maybe two. Got relieved, had to give my report to the director. I’m hungry.”
Johnson asked, “What did the man who killed the woman look like?”
“You hear me? I said I’m hungry. You want to talk to me, you got to feed me.”
“What did he look like, Mr. Partridge?”
Partridge shifted in his straight-back chair and grimaced against a pain
“
You
did it,” Clarise said. “The two of you. Big-time law practices abandoned for an art gallery and mortarboard.”
“Guilty,” Mac said. “But the NEA needs you, Clarise. Most of our clients didn’t need us, or shouldn’t have. More coffee? Port?”
“Thanks, no. Being here has been wonderful. An oasis. And forget what I said about cabins in the woods. ‘The NEA needs me.’ I like that. Senator Topper Sybers needs me, whether he knows it or not. Everything was great. You’re special people, special friends.”
“Give a call tomorrow?” Annabel asked after calling a cab and walking Clarise to the elevators.
“Sure. Count on it.”
Mac and Annabel again settled on the terrace after clearing the dinner table and loading the dishwasher.
“She’s an impressive woman,” Mac said. The clouds had broken, and a full, white moon seemed within their reach.
“And beautiful.”
“I sometimes think you two look as though you could be sisters.”
“I feel bad for her. She was questioning what sort of mother she’s been.”
“Jeremiah didn’t have the most stable of homes, as I understand it. Classic case of mother and father pursuing demanding ambitions and schedules without a lot of time to devote to their kids.”
“Which doesn’t necessarily mean the kids have to turn out bad.”
“Of course not. What’s her relationship with Lerner? They seem to stay in touch.”
“Yes, they do. She’s told me they do it for the sake of their son, which can’t be faulted.”
“Maybe a little late.”
“Maybe.”
Mac stood and stretched. “Time to walk the beast.”
“Maybe we should stop calling him that in front of him,” Annabel said, following Mac to the kitchen where Rufus’s leash hung from a wooden peg on the wall.
“What? Calling him ‘the beast’?”
“Yeah. Maybe it hurts his feelings.”
Mac looked at the blue Great Dane. “Are you offended, big guy?” he asked.
Rufus replied by clamping his large mouth on Mac’s wrist and wagging his tail.
“Somehow, Annie, I think Rufus’s ego is intact enough to overcome any emotional trauma. Be back in a flash.”
They kissed, and Mac and
their
child disappeared through the door.
SEVEN
“S O, M R. P ARTRIDGE, tell us again what you claim you saw.”
Detectives Klayman and Johnson, and Sergeant Hathaway, sat with the homeless man in an austere interrogation room at First District’s headquarters building. The cops had brought Partridge two candy bars and a Coke from a snack machine in the lobby, which he consumed with gusto, complaining later that he would have preferred cheeseburgers and a Pepsi.
Now, with something in his stomach other than whiskey, and benefiting from a few hours’ sleep and cold water splashed on his face, he sat at the scarred oak table with the bearing of a decrepit, disheveled CEO.
“I saw the man kill the woman,” he said, belching and twitching. His right shoulder kept coming up in an involuntary motion, matched by rapid blinking of his right eye.
“What were you doing back there?”
“Relaxing,” he said, pleased with his answer. “No law against a man being where he wants to be and relaxing.”
“You were sleeping it off,” Hathaway said.
“Just a nap. Takin’ a nap.” As though suddenly struck with a better answer, he shifted in his chair, lowered his voice, and said, “I was working undercover.”
“Is that so?” said Johnson. “Were you there in the alley all night—working undercover?”
“All night? No. Got lots of places I go to. Was there, maybe, an hour, maybe two. Got relieved, had to give my report to the director. I’m hungry.”
Johnson asked, “What did the man who killed the woman look like?”
“You hear me? I said I’m hungry. You want to talk to me, you got to feed me.”
“What did he look like, Mr. Partridge?”
Partridge shifted in his straight-back chair and grimaced against a pain
Similar Books
