70

“Bull. Shit.” Henry Rothmann poked the air at Jake with each word. “What a cheap, worn-out cop trick. Pitting the Vicks against each other. I demand to confer with my client’s wife. Confirm she really confessed. We’ve been here nine full hours. My client is exhausted. And this is simply—”

“Henry?” Arthur Vick raised a palm.

“Shut up,” Rothmann said. “She had no lawyer, she was coerced, you tricked her, nothing she said will hold up in court. And, Detective Brogan, you just presented my client with an indisputable chunk of reasonable doubt. So they’ll both go free.”

“No.” Vick stood, smoothing his sweater, tucking in his shirt. “No way. Forget it. I’m not going on trial for a murder I didn’t do. I’m not going to rot in prison for this. I didn’t kill Sellica. Yes. My wife did. And I can prove it. What else do you need to know?”

“Arthur, I order you to stop talking,” the lawyer tried again. “They’re trying to—”

“She was jealous of you and Sellica?” Jake’s phone was ringing, vibrating in his jacket pocket. He couldn’t answer it, not now that Vick was spilling. “Your relationship? So your wife was, what, out for revenge?”

“I suppose. Sure.” Vick shrugged. “Patti hated the commercials, hated my life. Swiped those photos from my computer. We were supposed to have a deal: I let her paint. I could do whatever.”

“You agree to testify against her?” Jake asked.

“No, a husband cannot testify—” The lawyer tried to interrupt again.

“Can’t be compelled to, as you well know, Mr. Rothmann,” Jake said. “But voluntarily? No problem.”

“Yes, I’ll testify against her,” Vick said. “If I can go now.”

“Not quite yet,” Jake said. “So you had a relationship, a financial relationship with Sellica Darden? Prior to her murder?”

“Yes, yes. Like I said.” He looked at the door, fists on hips. “Can we go now?”

Jake tilted his head back and forth, as if considering. He was actually considering how gratifying this was about to be. He had taken an oath to protect and defend. To seek the truth. And here it was.

“Ah, in fact, no, you can’t go,” he said. “Arthur Vick, you’re now under arrest for perjury. For your false testimony in the Jane Ryland defamation trial.”

*   *   *

“Kenna?” Governor Owen Lassiter, back from the Chamber dinner, stood in the open doorway to his private office, one hand on the doorjamb. He took a deep breath. “The back elevator’s broken again.”

Smiling prettily, Kenna looked up from her place behind Owen Lassiter’s important-person desk. Sitting in Owen Lassiter’s important-person chair. She’d dressed for the occasion, formal in a black blazer and sleek white silk blouse, lace camisole, pearls, charcoal pencil skirt, and pricey suede pumps.

“Hello, Governor,” Kenna said. “Yes, we know. And Mr. Maitland says to tell you he’ll be here momentarily. We have something to discuss with you.”

Lassiter turned, looking behind him at what Kenna knew was the empty corridor. She knew Rory was elsewhere, otherwise occupied. And would be for some time.

“This is somewhat of a surprise, I must say,” Owen said. “It’s rather late, Kenna, close to eleven. Couldn’t we chat tomor—?”

Kenna stood, her fingertips touching the glass desktop. She waited, eyeing him, wondering if she ever crossed his mind.

“I’ll take only a moment of your time.”

The governor came into the room, took off his suit jacket, held it by a finger over one shoulder. Gave a half smile. “Well, what can I do for you, Kenna?”

“Something we need to discuss.” She kept her hand on the desk to keep herself from floating away. “You’re dropping out of the Senate race.”

*   *   *

Almost there. Matt made the light at Causeway Street, found a space, locked the car. His heart raced; his face felt hot. He was about to face his father. Face his future.

His life was about to change. About time.

He trotted up the sidewalk toward Lassiter headquarters, dodging a couple of beer-toting Celtics fans wearing numbered green jerseys over their jackets. Boston Garden. Someday my father and I might—

The headquarters lobby was dark. He pushed the revolving door with the flat of his hand. It didn’t budge. He tried again, his eyes filling with tears of frustration. Locked? Locked? And the lobby was empty. Silent.

No. No. He had to get inside.