I punched the code on my garage keypad and the door lifted, revealing an empty parking space. I’d managed to beat Jill home. My shoulders relaxed. The last thing I wanted to do was answer a bunch of questions about why I was hitching rides from Barack Obama. She’d been on the receiving end of more than one rant about Barack. “Give him time,” she’d said, again and again. “He just needs some time to himself.”
Her explanation always made me laugh. Time to himself? He wasn’t spending time alone, or even with his family. He was hanging around with an endless array of celebrities, holding open auditions for a new best friend. And now that he hadn’t found one, he’d come crawling back to me. He didn’t have the decency to beg for forgiveness, or even say those two magical words:
I’m sorry.
And was that too much to ask?
I gave the Escalade a little wave once the garage door was up. Barack and Steve had insisted on waiting in the driveway until I made it inside. I’d told them not to worry, that I didn’t have my keys but I knew the six-digit code for the garage. They said, “Oh no, it’s no big deal, we’ll wait just to make sure.”
Make sure of what? That I hadn’t forgotten how to open my own garage door in my old age?
I didn’t wait around to watch them leave.
Inside, I stripped off my suit. My knee was beginning to swell. There was no telling how much I’d damaged it. All I knew was that I was lucky I could stand after that fall. Damned lucky. Jill wasn’t going to be happy with me. Even if I’d gotten her roses, they wouldn’t have made up for the growing list of transgressions I was going to need to apologize for.
I limped through the kitchen in my undershirt and boxers. I was about to open the freezer door when I noticed the phone on the wall was blinking. I think we were the last people in Delaware with a landline. The world was changing, but I wasn’t.
I picked up the handset. I figured it was probably Jill, with a reminder about the chicken. Or somebody risking an FCC fine to sell us cut-rate car insurance. But the message was from Selena Esposito. Lieutenant Selena Esposito.
A sales call would have been vastly preferable.
Esposito had the gravelly voice of a pack-a-day smoker. It was the first time I’d heard her voice, but it perfectly matched her reputation for being tough as a two-dollar steak. Her message said she wanted to “talk mano a mano.” I didn’t like the sound of that. Whatever she wanted, I had to nip it in the bud. I didn’t want to see this whole thing spiral out of control.
When I called her back, she picked up on the first ring.
“Didn’t think I’d hear from you so quickly,” she said. “I wasn’t sure I had the right number.”
“It’s me,” I said.
“Do you have a few minutes?”
“I just returned from Finn Donnelly’s funeral. I’ve got a minute or two.”
“Good,” she said. I heard the sound of paper rustling in the background. “I hear you met with Detective Capriotti yesterday.”
“We didn’t discuss the case, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just two old friends, meeting for coffee.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Joe. You don’t drink coffee.”
I didn’t say anything. If you don’t have anything good to say, keep your mouth shut. That’s what Mama Biden always told me.
“This is my department. I’m in charge here. Not your friend Capriotti, or anyone else down here you might know from preschool.”
“We’re all on the same team.”
She snorted. “I’m not going to let you or any of your Secret Service lackeys come through here and treat my detectives like errand boys. Now, Dan likes to show off—God knows that’s why he wanted this case—but he’s got a dozen other dead bodies in the morgue to deal with.”
“The Secret Service aren’t my…”
“They’re not your what?”
I’d been about to say that they weren’t my lackeys, but thought better of it. She obviously wasn’t aware that Steve had been bugging her at Barack’s behest, not mine. There was no love lost between Barack and me. That didn’t mean I wanted to see him dragged any deeper into this mess.
“You have to understand, Finn and I were friends,” I said, regaining my cool. I filled her in on the basics of our relationship, careful not to offer any unsolicited information. I had something of a reputation for being loose-lipped.
“You’re friends with a lot of people, it sounds like,” she said.
I ignored her. “Listen. A man lost his life here. All I want is to make sure justice is done. His wife is sick. His daughter is having a rough time handling this—”
“Every criminal has somebody who loves them,” she said. “They’re still criminals.”
“Finn wasn’t a criminal.”
“Then what would you call someone with a Schedule One drug in their pocket? A hero?”
“Drug abuse is a disease. We need to stop treating addicts like violent offenders. He’s not a hero, but it’s disingenuous to call him a criminal.”
“The law says differently, Joe.”
She was right, of course—the law was the law. Barack and I hadn’t done enough to change it. The changes we’d made were being rolled back by the new administration. It was almost like we’d never been in office.
“Fine,” I said.
“Fine?”
“You’re right. I’m letting my personal feelings get the better of me.”
“So you’re going to leave my boy alone. If you insist on wasting any more of his time, you’re going to regret it.”
But he was the one that approached me, I wanted to say. Except there was no point. She could make Dan’s life hell if she wanted to.
I told her I’d have the Service go through the proper channels for any future requests. She didn’t need to know that the Service’s involvement here had been off the record. She didn’t need to know I’d told Barack to drop it. “How’s that sound to you?”
“You know what, Joe?”
“What’s that?”
“You’re a lot smarter than I thought you’d be.”
“Was that a compliment?”
She hung up without answering. I stared out the picture window that looked onto the backyard and, beyond that, the lake. The surface of the water was as calm as a soul at rest. Part of me wondered if it wouldn’t be in everyone’s interest to just let Finn be.
The doorbell rang. Without thinking, I undid the deadbolt and swung open the door.
It was Steve.
“Forget something?” I asked. I was vaguely aware that I was in my skivvies, but didn’t care. There were more important things on my mind.
“Your flowers, sir.”
He held out the bouquet of lilies.
“Keep them,” I said, slamming the door in his face. The shocked look on his face as the door swung closed was priceless.
My satisfaction, however, was short-lived.
He rang the doorbell again, and Champ barked.
I didn’t want to answer it, because I was still pretty wound up. Not just about the stupid flowers. About everything. If Esposito had really put the clampdown on Dan, that meant I was frozen out of my backdoor into the department. I wasn’t going to be able to convince her there was an ongoing Secret Service investigation for very long. The larger question was, why did I think I could piece together the puzzle of Finn’s final hours any better than the police could? It was becoming obvious that Finn had gotten sucked under by the currents of something dark and powerful. Now I was swimming in those same murky waters. If I wasn’t careful, the undertow would pull me down as well.
I could sense my frustration getting the better of me. If I opened the door again, I was either going to stammer out an apology to Steve…or slam it right back in his flat face. I just wanted to go upstairs, draw a bath, and soak my banged-up knee.
The doorbell rang again. Champ barked.
I took a deep breath. “Stay back,” I told Champ, putting a leg between him and the door. I opened the door a crack.
It wasn’t Steve this time. It was Barack.
We stood there in the doorway, Barack and me, staring into each other’s eyes like a couple of gunslingers ready to face off at high noon. Except it was past five o’clock, I was in my boxers, and neither of us had a six-shooter.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”