Part 10 (1/2)
”Am I preaching?” he asked, reaching for the drink and draining a fair amount of it.
”Yes, you are.”
He looked at her distorted image through the irregularity of the gla.s.s. She stretched as he spun it. ”You're the air accident investigator,” he said. ”The explosives expert. You're leading the FAA's investigation on this thing.”
”d.a.m.n right,” she agreed, tilting her drink up in a way that stretched her long neck. ”And don't get so personal. You're not making this any easier.”
”It is personal. You should be helping me on this.”
”I'm trying.”
”Are you?”
”Yes.”
He watched her in profile as her throat tightened as she swallowed, and he found it provocative. It had probably been a bad idea to invite her up here.
”These go down too easy,” she said, studying the small gla.s.s, ”but why don't I make us another?”
He finished his and handed it to her.
”How are they doing?” she asked, nodding toward his feet.
”I'll tell you after the second drink.”
She left him alone to his thoughts. Like his voice, they tended to bounce around in the small room. As she seemed to be taking too long, he called to her, ”It has got to be the work of the same guy. There are far too many overlaps. Doesn't that count for anything?”
”No,” she said, joining him again. ”Not to Lynn Greene the investigator. I shouldn't even be aware of that side of your investigation. I'm paid for my objectivity something I lost the minute I saw you on site.” She sat on the closed toilet. They were close to each other. She lifted her gla.s.s; the rims chimed. ”Here's to working together,” she said. ”At last.”
”I need your support on this.”
”Even though I'd rather be playing, than working.”
”Please help me.”
”One step at a time. There's a system in place here. Give it a chance to work.”
”I can't. What if Bernard made more than one trigger?”
”Who's Bernard?”
He didn't answer. He tried the drink. It was stronger and he wondered: by design? She was right, they did go down easy. His feet looked bigger because of the magnifying powers of the water. Big, pale, wrinkled feet with crooked toes. Very romantic.
She said, ”I'm supposed to be objective. Don't worry: no one is going to whitewash this. I won't allow that. What would be the point? Between the lot of us, we'll be looking at every conceivable explanation for that crash. Believe it.”
”I can't wait six months,” he said. ”These things always take six months.”
”I understand that.” She adjusted herself and it brought her closer to him. She ran her fingers through his hair and he felt it down to his toes. ”I'll do what I can. Promise.” She was at his back where he couldn't see her and he found it disarming.
”Lynn,” he said so deliberately, it was like a referee blowing a whistle. He heard her ice rattle, and then the gentle pump of her swallowing.
”Okay,” she said without any hurt in her voice. ”But unless you fill that thing with ice water and dunk me in it, I had better be going. I have other ideas about how this night should be spent.” She kissed him on his neck below his ear. It ran a few thousand volts down his left side. His body hair stood at attention.
”How's Duncan doing?” she asked. That cooled him down. When he failed to answer she added, ”That phone call you just made sounded more like a business call than a man calling his son.”
”Sometimes that's how it is between us.”
”It shouldn't be.”
”I know that.”
”You're mad.”
”Yes.”
”At me?”
”No. At myself. The truth hurts.”
”He has a sitter?” she inquired. ”Or is it her?”
”A sitter tonight. Old enough to be his grandmother. She's become sort of part of the family.”
”The sitter or Carrie?” Lynn asked. ”Strike that from the record,” she added. ”I'm not a very good loser.”
”Who says you've lost?” he asked as she handed him her empty drink. At the moment he knew everything there was to know about emptiness.
”You're with her, aren't you? I had hoped my dazzling personality and bathing suit silhouette might change that arrangement. Some things you learn to accept. Some things you don't,” she warned.
More tempted than ever to stop her, he ran an arm out and she dragged her fingers along it until their hands swept over one another and the very tips of their fingers kissed.
She found her purse, stopped in the narrow pa.s.sageway to look in on him. She smiled at him long enough to convey a message. She wanted to stay; she wanted him to ask her. He smiled back. She nodded and shrugged. The door closed behind her, and a second later Daggett was' standing where she had been standing, his wet feet on the carpet, hand gripping the doork.n.o.b. But he didn't turn it.
The next morning the phone rang him awake in the middle of a room service breakfast. His morning run had been hampered by his vodka of the night before.
The voice of Phil Huff said, ”We're in the clear here, so I'm going to keep it brief. There's something going down that you'll want to be part of. I'll pick you up outside the lobby in about ten, twelve minutes.” He paused. ”Any problems with that?”
”I'll be there,” Daggett said.
Huff wore the same poplin suit, his shoulders square with arrogance. Daggett caught himself staring at the scars on the man's nose, wondering if women were attracted to scars. Huff had plenty of both. He drove the same mud: brown Chrysler Daggett had seen him in at the crash site. The front seat had a ratty slipcover, and Huff's heel had worn a hole in the floor mat in front of the accelerator pedal. The radio was crusted with dust and spilled coffee. The vinyl of the sun visor was split open from the years, like a piece of fruit left too long on the windowsill. Huff steered them into traffic, slipped the police light onto the dash, turned it on, and, as traffic parted slowly, said, ”Our boys got a call from the LAPD substation out here at the airport, telling us about a call one of their downtown squads got. A mechanic for AmAirXpress claims he was jumped and drugged yesterday by a man and woman at his home. Says his airport ID and overalls were stolen. They rolled a detective on it a minute ago. We hurry, we may catch most of the show.”
Daggett considered all of this briefly. ”If it holds, this could give us authority over the crash investigation,” he said anxiously.
”Something better than that,” Huff said, teasing Daggett with the long pause that followed. ”You're gonna f.u.c.kin' love this.”
Daggett wouldn't beg. He waited him out.
”The chemicals on board this airplane?” he stated as a question, forcing Daggett to reply, ”Yeah?” ”Made by a company called ChemTronics with refineries or whatever the f.u.c.k you call them in twenty-some states.” Huff left another long pause, pretending to be busy with the car, though the car seemed to be driving itself on a road completely straight. ”ChemTronics, come to find out, is a defense contractor wink, wink; nudge, nudge and is in bed with none other than EisherWorks Chemicals.”
Daggett's pulse doubled and he tried not to give Huff the pleasure of seeing or hearing his enthusiasm, which required a substantial effort. ”In bed?” he asked.