Part 24 (1/2)

A roll of her eyes, a waving-off of her free hand. ”Don't worry. Just ribbing you. I'm the one who wanted to f.u.c.k you, after all. The other stuff, let's call it even.”

That didn't make me feel any better. As long as I lived, I'd always have that fear in my gut that Alice wasn't really kidding.

She said, ”You want to see him, I guess?”

I nodded. ”I'm not asking. I'm going right in.”

”Fine. I don't give a s.h.i.+t.” She toed something under her desk. ”Got a box right here. It's my last day. Told him this morning.”

”Really?”

”Honest to whatever. I wish you'd introduced me to her sooner, you know. Maybe if you'd trusted me a little. I've never met anyone like her. Octavia's very special.”

Special as in bitter? Angry? b.i.t.c.hy? Selfish? Vindictive? Sn.o.bbish? Outrageously mean? ”Yeah, well. We've been friends for a long time.”

”She thinks the world of you. Says you've really been amazing, and she trusts you. If I'd only known, Mick.”

Well that was just swell. I was the subject of pillow talk. I clutched my stomach, then pointed to the Provost's office. ”I'm going in now.”

Alice shrugged. ”Go for it. I'll say I wasn't here when you showed up. In fact, good time for a cigarette break.”

She stood, brushed by me too close-smelling like perfume, s.e.x, and smoke-and was gone, her flip-flops noisily accenting each swish of her hips.

How hard did I want to go in? Too hard and I'd get laughed out of the room. Too soft, and he'd have a chance to bounce me out before I'd had my say.

Hand on the door handle. Now the next step was to push it down, swing it open, step in and start talking.

So that's what I did.

Pushed it down. Swung it open. Stepped inside and started with, ”Carl, you're going to tell me what you did to Frances and pay for what you did to Stephanie.”

Except he wasn't alone. Sitting across from Carl, who had obviously been crying recently, were Detectives Fitzgerald and Labat. They turned in their chairs, gave me a cold once over. Labat looked away, shook his head, and muttered, ”f.u.c.k Christ, what a tool.”

Gee, Alice, thanks for the early warning. I froze, felt as if my feet were literally encased in ice.

Carl said, ”Geez, Mick, how can you even say that?”

”After what you've put me through? Don't even.” I looked at Fitzgerald. ”He's your killer, not me. He's made it pretty obvious.”

”Because he had an affair with your ex-wife? The man's in serious pain here, and you're calling him a killer?”

Maybe I underestimated how much Carl loved Frances. Maybe he was a great actor. But I realized that telling the detectives about the swingers club would open a whole new can of worms, one that would drag us under even farther.

I said, ”Well he certainly had it in him more than me.”

Fitzgerald said, ”Yeah, we know.”

”You do?”

The detective pointed at the Provost. ”He's spent the last twenty minutes going to bat for you. Said there's no way you had anything to do with this.”

I opened up to say, well, yeah, of course not, because it was all on Carl, but...he defended me?

”Okay, sure. Really?”

”Willing to bet his life on it.”

Okay, so maybe I was barking up the wrong metaphor, but, at least we had that out of the way. After all the humiliation we'd put each other through, he was still willing to let bygones be bygones.

Then Labat piped in, ”He said you're too much of a p.u.s.s.y. Would rather suffer for your awful poetry-that's a direct quote-than kill anyone. And even if you did make the attempt, he said either one of those women would kick your a.s.s before you lifted the knife.”

Carl leaned back in his chair. ”I stand by that, too. Mick is an effete, bleeding heart, self-centered a.s.shole, but he didn't kill anyone.”

How could something be going terribly and wonderfully all at the same time?

I said, ”You're telling me you had absolutely nothing to do with this? You're not trying to frame me?”

”s.h.i.+t, why did Alice even let you in here? Thooft, it's over. Fran left you, then she left me, and I would appreciate it if you didn't come in here half-c.o.c.ked calling me a killer.”

”Besides,” Fitzgerald said. ”There's no way your Provost here could've have done it. He actually has an alibi, unlike you.”

”I did. I do. I mean, what was it?”

Carl answered, ”I had to attend a really boring fundraiser, but I did it, and everyone saw me get up and introduce a very eager-beaver city councilman who wants to be a state representative. So, you know, it wasn't me.”

Think, think, think.

”Yeah, but you could've hired someone.”

His jaw tightened. He was keeping his cool better than I expected. Maybe I was onto something.

The cops laughed. Labat was enjoying it more than he should've. ”Really? Everybody knows that most hit men are undercover cops. Except people who try to use them, that is.”

I sputtered and said something like that wasn't always true, but it came out so mangled and sideways that in the end I just shouted, ”f.u.c.k you, Carl!”

Fitzgerald rose from his chair, walked over to me and grabbed my arm. He pulled me towards the door and said, ”Excuse me a moment. Mick and I need to talk outside.”

He dragged me out of the office into the waiting area, where Alice still hadn't returned, and looked at me the way a jaded high school teacher might look at a student with retirement still too many years away. ”What. The. h.e.l.l?”

”I don't care what he's telling you! He's the guy!”

He looked around, pained. ”Lower your voice. For f.u.c.k's sake, man. Are you drunk?”

”Sorry, sorry.” Brought it down to a whisper. ”My a.s.s is on the line here.”

Fitzgerald sighed, stretched his back. ”Listen, you know...I'm sorry. We probably moved too fast. It all made sense, looked like a slam dunk.”