Or maybe I’m swaying.
I reach down to grab the bottle of whiskey and top up my glass.
“Jackie.” Canning drags over a chair to place it next to me.
“I heard they found things in Abe’s house.” I’m not going to bother with pretenses.
“Yes, ma’am. I don’t know what to tell you, except I’m sorry. I know he was a good friend.”
“There’s no way Abe was dealing drugs.” Just like I know there’s a reason for Mantis and Stapley being placed on this unorthodox “special” investigative team, and there’s a reason that crime scene was shut down like a vault, nobody in, nobody out.
“It’s not lookin’ good for him.”
“That’s because you have Mantis on the case. Mantis!” I hiss. “The very same guy who Abe was about to bury for stealing money!”
“Mantis is as shocked about this as anyone else.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.” I let out a derisive snort. “Was he shocked when Abe refused to keep the bag of money he found in his car? The bribe from Mantis, to shut him up?”
Canning’s brow furrows in thought. “Did Wilkes say that Mantis handed him a bag of money?”
“No, Mantis left it there for Abe to find.”
“So Abe didn’t see who left this bag.”
“No, but . . .” I sigh. God damn it.
“Is there an accusation you’d like to make, Jackie? Something you can actually prove beyond a reasonable doubt? Something that will sound plausible, next to the concrete case they’re building for Abe’s corruption as we speak?” Canning looks at me through shrewd eyes. “Think carefully. Think about what it could mean to your career. To your family’s happiness.” He leans in as far as his round belly will allow him, to say in a voice so low that only I can hear, “Because the way I see it, nothing good will come of you falling on your sword for Abraham Wilkes.” Then, in a more placating tone, “You warned him, didn’t you? You told him about the greater good, about sometimes making choices that sacrifice the few to help the many. But it sounds like Abraham chose to help the few. Mainly, to help himself.”
But didn’t I help myself, too? What I did to Betsy, I did it for my family—for my brother, for his sweet wife and kids, for my darling Noah who adores Silas—but I also did it for myself. Because in those few minutes by that door, in that drive out to The Lucky Nine, the only solution I could think of was the one where my family, my life, my ambitions were safe.
“You want to play in the big boys’ yard, you need to follow the rules.” Canning reaches into his pocket and pulls out a silver star.
The one that would make me assistant chief.
“Why don’t you hang on to that for now, until this investigation is over. We can pin it to your collar and make it official.” He drops the star into my palm and then heaves himself out of his chair. “Slow down on the drink, will ya? Or you won’t remember anything we talked about.”
Exactly what he’d play on, should I dare ever repeat it.
“Oh, by the way . . . do you know what happened to that bag of money that Abe claimed Mantis left in his car?” He says it so casually, as if it’s an afterthought. I know it’s anything but. It’s evidence, to a story that Canning doesn’t want to get out.
I meet his inquisitive stare. “I burned it.”
He nods to himself. “See? People like you and me . . . this city needs us.” He leaves me sitting under that lilac tree, with a silver star in my palm.
The points gouging into my flesh.
CHAPTER 62
Noah
“Noah!” My aunt Judy is known for giving fierce hugs, despite her tiny stature. Normally, I love them.
Tonight . . . I grab her hands, gripping them tight until I’m sure the urge to rope her arms around my wooden body has passed.
“How are you doing?” She frowns, peering up at me. “You don’t look well.”
Because I feel like I’m three seconds away from vomiting all over her pink slippers. “I must be coming down with something.”
“It’s going around. Silas came home early today, looking dreadful.”
I swallow my anxiety. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Where he always is. Hiding in there.” She waves a hand toward the office. “I can’t get him to take a day off. Would you like some tea?”
“No thank you, ma’am.”
“Alright. You let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be over here, planning our trip to Italy this fall.” Excitement flashes across her face as she heads back to her seat at the island, her laptop out in front of her.
This must be what it feels like to take a harpoon to the gut.
I’m sorry, I mouth, and then I head down the hall.
I find Silas seated at his desk, his chair turned so he can stare out the window. He doesn’t seem to notice me come in.
I clear my throat roughly.
“Noah. Hi. I didn’t know you were coming over.” His voice is flat, weary.
“I wasn’t planning on it.” I wander over to the chair closest to him and take a seat, avoiding his gaze for as long as possible.
He reaches for his drink. “Want some?”
“No thank you.” I drop the “sir.” That’s a sign of respect, of manners. Silas doesn’t deserve either.
If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. “I was thinking we should talk about your return to work. Things should calm down in another week or so, and it’d be good for you to be there. Put this all behind you.”
How does he do that? How does he sit there, drinking his bourbon, pretending to be this man he’s not? How has he pretended for these last fourteen years?
“The FBI found Betsy,” I blurt out.
“Oh? Are they sure it’s her? They had that false—”
“It’s her. We went to see her.”
“I see.” He takes his time, polishing off the rest of his glass. Would I even notice that stalling tactic if I didn’t know what he was hiding? “Well, at least Grace will have family in her life. And Dina will—”
“I know what happened that night at the hotel, with Abe. What Mom did. What you did.”
I ready myself for his denials, for the way he can so quickly divert, so smoothly lie—he’s proved to me time and time again, from that first night on the front porch after Mom died, that he is a true master of deception.
But instead, he simply takes another long sip.
“This is why you didn’t want me talking to Gracie or Dina, or the feds. You were afraid we’d stumble on the truth. How could you do this, Silas!”
“We never wanted you to know. I never . . . I was trying to protect you.” He sinks back into his chair. Is that relief I see in his eyes? In the way his body slouches? Relief that his secret is finally out?
Having Klein tell me my uncle’s basically a pedophile is one thing. But hearing it from my uncle’s own lips . . . “It doesn’t matter whether I found out or not. The fact is you did it!” I explode, my eyes burning. “She was fifteen!”
“I . . . she told me she was old enough,” he says feebly. Unconvincingly.
“And you never did it again? You never broke your promise to Mom that you’d never do it again? You didn’t lie to her about that?”
He averts his gaze to his desk’s surface. “Sometimes I just need . . .” His voice trails off. He finishes off softly with, “I just need.” He knows it’s wrong.
Rage flares inside me. “And what? You saw Abe and Dunn through that peephole and decided to dial up my mother? Drag her into this mess to save the day for you?”
“It would have been as much her mess as it was mine, if this got out,” he mutters. “But no, I called Canning. He called your mother, sent her there.”
It takes me a moment to get my bearings. “George Canning knew that you were with an underage prostitute and he ordered my mom there to get Abe and Dunn to leave?”