20
Walter Cole sat in his armchair, a beer in his hand and a dog at his feet. He had put on some weight, and there was more white in his hair than I remembered, but he was still recognizably the man who had been my first partner when I made detective, and whose family had consoled me when my own was taken from me. His wife, Lee, had greeted me with a kiss when she answered the door, and an embrace that reminded me there would always be a place for me in their home. Years before, I had found their daughter when, like a child in a fairytale, she got lost in the woods and was taken by an ogre. I think Lee viewed it as a debt that could never be repaid. I looked upon it as some small return for keeping a light in the darkness for a man who had once been forced to look upon the butchered bodies of his wife and daughter. Now it was just Walter and me, and a yawning dog that smelled faintly of popcorn.
I had not spoken to him of Epstein, not yet. Instead I had eaten a late supper of leftover meat loaf and a baked potato. Walter had joined me even though he had already eaten, which probably went some way toward explaining why he was now more than the man I remembered. I had helped him clean up when we were done, and we had taken our coffee into the living room.
‘So, you want to tell me about it?’ he said.
‘Not really.’
‘You’re sitting there glowering at the rug like it just tried to steal your shoes. Somebody lit your fuse.’
‘I misjudged an old acquaintance, or he misjudged me. I’m not sure which. Maybe both.’
‘He still alive to tell the tale?’
‘Yep.’
‘Then he should be grateful.’
‘Et tu, Brute?’
‘It wasn’t a judgment, just a statement of fact. I’ve saved your clippings, but I don’t want to know the unofficial details. That way, I can plead ignorance if someone comes knocking. I’ve reached an accommodation with what you are, even if you haven’t.’
‘What I am, not what I do?’
‘I don’t think there’s a separation where you’re concerned. Come on, Charlie, we’ve known each other too long. You’re like a son to me now. I judged you in the past, and maybe I found you wanting, but I was wrong. I’m on your side here, no questions asked.’
I sipped my coffee. Walter had also opened a beer for himself, but I had declined one. He was singlehandedly keeping the Brooklyn Brewing Company in business. There had barely been room in the refrigerator for food.
So I began talking. I told Walter of Marielle Vetters, and the story of the plane. I told him of Liat, and Epstein, and the second confrontation in the restaurant. I told him more of Brightwell, because Walter had been there when a woman came to my house asking for help in finding her lost daughter, a request that had led, in turn, to Brightwell and his Believers.
‘I ever tell you that you keep some strange company?’ he said, when I was done.
‘Thanks for pointing that out. What would I do without you?’
‘Spend money on expensive hotel rooms in New York. You sure you don’t want a beer?’
‘No, coffee’s fine.’
‘Something stronger?’
‘Not my bag any more.’
He nodded.
‘You’re going to go back to Epstein, aren’t you? You’re curious about this list, and the plane. More than that, you’re interested in Brightwell. He got under your skin.’
‘Yes.’
‘Doesn’t mean that what Brightwell thought about you was true or right. If you’re an angel, fallen or any other kind, then I’m Cleopatra. That stuff is okay if you’re Shirley MacLaine, otherwise it starts to sound flaky. But if you want some company dealing with the Chosen People, let me know.’
‘I thought you’d signed up for “don’t ask, don’t tell”?’
‘I’m an old man. I forget what I’ve said as soon as I’ve said it. Anyway, it’ll be an excuse to leave the house that doesn’t involve doctors, or a trip to the mall.’
‘You know, you’re quite the ad for active retirement.’
‘I’m going to be a centerfold for the AARP magazine. They promised. It’ll be like that Burt Reynolds pic from Playgirl, but with more class, and maybe more gray hair. Come on, I’ll show you to your bed. If you’re not going to drink beer, then you’re no good to me awake.’
Epstein called my cell phone before I went to sleep. Somewhere in our brief exchange there was an apology of sorts, perhaps from each of us.
I slept soundly.
I did not dream.