"You? Really? That surprises me, Art. With all these people out there? With all these ladies out at the bar? Damn! I wouldn't think that at all."
Danse smiled slightly. "I suppose it would surprise you. But I've found it isn't smart to mix business with pleasure. I don't date the customers."
"Never?"
"Rarely. Very rarely."
"Too bad. Must be awful tempting, I mean. All those young pretty college kids. It'd sure tempt me. Listen, do you remember this Laura Banks? She used to come in here pretty often I understand."
"I don't remember that name at all."
"Maybe if I showed you her picture."
He dug in his jacket pocket for the snapshot they'd taken from her apartment. That and the other one. The after photo. He'd had the lab reduce it down to snapshot size. The face only. That was bad enough.
He made a point of not looking at them as he handed them over.
He saw Danse wince.
He didn't look like a guilty man.
He looked like any citizen would. Faced with that.
Could he maybe be wrong about this?
He took the "after" picture back from him.
"Sony," he said. "I don't know how that one got in there. Take a look at the other, though, will you?"
Danse appeared to study it.
"Maybe," he said. "She looks familiar. But she's not somebody I know, really. Did you try Jake? He's a whole lot better at faces than I am."
Duggan doubted that. "I will," he said. "One other thing, Art, and then I'll leave you to go back to your business."
He took back the second photo and then made a show of rooting through his pants pockets until he found a small piece of folded paper.
"These places mean anything to you?"
He read directly off the paper. Playing the dumb country cop with not much memory to speak of.
"Franklin, Conway, Munsonville, Tuftonboro. Mean anything?"
Danse looked puzzled. He shrugged.
"Towns. Towns in New Hampshire. I don't get it."
"You do any business there?"
"Near there, sometimes. I distribute to Wolfeboro, which is near Tuftonboro, and Keene, which is over by Munsonville. And there's one store in Conway. But my stuff's all over the state these days, everywhere there's tourists. I go all over. Up into Vermont. Why?"
"No reason." He turned to go. "Thanks for your help, Art."
"Whenever."
He stopped at the door and then turned back to him.
"How do you think it's gonna go, Art? Just between you and me now. I mean, you think you'll beat these charges?"
And he finally saw the coldness there like he wanted to see it, just beneath the thin veil of honest-businessman sincerity.
"I know you don't like me, Ralph," Danse said. "I'm sorry about that. But I didn't do this.. . this thing she says I did. My wife's a goddamn crazy woman. And that's the god's honest truth."
"I guess she was crazy when you smacked her around that time too then," he said.
"You won't believe this but yes, she was. If you'd heard what she said to me, if you'd seen the way she was acting, you'd probably have lost it and smacked her too."
Duggan smiled. "I kinda doubt that, Art," he said. "But I suppose you never know. There's always an edge. And always somebody ready to push you right on over."
Happily he found after a while that it was possible to dump Duggan's visit like the sack of shit it was and get some work done.
When he was ready to leave it was well past eleven and the room outside was still going strong. He didn't relish walking through it. The article in the paper was still on his mind. He could leave through his private entrance but that would be like admitting something.
To hell with it. He'd run the gauntlet.
When he was halfway down the bar he was glad he did. Edward Wood was standing there drinking his usual Absolut martini with another, older man who Arthur wasn't able to recognize at first. Not until he was standing right next to him. And then he was shocked. The man was Tom Modine, another lawyer. The last time Arthur'd seen him here Modine had probably weighed a good two hundred and fifty pounds. Now it looked like he'd shed a hundred of it. The man had a wasted sickly yellow look. Cancer, he thought. Had to be.
His handshake, though, was still firm.
"It's good to see you, Arthur," he said. "Edward was just filling me in on your problems in the courts these days. I hope you won't feel he was talking out of school. You've got to trust your lawyer."
"Of course. And I do."
"Excellent." He drained the last of what looked like a whiskey soda and set the glass down on the bar.
"The fact is," he said, "that I really think things are going to work out for you. I honestly do."
"From your lips to god's ears, Tom."
He laughed. "Don't worry. You've got the best in the county. Thanks for the drink, Edward. I've got an early tee-off in the morning or I'd stick around and let you sell me on having another one."
"Next time," said Wood.
"Next time." Modine patted Arthur's shoulder. "Don't worry, Arthur," he said. "You'll be fine. See you soon."
"See you soon, Tom."
They watched him walk away.
"Sad," said Wood.
"Cancer?"
"Yes. He's in remission now but you can see what it's done to him."
"Too bad. Tom's a good guy."
"The best." He ordered another drink. "You didn't like my talking to him, though. Did you?"
Wood was nothing if not perceptive.
"Listen, I feel funny about anybody knowing about this. Jesus! What a thing to have people saying about you. And now with this damn newspaper thing ..."
Wood held up his hand, smiling. "Guess who's part of Tom's foursome tomorrow, Art."
"Who?"
"The Honorable Thomas J. Burke, that's who. They play together all the time. Same club, very old friends. They went to law school together. And Tom's a big contributor to Burke's campaigns. You still think I did the wrong thing talking about your case?"
"You mean you think he'll talk to Burke?"
"I know he will."
"How? I don't get it. How can he do us any good?"
"Modine can't try to influence Burke directly, if that's what you mean. He's an officer of the court. It's illegal. Not to mention unethical. But he can plant the seed."
"What seed?"
Wood laughed again. He knew how he looked.
Anxious as a kid on a blind date.
"That I can be trusted, Arthur. That he's known me for nearly as long as he's known Burke. And if I say that there's more to this than meets the eye, that no way are you guilty on this and that your wife's just an angry hysteric who's out to get you, then that's very probably going to be the case."
He sipped his martini. "That seed," he said. "That's the one he can plant out there on the golf course tomorrow. It will go a long way, believe me. Then all we have to do is follow up. Hell, Burke's dealt with me before any number of times and doesn't know her man from Adam. He's already halfway there."
Arthur understood. There was a network to everything. And a good ol' boy behind half the deals in the state of New Hampshire.
He liked it. He liked it very much. For the first time in a week he thought he might just whip this thing.
It would be a good idea, he thought, to join Wood in a nightcap. To stand there at his own bar in front of patrons and god and everybody.
He felt better than he had all day.
"Jake, Glenlivet please," he said.
Eighteen
Visitation, Part Two
Andrea Stone hadn't graduated first in her class at Emory Law in Atlanta in order to come north and babysit. Ordinarily she'd have passed this particular chore on to some assistant. In this case, though, she thought she'd like to make an exception.
It was an opportunity to see who Arthur Danse really was and how his son responded to him.
And it turned out that Rober
t was really no trouble. Since his mother dropped him off at her office twenty minutes ago, they'd talked for a while and then he'd sat playing quietly with his Game Boy while she tried to clear her desk of some long overdue paperwork. She glanced at the clock on the wall overhead.
Arthur was now fifteen minutes late.
Form of protest? she wondered.
He'd requested of course that the meeting take place either at his house or at his parents'. Preferably at his. As far as Andrea was concerned both were out of the question. She didn't even bother to put the idea to Lydia Danse or her attorney, both of whom certainly would have rejected it in any case. Her own concern was both moral and practical.
The way she figured it Arthur Danse was a user and a pervert. Robert might not be willing to say so but she'd bet her job on it. So why should she give him even the slightest consideration?
Why put yourself out for a man like that?
And how in god's name did he have the temerity to think he deserved it?
No. Edward Wood could complain to her all he wanted.
Unless the judge said otherwise any visits between Robert and Arthur were going to be here at her office. Or they were going to happen nowhere at all.
She was signing a release form for some evidentiary property on a case that was already two months settled now when her assistant announced his arrival. She let him wait a minute or two just on principle. Robert didn't seem to mind. Then she let him in.
"I want you to know," he said, "that I think this stinks." Speaking first to her and not to Robert.
"Noted," she said.
"How's it going, Robby?"
"Fine."
He barely glanced up from his Game Boy.
"How's school?"
"It's okay."
"Just okay?"
"I got another perfect in spelling."
"Good. That's good."
He sat down next to him on the couch but not particularly close and crossed his legs and folded his hands.
"Kind of rough, isn't it?"
"Huh?"
"We don't get to see very much of one another, do we? Not like the old days."
"I guess."
Robert frowned and sighed, concentrating. Clearly he wasn't doing real well this time on his Super Mario Brothers. "Robert, put down the Nintendo for a minute, okay?" He turned it off but held onto it. With both hands. He's almost clutching it, she thought.
I think he's afraid of him.
"You know I care a lot about you, right?" Arthur said. He nodded.
"And you know that I want to do what's best for you too."
Robert nodded again, more slowly this time. Like he didn't exactly know where his father was going on this. Arthur looked at him for a moment as though he was wondering about something too and then went on.
"So you realize that's why your mom and I are having this ... this kind of fight ... we're doing this because ... oh, for god's sake!" He turned to Andrea and threw up his arms.
Low flash point, she thought. Slick but quick to burn.
"Look," he said. "This is impossible! How can I have a personal conversation with my son with you sitting here? Could you have one with your kid if I were sitting in the room? You're a stranger, for god's sake."
"I don't have any children, Mr. Danse. And I'm not exactly a stranger to Robert."
"You know what I'm talking about. In theory. Listen, I haven't seen my son in weeks. Couldn't you just do the decent thing and leave us alone for a while? A few minutes?"
"I'm afraid not. Court order."
"For five minutes?"
"I'm sorry."
"Five fucking minutes?"
She saw Robert flinch at the word. Visibly flinch. And she wondered, not for the first time, if Danse had ever hit the boy. Or had threatened him. It would explain why he wasn't talking. She'd asked Robert both those questions before and got nothing but mute denials.
"Mr. Danse, I want to explain something to you. It's going to be important for you to remember that until this case is closed I am Robert's legal guardian. My function is to carry out the orders of the court and to make certain that Robert's rights are respected by everybody concerned. You do not have the right to see Robert alone. The court took away that right. Is that completely clear? I'm sorry. But that's the law."
"This is bullshit."
He stood up and reached for Robert's hand.
"Come on," he said, "we're leaving. We're out of here. I'm your father and I say we're gone."
Robert looked first at her and then at him. He didn't seem to know what to do.
But what he didn't do was take his father's hand.
Why's he being so insistent about this? she wondered. Exactly what did he want to say to the boy?
"Mr. Danse."
"I am his father!"
"Mr. Danse, may I speak with you in private for a moment?"
"No you may damn well not speak with me in private for a moment! Not if I can't speak with my own son you can't!"
"In that case listen to me—you take one step out of this office in Robert's company and I'll have you thrown in jail so fast it'll make your head spin. I'm sorry to have to say this in front of Robert but you leave me no choice and I urge you not to test me on this. I urge you very, very strongly."
She watched the man deflate. Watching him deflate did not displease her one damn bit.
"I'll see you, Robert," he said quietly. "I'm sorry we couldn't ..."
"Sure, Dad. It's okay."
He turned on his Game Boy again.
Danse glanced at her once and then opened the door and left the room. She followed, closing the door behind her. "Mr. Danse."
She spoke quietly so that Robert wouldn't hear. The walls were thin.
He turned.
"Mr. Danse, if I ever hear you use the word 'fuck' again in Robert's presence I will personally bring an action against you for the verbal abuse of a child—a second, independent action—before the Division of Children and Youth Services. And that action will land you in district court no matter how this custody case turns out. Are we very clear on that?"
He smiled. "He can't hear us now, though, can he?" he said. Now he was speaking softly too.
"No."
"Then go screw yourself, Miss Stone. You fucking tight-assed bitch."
She felt she had the measure of the man.
Lydia was deep asleep when the phone rang. She looked at the clock.
4:45.
"Hello?"
"You'll never prove it," he said.
She was instantly awake.
"He won't tell," he said. "So how are you going to prove it if he won't tell, huh? You can't."
"How do you know he won't tell, Arthur?"
"Because I know my son. I know my kid. He's loyal to me."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
"We'll see."
"You'll never prove a goddamn thing you stupid cunt!"
"Gee. Cunt, huh? Would you rather I was a little boy, Arthur?"
It felt good to say it to him. To taunt him.
"Fuck you!" he yelled and slammed down the phone. She was shaking when she replaced the receiver, but in a way the call was far from unsatisfying. She looked again at the clock. Nearly five in the morning, she thought.
It looked like Arthur was losing it a little.
Too bad.
She thought about that. And after a while, she slept.
Nineteen
The Most Important Thing
Two days before the hearing, she was finishing the lunch dishes over at Ellie Brest's house and worrying why Owen hadn't called back yet so she could tell him about this phone-call-in-the-night thing when Ellie asked her to come into the living room.
Normally this was nap time.
Ellie was usually completely predictable. She'd fall asleep in the middle of one of the soaps and then all afternoon she'd wonder what she'd missed. If Lydia happened to hear any of it while she was going about her business she'
d fill her in.
She turned off the tap and dried her hands, and walked into the darkened room. Ellie kept the lights off in there unless Lydia was cleaning. Saved a dollar or two on electricity, she said. Though the television was on all day and well into the night.
Now she wanted it off, though.
"During your soaps, El?"
"Yes."
She walked over and turned it off, thinking how it was such a little thing—but knowing the enormous and painful effort it would have taken for Ellie to get up and do it for herself.
"Sit down, Liddy. Please."
She sat across from her in the big overstuffed armchair that nobody ever used anymore now that her husband was gone.
"I know you're going to be away for a few days," she said. "And I just wanted to tell you while I still have the nerve to go butting into other people's business that I admire what you're doing, Liddy."
She didn't know what to say. She couldn't have been more surprised if Ellie had got up and danced.
In the past she always seemed embarrassed by Lydia's ... situation. She'd ask a question now and then—but always seemed to shy away from actually listening to the answer. She'd never expressed approval before—or disapproval either for that matter—just an infrequent, hesitant curiosity.
"Thanks, Ellie," she said. "That means a lot to me."
"I know a lot of women would have just let it go on and on, would have turned a blind eye, so to speak. Wouldn't want the publicity or be too frightened of him or whatever."
She hesitated. This clearly wasn't easy for her to say.
"Willie and I never did have children and there are many times I've regretted that. But regrets don't get you much in life, do they? The point is, I want you to know that I think you're doin' your duty by the boy. The important thing's the boy. That nobody hurt him. A child and the good decent life of a child is the most important thing in the world. I think I missed out on something. But I'm glad that a woman good as you are, Liddy Danse, I'm glad you didn't. Nothing I can do but pray for you. But I want you to know that I'll do that for you."
She saw tears in the old woman's eyes. She was shaking with the effort of holding them back. And then there were tears in Lydia's eyes too as she stood and stepped over and gave her the gentlest and most delicate of hugs, her body so frail between her arms and against her cheek, smelling the good clean old-lady smell of her and feeling the warm wet tears pressed between their faces, and she thought, I love you old woman, I had no idea, it happened so quickly, I didn't know it could happen so quickly, but I do.