Fever Dream (22 page)
I thought about this.
“Think these rumors about Sinclair will hurt him?”
“Probably not. He was always discreet. Usually chased some tail who had more to lose than he did. Paralegals. Assistant DA’s looking to move up the ladder.”
Of course, I knew—from personal experience—a lot more about the kind of woman Sinclair slept with than Sam could ever suspect. Or would ever find out.
“Then what’s your angle on the Sinclair campaign?”
I leaned back against the corner. “I know you have one, or else you wouldn’t be here. Any staff guy from the paper could cover this fund-raiser.”
He laughed. “The first and best angle there is when it comes to a politician: the money. Where’s the campaign getting it? Who’s behind the PAC supplying it?”
He raised his chin, indicating the whole room.
“Which of these rich, connected bastards is buying Sinclair’s loyalty? His support on some upcoming crucial policy initiative? His going soft on corporate taxes, or environmental regs?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Sam. Sinclair’s a pretty tough guy. Confident to the point of arrogance. I don’t see him taking orders from some shady big-money people.”
“Then he won’t make it up the mountain, Danny. Not all the way, which is what I think he wants.
Nobody
does without making some kinda deal with the devil.”
Something in Sam’s voice caught my attention.
“Are you just poking around,” I said, “or do you have something?”
He smiled darkly. “I have something, all right. More than a tip, less than a fact. But my gut says it’s worth looking into.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning,” he said deliberately, “I think your pal Leland Sinclair is dirty.”
Apparently continuing with their Charlie Parker theme, the trio in the corner had begun an assault on Zawinul’s “Birdland.” With the volume turned up even higher.
“Jesus.” Sam held his ears. “Catch you later, okay?”
Before I could stop him, he strode off, waving at some guy with a video cam on his shoulder. I started in another direction, toward a cluster of half-empty tables. I figured one of these had a place setting with my name on it. With luck, not at a table too close to the dais.
Though what occupied my mind was Sam’s assertion about Leland Sinclair. Not that I knew the DA that well, or even liked him. Sure, there was no question he could be a real prick, and ravenously ambitious to boot. But corrupt? On somebody’s pad? Somehow I couldn’t see it.
Even with more than half the crowd seated, it was still a game of dodge-and-weave getting across the room. Until, up ahead, I saw another familiar face. Broad, robust. It was Harvey Blalock, president of the Pittsburgh Black Attorneys organization. Another blast from the past.
He was talking animatedly with a woman whose smooth, ebony back was toward me. Her tight-fitting dress displayed strong, shapely curves, accentuated by stiletto heels.
As I approached the pair, I noted how strikingly poised she seemed. The confident tilt of her hips. The languid way she held her wine glass suspended between her fingers.
Fingers whose nails, I realized, were painted a burnt red. It was Eleanor Lowrey.
She turned as Harvey raised his eyebrows in greeting. The big attorney and I shook hands. He had the grip of a velvet-lined vice.
“Dan Rinaldi.” Blalock beamed. “I saw you on the tube today and I had the same thought I always do: Does that white man owe me money?”
He laughed heartily, then turned to Eleanor.
“Eleanor, this is—”
“Oh, I know this guy.” Her appraising look at me was knowing, but warm. “Though I’ve never seen him dressed up before.”
“Likewise.” I gave her a careful perusal right back. Or maybe I just stared. She was…stunning. The sleek, sleeveless dress accentuated her well-toned arms, while its plunging neckline did the same for her full breasts.
Eleanor gave me a wry smile. “It’s a special occasion, Danny. So I thought I’d work the cleavage.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
Which only made Harvey Blalock laugh again.
“You two carry on without me, okay?” He raised his empty shot glass. “I need a refill if I’m gonna make it through the District Attorney’s stump speech.”
After he’d gone, I turned back to Eleanor.
“I didn’t know you were coming to this thing.”
“Neither did I. Till the last minute, when Sinclair’s guy called. What’s his name? Fletcher. He practically begged me to show up. I think they wanted some more black faces.” She glanced around the room. “We’re kinda at a premium around here.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Makes putting on a tux worth it.” I grinned. “Almost.”
She aimed her violet eyes at me over the rim of her glass. “Please, Danny, don’t even try. I saw you checking me out yesterday. When we were working together.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“Look, it’s okay. Luther and I have an open relationship. I don’t mess with
his
bitches, and he doesn’t—”
I raised my hand, palm up. “I get it.”
Again, her wry smile. I admit, I was somewhat taken aback by the whole conversation. Where the hell was this going? If it was going anywhere.
I changed tacks. “How do you know Harvey Blalock?”
“He represented a cousin of mine, a surgeon, in some bullshit malpractice suit.”
“Same thing with me. Malpractice suit. Also bullshit. Luckily, it went away before I racked up a fortune in lawyer’s fees.”
“My cousin wasn’t so lucky. The case went to trial. Harvey got him acquitted, but it cost a ton. The family joke is that Harvey’s boat oughtta be named after us.”
“He has a boat?”
“Who doesn’t?” Her smile was a tease. “Hey, maybe we can get him to take us out for a river cruise sometime. I hear they can be very romantic.”
“Never had the pleasure.”
“I mean, if you
go
for that kind of thing. Hard-asses like you and me…well, I don’t know. Probably not.”
She lowered her eyes then, stared at her wine glass.
I got the sense she felt she’d over-stepped. Said too much.
I also recalled her grief when recounting how her relationship with Treva had ended. Hard-ass? Not always. Not either one of us, really. Maybe that was something that tugged us in the same direction. That, even now, seemed to be drawing us closer.
Unless, on her end, it was merely the stress of the past two days. The frustration of the investigation. The multiple—and very public—murders, with the accompanying political pressure. And with the culprits long gone.
Because suddenly her eyes came up, clear and focused.
Whatever invitation I’d seen in them, whatever hint of intimacy, was now hidden. Put away.
“I
did
want to ask you something,” she said. “About Treva. When you and Polk saw her today. How was she?”
“Pretty much as I expected. The reality of what’s happened to her has sunk in. She’s certainly still frightened. Terrified, I’d say.”
“Of what? It’s all over now.”
“Try telling
her
that. Or any victim of violent assault. For some survivors, it’s never over.”
“So what do you think? Is she gonna be okay?”
“Hard to say. I’ll know more when I get to do some work with her.
If
I do.” I paused. “I hear they’re sending her home tomorrow.”
“Yes. The hospital says she’s insisting on it. She says she doesn’t feel safe there. I can’t say I blame her.”
“I assume you’ve offered her police protection.”
Eleanor looked puzzled. “For what? You mean, to keep the press from hounding her? Sleeping outside her front door? Taking pictures through her windows?”
“That’s as good a reason as any. Don’t you agree?”
“Doesn’t matter whether I agree or not. No way we can spare the manpower. Not in the middle of a full-scale investigation. Plus all the resources devoted to locating the two bank robbers.”
I mulled this over. I saw her point. There was no apparent threat to Treva’s safety. Still—
“What about Victims’ Services, at least…”
“Give us some credit, eh, Danny? We have their people set up for home visits a couple times a day. To make sure she’s eating, resting. Or in case she needs someone to talk to. Though Treva isn’t too happy about it.”
“Really? Why not?”
Eleanor took a breath. “I heard from Biegler that she said if she needs anything, she’ll get it from you. She says you’re the only one she trusts.”
She threw back her drink, drained it. “So do us all a favor, okay? Keep your cell phone on.”
I could tell from the coolness in her voice that Treva’s last comment—though merely a repeat of what she’d said before—had still stung. And that, as if in answer to it, Eleanor had suddenly put up a wall between us.
And while I wasn’t exactly surprised, it didn’t feel good, either.
***
“Detective Lowrey!”
Eleanor and I both turned to find Brian Fletcher— taller than I remembered in his stylish, tailored tuxedo— striding across the polished floor in our direction. Professional smile widening beneath his trim mustache.
Stepping between us, he took Eleanor’s hand in both of his. “So glad you could make it, Detective. You look amazing.”
Eleanor regarded him warily. “Thanks, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Everybody calls me Brian.” He turned to me. “Happy to see
you
here, too, Dr. Rinaldi. I wasn’t sure you’d get on-board for this.”
“Me, neither. But then I’ve always been a sucker for free hors d’oeuvres.”
“Hey, this is a political fund-raiser, okay? So easy on the irony. It makes potential donors nervous.”
“Maybe they should be. Considering how the last couple days have played out. For Sinclair, I mean.”
Fletcher tilted his head. “You cut right to the chase, don’t you? Well, I’m going to break a cardinal rule among campaign managers and tell you the truth: it’s not helping us. It’s tough running as a big-dick law-and-order man when armed robbers are making fools out of the cops.”
Eleanor folded her arms. “I don’t think that’s fair, Mr. Fletcher. In fact, I think it’s bullshit. There’s no way the department can—”
Fletcher chuckled. “Whoa, wait a minute. I’m getting double-teamed here. I only came over to say hello. Pump the flesh. Know what I mean? Just your friendly neighborhood political hack.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” I said.
He cupped his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Meanwhile, I want to invite you both to come as my personal guests to the debate Saturday night. It’s going to be on-campus at Pitt. Hillman Library. And aired live throughout the state.”
“So you and Garrity’s handlers finally agreed on the ground rules?”
He nodded vigorously. “Closed the deal an hour ago. Had to bargain away Lee’s left nut—sorry, Detective—but John Garrity’s such a coward we had no choice. Though it sure ain’t pretty. Two minute time limits. No rebuttals. Rules so restrictive you can barely call it a debate.”
Eleanor said, “Then why do it?”
“Because the public expects it. They rarely
watch
it, you understand. But they like to know the candidates are doing it. Duking it out.
Mano a mano
.” He shrugged. “Hey, we’re a helluva long way from Lincoln-Douglas, but it’s great political theater.”
“I’ll bring the popcorn,” I said.
He eyed me ruefully. “What did I say a minute ago about irony? Do I have to send you a memo?”
Then, abruptly, he laughed. A bit too loud.
“Hey, this is fun, but I’ve actually got a job to do. Danny, Lee wants to do the photo-op with you, him, and the mayor before dinner starts. Probably so His Honor doesn’t have soup stains on his shirt for the picture.”
“I take it the mayor’s already sampled the punch?”
Fletcher ignored this. “I’ll come back and get you in five minutes or so. I figure we’ll line you guys up on the floor in front of the dais. The Mayor wants the photo shot up from a low angle to make him look taller. Fine with me—that way, it’ll get the banner in there, too.”
He started to walk off, then turned back to Eleanor.
“Sorry, Detective, I almost forgot. Lee and Lt. Biegler want to see you right away. Lee wants an update on the bank case. From the troops on the ground.”
Eleanor frowned. “Why me?”
“Apparently, Biegler tried to get hold of Sgt. Polk but can’t find him. So you’re the next batter up.”
He pointed a manicured finger at me. “Five minutes, okay, Doc? Big smile, no irony.
Capice
?”
He swiveled on his heel and hurried away before I could say anything. Given the response that had come to mind, it was probably just as well.