The 56th Man (48 page)

“
Incidentally, while Howie was inside
of my house, the one individual who knows the entire truth from
beginning to end sneaked in. I finally managed to have a talk with
him."

Karen finally lifted her head, but Ari waved
off her curiosity.

"In the meantime, I was meeting you and
Carrington in the gallery. Later, I wondered about the coincidence.
But it was no coincidence. Carrington had succumbed to your bait,
and showed up soon after you arrived.

"There were other hints about your grand
design. Leaving the memory disk in that pouch for me to find was
particularly egregious. Is that the right word? But even you were
struck by the pictures of the battered door. The first ones showed
a floor that had been free of debris. It was highly unlikely the
killer had swept up after himself, so it might be thought the
police had cleared a path. But the last pictures showed a floor
covered with broken wood, as though someone had gone into the
garbage and thrown it all back down. You thought this might be a
bit too compromising, or confusing, so you tried to delete them
from the disk. Instead, you accidentally made copies.”

“
Why would…”

“
Carrington had to put the mess back to
support the theory that it was an outsider who had killed the
Riggins family very soon after breaking inside. He couldn’t leave
evidence that some time had passed between the break-in and the
murders. Enough time to have allowed a kind of peace to come over
the house, giving someone the opportunity to perform a spot of
housekeeping.

"I don't think you believed Carrington was
involved in anything more than a misguided cover-up, but when I
told him all of this, he assumed you knew the truth, and that his
mistress had betrayed him. He had, of course, access to the phone
records that showed Moria’s call to you. It was the last straw for
him."

Karen jolted up. "You lousy fuck."

"Don't you want to know where the murder
weapon is? Or the cocaine?"

"You lousy fuck."

"But I did what you put me here to do."

"You think I wanted you to drive him to
suicide?"

"I didn't think it would come to that," Ari
said, looking abashed. "I thought he was made of sterner
stuff."

"He was. That's why he killed himself, to
save his family...and me."

Ari lowered his head.

Karen reached into her pocket and pulled out
a USB flash drive. "Here. I was told to deliver this. I don't know
what's on it, but I can guess. Just a little reminder of the old
country, and how sick you people really are."

She tossed it on the table. Ari stared at
it.

"All that you've just told me is cockamamie
bullshit," Karen continued, picking up her wig and fake glasses.
"Not one word is true. You got that?"

Ari nodded contritely.

Karen drew away to the kitchen entrance. She
looked back. "You lousy fuck." Then she was gone.

Fred was still at the open front door,
waiting to lend assistance, if needed.

"We're leaving," Karen said curtly before
slamming the front door shut. Ari rose and walked unsteadily to the
window over the kitchen sink. Leaning forward, he could just make
out Karen pounding up Beach Court Lane before she disappeared
beyond the trees separating his property from Howie Nottoway's. Her
wig was askew. Fred was struggling to keep up.

Ari sniffed disparagingly at the flash drive
and staggered upstairs to the bathroom. He peed, then leaned over
the sink, trying to determine if he was going to throw up. He
raised his head to the mirror.

"Cockamamie. Cock-a-mamie." He grinned.
Working his way to the studio, he collapsed onto his mattress and
turned over on his side.

Done. All done. Deputy Sylvester aka Miss
Sandra had been worried that Ari Ciminon aka Abu Karim Ghaith
Ibrahim would turn up dirt about her old friend Moria Riggins nee
Massington. His allegations could top off a landfill. How much of
it was true? Enough to serve his purpose.

He began picking away at his own reasoning to
see how well it held up. Grain by grain, until it formed a mound,
then a beach, then an island.

It was Pig Island. The sluggish Tigris
flowed past, weary with the centuries. Ghaith's mother had gone
shopping with his aunt at Al-Mansour.
Baba
and Ghaith's uncle used the opportunity to
rent a boat and go out on the river. They brought along snacks of
pistachio nuts and pomegranate seeds, as well as some liquid
refreshment.

There was a strange, limpid ache in the
air. The sky was too beautiful to be true.
Baba
landed the boat on the island and took up a
spot with his brother on the sand. Meanwhile, Ghaith and his
cousin, Hussam, stared daggers. They each had it in for the other,
although neither could remember the original source of their
enmity. They disappeared in the crowd and came to a spit. And then,
spontaneously, they were at each others' throats, rolling in the
sand, kicking and swearing.

They did not hear the powerboat coming up, or
the shouts. Nor, in their ferocious struggle, did they notice the
sudden, awed hush.

They did, however, hear the laughter. A
broad, rich laugh that called attention to itself and caused them
to stop and look up. And then they, too, fell into stupefied
silence.

"Mr. Deputy!" Ghaith's father and uncle ran
up, deeply mortified. They pulled the boys further apart, although
they had already stopped fighting. "Mr. Deputy...I deeply
regret--"

Saddam Hussein waved away
Baba's
contrition. "Boys fight. It's
natural. They'll make good soldiers." Mr. Deputy (they all knew he
would be president one day) glanced over at the blanket
Baba
and his brother had thrown down
on the sand. "What's that you're drinking?"

"Uh..."

"Is that Jack Daniels?" Hussein snapped his
fingers and two of his bodyguards ran back to the boat. While they
waited for them to return, Hussein strode over and tousled the
boys' hair. "You both looked like fighting tigers as I came up. You
don't often see boys tear into each other like that."

Ghaith raised his eyes and ventured an
embarrassed grin. Saddam Hussein grinned back at him, his bright
teeth matching the sun glinting off the palace across the
river.

Everyone has their one great beatific moment
in life, and this was Ghaith's. The man before him was a living
monument, something to be worshipped and adored.

The bodyguards came back with a crate
of Jack Daniels. They placed it between
Baba
and his brother.

"This should last you awhile," said
Hussein.

Everyone was amazed. Ghaith's father did not
know what to say. "Mr. Deputy..."

"Please, don't mention it. A little token to
show my appreciation to my people." He spread his arms, as though
encompassing everyone on the island. "I love my people!"

Love. There was nothing surer.

Ghaith would never forget that moment. It was
burned into him as powerfully as first love. Through the years to
come, as the truth of the man became known, that love remained, a
painful reminder of what could have been. Good and evil had become
inextricably mixed. Saddam Hussein, mass murderer, torturer, war
criminal. Yet that moment remained, a strange cold warmth that
refused to go away, that suffused his mind, his chest, his
legs...his knees?

Ari opened his eyes. Something warm had
inserted itself behind his bent knees. The cat had slipped into the
house while Fred stood guard at the open door.

"Ah...Sphinx," Ghaith said drowsily. "You're
the only one who knows the truth. And you'll never tell."