The Devil Is a Gentleman (5 page)

“Thank you,” she said. “I’d like to burn it down.” She took a sip of wine and looked back at me. “They say things about you, you know.”

“Do they?” I said, feigning surprise. “And what do they say?”

“Your father was a devil-worshipper,” she said. “They say you got off the Registry because he used magic.”

“Is that all?”

“No,” she said. “They say you’re dangerous, too. Just like your father.”

“What do you think?” I said.

She smiled drily. “
They
have always been full of shit,” she said. “I think you scare them because they can’t buy you.”

“They haven’t tried,” I said.

“Are you sure about that?” she said. I remembered Eliza Michaels, trying to hire me. She hadn’t struck me as a New Government type, but I supposed she must have been. She couldn’t have gotten that job without a little New Government ass-kissing.

“No,” I said, “I’m not sure.” Gage cleared his throat next to me and raised an eyebrow. I turned back to the woman. “You haven’t been watching the news, have you?”

“I hate TV,” she said. “Why? What’s Frank done now?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Mrs. Bradley, have you seen your husband lately?” I said.

“Call me Olivia,” she said, taking another drink of wine. “And no. I haven’t seen that bastard in a month.”

“A month?” said Gage.

“We’re not on what you might call good terms,” said Olivia. “But if you breathe a word of that to anyone, I’ll destroy you both.”

“We don’t really work that way, lady,” said Gage.

“Just covering the bases,” she said. She looked back at me. “Why do you want to know?” she said. “Have you seen him?”

“Yes,” I said. “I shot him. Twice.”

She looked at me in disbelief for a moment. Then suddenly she laughed. She laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. When she finally stopped, she wiped her eyes. “I like you, Ms. Slobodian,” she said.

“It’s Niki,” I said. “Aren’t you the slightest bit upset that I may have killed your husband?”

“Are you kidding?” she said. Her demeanor had changed dramatically from cold suspicion to casual nonchalance. Her whole body had relaxed in her chair and she looked ten years younger. She looked at ease, as I imagined she looked when she met Bradley as a grad student. She shook her head. “My marriage is over,” she said. “I’m divorcing Frank as soon as his term is over. I just can’t do this anymore. I won’t do it to my daughter. She deserves better.”

“Where is your daughter?” I said.

“I sent her to my mother’s in North Carolina,” she said. “I’m going to meet her there next week. A child should never have to see her father like that.”

“Like what?” I said.

She looked into her glass, as if it were a crystal ball. “Frank is a functional alcoholic on the verge of becoming a useless drunk,” she said. “He wasn’t like this when we met.” She smiled. “He was so charming. I never imagined he’d become…well, what he is. This past year has been very hard for me. Frank changed. He even hit me once, in front of Piper.”

“Piper?” said Gage.

“My daughter,” said Olivia. I realized the expression she’d worn when we’d met had been the mask she saved for public. What I was seeing now was the soft vulnerability of a woman whose world was crashing down around her. “Do you mind if I smoke?” she said, tears in her eyes.

“Of course not,” I said. “It’s your house.”

She took a cigarette out of a small drawer in the coffee table. “It’s Frank’s house,” she said, lighting her cigarette. “Everything’s Frank’s. Unless he dies.” She looked at me, blowing smoke out the side of her mouth. “Do you think you killed him?” she said.

“I don’t know,” I said. “He disappeared.”

“Pity,” she said, taking a deep drag of her cigarette. “I’d make a fantastic widow.”

“Damn, that’s cold,” said Gage.

She laughed. “It would seem that way,” she said. “I gave up my life for that man, and all I got in return was a black eye and a lot of fake friends that haven’t called me in weeks.”

“Fair enough,” said Gage.

“You’re entitled to be angry,” I said. “If he dies, will he leave you comfortable?”

“His parents are dead, and he was an only child,” said Olivia. “If Frank dies, I get everything. And do you know what I would do first?”

“Burn this house to the ground?” I said.

“Cheers to that,” she said, raising her glass and taking a drink. She looked at us and smiled. “I have a confession. I lied. I don’t have to be anywhere. I just wanted an excuse to get rid of you both.”

“At least you’re honest,” said Gage.

“Are you?” said Olivia, looking at him blandly.

“Honest?” he said. “Absolutely.”

“What about you, Niki?” she said. “Are you honest? Because I feel like you’re not telling me everything. I’m used to it, don’t get me wrong. Half-truths and smiles is what I normally get from my husband’s people. But I like you. Why did you shoot Frank?”

I cleared my throat. “Okay,” I said. “But first, I’ll take you up on that drink.”

Olivia Bradley took it well. I told her what happened, leaving out only the bits he said about Gina, so as not to hurt her any more. She listened quietly and intently, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. When I finished, she leaned back in her chair and lit another cigarette. When she finally spoke, it was a whisper. “Shit,” she said.

“Pretty much my reaction, too,” said Gage.

“Besides the violence and the alcoholism,” I said, “did you notice any other changes in your husband lately?”

“No,” she said. “But he…maybe I should show you. You said he was talking about angels. Follow me,” she said. Gage shrugged and stood up to follow Olivia out of the room. I trailed behind them. She led us up the marble staircase and off to the right. We passed door after door, all closed.

“Bright as hell in here,” said Gage.

Olivia shrugged. “It’s a big house,” she said over her shoulder. “I don’t like to be alone.” The dog
—
she called him Clancy
—
bobbed along beside her, wagging his tail. She kept a hand on his back as she walked, stroking him occasionally. It occurred to me that Clancy was not a guard dog, but a companion. Olivia Bradley was the loneliest woman I’d ever met. I wondered what that was like. Sad, I imagined. I’d been lonely myself at times, but there had always been more important things to worry about. Olivia had everything in this house, except love.

She stopped at the end of the hall and unlocked the door with a key from her pocket. She pushed it open and let us enter ahead of her. Gage switched on the light. The three of us were quiet for a long time.

“Did your husband watch a lot of television?” said Gage, breaking the silence. “As in crime shows? Cause by the looks of it, he took them way too seriously.”

I looked around the sizable room and had absolutely no words. It was an office, that was clear enough by the desk and swivel chair in the middle of the room, and the rows of bookshelves against the walls. But there were dozens upon dozens of grainy photographs tacked to every possible surface, the books only visible through occasional gaps between pictures. A large picture window was blocked by an enormous map of the city, mounted on cardboard and propped on the sill. Colorful tacks and scribblings covered the map and one spot had a bright red circle around it. Walking over to it I could see that the scribblings were the same word, written over and over:
Angel.
I looked at Olivia.

“How long has he been doing this?” I said.

“I don’t know,” she said. She was leaning against the door watching us. “I hadn’t been in here in months, maybe even a year or two. I came up here on impulse last week, but the door was locked. I found a set of keys in a drawer in the bedroom. He was my husband, for God’s sake. How could I not see him going crazy?”

“Maybe he wasn’t crazy,” said Gage. He was peering at the photos that lined the room. “You’re gonna want to see this, Niki.”

“What is it?” I said, coming over and looking at the picture he was staring at.

“Ain’t that your Uncle Naz?” said Gage.

“Jesus,” I said. It was Naz standing outside in some sort of parking lot and shaking hands with Frank Bradley. Several other men were in the picture, including a few men I knew from before Sasha went away to prison. “He’s not really my uncle,” I said. “What the hell are they doing?”

Olivia had come in to see what we were gaping at. “I don’t know,” she said. “Apparently I just live here.”

Nearly every picture had Frank Bradley in it. And another familiar face too. A tall, thin man with white hair: Hal Dorrance. The other men looked vaguely familiar, and several women in suit jackets and pencil skirts. Naz appeared in several pictures, and others showed Bradley and Dorrance alone in front of some sort of bar or restaurant. They looked like great friends.

“Have you ever met any of these people?” I asked Olivia.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I never did meet a lot of Frank’s friends. A few people from work that came over for dinner a few times. He always said he wanted to keep his private life separate from his work life. Of course,” she pointed to a group of photos in which Frank was standing next to an attractive woman in a low-cut dress, “apparently that rule didn’t apply to his whore.”

“You knew about her?” said Gage. I narrowed my eyes at him. “What?” he said, defensively.

“It’s fine,” said Olivia. “I’ve known about Gina Halsted for some time now. Just another reason I’m divorcing him.” She looked at me and frowned. “What is it?”

“Gina Halsted is dead,” I said. “They’re saying Frank killed her.”

“Do you think it’s true?” she said, looking from me to Gage.

“When Frank was acting all crazy in my apartment,” I said, “he was muttering about how he shouldn’t have hurt Gina. I’m thinking it’s probably true.”

“Jesus,” said Olivia.

“I think I need to get you out of here,” I said. “If your husband’s alive, he may come for you next. I know a guy that can protect you. Go get some things and I’ll have him take you to the airport. It might even be a good idea if he accompanied you on the flight. You can be with your daughter by morning.”

Olivia shrugged. “If you think it’s necessary.”

“Can we take some of these pictures?” Gage said.

“Why not?” she said. “Take it all.”

“One more question,” I said. I walked to the window and picked up the map. The pushpins were various colors, speckled all over the city. On the northern edge of the map there was a bright red circle made with what was probably a permanent marker. It was the only writing in red and was so bright I’d seen it across the room. “Do any of these spots have any significance for you?” I said.

Olivia scanned the map, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her gaze slid up to the red circle. She looked at it for a moment. “Oh,” she said softly.

I looked at Gage. “You know this place, Olivia?” I said.

“Maybe,” she said. “There was a cabin. Frank called it his fishing cabin, only there was nowhere to fish. His grandfather bought it before the Depression, but the creek dried up before Frank could remember. He took me there when we were dating. It was not what I expected.”

“Why not?” I said.

“Well, he’d made out like we were going to have this big romantic getaway. And Frank was larger than life, you know? Expensive everything. I made fun of him for it. Big house, big car, he even gave me big presents until I asked him to stop. Expensive jewelry, stuff like that.”

“Sounds horrible,” said Gage.

“I know how it sounds,” she said, “but it did make me uncomfortable, taking all this stuff. Anyway, he took me to his cabin one weekend on the spur of the moment. We were sick of the city and he said he wanted to whisk me away. But the cabin was falling apart. There were spiderwebs everywhere, and dust an inch thick. The bed was disgusting. Mice had gotten into it. We ended up going to a hotel in the town. Fancy place, high tea and all that. But that cabin, I’m pretty sure it was there.” She pointed to the red circle. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”

“Fancy a road trip?” I asked Gage.

“You betcha,” he said.

“You might want to wait until daylight,” Olivia said. “The last few miles are along a pretty rough road.” Clancy, who had been curled up on the rug in the middle of the room, whined and raised his head to look at her. “I’d better take him out.”

The dog ran out of the room, apparently familiar with this routine. Olivia hesitated in the doorway. “Do you think he’s still alive?” she said. “Not that it matters, but I’d like to know. Seems hard to believe he could survive being shot twice in the chest.”

“He was still moving last I saw. I’m sorry, Olivia. But he was going to kill me.”

She shook her head and gave me a small smile. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “If you do find him, I’ll make it worth your while. He may be a bastard, but I guess a part of me still cares a little.” She nodded, as if that resolved something, and moved to leave.

We followed her out into the brightly illuminated back lawn, and watched as she wandered out into the middle of the yard, following Clancy. I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed a number. “Who you calling?” said Gage.