A Very Simple Crime (20 page)

The thought. The thought interrupted his reading. It was interrupting everything lately. Leo folded the paper and put the thought away. He reached for his cigar. It was smoldering away elegantly in a cut lead crystal ashtray. He grabbed it and puffed it back to life. And the thought came back. That was the trouble with pesky thoughts; you could put them away, but they just kept coming back. And here it was again. It kept popping into his mind unbidden. He shoved the thought to a vacant corner of his mind and left it there.
Stay away, bad thought, you’re not welcome around here anymore.
He was going to concentrate on being happy. And why wasn’t he as happy as he felt he ought to be? He knew he should be happy (there, the thought was gone), and for the most part he was. Hell—fuck, for the most part—he
was
happy. His dreams, despite the fact that he had begun to believe that they never would, were beginning to come true. The clothes, the office, the money, the prestige. The respect. He had won all of that by winning Adam Lee his freedom. And as an added bonus, he had been out four times with Rosalyn Wahlberg, and, judging from how heated things had gotten during that fourth date, number five would be his lucky number. He looked at his watch—five minutes before Adam was due to show up. A good-bye kiss before he left for Madagascar. An extended vacation, Adam had called it. But Leo couldn’t help but be struck by the fact that Madagascar was one of a handful of countries with no extradition agreement with the United States. Funny, wasn’t it? Of course, if something—some small fact, say—should turn up, he couldn’t be tried for the same crime twice anyway. But why take chances? Just look what our wonderful legal system had already put the man through. Once bitten, twice shy, right? You never knew what might happen; someone might want to charge him with a new crime altogether. Best to be safe. Leo didn’t blame the guy one bit. You just never knew what was gonna happen. Just look at the case against Monty Lee. Why, just last week it had seemed airtight, but now things were starting to look different. Leo had heard rumblings from the DA’s office (not that he was welcome there, by any means, but people loved to talk, especially if there was dirt involved), rumblings that the case against Monty Lee wasn’t as rosy as their statements to the press would lead one to believe. Certain inconsistencies were turning up. Little things like his ironclad alibi. It was impenetrable. They were trying to punch a few holes in it, and who knew, maybe they would, but Leo doubted it. Little things like the signatures on that custody agreement. It seemed that they might be the least bit forged. The handwriting analysts seemed to think so anyway. Sometimes, little things meant a lot. The DA’s office said that these were obstacles that they would easily resolve, but Leo doubted it. Now why on earth would he doubt that? After all, he had practically indicted the man himself, so why would he have doubts? And, oh, here he was, back at the unpleasant thought. He gave in to the thought, saw no point in fighting it any longer. He took the thought out, twirled it around a bit, examined it. It was an image really. Yes, more of an image than an actual thought. An image that would almost certainly lead to a whole slew of unpleasant thoughts, and unpleasant thoughts wouldn’t go well with the new mahogany desk and crystal ashtray, would they? It was an image of eyes, was what it was. An image of Monty Lee’s eyes. The eyes don’t lie. No, the eyes don’t lie. And Monty Lee never saw it coming. He never saw it coming. Right up till the end, he never saw it. If he had done the things Leo had accused him of doing, then how could he have not seen it coming? The surprise, the astonishment. The eyes don’t lie. Monty Lee was either the cockiest, most self-assured liar the world had ever known, or he—

Or he was—

Or he was innocent.

Leo looked up when he heard Adam clearing his throat. “Sorry. Daydreaming, I guess.”

“Why dream? Haven’t your dreams come true?”

“More or less.”

“More, it looks to me. Your office is quite handsome. I’m sure that you will prosper here. I imagine you’ve generated many clients already and several retainers as well, I’m sure. How many?”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen. Yes, you will prosper. And so will I. In any case, I’m on my way to the airport. I just wanted to stop by and thank you one last time.”

“You have nothing to thank me for.”

“No, I have everything to thank you for.”

“Well, it was a hell of a case, I’ll say that much.”

“Yes, but it turned out quite all right, for both of us.”

“Not for Monty, though.”

“No, not for Monty.”

Leo puffed on his cigar, and the two men stood in silence.

Adam spoke first. “In any case, I just wanted to say thank you.” He turned to leave.

“Wait a minute.”

“Yes?”

“I just—”

“Yes?”

“You killed her, didn’t you?”

Adam didn’t hesitate. “Of course I killed her. I thought you knew. Why, you almost seem surprised.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why . . . Why did you kill her?”

“You mean you don’t know? Of course you know. I killed her because I loved her. Because she loved me.”

“Do you kill everyone you love?”

“More or less, sometimes more. Look, Leo, why be coy? You know it all already.”

“I do?”

“Absolutely. Everything you dug up for that woman attorney to steal away from you was absolutely true. All of it. You had it all right from the beginning.”

“You tricked me.”

“Tricked you? Please. You can’t be that blind. You may have tricked yourself, fooled yourself into believing what you wanted to believe. She stole the glory from you, Leo. And you stole it back. It’s as simple as that. You are not going to stand there with that sniveling look on your face and expect me to believe you were chasing your ideals? You were chasing a dollar bill on a string.”

“But why set up your brother, why make him pay for your crimes?”

“Somebody had to pay. Why not Monty? It’s beyond your scope of knowledge, but believe me, Monty owed a debt.”

“But you set him up from the beginning. You planned it from the start.”

“He was insurance, nothing more. The ruses I constructed are made of paper. They will degrade quickly. Even a third-rate lawyer could win him his freedom. I established bank accounts in his name, slowly extracted the money, then deposited the cash funds into an account for Violet. I sent her the bank statement along with an anonymous note indicating that twenty thousand dollars could purchase a trailer almost anywhere. And the guardianship, nothing more than a cheap forgery. I ultimately convinced Rachel to sign, but Monty—ever the wise one—refused. So I signed his name myself. Of course it will never hold up to close scrutiny, but, then again, I don’t need it to. In fact, I never seriously thought I would ever be forced to use it at all. I never expected the blame to go past Albert. Yes, that is repulsive, I know, but when you really consider it, I never hurt Albert. I’m sure none of this ever penetrated his dark world. But, as I say, I never expected it to go past him. I never expected more than a small tragedy that wouldn’t make it to page five in the local paper. I never expected you. No. But I planned for you. The bank accounts, the guardianship, all in reserve for future use. And, as I say, Monty is not blameless. He owed; trust me, he owed.”

Leo’s world was a little grayer than it had been five minutes ago. He knew it was true. Every word of it. Even the bit about the dollar bill on a string. But parts of it seemed to still be missing, unnecessary chances taken. There were certain . . . inconsistencies, if you will.

“Why wait so long? Why let things get so out of control before you used your plan? You damned well almost went to prison. How could you know that I would take your bait?”

“Anyone would have taken it. That was what it was there for. I could have called any investigator at any time. But the irony of using you to do my bidding was overwhelmingly intoxicating. I just couldn’t resist. Why wait till things seemed their darkest before making my move? The drama was a factor, but I also wanted to be acquitted. Double jeopardy and all that.”

The drama? Leo wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly. Did the guy really say that the drama was a factor? A spasm, like the chill after a swallow of strong liquor, shot through Leo’s intestines. It was a spasm of fear. He guessed that maybe it could be true that he’d known on some level that the guy was a murderer, but this he’d never dreamed of. Insanity scared him. Drama? It sounded maybe not insane exactly, but certainly it was the language of the disturbed. Like “the drama” was a motivating factor in most people’s everyday decisions.
Why’d you spank your dog, Frank? Well, you know, he peed on the carpet and, plus, you know, the drama was a factor.

“Huh,” Leo said dumbly, from far away.

“Double jeopardy. You are familiar—”

“Can’t be tried for the same crime twice.”

“See, you are a good lawyer. Nothing third-rate about you.”

“But you can be tried for other crimes. Forgery, perjury, conspiracy, illegal transfer of funds, and plenty more. I’m sure it would add up to thirty years or more.”

“And who would bring the charges? You? I doubt it. You would be acknowledging that I was the second killer you’ve set free. But don’t beat yourself up over it. You can still sleep well at night. I was simply a pathetic man leading a life of quiet desperation.”

Absurdly, Leo found himself thinking of Samuel Abdul, the man who had scammed his mother out of his dead father’s insurance money. He remembered the prosecutor who put Abdul away and how he had inspired Leo to become a prosecutor too. To help people like his mother. And now it had come to this? Was this what he was about now? Was this what he had aspired to be? Christ. Could time really change a person like that?

“You needn’t worry. I won’t kill again.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” It was an empty threat, and they both knew it.

“Will you? Will you really? And when the news gets out of what you’ve done, yes, what you have done, what will happen to your beautiful new office, your fifteen retainers, your Armani jacket. Your newfound respect. Would you really be willing to sacrifice all of this? Muddy your name yet again? And for what? Me?”

Leo stared at Adam, his eyes burning with hatred. It was the hatred that can only come from being bested. Insane or not, the man had bested him.

He lowered his eyes.

“I guess there was another reason I picked you.”

And Leo lifted his eyes in time to see the office door close as Adam Lee walked out of his life forever.

When I think of the taking of a human life, I find that it bothers me only slightly. But, truth be told, I seldom think of it. Why should I? What is done—is done. I can take it back no more than the sun can take back its light. Yes, of course, I admit that I sometimes think of these things. Sometimes I think of Rachel’s dead eyes staring, accusatory, and the flies buzzing lazily around her inert form, feeding and laying eggs in pools of her coagulating blood. I think of the sound of her skull collapsing under the solid weight of lead crystal when I struck her from behind. The sound of it, wet and hard, and, I think, somehow pressurized as though the bad thoughts were finally escaping her head.

I think of Albert. I see him there in the living room as I close the door on him to leave him sealed in with the corpse of his mother, my wife, for two days. I wonder if he ever even realized that she was dead. If he did, I imagine those nights were long and dark for him. I think of Albert in his dark place, and I feel no remorse. Why should I? I did not put him there.

I think of Monty and the golden light that I stole from him, and I feel no remorse. Perhaps I should, but I do not. I feel instead a sense of pride, a sense of cunning. I feel a sense of completeness in the knowledge that life has, at long last, come full circle. Now I am the golden one. Now he is in the dark place. All debts are paid. It is as it should be.

But, as I say, I seldom think of these things. Why should I? I am a new man now. A new man with a new home. I like this new home. It is foreign and therefore familiar. The days are long and hot and sun choked. The nights are cool and pass quickly. It suits me, I think. I also find that I no longer have a taste for drama. It bores me. Or, rather, boredom excites me.

I spend a great deal of my time at the beach. In my old life, I had never seen the ocean. It is the perfect pairing of dark and light. On the beach, in the hot salty sand, the light is inescapable. There is no way to avoid it. It will suffocate you if you let it. And should you feel the sun overwhelming you, the rays forcing themselves into your mouth and down your throat, there is one convenient cure. The ocean itself. It grows darker and more oppressive the farther out you venture, so you can gauge your own needs, take only the correct dose. I once went too far out and felt the thousands of feet of dark water yawning under me, wanting to swallow me and take me down forever. Phantom fingers of cool water would reach out from the warm depths, swirl around my legs, caressing me as a demonic lover might, seducing me to come with her to her unnamed depths. Forever. I resisted.

I have met someone new. A new partner for the new man. It seemed appropriate. I, too, have desires, passions. I met her at the beach. She came up to me golden and wet, sleek and delicious. Her name is Gail. I should have known from her name. I should have known from the tingling excitement I felt in her presence. From the attraction that coursed between us—we attract what we need. We needed each other. Yes, I believe that now. I needed her. As the mouse needs the comforting, squeezing death of the snake, as the deer needs the hunter’s bullet, as the fly needs to feel the sticky grasp of the spider’s web, I needed her. And she me.