the Woods (2007) Page 18

  The student journal had talked about how she had never gotten over me. I don't flatter myself to that degree. But she had never gotten over that night. What it did to her father. What it did to her childhood.

  "Paul?"

  She was still looking out the window.

  "Yes?"

  "What do we do now?"

  "We find out what really happened in those woods."

  Chapter 22

  1 REMEMBER ON A TRIP TO ITALY SEEING TAPESTRIES THAT seem to change perspective depending on where you stand. If you move to the right, the table appears to be facing the right. If you move to the left, the table follows you. Governor Dave Markie was the human embodiment of that. When he walked into the room he had the ability to make every person feel as though he were facing and looking at them. In his youth I had seen him score with so many women, again not because of his looks, but because he seemed so interested in them. There was a hypnotic intensity in his gaze. I remember a lesbian friend at Rutgers who said, "When Dave Markie looks at you like that, heck, I'd switch teams for the night."

  He brought that into my office. Jocelyn Durels, my secretary, tittered. Loren Muses face flushed. Even the U. S. Attorney, Joan Thurston, had a smile on her face that showed me what she must have looked like when she had her first kiss in the seventh grade.

  Most would say that it was the power of the office. But I'd known him before the office. The office was a power enhancer, not creator.

  We greeted each other with a hug. I noticed that guys did that now-hugged as a greeting. I liked it, the true human contact. I don't have a lot of real friends, so the ones I do have are hugely important to me. They were specially picked, and I love every one of them.

  "You don't want all these people here," Dave whispered to me.

  We pulled back from the embrace. He had a smile on his face, but I got the message. I cleared everyone out of my office. Joan Thurston stayed behind. I knew her pretty well. The U. S. Attorney's office was right down the street. We tried to cooperate, help each other out. We had similar jurisdiction-Essex County had plenty of crime in it-but she was only interested in the big stuff. Right now that mostly meant terrorism and political corruption. When her office stumbled across other crimes, they let us handle it.

  As soon as the door closed, leaving the three of us alone, the smile slipped off Dave's face. We sat at my conference table. I was on one side. They took the other.

  "Bad?" I said.

  "Very."

  I put my hands out and gestured with my fingers for them to bring it on. Dave looked at Joan Thurston. She cleared her throat.

  "As we speak, my detectives are entering the offices of the charitable institution known as JaneCare. They have a warrant. We'll be taking records and files. I had hoped to keep it quiet, but the media already has ahold of it."

  I felt my pulse do a two-step. "This is crap."

  Neither one of them spoke.

  "It's Jenrette. He's pressuring me to go easy on his son."

  "We know," Dave said.

  So?

  He looked over at Thurston.

  "So that doesn't make the charges untrue."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Jenrette's investigators went places where we never would. They found improprieties. They brought them to the attention of one of my best people. My guy did more digging. We tried to keep it quiet. We know what charges can do to a charity."

  I didn't like where this was going. "You found something?"

  "Your brother-in-law has been skimming."

  "Bob? No way."

  "He's diverted at least a hundred grand."

  "To what?"

  She handed me two sheets of paper. I scanned down them.

  "Your brother-in-law is putting in a pool, right?"

  I said nothing.

  "Fifty grand was given to Marston Pools in various payments and listed here as a building expansion. Did JaneCare have a building expansion?" I said nothing. "Another almost thirty grand was given to Barry's Landscaping. The expense is listed as beautifying the surrounding areas." Our office was half a converted two-house dwelling in downtown Newark. There were no plans to expand or beautify. We didn't need more space. We were concentrating on raising money for treatments and cures. That had been our focus. I saw too much abuse in the charity system, what with fund-raising expenses far outpacing the amount that went into the good works. Bob and I had talked about that. We had the same vision.

  I felt sick.

  Dave said, "We can't play favorites. You know that."

  "I do," I said.

  "And even if we wanted to keep it quiet for friendship's sake, we couldn't. The media has been tipped off. Joan here is about to hold a press conference."

  "Are you going to arrest him?"

  "Yes."

  "When?"

  She looked at Dave. "He's in custody now. We picked him up an hour ago." I thought about Greta. I thought about Madison. A pool. Bob had stolen from my wife's charity to build a goddamn pool.

  "You spared him the perp walk?"

  "No. They're going to run him through the gauntlet in about ten minutes. I'm here as a friend, but we both agreed we would go after cases like this. I can't play favorites."

  I nodded. We had agreed. I didn't know what to think.

  Dave rose. Joan Thurston followed. "Get him somebody good, Cope. It's going to be ugly, I think."

  I flicked on the TV and watched Bob's perp walk. No, it wasn't carried live on CNN or Fox, but News 12 New Jersey, our local twenty-four-hour news station, carried it. There would be pictures in all the big Jersey papers like the Star-Ledger and the Bergen Record. Some of the local major network affiliates might run something, though I doubted it.

  The perp walk lasted seconds. Bob was cuffed. He didn't duck his head. He looked, as so many do, dazed and childlike. I felt nauseous. I called Greta at home and on her cell. No answer. I left messages on both.

  Muse sat with me throughout. When they moved on to another story, she said, "That sucked."

  "It did."

  "You should ask Flair to rep him."

  "Conflict of interest."

  "Why? Because of this case?"

  "Yes."

  "I don't see how. They're unconnected."

  "His clients father, EJ Jenrette, started the investigation."

  "Oh, right." She sat back. "Damn."

  I said nothing.

  "You in the mood to talk about Gil Perez and your sister?"

  "I am."

  "As you know, twenty years ago they found their ripped clothes and blood in the woods." I nodded.

  "All the blood was O positive. So were both of the missing. Four out often people are, so it's not that surprising. They didn't have DNA tests back then, so there was no way to know for certain. I checked. Even if we rush it, the DNA tests will take a minimum of three weeks. Probably longer."

  I was only half listening. I kept flashing to Bob, to his face during that prep walk. I thought about Greta, sweet, kind Greta, and how this was going to destroy her. I thought about my wife, my Jane, how this namesake charity was about to be leveled. I had set it up as a memorial to the wife I'd failed in life. Now, again, I had failed her.

  "Plus with DNA tests, we need something to compare it to. We could use your blood for your sister, but we'd need a member of the Perez family to cooperate too."

  "What else?"

  "You don't really need the DNA on Perez."

  "Why's that?"

  "Farrell Lynch finished the age progression."

  She handed me two photographs. The first was the morgue shot of Manolo Santiago. The second was the age-progression shot derived from the photograph I'd given her of Gil Perez.

  A total match.

  "Wow," I said.

  "I got you the address for Perez's parents." She handed mea slip of paper. I looked at it. They lived in Park Ridge. Less than an hour from here. "Are you going to confront them?" Muse asked me.

  Yes.
>
  "You want me to go?"

  I shook my head. Lucy had already insisted on joining me. That would be enough.

  "I also have a thought," she said.

  "What's that?"

  "The technology in finding buried bodies is much better now than it was twenty years ago. Do you remember Andrew Barrett?"

  "Lab guy at John Jay? Talkative and strange."

  "And a genius. Right, that's him. Anyway, he's probably the country's top expert with this new ground-penetrating radar machine. He pretty much invented it and claims he can cover a lot of ground quickly."

  "The area is too large."

  "But we can try some of it, right? Look, Barrett is dying to try this new baby out. He says he needs the fieldwork." "You already talked to him?" "Sure, why not?" I shrugged. "You're the investigator." I glanced back at the TV. They were already replaying Bob's perp walk. He looked even more pathetic this time. My hands tightened into fists.

  "Cope?"

  I looked at her.

  "We gotta go to court," she said.

  I nodded, rose without speaking. She opened the door. A few minutes later, I spotted EJ Jenrette in the lobby. He was purposely standing in my path. He was also grinning at me.

  Muse stopped and tried to steer me. "Lets move to the left. We can go in through-"

  No. I kept walking straight. Rage consumed me. Muse rushed to catch up with my steps. EJ Jenrette stayed still, watching my approach.

  Muse put a hand on my shoulder. "Cope'a"

  I didn't break stride. "I'm fine."

  EJ kept grinning. I met his eye. He stayed in my path. I walked up and stopped so that our faces were inches apart. The idiot was still grinning at me.

  "I warned you," EJ said.

  I matched his grin and leaned in very close.

  "The word has been passed around," I said.

  "What?"

  "Any inmate who gets Little Edward to service him receives preferential treatment. Your boy is going to be the bitch of his block." I walked away without waiting for a reaction. Muse stumbled after me.

  "That was classy," she said. I kept moving. It was a false threat, of course ' the sins of the father should never fall to the son-but if that image stuck when EJ laid his head on his goose-down pillow, so be it.

  Muse jumped in front of me. "You gotta calm down, Cope."

  "I forget, Muse-are you my investigator or my shrink?"

  She put her hands up in a surrender gesture and let me pass. I sat at my seat and waited for the judge. What the hell had Bob been thinking? Some days, court is about sound and fury signifying nothing. This was one of them. Flair and Mort knew that they were in deep trouble. They wanted to exclude the pornographic DVD because we hadn't produced it earlier. They tried for a mistrial. They made motions and handed in findings and research and papers. Their interns and paralegals must have been up all night.

  Judge Pierce listened, the bushy eyebrows low. He had his hand on his chin and looked very, well, judicial. He did not comment. He used terms like "under advisement." I wasn't worried. They had nothing. But a thought began to worm its way in and gnaw. They had gone after me. They had gone after me hard.

  Might they not do the same with the judge?

  I watched his face. It gave away nothing. I looked at his eyes, looked for some sort of telltale sign that he wasn't sleeping. There was nothing there, but that didn't mean anything.

  We finished up by three p.m. I went back to my office and checked my messages. Nothing from Greta. I called her again. Still no answer. I tried Bob's cell too. More nothing. I left a message.

  I looked at those two photographs-the aged Gil Perez, the dead Manolo Santiago. Then I called Lucy. She picked up on the first ring. "Hey," Lucy answered. And unlike last night, there was a lilt in her voice. I was thrown back again.

  "Hey."

  There was a weird, almost happy pause.

  "I got the address for Mr. and Mrs. Perez," I said. "I want to take another run at them."

  "When?"

  "Now. They don't live far from you. I can pick you up on the way."

  "I'll be ready."

  Chapter 23

  Lucy looked fabulous. She wore a green snug pullover that clung exactly as it should. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. She tucked a strand behind her ear. She wore glasses tonight, and I liked the way they looked. As soon as she got into the car, Lucy checked out the CDs. "Counting Crows," she said. "August and Everything After""You like it?"

  "Best debut of the past two decades."

  I nodded.

  She slid it into the slot. "Round Here" came on. We drove and listened. When Adam Duritz sang about a woman saying you should take a shot, that her walls were crumbling, I risked a glance. Lucy's eyes were wet.

  "You okay?"

  "What other CDs you got?"

  "What do you want?"

  "Something hot and sexy."

  "Meat Loaf." I lifted the CD case into view. "A little 'Bat Out of Hell'" "Oh my," she said. "You remember?"

  "I rarely travel without it."

  "God, you always were a hopeless romantic," she said.

  "How about a little 'Paradise By The Dashboard Light'?"

  "Yes, but skip to the part where she makes him promise to love her forever before she gives it up."

  "Gives it up," I repeated. "Love that phrase."

  She turned so her body faced me. "What line did you use on me?"

  "Probably my patented seducer."

  "Which is?"

  I put a whine in my voice. "Please? Come on, pretty please?"

  She laughed.

  "Hey, it worked on you."

  'PSBut I'm easy.'Y=

  "Right, forgot that."

  She playfully slapped my arm. I smiled. She turned away. We listened to Meat Loaf in silence for a little while. "Cope?" "What?" "You were my first." I almost slammed on the brakes. "I know I pretended otherwise. My father and I and that whole crazy free-love lifestyle. But I never. You were my first. You were the first man I ever loved."

  The silence was heavy.

  "Of course, after you, I boinked everybody."

  I shook my head, looked to my right. She was smiling again.

  I made the right turn per the perky voice of my navigation system.

  The Perezes lived in a condo development in Park Ridge.

  "Are they expecting us?" Lucy asked.

  No.

  "How do you know they're home?" she asked.

  "I called right before I picked you up. My number comes up private on caller ID. When I heard Mrs. Perez answer, I disguised my voice and asked for Harold. She said I had the wrong number. I said I was sorry and hung up."

  "Wow, you're good at this."

  "I try to remain humble."

  We headed out of the car. The property was neatly landscaped. The air was syrupy with some kind of blossom. I couldn't place it. Lilacs maybe. The smell was too strong, cloying, like someone had spilled cheap shampoo.

  Before I knocked, the door opened. It was Mrs. Perez. She did not say hi or offer up much of a greeting. She looked at me with hooded eyes and waited.

  "We need to talk," I said.

  Her eyes moved toward Lucy. "Who are you?"

  "Lucy Silverstein," she said.

  Mrs. Perez closed her eyes. "Ira's daughter."

  "Yes."

  Her shoulders seemed to sag.

  "Maybe come in?" I said.

  "If I say no?"

  I met her eye. "I'm not letting this go."

  "What go? That man was not my son."

  "Please," I said. "Five minutes."

  Mrs. Perez sighed and stepped back. We entered. The shampoo smell was even stronger in here. Too strong. She closed the door and led us to a couch.

  "Is Mr. Perez home?"

  "No."

  There were noises coming from one of the bedrooms. In the corner were some cardboard boxes. The inscription on the side indicated that they were medical supplies. I looked around the room. Everyth
ing, other than those boxes, was so in place, so coordinated, you would swear they bought the model unit.

  The unit had a fireplace. I stood and walked over to the mantel. There were family photographs. I looked at them. There were no pictures of the Perez parents. There were no pictures of Gil. The mantel was full of images of people I assumed to be Gil's two brothers and one sister.

  One brother was in a wheelchair.

  "That's Tomas," she said, pointing to a picture of the smiling boy in the wheelchair graduating from Kean University. "He has CP. Do you know what that is?"

  "Cerebral palsy."

  "Yes."

  "How old is he?"

  "Tomas is thirty-three now."

  "And who's that?"

  "Eduardo," she said. Her expression said not to press it. Eduardo looked like a hard case. I remembered Gil telling me that his brother was a gang member or something, but I didn't believe it.

  I pointed to the girl. "I remember Gil talking about her," I said. "She was, what, two years older? I remember he said that she was trying to get into college or something."

  "Glenda is a lawyer," Mrs. Perez said, and her chest puffed out. "She went to Columbia Law School."

  "Really? So did I," I said.

  Mrs. Perez smiled. She moved back to the couch. "Tomas lives in the unit next door. We knocked down a common wall."

  "He can live on his own?"

  "I take care of him. We also have nursing."

  "Is he home now?"

  "Yes."

  I nodded, sat back down. I didn't know why I cared about that. I wondered though. Did he know about his brother, about what had happened to him, about where he'd been the past twenty years?

  Lucy had not left her seat. She remained quiet, letting me take the lead. She was soaking in everything, studying the house, probably put ting on her psychology suit.

  Mrs. Perez looked at me. "Why are you here?"

  "The body we found belonged to Gil."

  "I already explained to you-"

  I held up the manila envelope.

  "What's that?"

  I reached in and slipped out the top photograph. It was the old one, from camp. I put it on the coffee table. She stared down at the image of her son. I watched her face to see the reaction. Nothing seemed to move or change, or maybe it was just happening so subtly that I couldn't see the transformation. One moment she looked okay. Then, seamlessly, everything collapsed. The mask cracked, laying the devastation bare.