The Last Innocent

by Rebekah Strong

  On the wall hung several pictures of him and the dead Senator in hunting plaid during better times. Three more showed him smiling next to three consecutive former presidents.

  Duncan interlocked his fingers on the desk and leaned forward. “No, we never had a dialogue with them. I’m sure we sent them some sort of correspondence as a matter of policy, we might have called but that’s it. Just so we could say we tried. We wanted the bill to be a bi-partisan victory, but they were pretty dead set against it,” he said.

  “So, you didn’t do business with One World.” Luke sprawled in a guest chair immediately upon entering. He had one leg thrown up on the desk making Duncan visibly uncomfortable.

  Duncan scowled, “They didn’t want anything to do with us. We stand for conservative values. They’re extremely liberal.”

  "Barty, why was the Senator at that apartment?” Luke abruptly shifted topics. At the same he snapped upright in his chair. The sharp movement made the older man jump.

  The campaign manager scowled at being called 'Barty'. “I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought.” He spoke so softly Luke leaned in to hear.

  “Really?” Luke stood and walked to the windows that lined the inner walls of the small office. He watched the movers loading furniture and electronics into the panel truck out front. “You mean to tell me that you’ve known Cecil Twomey for twenty years, managed four election campaigns, and you still had no idea he liked em young?”

  Barty fell silent. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. “I always had my…I suspected something. Sometimes wisdom lies in ignorance.”

  “Wisdom? I think the word ‘convenience’ plugs into that sentence better, Barty boy.” Luke moved to the edge of Duncan’s desk and bent down well inside the man’s personal space.

  Barty flinched on cue. Luke stayed far enough away to keep the sweat off him, but too close for comfort. The best way to unnerve someone was invading their personal space. Luke liked his targets off balance. Nervous people made mistakes.

  “Who took those pictures, Barty? How did they get to your boss?”

  Barty slid down in his seat. He ran his hand over the bald spot on the back of his head, panting. “I don’t…don’t know.”

  “I know you have some thoughts on the matter, Barty. Nobody knew him like you. Nobody. Who was trying to bring him down?”

  “The Senator is dead, okay. We lost a dedicated public servant. He killed himself for Christ’s sake. Why can’t you people leave him alone?”

  “Because it’s my job.” Every time Barty pushed back in his seat to get away, Luke leaned in closer.

  “What else do you need to know? It’s done. It doesn’t matter now,” Barty was almost hysterical.

  “All that matters right now is what I don’t know. For example, I don’t know if you’re going to cooperate, or if you’re going to jail for impeding a federal investigation.”

  Any color in left in Duncan's blotchy faced drained.

  “Now tell me again how you had no idea.” Luke’s smile was cold as he stood up straight and moved away.

  Barty sucked in air like Luke released him from a chokehold. “I didn’t know,” the words were barely perceptible.

  “Didn’t catch that,” Luke started leaning in again.

  Barty leaped up and crossed to the room anxious to put space between them. “I swear to you.”

  “You knew about the girls.”

  “Yes. I suspected, but I never asked. There are some questions you don’t ask.”

  “Huh, you’d think a campaign manager would want to know something like that,” Luke said to Thad.

  “Unless he was doing it too,” Thad answered.

  Barty’s eyes darted between them. “Everybody does it,” he blurted out angrily. “Clinton, Weiner, Spitzer. They’re just the ones that got caught. Do you have any idea what goes on behind the political curtain?

  “It’s not the secret you muckety-mucks seem to think it is,” Luke said.

  Barty mustered a little courage. “Look, these guys make this country tick. So what if they indulge in little pleasure? It’s not my job to be their mommy.”

  “No, it’s your job to lie for them,” said Thad making sure Barty heard him.

  “Whatever. Everybody lies. I don’t expect you to understand the complexities of governing.”

  “You know what I don’t understand?” Luke advanced on Barty again. “Your behavior since your boy died.”

  “What?” The sweaty man's eyes rounded.

  “People always drone on and on about how they never thought their friend would commit suicide. That they would never do that. I’m not hearing it out of you.” Luke closed in causing Barty to scurry back to the relative safety of his desk.

  “What do you mean?”

  Luke eyed Barty as he collapsed back into his chair and feigned boredom. "I have no idea what you're talking about. This sounds like desperation to me."

  “Is that what you think?” Luke leaned in putting one hand on the desk and the other on the back of the man’s chair.

  Barty pressed his lips together. “My friend and colleague is dead, Agent Marshall. He killed himself. I don’t know what you're hoping to accomplish here, but you should have more respect."

  Luke straightened and studied him.

  “I wish I could help you more. I really do,” Barty's voice trembled as he tried to sound dismissive, “but I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Luke reached into his pocket and flicked a business card onto the desk. “I bet you do. We’ll be in touch.”

  An oppressive blast hit the men as soon as they left the cool office. Luke yanked his tie off and scowled at the cloudless sky. God, he hated the heat.

  “What do you think, Boss?” Thad threw his jacket in the back seat of the car and slammed the door.

  “I think he’s a liar.”

  “Why didn’t you ask about the phone?”

  “Never play all your cards at once, kid. Go back to the office and dig up every bit of dirt you can on Duncan, Twomey and this One World outfit. I need a connection.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see what One World’s gonna try selling me.”

  EIGHT

  Tully walked by the dusty ‘seat yourself’ sign and past a long bar crowded with locals. She didn’t slow. Not to let her eyes adjust to the dim or to answer the calls of congratulations and ‘atta girl’ coming from people she hardly recognized. She spent way too much time here.

  European soccer flags, a chandelier strung with thigh high stockings and a taxidermy alligator hung from the hewn beam ceiling. Opposite the bar, police memorabilia covered the old brick wall. Photos of smiling police officers and friends rained down smiles and victory signs on patrons. Cigarette smoke curled up past no smoking signs.

  In the back, a group sat around several tables pushed together by the galley doors. They were all squinting up at an old man wearing a crisp white apron over a rumpled blue and pink Hawaiian shirt. His hair was white and his waistline thick, but his Irish accent had lost none of its vigor.

  “…Sou then, three flies buzz right over and land one, two, three in each of the pints,” he said. “Right, so the Englishman looks disgusted and pushes his pint away demandin’ another. The Scot picks out the fly, shrugs and takes a long swalla. The Irishman, now he reaches in the glass, grabs the fly and shakes him as hard as he can yellin, ‘Spit it out, ya bloody bastard! Spit it out!’”.

  The group around the table howled with laughter as the barkeep turned to watch Tully. A grin split his broad face. “Tully, Love. How ware ya?” He grabbed her in a tight hug.

  She wrapped her arms around his thick shoulders and squeezed. “Hi, Only. I’m fine. You?”

  “I could be no better, now you’re here.”

  “New material?”

  “Gotta keep things fresh round here, Love. Yare usual?”

  “Double it up for me.”

  “Tough day, eh? You got it, Love.” Only hurried back to th
e bar. As he squeezed behind the polished walnut bar top, the rowdy group started pounding the table. Tully flipped them off with a smile and hung up her brown leather jacket. She wore a white V-neck tee, torn skinny jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. Her battered S&W .386 Nightguard was nestled in the small of her back.

  Squeezing Pete’s shoulder, she slid into the empty seat. “Ya'll got here fast,” she said turning to the huge man sitting next to her and bumping him with her elbow. “Hey, Jules.”

  “Hey, Tull.” He bumped her back. “We didn’t have a photo-op with every muckety muck in the city.”

  “That was the most tedious thing I have ever done,” she answered.

  “So, is it hard to walk with all those medals on your uniform?” A brown-haired guy on the other side leaned forward to address Tully.

  “Shut up, Bret. You can’t walk two feet without walking into something. Without any medals,” the pretty brunette beside him snapped.

  Tully grinned down the table. Bret and Jessica started a shoving match as Only deposited a tall glass of honey colored elixir in front of her. “Not when her balls are bigger than yares,” he interrupted.

  “Ouch. Ow, stop it.” Brett stopped fighting. Jessica looked disappointed.

  “Thanks, Only,” said Tully. She drained half the glass in a single gulp then winced when the burn hit. Only winked at her and walked away.

  “Why do you call him Only?” A young man on the other side of Jules asked no one in particular.

  The huge Samoan man immediately slapped him across the back of the head. “Because he’s the only Irishman in the city that hasn’t kicked us out of their pub, Jimmy,” said Julius. “If you’re gonna hang with us, you better learn the important stuff, Rookie.”

  “Maybe somebody else should be his training officer then,” Jessica shot at Jules. She grinned at Tully and shook her dark curls. “What is that saying about the blind leading the blind?”

  “That’s rich coming from you, Jess,” said Bret. “Your little protégé won’t answer up for a report call even if it's next door. He parks his man-scaped ass behind the nearest shopping plaza and Netflixes all night. Maybe the next time you and your boy toy are making out, you could tell him to start pulling his weight.”

  She grinned, “If I can pull my tongue out of his mouth long enough maybe I will.”

  Bret choked on his drink.

  “So, the mayor was really kissing your ass.” Jules lifted his beer as he looked at Tully.

  “Well, he had to tell me how much of a hero we are, and how he supports the police so much he amazes himself.” Tully took another drink and relaxed a little more.

  Jules snorted. “And by ‘support’ he means cut our pay and benefits.”

  “Just gearing up for the fall campaign.”

  “Obviously,” said Jimmy.

  “Shut up, Rookie,” snapped Jules threatening to slap the back of his head again. “You’ve been a cop for like two minutes.”

  “Better than two centuries, old man.” Jimmy dodged Jules’ slow swing and laughed. “Bring it, old man. I haven’t been in a good fight since last night.”

  Jules went back to his beer. “Whatever. That girl kicked your ass.”

  Tully laughed, grateful the day was over. The tightness in her back released as warmth from the whiskey spread through her muscles. The crushing media attention hadn’t let up in the two weeks since she caught the Stone Mill rapist and she was tired.

  She drained her glass and caught Pete’s eye. He'd said nothing since she arrived. She kicked him under the table. “How’s the baby?” Awkward, but she had to say something. They’d said so little to each other over the last two weeks.

  “Still teething. I can’t stay long,” he said looking down at his watch. He rubbed his face. “If Melissa doesn’t get some sleep soon she’s gonna divorce me. Or kill me in my sleep. Not sure which.”

  Tully saw the dark circles under his eyes. Pete never stayed long. He was always in a rush to get home to his family and his bed. She smiled. “Don’t pretend like you mind.”

  Pete’s eyes appeared above his hands, and he finally smiled. Tully felt a relief even the whiskey couldn’t give.

  “It’s not like he had anything to do with catching them,” Jimmy said deep in conversation with the other three.

  “That’s not going keep him from taking the credit come fall,” said Bret.

  “Anybody running for office is going to be all over this. It’s the perfect platform. He’ll claim he acted decisively to protect his constituents.” Jessica shrugged. “I would.”

  “You need to knock it off with the big words. Constitu…” Bret lit a cigarette and stuck it in her direction.

  She knocked it away. “Crack a book, Bret.”

  “Didn’t he know the family?” ask Jimmy.

  “Nobody cares,” said Jules. “A fart in the wind,”

  “Bet voters won’t forget so easily,” Jimmy answered.

  “Sure they will,” Tully said as she tried to get the last drop out of her glass and set it down. It was immediately replaced with a full one by a beaming Only. “When it comes up, he’ll distance himself from his friends. And they’ll let him do it.”

  “Yeah, but everybody knows,” Jimmy came back.

  “It’s not the Mayor’s fault,” said Jessica. “How could he have known his golf buddy’s son was a violent rapist? As much as I hate the guy,” she answered her own question, “that's not possible.”

  “That’s pretty bleak. This job makes you that cynical?”

  “Shut it, Rookie.” Julius stuck a straw in his mouth like a piece of hay.

  Tully leaned in so she could see the young man with sleek combed hair. “Cynicism is what everybody calls it kid, but when you’re a cop it’s observation. You don’t ever really know someone. Cops are the only ones who’ll admit it.” She smiled at Pete. He hesitated, then gave her an uncomfortable smile.

  “It’s kinda hard not to when you have such a clear view of the carnage,” Bret said, yanking Tully back to the conversation.

  “Jules,” Tully turned to her hulking friend, “how many times do you go to someone’s house and they just know all these things about their family member. Their kid would never do that. Their spouse would never cheat on them.”

  “Once a week, minimum.”

  Jimmy pursed his lips but didn’t say anything.

  Jessica piped up. “One time I had a crazy chick swear to me her husband had been abducted, robbed, killed or whatever. He’d been gone for three days and she knew he was dead in a ditch somewhere. She ‘just knew’,” Jessica curled her fingers into air quotes, “that he would never leave her. She was offended when I hinted at it.”

  Tully tucked her left leg underneath and pushed down on her knee to stretch her hip. Pete watched and scowled but continued his silence as Jess spoke.

  “He called us three days later from Vegas when it got back to him that his wife reported him missing. Turns out he was there with his twenty-two-year-old girlfriend who he’d been banging since she was eighteen.”

  “So? He’s a good liar,” said Jimmy.

  “They were married for thirty years. If anybody could figure out when he was lying, you’d think it would the person that knew him best, right?” Jessica said.

  “Wrong,” chimed in Brett.

  “All that proves is people are idiots.” Jimmy twirled his glass looking at the water ring on the tabletop.

  “She was a PhD,” said Jess, “in physics. She taught at Tech for fifteen years.”

  “Oh,” Jimmy said. His expression fell. When he couldn’t think of a response, he chugged his beer.

  “The point is if someone is trying to hide something, you ain't gonna figure it out. Period,” finished Jess.

  “Are you going to let anybody else get a word in edgewise?” Bret swung the stump of his cigarette back towards her. She slapped it way again.

  “Even the people closest to you can make you believe any lie they want? I take back what I sai
d before. That’s bleak,” Jimmy sounded deflated.

  “Why do you think I’ve been married four times,” Jules elbowed Jimmy.

  “It’s not really a lie is it?” Tully twirled the ice in her glass. Everyone looked at her except Pete who studied his beer.

  “Sorry?” Jimmy leaned forward.

  “They’re not lies. At least not all of them. Just because someone hides something about themselves, it doesn’t mean the rest of their life is untrue.”

  “Now there’s a concept,” Brett looked amused.

  Tully ignored him, “Look, kid, you learn quick that only half of what you see is the truth. Everybody, and I mean everybody, has secrets. Things we don’t want anyone to know about, but that doesn’t make everything else a lie. It’s usually something harmless, like Bret’s third nipple…”

  Bret grabbed his chest and feigned horror, “I told you that in confidence.”

  “But it doesn’t make you less of a stud, Bret.” Jess rolled her eyes.

  Tully continued, “Then again sometimes it’s more serious. You remember the triple homicide last year?”

  Everybody nodded except Jimmy, who shook his head.

  “The two little kids and their mom shot in the house?”

  Jimmy gave a nod of recognition. He’d heard about it. Everyone had.

  “I got there first. I saw the twin eight-year olds shot in the head, and mommy’s throat sliced open. Dad was missing. We frantically tried to find him because we thought he was probably a victim too. Everybody we talked to swore up and down and fucking sideways they had the perfect marriage. Both the wife and husband’s families were ready to stake their lives on it. Right up until Daddy dearest shot himself in cheap motel room in Vegas.”

  Jimmy didn’t take his eyes off her.

  “I think he did love his wife and kids,” Tully said. “I don’t know how you convince so many people if it isn’t true. But his demons were real too. Unfortunately for his wife and kids, he was really good at hiding them. Most of the time the two realities can coexist, but occasionally they can’t.”