But first things first. He slipped out of his bedroom and crept downstairs, dressed quickly in his cold kitchen, pulled on his boots and coat, and left, making sure the door was locked behind him. As he drove his smashed-up truck toward town he realized that he probably shouldn’t just show up where he was headed unannounced. There were rumors, persistent rumors that Miller ignored because it wasn’t any of his business. Who was he to care what two grown people did behind closed doors? Still, he didn’t want to cause any trouble. He was, after all, persona non grata in her circle. So he dug out his cell phone and dialed her number. She didn’t answer, and he didn’t want to leave a message on her machine, so he hung up and continued to drive toward her place. She lived alone in a large apartment on the top floor of a house on Lewis Street, a residential area comprised of a collection of a half dozen quiet blocks out by the hospital. The house was a three-story nautical with large front windows and worn gray shingles. Miller pulled to a stop in front of it and saw that her windows were lit, that her car was parked in the driveway. He took out his cell phone and dialed her number again. Still no answer. He hung up, waited a moment, looking toward her windows. The light inside her place was dim, the warm, summery glow of candlelight dancing against her walls. Miller decided finally that there wasn’t time now to be delicate. Lives were at stake, maybe even his. Her car was the only car on the gravel drive that ran the length of the house, so he had no choice but to assume that she was alone. There was of course the chance that she wasn’t, that they were careful about their meetings, as careful as they should be, and that the man’s car had been quite wisely parked elsewhere. Still, Miller didn’t care. The trouble and embarrassment his knocking on her door might cause everyone involved was nothing compared to the life of the next kid. He was certain there’d be another victim, if one wasn’t already floating facedown in some bay somewhere. Or about to be. Just to be careful, he drove down the street half a block, parked on the far side of her next-door neighbor’s house, and shut off the engine. He got out and crossed the front lawn, the ground beneath his feet frozen solid, and rang her doorbell.
There was an intercom system. Miller looked at the speaker, expecting to hear her voice come from it. Instead, the hard buzzer sounded almost immediately. He entered, walked up the two flights of stairs, and knocked on her apartment door.
From inside, a muffled “Come in.” She was obviously at the back of the apartment. Miller opened the door, stepped in, and called, “Hello.”
“Back here.” Her voice was less muffled now but still sounded far away. The apartment was so large, and a year-round rental. Miller wondered how she afforded it on a cop’s salary.
“Kay, it’s me,” Miller said. He closed the door and walked into the center of the front door. Half a dozen candles were burning, and soft jazz—muted trumpet and piano—was playing on the stereo. Miller looked down the long, darkened hall that led to the back of the apartment. The hall itself was nearly as wide as a room. At the end of it was an open doorway, also wide, beyond which stood a bed. Covered with a plush white comforter and a half dozen pillows, it had a brass headboard and was higher off the ground than most beds Miller had ever seen. He walked to the hallway and called again, “Hello—” or started to, anyway. Before he could finish the word, he saw her.
She was standing in the doorway, wearing a tight-fitting white tank top and nothing else. The hem of the shirt stopped well above her belly button. Miller’s eyes went to her naked lower half. He couldn’t help it. He saw skin, tanned legs, though that was probably from the candles that burned in the bedroom. He also saw a narrow patch of dark hair. He looked away fast—it was his second reflex, the first being, despite himself, to look, to see—just as she realized he was not the man for whom her presentation was intended. From the corner of his eyes Miller saw her move quickly away from the door. A half minute later she reappeared, wearing a dark silk robe, pulling tight the sash around her waist.
“What are you doing here, Tommy?” Barton said.
“I’m sorry, Kay. I called out, thought you recognized my voice.”
She remained in the doorway. If she was embarrassed, she didn’t show it. Cool, always cool, that was Barton. A stray hair hung in front of her eyes. She brushed it away calmly. Miller stood frozen at the other end of the hall, his cheeks flush.
“I tried to call, on the phone,” he said, “but you didn’t answer.”
“Yeah, I know. What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“I need a favor, Kay.” He could barely look at her.
“It’s not really a good time.”
“It’s important.”
“What’s wrong?” There was concern in her voice. She was, after all, the closest thing to family that he had left. It was a role she had always seemed more than willing to take very seriously.
“I need to ask you about something.”
“Can it wait till tomorrow?”
“Not really.”
“What happened to your head?” She could see the bandage clearly in the dim light. Like her skin, it glowed with an amber color, standing out in contrast to his dark head of hair.
Miller touched the bandage with the tips of his fingers, had almost forgotten it was there. “Nothing,” he said.
“Are you okay?” It was more of a demand than a question. “I just need some help, Kay.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“I’m not sure.”
She waited a moment, watching him, then took a few steps forward and said, “Where’s your truck parked?”
“Down the street, past your neighbor’s house. I figured better safe than sorry.”
She knew what he meant by that and nodded to show her appreciation.
“We only have a few minutes,” she said. “If he sees you here, he’ll have a fit.”
“Let him.”
“You don’t need that, Tommy. Neither do I. Tell me what is it you want.” She stood with her long arms hanging at her sides. Miller could see the veins in her strong hands, remembered how her hands had taken his and held them several times during the day he buried his father. He looked at her face then. His embarrassment had pretty much passed. Her long hair was up in a ponytail. Still damp, it shimmered. Miller smelled perfume, and there was a degree of humidity and warmth in the air, from the shower or bath she had taken not too long ago.
Miller said, “There’s a bar in Hampton Bays, called the Water’s Edge. Have you heard of it?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s by the canal.”
“What can you tell me about it?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just do, Kay. Please just tell me.”
She shrugged, then said, “It’s owned by a man named Jorge something.”
“Jorge what?”
“Castello, I think. He owns it through a company, which owns another company, which owns another company, and so on. Somewhere down the line, though, it ends at his feet.”
“It used to be a hotel at one time, right?”
“Yeah, from what I’m told. A while back, though.”
“The few times I’ve been there, there were more cars in the parking lot than I could account for by the number of people drinking at the bar. I got the feeling that maybe something was going on somewhere else inside that building, maybe upstairs.”
“You always were a clever guy.”
“What goes on there, Kay?”
“What do you think?”
“Sex. Prostitution.”
“Yeah, among other things.”
“You know about it?”
“Yeah.”
“The other cops know about it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why is it still up and running?”
“Why do you think?”
“Because someone wants it to be. Someone with influence.”
Barton nodded.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. And even if I did I’m not sure I’d tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know why you want to know any of this.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because it does, Tommy. Because I know you. You’re too eager for trouble. It’s like a crusade or something with you.”
“I’m not eager for trouble, Kay.”
“Then why do you care what goes on at the Water’s Edge?”
“I talked to a woman who worked there. One of the bartenders. Next thing I knew, someone was trying to run me off the road.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Where?”
“On Montauk Highway. Outside The Still.”
“That was you?”
Miller nodded.
“You okay?” she said. It was a demand, but said softly this time.
“I’m fine.”
“What was this woman’s name?”
“Colette Auster.”
Barton nodded at that, then said, “Why were you talking to her?”
“I was trying to find something out.”
“What?”
“It’s not important.”
“You’re working for that friend of yours, aren’t you? That Gregor guy.”
“No.”
“You’re a rotten liar, Tommy.”
“I’m not lying.”
“What is it with you and him?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you always trying to impress him?”
“I’m not trying to impress him, Kay.”
“It looks that way to me, to everyone.”
“I just want to work for him, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Because I do.”
“You’re too old for that answer, Tommy. And you already have a job. You’ve got your parents’ money. Why do you want to do the kind of work he does?”
“I have my reasons.”
“I’d love to hear them.”
“Why are you doing what you’re doing, Kay?”
“What do you mean?”
“With him. This affair thing. You’re beautiful, you’re smart. Why are you sleeping with Roffman?”
“What makes you think I’m with him?”
“Kay, c’mon.”
“Anyway, it’s not the same thing, Tommy.”
“You’re a glorified chauffeur—his chauffeur. You were the head of your class, for Christ’s sake. Is this all you want?”
“It’s not about what I want.”
“You’re a real cop, Kay.”
“You should go now, Tommy.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” He paused, then said, “He’s married.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt, either, Tommy. People say things about your friend. None of it’s good.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the thing about talk, it’s rarely good. I’m sure you’ve heard things about me that weren’t all that easy to hear.”
“Is that why you want to work for him? To try to make up for the things you’ve done?”
Miller said nothing.
Barton looked down. Miller knew she was looking at his bad knee. Then she looked up at his face again. He knew what was coming next.
“He did that to you, didn’t he. Your friend Gregor. Or Ned, or whatever his name is. He’s the one who tore up your knee, right?”
Miller nodded. “He took away your future. I’d think you’d hate him.”
“I did, for a long time.”
“But you don’t anymore?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I used to hurt people, Kay. I used to hurt women. We had a club, back in high school, a bunch of us jocks, a stupid club. Girls who wanted to belong to it had to go through an initiation. It got out of control. It got out of control pretty fast.”
“How did it get out of control?”
“There was no stopping us. There was no stopping me. I was a blue-chip athlete, I was college bound. People would let us get away with everything. My father, the other cops in town, my coach, the teachers, everyone. It went to my head.”
“You were a kid.”
“I was seventeen. I knew what I was doing.”
“How did he end up hurting your knee?”
“Ned came out of nowhere one night, found us with a girl. He beat the crap out of me and two of my friends. Three high school football players, and he just tore us to pieces.”
“And that’s when he broke your knee?”
“Yeah.”
“On purpose.”
Miller nodded. “I didn’t give him much of a choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“I said some things, made some threats. I was a punk. You’ve got to know that. I told him that I’d come back when he wasn’t around and hurt the girl. He did it to stop me from hurting her, or anyone, ever again.”
Barton thought about all that, nodding, then said, “What did your father do? To Ned, after he hurt you? I’m sure he didn’t just let him get away with what he did.”
“He reacted exactly as you’d expect him to. He made Ned’s life a living hell, for over a year. If Ned had run a stop sign, my father would have climbed all over him. He hated Ned. We both did. But Ned walked the line. He accepted that as the consequences for what he did to me, accepted it without complaint.”
“You make him out to sound like some kind of a hero.”
Miller shrugged. “He saved my life, Kay.”
“I think your vision of him might be a little clouded, Tommy.”
“I wouldn’t be who I am right now if it weren’t for him,” Miller said.
“It’s as simple as that. You wouldn’t like me if it weren’t for him.”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t know, Kay. I was a monster. I mean it, I was a monster. It took me a long time to see that. You have a lot of time to think when you’re stretched out on your back in the hospital. I began to see everything differently. I’m not blaming anyone, because I made my choices, but they drill aggression into you, they tell you to take what you want, on the field and off, and then they protect you from the consequences. I fell for all of that. I believed everything was just mine for the taking. I wouldn’t have ever thought otherwise if Ned hadn’t done what he did. I would have only gotten worse. I’m more certain of that than I am of anything else in the world.”
Barton said nothing for a long time. She stood there, looking at Miller intensely. He stayed where he was at the end of that long, wide hall and looked back at her.
“If I can, I’d like to make up for what I’ve done,” he said finally. “For what I used to be. Can you understand that?”
Barton nodded. A strand of hair fell in front of her eyes again. She reached up, brushed it away, curling it behind her ear.
“Yeah,” she said.
“He’s not what you think he is. He’s not what the cops say he is. You need to know that.”
She thought for a moment, thought about that, about everything, then said, “He’s been hired by the Foster family to prove that their son didn’t kill himself. You know that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“How is it going? Do you know?”
“Not very well, last I knew.”
“Would he be impressed with you if you brought him copies of the coroner’s report on the Foster boy, and the other two?”
“You have them?”
“I can get them. I can get a copy of the entire file.”
“When?”
“Tonight. Now.”
“You’d do that?”
She nodded. “I think you guys would find them useful.”
“What about Roffman?”
“He’ll wait. I’ll tell him I had to run out for something.”
“I don’t want you to get in any trouble.”
“There are advantages to not being taken seriously. No one will even notice I’m there.”
“How will I get the file from you?”
/> “Wait for me in the hospital parking lot. I have to drive by it on my way back. I can swing right in.”
“Are you sure about this?”
She nodded again, a short, quick nod. It was the only movement she made. “We better get going. He should be here any minute now.”
Miller looked at her for a moment, thought he should say something to her, wanted to say something. Why Roffman? Why a married man? She was attractive, smart. Clearly willing to please, to light candles, wait bare-assed, make concessions. Miller didn’t understand her choice, wanted to if he could. But in the end he didn’t say anything to her, didn’t say anything about any of this. It was her life, she was a grown-up, had to know what she was doing, what she wanted, what she needed. He had to give her that much, cut her that slack at least. It wasn’t anything more than what he was asking her to do for him.
He turned and retraced his steps to her door, moving as quickly as his knee allowed. His heart was pounding. He hurried down the stairs and out to his truck, looking back over his shoulder for Roffman’s car as he crossed the solid lawn. The street behind him was empty, no one out there, in this cold, but him now. He got in behind the wheel and made a U-turn, heading back toward the hospital. As he passed Barton’s house he saw her crossing the front yard to her car. She was wearing gray sweats and Timberland boots and a heavy green parka, the fur-lined hood pulled up over her still-damp head. Miller kept going, pulled into the hospital parking lot a few blocks down, drove to the far end of it, and waited. He saw Barton’s car, a dark four-door Volvo, new, drive by a moment later. It turned left onto Meeting House Lane, heading toward town, then left his line of sight.
The Darkest Place Page 16