The Incumbent

by Alton L. Gansky

  “That my mother is still alive,” Celeste said.

  Mom put a hand on her shoulder. “We can hope and pray.”

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Things continue on,” West replied. “We continue our aggressive investigation. We continue the search.”

  My head was beginning to ache again. The thought of something as small as a red ant killing an acquaintance of mine seemed fictional. Did such things happen in real life? The answer was obvious but it didn’t satisfy.

  “How is Leo doing?” I wondered.

  West shook his head. “Not good. He’s taking this very hard, and who can blame him. I spoke to him before coming here. He took the news without emotion but looked like he was going to melt right in front of me. He said he was going to stay with his sister in Thousand Oaks. He gave me the address and phone number. I think he just wants to get out of the house. Too many memories and all that.”

  “Seems wise,” Dad said. Mom agreed.

  “He knew how susceptible she was to ant bites?” I asked. I didn’t want to go further, but West picked up on my thoughts.

  “You’re wondering if he could be the murderer.”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore. Too much has happened. I’m not at my best. It’s wrong for me to even entertain such a thought.”

  “No, it isn’t,” West said. “We’re investigating him. We investigate every possibility. My gut, however, tells me he’s nothing more than a heartbroken husband.”

  I nodded but said nothing. I was feeling rung out again.

  Silence hovered over the table for a few moments, and then West stood. “I must be going. Thank you for the invitation to dinner.”

  “You won’t reconsider?” Mom asked.

  He smiled and shook his head. “No, I really must get back to the office.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” I said, rising.

  “No need, I can—”

  “I want to see my father.”

  The words were so soft, it took me a moment to realize what I was hearing and who it was that said it. “What was that, Celeste?”

  Celeste sat unmoving, her eyes directed at the table.

  “I want to see my father,” she repeated louder.

  The doorbell rang.

  “That must be Jerry,” Mom said cheerfully.

  chapter 18

  After her announcement, Celeste had gone to the guest room and refused to come out. Mom, who could talk a lobster into boiling water for a swim, was able to convince her to take the plate of food she had prepared. It took a while and several requests but Celeste agreed to meet with me. She refused to talk about her reasons for the sudden change but she was resolute in her decision. I used all my interpersonal and negotiating skills trying to convince her to let me set up the meeting, suggesting that Detective West should make the contact and that the meeting should take place in City Hall. If I couldn’t control the decision, I could at least attempt to control the venue. Celeste agreed quickly enough. I left worried.

  The next day I rose early and, foregoing my usual workout, went downstairs and made coffee. The morning passed slowly. I went to the office, arranged for the conference room, alerted security, and placed a call to West. I learned that Truccoli had agreed to the ten o’clock meeting time I’d requested. Decent of him. West also said he would send an officer over just in case things went sour. I thanked him, returned a few calls, reviewed the next council agenda, and did anything that would help keep my mind off the pending reunion.

  I could think of no reason why Celeste would change her mind. From the moment of her mother’s disappearance, she had insisted that she wanted nothing to do with her father. The anger I had seen in her eyes and heard in her voice was genuine. Why request to see the beast now? No explanations surfaced in the dark waters of my mind.

  At nine-thirty I left the office and made my way to the car. Security, who had remained alert since the second abduction and tense since Truccoli’s last visit, insisted that a guard escort me from the office to my vehicle. I didn’t argue.

  Ten minutes later I had Celeste in my car, and we made our way back to City Hall. When I arrived, the security guard was waiting for me. He was leaning against Jon Adler’s car and smoking a cigarette. I considered telling him he shouldn’t lean against a councilman’s car but then tossed the idea. He can slice Adler’s tires for all I care.

  “We’ll meet in here,” I told Celeste as we exited the private elevator used by council members and staff and entered the conference room. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes.”

  I started to press her for a reason but stopped. “I can still stay, can’t I?”

  She nodded.

  I led her to the head of the table and let her sit. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I said, “I’m here for you. I’ll be right behind you. If you want the meeting to end, just say so. Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  She looked like a steel spring too-long wound. Something was going to give.

  The phone buzzed and I picked up. “Yes.” It was Fritzy. I listened, thanked her, hung up, and took a deep breath. “He’s here.” I didn’t think it possible but Celeste tensed all the more.

  It would only take a minute for Fritzy to lead Truccoli from her desk in the lobby to the conference room. Not that he needed leading; he had been here before. That time, however, he had left in handcuffs. The image brought me a moment’s pleasure.

  The door opened and I saw Fritzy come in and stand to the side. Two men filled the entry: Truccoli and a stranger in a dark suit. Lawyer.

  “Madam Mayor, Mr. Truccoli is here for his meeting.” Fritzy tended toward the formal when nervous.

  “Thank you, Ms. Fritz.”

  “Can I get anyone something to drink—”

  “No. We’re fine.”

  The two men entered. I made eye contact with Truccoli and felt a strong urge to look away. I rejected the desire. We were on my turf; I refused to give away that advantage, little as it was.

  “Madam Mayor,” the stranger said. He was a short man with ruddy skin, dark eyes, and thick brown hair. He carried a calfskin briefcase. On his wrist was a Rolex. “My name is Matt Stover of Stover, Richman, and Newcomb, Attorneys at Law. I’m here in my capacity as counsel to Mr. Truccoli. Thank you for meeting with us.”

  I gave a polite nod.

  Truccoli stood just at the foot of the table. He was wearing a dark-blue polo shirt and tan pants. He appeared calm, even friendly. The sight of him made my gut twist. He turned his eyes from me and looked at Celeste. At first his face showed no expression; then a slight smile pushed up the corners of his mouth.

  “We appreciate this meeting,” Stover said, stepping to the table. “I know there has been some tension between you and Mr. Truccoli, but there is no need for this to be an adversarial gathering.” He pulled out a chair, set his briefcase on the table, and began to seat himself. Then he noted I was still standing. To his credit, he remained on his feet. Someone had instilled manners and a sense of protocol in the man. “Should we sit?”

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  He pursed his lips, then folded his hands in front of him. “Mr. Truccoli would like to express—”

  “Celeste,” Truccoli said, his smile now Cheshire cat wide. If only he would have disappeared as quickly. “Celeste, I’ve missed you.” He held out his arms and approached her.

  “Don’t touch me,” she snapped. “Don’t you dare touch me.” I could see her eyes puddle and her jaw set tight.

  “But, baby, it’s been a long time and we’ve been through so much together.”

  “Long time is right! Too long. And we haven’t been through anything together. You’ve been gone. No calls. No letters. Nothing.”

  “I came as fast as I could, sweetheart. I hopped the first plane out of town and came to Santa Rita. I came to be with you.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, you can hop the next plane out. I don’t need you. You didn’
t need Mom, you didn’t need me, and now I don’t need you.”

  “Miss Truccoli,” Stover said, “if you’ll give your father a chance, I’m sure—”

  “He doesn’t deserve a chance.”

  Truccoli’s smile melted and his eyes hardened like stone. My mouth went dry. I was simultaneously proud of Celeste and frightened for her. Her words and the power with which she fired them were surprising.

  “Listen, baby, your mother and I had our problems. Things didn’t work out and we went our separate ways. This tragedy should pull us together. I want to be here for you.”

  “I don’t want you!” Celeste shouted, her voice rebounding off the walls. I flinched and Truccoli blinked hard. “As far as I’m concerned, you are just one tragedy in my life. What has happened . . . is happening to Mom is another.”

  Truccoli’s spine stiffened and his mouth drew tight. I had seen this look on his face before and I didn’t like it.

  Silence fell in a suffocating blanket. Stover cleared his throat. “I’m confused, Miss Truccoli; why did you ask for this meeting if you didn’t want to see your father?”

  Celeste turned her burning gaze from Truccoli to the attorney. “To tell him to leave me alone, to tell him to leave Maddy alone. Because of him Randi got hurt.”

  “That was an accident,” Truccoli countered. He must have heard about the scuffle in the coffee shop when he sprang his PI from jail.

  “Was it an accident when you attacked Maddy right here in this room? Was it an accident that some guy was following her and the police had to arrest him? Go away. Don’t call me. Don’t write me. I don’t want to see you. I hate you. I hated you before and I hate you more now!”

  Tears began to run. I squeezed her shoulder. She sniffed and ran a hand under her nose.

  “This is your fault,” Truccoli said, glaring at me. The room froze over.

  “Actually,” I replied, “it’s your fault.”

  “Shut up! I don’t need you to tell me how to be a father.”

  “Someone needs to.” I knew the comment wouldn’t help, but I’d had enough bile building up in me over the last few days that I had to let some of it go. Truccoli was a deserving target.

  Stover spoke up. “Settle down, Chris. Let’s everyone settle down. Emotions will get us nowhere.” He turned to me. “Mayor, please, you’re not helping.”

  “This is all because of you,” Truccoli said. “I know what the police have found. I know that my wife’s disappearance is connected to you and so are the others. Now you want to take my daughter away from me.”

  “She didn’t take me away from you,” Celeste protested. “You threw me away when I was little. I wasn’t good enough for you. Mom wasn’t good enough for you. You dumped us. Maddy took me in. She gave me a place to stay and has asked for nothing.”

  If Truccoli heard Celeste, he gave no sign of it; he was fixated on me. I felt myself flush. For a moment I thought I would ignite under the heat of his stare.

  “You poisoned her mind, didn’t you? You turned her against her own father—against me, her own flesh and blood.”

  “Apparently, you did that all by yourself—”

  He lunged at me, arms out, hands twisted into claws. I heard a roar rumble from his throat. My heart seized and I backpedaled, pulling one of the chairs in front of me. Truccoli didn’t see it. He hit hard, lost his balance, and plummeted to the floor.

  Celeste screamed.

  Truccoli grabbed his shin, then filled the air with obscenities. “You stupid—”

  “Mr. Truccoli, that is enough!” Stover shouted.

  Staggering to his feet, Truccoli reset himself. “I’ll make you pay for this. Take my daughter away from me, will you?”

  He started forward. I stepped between him and Celeste and steeled myself for what was to come.

  The door to the conference room sprang open and two security guards and a uniformed police officer rushed in. A guard, Bobby, was first in. What he lacked in physical presence, he made up for with enthusiasm. Truccoli charged again but the guard cut him off, flinging himself at my attacker. Both tumbled to the ground in a heap of arms and legs. A half second later the cop was on the pile. “Stop resisting,” he ordered. “Stop resisting.”

  “She took my daughter!” Truccoli struggled. “She took my daughter from me.”

  The officer played no games. He placed a knee on the back of Truccoli’s neck, reached for his cuffs, and with the help of the guard cuffed him. Yanking him to his feet, he spun Truccoli around. “It’s over, pal.”

  “She hit me with a chair,” Truccoli complained. “My attorney saw it. You should be arresting the stupid little—”

  The officer shoved Truccoli hard against the wall. “You had better think before you finish that statement.” Then he turned to me. “You okay?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He looked at Celeste. “How about you, young lady? Are you all right?”

  Celeste nodded. I put my arm around her.

  “I’m suing,” Truccoli spat. “I’m suing this Podunk town for all it has and I’m suing you, Mayor. Do you hear that?” He directed his gaze at the attorney. “We’re going to sue them, Stover. I want the paperwork drawn up today. Do you hear? Today!”

  “Let’s take a walk, mister,” the officer said. Taking Truccoli by the elbow, he led him from the room. The guards went with them.

  I looked at Stover, who watched his client being marched off in handcuffs. “It sounds like you have some paperwork to do.”

  He offered a weak smile and shook his head. “I should have gone to med school, like my brother.” He reached into his coat pocket, extracted a small silver case, and removed a business card from it. “If he brings suit, give me a call. I’ll be happy to serve as a witness for your side.” He picked up his briefcase. “I need to go tell him to find a new attorney.” With a pause, he added, “I’m sorry about this, Mayor. Had I known, I would never have hooked up with the cretin.” Nodding politely, he left.

  With everyone gone, I put an arm around Celeste and pulled her close. She was shaking. “You are full of surprises, girl,” I said softly. “You are one gutsy chick.”

  She tittered, then gave me a hug. Then she broke into sobs, her shoulders shuddering. The sadness was deep, erupting like pent-up lava. Her breathing came in ragged waves and for a moment I thought she would collapse.

  I held her tight and stroked her hair. My nose filled with mucus, my face felt hot, and then something in my soul tore in a ragged edge. Tears began to flow and breathing became difficult. We were two women separated by age but identical in need. The pressure had become too much, the crushing concern and fear was, at least for the moment, winning—and I didn’t care.

  Moments passed and the boiling sobs soon settled into eye rubbing, nose wiping, sniveling. I took a deep breath. “Whew. I’ve needed to do that for a long time.”

  “Me too.”

  I took a step back and held Celeste at arm’s distance. Her own weeping had calmed. I smiled, then noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I saw Jon Adler and Tess Lawrence standing at the door. Both were frowning and Adler was shaking his head.

  “We need to talk,” Tess said flatly.

  Sixty minutes later I sat in my office reviewing a long list of telephone calls waiting for my attention. I had tried to send Celeste home, offering to have one of the security guards drive her. She’d had a different idea.

  “I’m tired of just hanging around the house. All I do is watch TV and talk to Michele on the phone. Your parents are great, but . . .”

  “I understand.”

  “Can’t I stay here with you? I mean, Randi’s out, so maybe I could sit in her office and answer the phone or file or something. I took a couple of business classes in high school and another one in college. I can’t replace her but I can do something.”

  I studied her for a moment. She was right. If it were me confined to the house, I would have lost my mind long ago. Besides, I liked being aro
und her. “I think I can find something for you to do.”

  The arresting officer had come back and asked a few questions for his report. I had also, after spending a quarter hour in the rest room touching up makeup and hiding from the world, sought out the young guard who had executed the NFL tackle on my behalf. I promised a pizza for him and his pals, and a letter of thanks to his boss. He was appreciative, but no more than I was for his heroic effort.

  It felt good to have my fanny in the leather seat of my desk chair. Better than good; it felt normal. It seemed odd to look out the door of my office and see Celeste in Randi’s chair. According to a message left with Fritzy, the hospital was going to release Randi today, and I had promised to pick her up. That would be a joy. Still, work went on, and with my assistant out for the next few days, my workload had doubled.

  “What are you doing here?” a voice said. I looked up and saw Tess and Jon standing in front of Randi’s desk, staring down at Celeste. The brusque question took her aback.

  “I’m . . . I’m helping Mayor Glenn.”

  “You’re not an employee,” Tess stated.

  I rose from my desk and went to the door. “Last I heard, my office operations were my responsibility.” Tess’s head swiveled. Her expression beamed her irritation. “Celeste has offered to do volunteer work for the city. You’re for volunteerism, aren’t you, Tess? At least you said you were in your last campaign.”

  “I told you earlier that we need to talk. I’ve been waiting over an hour to hear from you.”

  I shrugged. “Must have slipped my mind. I’ve been preoccupied with health and welfare—mine.”

  “That’s what we want to talk about,” Tess said in her best terse voice. “When can we meet?”

  “You’re here now; come in and have a seat. You don’t mind meeting in my office, do you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What about you, Jon? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this quiet. Tess got your tongue?” I was being more testy than needed, but either one alone was more than I could take; having both of them bully their way into my office made my already bad mood worse.