Just not miserable enough. Because I had a sick certainty that when it was all over, Bobby the K would get away with what he did to his thirteen-year-old sister. Nobody was going to lay a glove on him for raping Kathleen. Nobody could. And Bobby wasn’t the only one who was dirty. Nobody came out of this clean. Not his mother. Not Mr. Classy Guy. Everyone was dirty, including me. I sure felt dirty. I doubted whether I’d ever feel clean again.
* * *
THE MORNING AFTER I SHOT Sonya Posner to death, I put on my dark blue suit, got Dad’s Brougham out of the garage and drove out to Willoughby for Bruce Weiner’s funeral. It was a clear, icy-cold morning. I had to stop off at Brooks Brothers on the way to buy myself a new duffel coat. It wasn’t on sale. I had to pay full retail, which pissed me off. But I didn’t have a choice. My old one had three bullet holes in it.
Bruce was buried at a small Jewish cemetery on the outskirts of town. It was a traditional graveside service—topcoats, gloves and yarmulkes required. He was laid to rest in a simple pine box. Maybe forty people were there to bid Bruce goodbye. His parents were not happy to see me among them—especially with Sara glued to my side, her gloved hand clutching mine. Bruce’s roommate, Chris Warfield, was there. So were his high school basketball teammates. And so was Charles Willingham’s grieving mother, Velma, whom I recognized from her picture in the newspaper. She stood there, tall, straight and alone with her grief. Spoke to no one. Only a couple of us knew who she was and why she was there. But she was there. Velma Willingham was my idea of one classy lady.
After the ceremony Chris came over to me with tears in his eyes and said how sorry he was about everything. The poor guy still thought I was Bruce and Sara’s cousin. I didn’t bother to set him straight. It wouldn’t have made either of us feel any better.
Sara walked me to my car and kissed me softly on the cheek before she asked me that same question again: “Benji, can I come spend the night with you?”
She wore a long gray wool coat that day over a black dress and black stockings. Her hair was pulled back. There were dark smudges under her eyes. She looked extremely pale and serious.
I said, “Look, if you ever want to talk or cry or laugh I’m here for you, day or night. But when it comes to romance I’m someone who needs to take things a bit slower, understand?”
Her big brown eyes searched mine. “Not really.”
“I don’t want to rush into things. I’ve made that mistake. I don’t want to make it again.”
“You mean you’ve had your heart broken?”
“Smashed to pieces.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “Are you going to be okay with this?”
Sara nodded. “Sure, Benji. You’re blowing me off and you’re trying to be nice about it because my brother’s dead. I get it.”
“No, you don’t get it. I want to be sure, Sara. I want to be friends.”
“I already have friends. I love you, Benji.”
“Maybe you do. But I want you to be sure, too. You’ll be going away to college in a few months. Meeting a lot of new guys. Chances are you’ll forget all about me.”
“I’ll never forget about you,” she protested. “How could I?”
“If you still feel the same a year from now we’ll know it was the real thing. And we’ll be glad we waited.”
“Because it won’t just be about boning?”
“Exactly. It’ll be about us.”
Sara thought this over carefully. “If I text you will you text me back?”
“Cross my heart.”
“And you swear you’ll never take off your bunny bracelet?”
“I swear.”
Reluctantly, Sara gave me one last hug. Then started back toward her parents before she stopped and said, “Benji?…”
“Yes, Sara?”
“You’re my soul mate, Benji.”
* * *
“CLOSE THE DOOR, BUNNY.” Mom was staring out her office window again, looking preoccupied and troubled. “We need to have a serious talk.”
I felt myself tensing up. “Are you folding the agency?”
“Folding the agency?” She gaped at me surprise. “Hell, no. How would we earn a living?”
“We don’t earn a living.”
“Nobody likes a smart aleck. This is more in the line of a personal favor. Sit down, will you?”
“Sure thing, boss.”
“And don’t call me boss.”
I sat down. Gus jumped into my lap and bumped my hand with his hard little head. I stroked him.
“It’s a pretty big favor,” Mom said uneasily, hands clasped before her on the desk. “Maybe the biggest I’ll ever ask of you. If you say no, I’ll understand. But I hope you won’t.”
“What is it, Mom?”
“I want you to wait until Sara Weiner has at least one year of college under her belt before you jump into the hay with her. She’s a real cutie but she’s only seventeen. And she’s an emotional basket case right now.”
“All taken care of,” I assured her. “I let her down nice and easy. No need to say another word about it. So, listen, did a cash-paying client by any chance wander in while I was at Bruce’s funeral? Because I would really like to keep busy.”
“I haven’t asked you for the favor yet,” she said to me sternly.
“Sorry, Mom. What is it?”
“I want you to take Rita out to dinner tonight. Somewhere nice. Use the company credit card.”
“Didn’t we max that out?”
“It’s all paid up, courtesy of the Aurora Group. I want the two of you to have a nice time. Drink a good bottle of wine. And then…”
“And then what, Mom?”
“I want you to spend the night with her.”
I blinked at her in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
“Perfectly.”
“Rita and me? That’s crazy!”
“No, it’s not. It makes a lot of sense, actually. I happen to know she’s terribly fond of you.”
“I’m fond of her, too. She’s like a sister to me.”
“Except she’s not your sister. She’s a healthy, beautiful, forty-two-year-old woman who is going through a hard time right now. I’ll admit she’s a few years older than you. But it turns out Sonya was, too, don’t forget.”
I lowered my eyes. “Trust me, I haven’t.”
“Rita’s my best friend, Bunny, and I’m worried about her. She has no life outside of the office. She’s lonely, depressed and she absolutely will not let go of her feelings for that bum Clarence, who is never getting out of Sing Sing. Or at least I hope he isn’t. I’m deathly afraid that she’s about to do something foolish and self-destructive—like take up with one of his old running buddies. Some thug who’ll only use her and hurt her. She needs a decent guy who cares about her. She needs you. And you need someone in your life right now, too. It’ll be a good fit for both of you. You’re already good friends, right?”
“But, Mom, you’re talking about Rita.”
She arched an eyebrow at me. “And your point is?…”
“She used to be my babysitter. She doesn’t think of me that way.”
“Yes, she does.”
I peered at her suspiciously. “She actually told you that?”
“She didn’t have to. I know her. When Sonya came sniffing around here with those cupcakes, Rita was so jealous she was ready to spit. And I noticed how upset you got when Rita was fussing over Bobby the K yesterday. You should have seen your little face. You looked positively savage.”
“You’re mistaken. That was gas.”
“Don’t lie to your mother. It’s a sin.”
“Mom, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Well, I do. Ask your friend Rita out to dinner. Just don’t let on that I suggested it, okay?”
“Okay, Mom. Whatever you say.”
“That’s a good boy. You can go now, Bunny.”
I returned to the outer office and slumped into my desk chair, sighing.
Lovely Rita
eyed me sympathetically over her computer screen. “This was a bad one, wasn’t it?”
“It was my first time, Rita. I never did that before.”
“Banged a perp in the middle of a case?”
“Killed someone. Although, yeah, the other thing too.”
“You really cared about that ferret, didn’t you?”
“I had feelings for her. Strong feelings. And then I had to shoot her. And now it’s all kind of bound up together in one humongous wad of emotional goo. I guess it’ll take me a while to get over.”
“Trust me, little lamb. They all do.”
“Do you feel like knocking off early tonight? We could go get dinner somewhere.”
“Why not? I’ll see if Abby’s free.”
“I was thinking just the two of us.”
Rita narrowed her gaze at me. “You and me?”
“Well, yeah. Is that a problem?”
“Did Abby put you up to this?”
“Put me up to what, Rita?”
“Asking me out.”
“Why would she do something like that?”
“Because she thinks I’m a basket case.”
“Are you?”
“That, little lamb, happens to be my business.”
“Then again, it might be something we could talk about—over dinner.”
Rita mulled it over long and hard before she said, “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, no prob. Except, Rita, we’ve known each other how long?”
“Forever.”
“So why can’t we go out to dinner together?”
“You mean like two friends?”
“Of course. What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing. Pay no attention to me. You’re trying to forget about your troubles and I’m rattling on like a total idiot.”
“So does that mean yes?”
“Benji, I don’t think so.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Okay, whatever.”
“After all, why do we need to go to some restaurant? We could pick up a pizza, head back to my place and…” Rita hesitated, glancing me shyly. “I could dance for you. I still have all of my moves. Would you like to see them?”
Also by David Handler
FEATURING BERGER & MITRY
The Snow White Christmas Cookie
The Blood Red Indian Summer
The Shimmering Blond Sister
The Sour Cherry Surprise
The Sweet Golden Parachute
The Burnt Orange Sunrise
The Bright Silver Star
The Hot Pink Farmhouse
The Cold Blue Blood
FEATURING HUNT LIEBLING
Click to Play
FEATURING STEWART HOAG
The Man Who Died Laughing
The Man Who Lived by Night
The Man Who Would Be F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Woman Who Fell from Grace
The Boy Who Never Grew Up
The Man Who Cancelled Himself
The Girl Who Ran Off with Daddy
The Man Who Loved Women to Death
FEATURING DANNY LEVINE
Kiddo
Boss
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID HANDLER is an Edgar and American Mystery Award winner and a Dilys Award finalist. He is the author of the Berger and Mitry mysteries, as well as the Stewart Hoag mystery series. David lives in a two-hundred-year-old carriage house in Old Lyme, Connecticut.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS
An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
RUNAWAY MAN. Copyright © 2013 by David Handler. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover illustration by Rob Wood / Wood Ronsaville Harlin, Inc.
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Handler, David, 1952–
Runaway man: a mystery / David Handler. — First edition.
pages cm
“A Thomas Dunne Book.”
ISBN 978-1-250-01162-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-02047-5 (e-book)
1. Private investigators—New York—Fiction. 2. Family-owned business enterprises—Fiction. 3. Murder—Investigation—Fiction. 4. New York (N.Y.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3558.A4637R86 2013
813'.54—dc23
2013011922
e-ISBN 9781250020475
First Edition: August 2013
1 Runaway Man Page 21