Admittedly, I was curious. So I invited Haggerty up, welcomed him in, and before you could solve B I L L Y Q U I N N W A S F R A M E D, he and I were sitting at my farm table, sweating our balls off.
“Start from the beginning,” Haggerty instructed. “Don’t think, just talk.” Bossy, bossy, boom, boom.
I offered my most winning smile, but he stared back with those dead eyes. He’s a different animal than most men, neither feral nor submissive. Haggerty is negative space.
“Which beginning?” I asked. “It’s an epic story, goes back generations.”
“Any beginning, doesn’t matter.” He was watching me. Normally, I relish this, but the way he latched on was unnerving. “Pick a spot, any spot.”
I started with Nate’s phone call. Seemed as good a place as any. But soon Haggerty was steering the conversation away from Billy and peppering me with questions about CW and Rachel, Spence, Columbia, Yale—my whole life, basically.
“What do I have to do with Billy’s case?” I asked after a while.
“Maybe everything. Maybe nothing. Trying to decide which.” He sat back. “So, tell me again why you ran away from home.”
“I didn’t run away. I’m forging a path. Striking out on my own. Chasing a dream. All the clichés.”
“What about the family foundation?”
“I’ll work there eventually. It’s why I’m going to graduate school. I didn’t just pull political science out of the air, Detective. I’m interested in language and rhetoric. I plan to study how it’s used as a corrupting influence, particularly in rich countries that hijack and subvert messages. This way, when I do join the foundation, I can make a tangible difference. I don’t want to be another vacant, pampered rich girl ‘working for my dad’”—I make air quotes—“while I wait for a husband.”
“Noted.” He nodded. “And the man?”
“Is that a question?”
“You said you also left a relationship, one that was bad for you. Dangerous, even.”
“Who hasn’t, Detective? We’re all trying to outrun a cunning bad boy, aren’t we?”
“Tell me about him, about Marcus Silver.”
“He’s no one. No one important.”
“All due respect, Ms. Quinn, but ‘no one’ doesn’t derail your life.”
“He didn’t ‘derail’ anything. I used the word to describe what happened to Billy’s life, not mine.”
Haggerty took out a pad and jotted a few notes. “If you say so.”
“My relationship with Marcus is over. It shouldn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters, Ms. Quinn. It wasn’t supposed to happen, and it did.”
That’s when the dynamic turned. Red flooded the edges of my vision. White noise filled my head. Haggerty was so sure of himself, I got rattled. I added superfluous details. I went off on tangents and had to retrace my steps. I felt skittish, as though he could see all the ways I was compensating. Little in life frightens me, but this man was terrifying.
And now he’s back. “Ms. Quinn? Okay to come in?”
“It’s Cassie. And yes.” When he slides onto the farm bench and pushes Record, I don’t waste any time. “So, Detective Haggerty, where were we?”
“You were telling me about your friend, Marcus Silver.”
“I have nothing to say about Marcus.”
“Oh, I disagree. You seem to have a lot to say on the subject.”
His smugness infuriates me. “You need to leave,” I say suddenly, getting up so quickly my bench turns over and hits the floor. “We need to be done with this now.”
“You say we’re done so we’re done.” He pauses. “One last question: What’s your problem with the police?”
“Do you not read the news? Cops are a menace.”
“You feel ‘menaced’？” Haggerty makes his own air quotes. “How? Did Billy’s security detail use the good towels in the powder room without asking?” He smirks. “Fact is, Ms. Quinn, cops are what stand between you and chaos.”
“It’s Cassie, Detective.” I study Haggerty’s face, but it’s like looking into a mirror and seeing nothing reflected back.
He hands me his card. “Call me anytime you want to talk.”
“We’re done.”
“Oh, I think we’ll be seeing each other soon.”
“Don’t be so sure.” I slam the door. But as soon as he’s gone it occurs to me that I have it wrong. If I’m the one looking into the mirror, then I’m the one who isn’t there. Haggerty’s eyes may be empty, but I’m the one with no soul.
21
HAGGERTY IS RIGHT: I DO WANT TO TALK ABOUT MARCUS. I always want to talk about Marcus. I’m bursting to talk. Especially now that it’s over. But I’ve never uttered a word to anyone. Keeping a secret is difficult, which is why so few people succeed. It demands commitment and vigilance, pain and sacrifice. The willingness, the strength, to take it to your grave.
Worry sets in. I spoke to Haggerty to be helpful; Team Billy might see it differently. Thankfully, DeFiore doesn’t call me. But neither does Lawrence or Nate. My worry morphs into paranoia. Maybe they’re punishing me for talking to a cop. Or they’re furious I abandoned them. Or they’re busy. Or the Valmont lost cell service. Could the whole city have gone dark?
By Sunday I’m so panicky I can’t sit still. I go to my favorite Neighborhood Café on State Street for breakfast but leave before my food arrives. I lounge by the pool, but it’s too hot. My apartment is too cold. I head to the parking lot, where I slide into the front seat of my Porsche, put my keys in the ignition, and debate my next move. I end up going nowhere. I don’t even start the car.
On Monday night, I finally break and call Lawrence. “I’m thinking of coming home,” I offer casually, feeling him out. “I want to catch up on the case. I miss you guys.”
It’s after ten; I hear the TV in the background. A panel of experts debating politics. I also hear Nate. “Is that Cassie?” he wants to know.
“Yes,” Lawrence replies. “She’s asking about the case.” He sounds sleepy. No mention of Haggerty, which confirms he has no idea. If he did, he wouldn’t let it slide.
“Are you there? Lawrence? I’m talking to you.” By this point, my purse is in my hand, and I’m racing to my car. When I can’t get his attention, my anxiety surges. “Lawrence!”
“Sorry, Cass. I can’t keep my eyes open. It’s been a long day.”
Minutes later, my key is in the ignition. I back out of the lot. I don’t even look, just hit reverse and hope for the best. “What do you think?” I ask.
“About what?”
“Me coming home.”
“Sounds good.” Noncommittal, Lawrence doesn’t care. “Hey, Cassie. DeFiore is on the other line. It’s late and could be important. Sorry, kiddo. Speak soon.”
When he hangs up, fear explodes in my chest. I can feel my pulse in my teeth. I accelerate, fast then faster. Ninety minutes later, when I walk into the celebration room, Lawrence is still staring at the TV, nursing a drink. Nate is gone, but his enormous sneakers are wedged under the coffee table like white bricks.