Double Indemnity (13 page)

“So what happened?”

“I traveled back and forth for almost a year, and eventually we gained the confidence of the people in charge. Money can buy anything.” Nathan sighed.

“You found the kids?”

Nathan's eyes turned cold. “One of the owners asked if I wanted to try someone a little younger. He brought me a boy who couldn't have been more than thirteen. He didn't speak a word of English.”

“Fucking hell.” The statement quashed Sam's arousal, replacing it with sinking horror.

“I could have killed the sick bastard right then with my bare hands. I might have, but the most important thing was to get the kid out of there. So we made the bust and shut the whole place down.”

Sam nodded slowly. “And you never told Emma.”

“I was ashamed of what I'd done. I like to think I would have come clean if I'd had the chance. But I never did.”

Sam had begun to put the puzzle together, and it was even worse than what he'd first imagined. His stomach churned at the cruel irony. “Wait, that's not where you were when—”

The devastated expression on Nathan's face said it all.

“I helped save those kids, but the cost was Emma.”

 

S
AM
WONDERED
if anything he could say would change Nathan's mind. Even though they didn't know each other well, he had the feeling the answer was a big, fat no. Still, Sam considered himself pretty much an expert on the whole self-blame thing. He'd been going around that hamster wheel for years. And even though he knew it was useless, he shook his head. “You can't think about it like that.”

“I can, and I do.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“If I had been here, she'd still be safe.” Nathan crumpled his empty water bottle. He looked like he wanted to throw it. Sam figured that might not be such a bad idea.

“Nathan, I know you don't want to hear it, but facts are facts. If a killer has a motivation, he's going to find a way. You had no idea something like this would ever happen. How could you predict it?” The man had risked his life for the sake of children who would otherwise still be living a nightmare. That had to count for something.

“I understand what you're trying to do, and I appreciate it. But it doesn't change the fact she's dead.” He braced his hands against the granite counter and let his head fall forward. For the first time, Sam noticed a few white hairs among the nearly black strands.

“No. I know it doesn't.”

Another drift of silence stretched between them, and Sam's stomach rumbled audibly. He hadn't eaten all afternoon. Nathan probably hadn't either. He seemed to have lost weight over the past couple months. Despite her busy schedule, Emma had loved to cook, which was the reason for the robust kitchen garden outside. He supposed the garden would die with the oncoming winter. Whether new tenants would revive it in the spring remained to be seen.

“You hungry?” Sam pulled out his cell phone.

“Not especially.”

“You should eat anyway. What's there for delivery around here? Anyone come out this far?”

“Sam, you don't have to stay.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Nathan blinked twice, as though surprised by the question. “No.” And then, more softly, “Nero's delivers.”

“Well that settles it. I'm staying and I'm hungry. So what do you like on your pie?”

“Anything is fine.”

“Pineapple and anchovies it is,” Sam said. And then, when Nathan gave him a look halfway between skeptical and scared, he amended, “Kidding, kidding. I'm a pepperoni kind of guy, myself.”

“Like I said, anything is fine—anything except anchovies and pineapple.”

After Sam made the order, they returned to the packed-up living room. Sam found a clear spot on the floor to sit, and he watched as Nathan picked through a pile of stuff he hadn't boxed yet. Tchotchkes, most of it. Nathan weighed each item in his hands before placing it into either the box on the left or the right. A small mantelpiece clock went to the right. A vase to the left. He carefully wrapped framed photos in newspaper and stacked them in a pile without looking at the pictures. Sam, however, managed glimpses before they disappeared into the black-and-white print. A picture of Emma standing in the garden. Nathan and Emma somewhere tropical, then at a winter cabin bundled in fashionable ski gear. All of them typical photos you would expect to see in any middle-class, married couple's home. They spoke of easy times, financial security, and happiness.

Instead of feeling sad for Nathan, however, Sam's chest twinged for a different reason. He'd never wanted that type of relationship with anyone. But maybe, even though it hurt like a sonofabitch, having someone to lose would be worth it.

On the heels of that thought came another. Those pictures, this house, all of the trappings of a happy life meant nothing if the people in them were lying to each other. Nathan and Emma had seemed content, but everything Sam had learned since her death suggested otherwise. And if that was true, maybe love didn't fucking exist. Or if it did, it didn't last.

Satisfied with the return of his cynicism, Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, lulled by the quiet
thunk-thunk
of discarded or kept items being tossed into boxes.

“It got to me, you know.”

“What?” Sam asked, his skin prickling.

“Doing what I did with strangers. Oh, sure, I got to know their bodies, but never faces. Never real names.”

The darkened space of the imagined club and other, more secret chambers opened up before Sam. People twining together, half-dressed. Sam shuddered. He could see Nathan there, surrounded by willing men—the easy, controlled strength of his every movement and his dark, dark eyes. He'd fit right in. No wonder he'd been chosen in the first place.

“You said you liked it.”

“I did and I didn't. I—It was more like an addiction. At first I hated it. I didn't want people I didn't know to touch me, and I didn't want to touch them. So I made rules. I was very strict. And then, yes, it became like an addiction. I was good at it. Jesus, I can't believe I'm telling you this.”

Sam didn't trust himself to speak, afraid he'd give himself away. He was thankful Nathan had his back turned.

The whole thing seemed strange. If Emma had suspected Nathan's infidelity, she'd apparently never confronted him about it. And yet some of the things she'd said to Sam suggested she not only suspected, but knew. Perhaps she had spoken to the man who'd been working with Nathan on the case, this enigmatic new partner Nathan had mentioned.

Nathan's shoulders tensed. When he turned around, Sam almost didn't recognize him. His expression had grown shrewd, calculating. The eye contact made Sam uncomfortable, but he didn't look away.

“I need you to remember what she said, exactly.” Nathan's voice took on a hard edge.

“I told you. It was about trust, and what I would do if I ever found out someone I cared about did something terrible.”

“That's not good enough. I need her exact words.”

Nathan crossed the room and suddenly the air suffused with a sharp tension that fired Sam's blood. He stared up at Nathan, defiant.

“I'm sorry, but that's all I remember.”

“You said she seemed to be having a bad day. How could you tell?”

Sam swallowed and tried not to stare at the bulge of Nathan's crotch, eye-level and only a few tantalizing feet away. “I hadn't seen her since I talked to her at the station about the whole Feldman fiasco, before she went to break the autopsy news to Patricia Feldman. When she answered the door, she looked like she'd been crying. Her face was pale.”

“And she let you inside.”

“Yes. She wrote a check for the landscaping. Your bill was past due. And then I noticed the eggs in the kitchen.”

“She said she'd dropped them?”

“That's what she told me. The doorbell startled her when I rang it.”

Nathan crouched on the floor. He rested one of his hands on Sam's knee, and his expression changed. His mouth curved into a seductive smile. “But she didn't clean them up while you were talking?”

“No. She sort of acted like they weren't even there.” If Nathan handled his suspects like this—all fierce interrogation one minute and sex the next—Sam actually pitied them. How could anyone resist? The pressure of Nathan's hand on his knee didn't abate.

“She was distracted.”

“Yes. And to be honest, I'm not entirely convinced she wasn't talking about herself, Nathan. Remember the McCormick theory? Maybe she was waiting for a visit and she wasn't expecting the doorbell to ring so soon.”

Nathan seemed to be considering what he'd said, so Sam pushed further. “How would she even have found out what you'd done for the case? Did she know your new partner? Could she have asked him?”

“No. It was important for him to remain anonymous.”

“Anyone else you work with? Your boss?”

“Unlikely.” Nathan's eyes darted to Sam's lips. Sam definitely hadn't imagined it this time.

“What? Is there like a bro code or something?”

“There are female agents too, Sam. It's more of an honor code. Or a dishonor code, depending on the situation. But yes. We take care of our own, ugly secrets and all.”

“So why are you so convinced she was talking about you?”

“Because it started to affect the way I was with Emma. Certain things weren't enough for me, anymore. I wanted things she couldn't give. I wanted—”

“Hey.” Sam squeezed Nathan's shoulder and was amazed at the tightness there. “It's okay.”

Nathan continued, his words tumbling out in a flood “It hadn't been right between us for a while, even before the case. We hardly slept together. It was more like living with a friend than a lover, but I guess I thought it was the inevitability of marriage. We were both busy. I tried not to think about it.”

“Until you started experimenting,” Sam said.

“When I think back on it now and I realize how selfish I was, it makes me sick. It wouldn't have taken much for her to put two and two together. And she died thinking—” He removed his hand from Sam's knee. “She died knowing I was a goddamn liar.”

The guilt eating at Nathan couldn't have felt much better than being feasted on by a school of piranhas. Cheating on your wife was one thing, but cheating on your dead wife and living with the knowledge she probably knew about it was another.

“You must think I'm a terrible person,” Nathan said. He sounded more resigned than regretful.

“I think you made mistakes. Did Emma know you liked men too?”

Nathan seemed to consider this while Sam braced himself. He'd known a guy in college who'd had girlfriends on and off but, when he was drunk, liked to slip into Sam's room and blow him. One day Sam got tired of the secrecy and called him on it. It resulted in a bruised jaw and a helluva shiner. But Nathan didn't seem angry, only contemplative.

“I don't know. I never told her. But maybe she did. All I know is, I used the investigation as an excuse, told myself I was doing what I had to, when all along I knew it was more. I did it because I wanted to.”

Sam sighed. “Okay. So let's leave the whole saving-abused-children part of it out for a sec. You cheated on your wife. What would have happened if she'd lived?”

“We couldn't have gone on the way we were.”

“Maybe you would have gotten a divorce?”

“I don't know. Maybe. But now there's nothing I wouldn't do to have her back.” His voice cracked. “I'm no good, Sam.”

“Sometimes shit doesn't work out, despite good intentions. My hunch is Emma was as unhappy as you, or near as. She had to feel it wasn't working.” Nathan stayed quiet, so Sam continued. “I can't tell you not to feel guilty about cheating, but Emma's death wasn't your fault, and thinking about it like that is only going to make you crazy. It's not gonna solve the murder. And the same is true for wondering what she knew or didn't know. How will that help anything?”

“I don't know, but I can't stop myself. I worry I'm too close to this case, and there's something I'm not seeing.”

“That's understandable.” Nathan had come to lean against the wall next to Sam. Their arms pressed lightly together. Sam wished he knew Nathan better, if for nothing else than to offer the hug he most certainly needed. The revelation about Nathan's sexuality had thrown him for a loop, though, and he couldn't help thinking back to that time in the pool, when his own arousal had been so obvious. Maybe Nathan had felt something too.

Lights in the front of the house and a rattling car engine announced the arrival of the pizza. Sam left Nathan in the living room and fished his wallet out of his pocket, figuring he should pay, since he was the one with the rumbling stomach.