A Friend in the Glass (An Auden & O’Callaghan Mystery #3)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Public House must have been moderately new. It was reasonably clean, without the patina of grime that a real dive had. No split upholstery or wobbly tables. The theme, apparently, was light bulbs. It seemed like every fucking inch of space was studded with light bulbs. Even the risers on the stairs to the mezzanine had light bulbs. Dim, sure. Nothing bright enough to break the ambience. But it looked like Thomas Edison’s wet dream, and it was loud—loud with voices, loud with glass and flatware, loud with music. When the beat dropped on the house track, Sam could feel it in his teeth.

A lot of Sam’s ill will went away, though, when he smelled beer and cheeseburgers.

They lucked into one of the tables on the mezzanine, right against the railing, which gave them an eagle-eye view of the pub’s entrance. No sign of Anson, but then, it might take him a while. Or he might change his mind. Might not come at all.

Their waiter was young, blond, and so thin that when he stretched to set a coaster in front of Sam and his shirt rode up, Sam could see his ribs. He’d wanted Sam to see, Sam figured. He had little silver hoops all the way up his right ear, and he looked at Rufus like he was wondering whether he could push him off the mezzanine and get away with it.

Sam ordered a cheeseburger. Well, a double. With fries. They had Stella on tap, so he ordered that.

“I’ll have the same—oh, a Stella? Stella’s fine. I’ll get everything he ordered,” Rufus told the waiter while motioning to Sam.

With a little wiggle of his behind, the waiter left.

“When he comes back,” Rufus started, leaning to one side and watching the waiter go. “Switch glasses with me.”

“I think he bared his teeth before he left.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s gonna spit in my beer.”

“The joys of civilization.”

When his phone buzzed, Rufus fished his cell free from his pocket. He glanced at the screen before rolling his eyes. “Another Jen Nasta, Original American Patriot, text. I can confidently say she won’t be getting my vote next year.” Rufus set his phone to one side. He didn’t say anything else as they sat and waited. Eventually, he yanked off his beanie and his shock of red hair was a little staticky. Rufus pushed aside utensils rolled up in a paper napkin, fiddled with his coaster, then suddenly blurted out, “I know you said we’d figure it out, and I know we will, because you don’t lie to me about that kind of stuff, but I can’t stop thinking about how much you don’t like it here.”

Downstairs, a glass broke, and screams—startled, excited, full of drunken hilarity—rang out. A few people looked up; not everyone. At the table next to Sam and Rufus, a man was glued to his phone. His wife was trying to kill a bottle of wine all by herself.

“I was thinking about that,” Sam said. “Not thinking, I guess. I mean—” He flattened his hands on his thighs. He focused on the feeling of gravity. The way his body felt solid, anchored, real. “In the elevator, with those guys—” When he tried again, he had to screw his voice down against the rush of emotion. “If that had been it—” He chafed his hands against his jeans. “You matter. The rest of it—I don’t know why I’ve been such an asshole. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for a lot of things.”

“You were in the hospital,” Rufus said with a shrug. “And you’ve had unresolved acute trauma. Dr. Donna says that’s when it’s from a single specific incident that gets thrown in your face. You’ve had valid reasons to be moody.”

“Moody.” Their waiter brought their beers. When Sam ignored what was probably meant to be an irresistible smile, the blond boy scowled and flounced away. “That’s part of it, sure. And I know I’ve been—adjusting, I guess. But the medication is helping.” It was like trying to find his way through the dark, he thought. Even with all those fucking light bulbs. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess I’m saying, again, I’m sorry. For getting you into this. For—” He couldn’t help a wry smile. “—my unresolved acute trauma. I want to do better. I want to find a way to make this work. I love you.” And then, because it popped into his head. “Maybe I should get a job.”

Rufus pursed his lips a little, like he’d just taken a bite of something sour. But thoughtfully, he said, “I can make you a very impressive LinkedIn profile for your résumé.”

“Maybe not that kind of job,” Sam said with a laugh. “But I don’t know. I feel like I do better—like we do better—when we’re doing something. It’s been a long time since I’ve had some structure to my life. After the Army, I was sick of structure, and then, when I wasn’t so angry, there wasn’t any reason for it. But now there’s you. Maybe I’d feel a little more settled here if I—” He felt like he was at the end of his words, so he gave another of those crooked smiles and said, “If I wasn’t sitting in the apartment all day.”

Rufus reached under the table and gave Sam’s thigh a squeeze. “If I’m not allowed to rot in bed all day, neither are you. I think you’re probably onto something about structure.”

Before Sam could reply, movement at the door caught his eye. Anson stood there in his yuppie uniform: button-up, trousers, polished oxfords. He’d added a wool overcoat that, Sam was willing to bet, had cost somewhere in the four figures. It was kind of reassuring to know that, even when the rest of the world got fucked, Anson was always going to be a tool.

“God, look at him,” Sam said. “He’s trying to figure out which group is the pop-up whatever the fuck you told him about.”

“It’s a networking event for sales executives,” Rufus said heavy-handedly, but from the corner of his eye, Sam saw Rufus quickly wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Give your pal a wave. It’s your face on Devon’s profile, after all.”

When Anson scanned the crowd again, Sam held up a hand. Anson must have spotted the gesture because he glanced up. Then he stared up at them. He gave another look around, clearly starting to tumble to what was going on as he shrank down inside his coat. Then, shooting furtive glances in every direction, he started toward the stairs.

At their table, he did a final, disappointed check—as though a group of white, bro-y guys might jump out and surprise him—and then said, “There isn’t any pop-up networking event, is there?”

“Sorry,” Sam said. “Grab a seat.”

Anson pulled a free chair over and dropped into it. “What the hell was that earlier? I was trying to talk to you, and you threw my phone!”

“Did I?” Rufus asked, hand to his chest in mock-confusion. “You must have me confused with another redheaded punk with no ass.”

Anson gave him a dirty look and turned to Sam. “What the fuck is going on, man? First, you’re asking about Evangeline, and then she—” His voice dropped into a stage whisper. “—dies.” Then, back at full volume. “And then the next day, everyone’s talking about how Colonel Bridges—” His voice dropped again. “—died.”

“You don’t have to whisper,” Sam said. “They know they’re dead. Well, assuming they know anything.”

Anson stared at him, apparently incapable of processing that.

Rufus leaned across the table, snapped his fingers in front of Anson’s face, and asked, “So what kinda work did Evangeline have you doing?” Seemingly trying to loosen Anson up, Rufus asked next, “Were you a personal assistant or something?”

“What? Dude.” Outrage left him flatfooted for a moment. “I’m, like, the Regional Director of Business Development.”

“ Oh .” More feigned surprise on Rufus’s part. “Not a Regional Director of Titties?”

Anson paled. His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything.

“Holy shit,” Sam said. “You were boinking?”

“No, we—” But if anything, his eyes got wider. “I—”

“Hey, hey, I get it,” Rufus interjected. “I mean… not personally, do I get it, but they looked big and pillowy. So what was your end game? Tap the boss and get promoted to Director of Regional Directors?” Rufus slumped forward, elbows resting on the tabletop as he stared at Anson expectantly.

“Big and pillowy,” Sam said under his breath.

“Hey, man, not cool!” Although, to be fair to Rufus, Anson did sit up a little straighter. “Evangeline was smart. She was super good at what she did. And we, like, respected each other.” If he was still worried about being seen with them, he must have forgotten, because he puffed up inside his coat as he said, “She even asked me my opinions and stuff.”

“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” Sam said. “You know what happened to Evangeline, that wasn’t an accident, right?”

Anson squirmed in his seat. “No, people are saying—”

“Just like what happened to Colonel Bridges wasn’t an accident. You don’t accidentally fall off a balcony inside a crowded convention center, Anson. And you don’t accidentally get shot in your own hotel room. Someone killed them. I think you might know who.”

“What—why—no!” But the little sales bro was so white he looked like he might pass out.

Rufus straightened. “Don’t make me walk you through deep breathing exercises, Anson. Why don’t you tell us what you know? Even if it’s nothing big. It won’t go beyond this table.”

“But I don’t know anything! Oh God. Did somebody say I did? I don’t! I’m, like, innocent!”

“Innocent of what?” Sam asked.

It was practically a wail: “Everything!”

Rufus held up both hands in defense. “Hey, it’s cool. I’m innocent of everything too. Never lied, cheated, or stole in my entire life. You can ask my mother.”

It was a good thing, Sam thought, he hadn’t been taking a drink.

“You wanted to talk to us earlier today,” Sam said. “Why?”

More squirming. More shifting. He even glanced around again, and Sam realized, with something like wonder, that Anson actually believed someone had followed him.

“Well, I was thinking, you know, just, um, a possibility, but what if it wasn’t an accident? Evangeline, I mean.” And then, voice even lower: “What if someone did it on purpose? And you were asking about Evangeline, and I thought maybe you knew.”

Sam wasn’t sure what other option there was, but now didn’t seem like the right moment to derail Anson. He nodded and said, “Why would someone have wanted to hurt Evangeline?”

Anson frowned as though he didn’t understand why they didn’t understand. “Because she was leaving.”

“Leaving the company?” Rufus asked hesitantly.

Nodding, Anson said, “Oh yeah. She hadn’t said anything yet—I mean, only to me, because, you know, we respected each other—”

“Totally,” Rufus agreed, somehow keeping a straight face.

“—but New Haven wanted her bad. They poached her, and she was waiting for the right time to tell everyone.” He thought about it and added, “Probably because they were going to be so pissed that she was taking Colonel Bridges with her—”

“ Bro ,” Rufus said, long and low. “Did Evangeline tell you that? Specifically?”

“Tell me what?”

It looked to Sam that Rufus’s facade nearly fell, but he managed to clarify, without a hint of irritation, “Did Evangeline tell you that the colonel was following her to this new job?”

“Oh. Yeah, I mean, she was kind of pissed about it because the guys at New Haven made the offer contingent on that, and she was like, I’m valuable because of who I am, not because of my client list, and I was like, maybe you aren’t, but I mean, I didn’t say it out loud.”

Jesus Christ, Sam thought. And then he asked, “New Haven? Like, Yale?”

“Huh?”

“Who’s New Haven?”

“Oh. New Haven Security. Why’d you think it was Yale?”

“Don’t mind him, he’s been salty ever since Yale rejected his college application,” Rufus explained as he put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Those SAT scores are a real bitch. So. Do you think some douche at Conasauga found out?”

Anson licked his lips. “They wouldn’t kill her.”

He didn’t say it, but behind the words, Sam heard the question: would they?

“Would it be a big deal if Colonel Bridges had gone with Evangeline? Was he in charge of major purchases, that kind of thing?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. That it would be a big deal. It’s kind of complicated. It’s not like he could authorize huge purchases on his own, but in this business, it’s all about connections.”

“And the colonel was a good guy to know?”

Anson nodded.

Rufus interrupted, “Uncle Sam’s all about antitrust laws…. But I bet Conasauga could handle some healthy competition, right? Mr. Regional Director of Business Development?”

“Um, maybe?”

“That’s not exactly inspiring,” Sam said.

“I mean, it’s not like there are a lot of people buying their own personal tactical vehicles. You’ve got to get those government contracts.”

“What are we talking here? If Evangeline and the colonel hadn’t died?”

Anson shrugged. “Probably the same thing that’s going to happen now. Mr. Jolly, he’s the president, he knows some people. But it’s going to be a lot harder.” He sat back, mouth turned down. “That’s why it was such a bummer this wasn’t a real networking event.”

Sam frowned. “You think Conasauga is going to go under?”

“I think I don’t want to stick around to find out. Look, man, I told you what I know. So, like—what do I do? Should I go to the police?” He looked ready to cry. “Is this, like, witness protection stuff?”

“Uh.” Sam couldn’t help it. “That’s probably a better question for the police.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about the police or law, because I’m just an innocent civilian,” Rufus began, “but between us… bro … get out of New York. Consider selling something less dangerous. Like used cars or lollipops. Ok?”

“Right,” Anson breathed. “Right. Get out of New York. Right.”

“Phone number,” Sam said, “in case we have more questions. And if you think of anything else, let us know. On LinkedIn.”

Anson tossed a business card onto the table and scuttled out of the pub.

“Jesus,” Sam said. “I’m surprised his underwear didn’t fly off.”

Rufus let out a long groan, slumping back in his chair. “It’s hard to play good cop when the target is so dumb.”

“It’s hard to do anything when they’re that dumb. What happened to our food?”

That was when the waiter brought it; it happened like that sometimes. Sam asked for another Stella, and this time, he didn’t get a smile. But the burger was hot, and the fries were crispy, and that was better than a smile.

Rufus had eaten half of his burger in about two, maybe two and a half bites, before he asked around a mouthful of food, “Del’s in hot water financially if the colonel leaves, right?”

“Yeah. And the colonel has left. Permanently. So, Conasauga is in trouble. Which raises the question: if the colonel leaving was such a problem, why would Del kill him? I mean, it doesn’t solve the problem. If anything, it guarantees he’s going to have a problem.”

Rufus was in the midst of sneaking several fries off Sam’s plate and onto his own when Sam concluded his train of thought. Rufus jerked his hand back, wiped his fingers on his napkin, and said, “I’m willing to admit that it’s now tough to swallow my killing-in-the-heat-of-the-moment pill when I know that New Haven was doing a little headhunting.”

“The timing,” Sam said and stopped for another fry. “That bothers me too. I mean, if you’re going to kill her for high treason, or whatever the corporate speak is for stealing the golden goose, why do it in a convention center? And why this weekend? I know I’m hammering on Stonefish, but think about it: we know Shareed contacted her. We know she and the colonel were done with Conasauga. Del was panicking. Doesn’t it make sense that it’s all tied together somehow?”

Rufus finished his cheeseburger in two more bites. He downed what was left of his beer before giving Sam a look that suggested he might have had an upset stomach, which didn’t make sense, considering Rufus ate like he was a trash compactor. “I don’t want you to puff your chest out or give me any ‘I told you sos’ or anything like that. But I’m now wondering, where’s Lew been all day?”

“God, do we want to know? I’m surprised he didn’t have his nose up Jen Nasta’s skirt.”

“That’s what I mean, though. When we first saw him, he was talking with Colonel Bridges at the Conasauga panel. Just two guys who knew about Stonefish. But since then, there’s been three murders, an abduction—” Rufus leaned in and lowered his voice to whisper, “—a fucking Congresswoman is involved, and Lew’s known to orbit around these people. What if his orbit crosses over, you know? Like Pluto invading Neptune’s space. I’m not saying he’s suddenly offed three people, but that… maybe I owe you an apology for writing him off as innocent so quickly.”

“No, you were right. I was so fixated on Lew, I missed a lot of stuff.” Sam drew a deep breath and poked at his half-eaten burger. “But I think, now, we need to figure out where Lew fits in all this.”

“I think we need to do more than that,” Rufus answered. “I think we should try talking to him again.”