“A little.”
“Well, he shouldn’t be. I wasn’t about to divest the firm of anything, not for a small-potatoes deal like this one. What’d he realize on the sale, anyway?”
“A bit over thirty-six million.”
“And the margins worldwide? What’ll they be costing us?”
“Just about that.”
“Well, he can buy his pictures back after Christmas. Hundreds more if he feels like.”
“I’m sure he knows that.”
“How’d Jessie take what you told her?”
“Badly.”
“She isn’t worth a hill of beans, that girl, as much a nitwit as her mother was, dancing her life away, whoring it away. Only worthwhile thing about her is her signature. Didn’t much like your calling off her trip, huh?”
“Not much, Daddy.”
“Hell with her. Shoulda whipped her little ass ages ago, taught her how to sit on a raw bottom. Taught Sarge, though. That time in the bathroom with her.” He shook his head. “His own sister naked as a sparrow, and him sittin’ on the crapper watching her, all eyes. Blistered his bottom till he couldn’t walk straight. The shame of it.”
He scowled, remembering. And then his face softened.
“You’re all I’ve got, Livvie. I love you to death.”
“And I love you,” she said softly.
“Ah. I hope so,” Andrew said, “I hope so.”
He looked through the window again, toward the copper mine in the distance.
“Do you think I’m greedy?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, and smiled.
“There’s my girl,” he said, returning the smile. “Never lies to me, does she? I’m greedy, you’re damn right. You and I both know what’ll happen to the Kidd oil interests after Christmas Day. So why am I bothering with this other crap? Why make Sarge unhappy? For a lousy three, four billion worldwide? If indeed we net that much in the long run? Peanuts compared to what we’ll realize on the oil alone. But I can’t be bothered with Sarge’s... do you know the story about the Texas oil man and the Chicano?”
“No,” she said.
“This Texas oil zillionaire...”
“Like you.”
“Yes, except I’m in Arizona. This Texas oil zillionaire is sitting at the back of a little chapel, praying, when this little Chicano comes in, goes to the altar, looks up at Christ on the cross there, and begins praying out loud. ‘Lord,’ he says... I wish I could do a Spanish accent, Livvie, but I can’t... ‘Lord,’ he says, ‘I really need your help. My wife just gave birth to our fifth baby, and she’s very sick, and my son is in jail, and my daughter is a prostitute, and if you could find a way for me to get five hundred dollars, I would be very grateful. Five hundred dollars is all I need, Lord, that’s all I’m asking for, can you please help me?’ Well, the big Texan goes up to the altar, and he hands the little Chicano five hundred bucks, and he says to him, ‘Here, don’t bother Him with that shit.’ ”
Andrew burst out laughing.
“So what Sarge must be wondering is why I’m bothering with this shit. Well, if he should ask you, Livvie...”
“I don’t think he’ll ask me.”
“I’m saying if he should. You just tell him it’s greed. Good, old-fashioned greed. I want it all Livvie, whatever I can lay my hands on. Before I die, I want to...”
“I don’t want to hear you talk about dying,” she said.
“We’ve all got to go sooner or later.”
“Not you.”
“No?” he said, smiling. “What’ll you do? Have me stuffed and put me in the living room?”
“Don’t joke about it!” she said angrily.
“There’s what I mean, Livvie. The Kidd iron, the Kidd temper. We’re alike, you and I, peas in a pod. God help anyone who ever tries to stand in your way.”
She came to him, put her arm around his shoulders.
“Shall I pour you some hot tea?” she asked gently.
“No, I think I’d like to rest now,” he said.
She adjusted the blanket on his lap.
“I love you, Daddy,” she said.
“Yes, yes,” he said, patting her hand. “My darling girl. My dear darling girl.”
The jury in the Jurgens case came in at eleven o’clock that morning.
Reardon, sitting at the prosecutor’s table with Koenig, watched the faces of the twelve men and women as they filed into the jury box, trying to read what was on them. Judge Abrahams turned to them as soon as they were seated.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he said, “have you agreed upon a verdict in this case?”
“We have,” the foreman said.
“Please return the papers to the Court,” the clerk said.
“Madam Foreman,” Judge Abrahams said, “what is the jury’s verdict?”
“We find the defendant not guilty,” the foreman said.
Harold Jurgens broke into a wide grin.
Reardon turned to Koenig at once. “Poll them,” he said.
“What for?” Koenig said.
“I want them to realize what they’ve done. I want them to feel individually responsible.”
Koenig sighed and rose.
“Your Honor,” he said, “may I respectfully request that the jury be polled?”
Abrahams nodded to the court clerk.
“Juror number one,” the clerk said. “Alice Louise Phillips. How do you find the defendant?”
“Not guilty,” the foreman said.
“Juror number two, Arthur Horwitz, how do you find the defendant?”
“Not guilty.”
“Juror number three, James Kreuger, how do you find the defendant?”
“Not guilty.”
“Juror number four, Miriam Hayes, how do you find the defendant?”
“Not guilty.”
“Juror number five, Martha Sanderson...”
She rose. Brown hair cut shoulder length. Simple brown dress with a brooch at the neckline.
“How do you find the defendant?”
Her eyes turned toward the prosecutor’s table. Her eyes found Reardon. She pulled back her shoulders, lifted her head defiantly, brown eyes boring into him.
“Not guilty,” she said, and nodded for emphasis.
Her eyes held his.
“Juror number six,” the court clerk said, “Alan Lehman...”
He was waiting for her in the corridor outside. This one he wanted to talk to personally. That fucking look she‘d given him, this one he wanted to inform and educate. As she came out of the courtroom, he fell into step beside her. For an instant, she didn’t know she was being paced, and then she turned to him with a startled little gasp and stopped dead in the marbled corridor.
“Are you proud of yourself, miss?” he said.
“What?” she said. The brown eyes opening wide, one hand coming up to the brooch at her neckline, protectively. Here she was, face to face with the maniac who’d beaten up a poor defenseless innocent man.
“It’s okay, you can talk to me now,” Reardon said, “it’s all over and done with.”
“Listen, mister...” she said.
“No, you listen,” he said. “You’ve let an animal loose on the streets again, do you realize that?”
“I don’t have to account to you, Detective Reardon, for the unanimous verdict of...”
“Took us six months to catch him, do you know that? He raped four women in that time. We finally got...”
“Listen, why don’t you...?”
“... a positive ID. plus his fingerprints all over the lady’s handbag...”
“Then why’d you have to beat a confession out of him?”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”