Michael and I emerged from the car slowly, taking in the shadowy archways looping high overhead, the broad, blackened, iron-hard oak floors, and the massive ribbons of ceiling-mounted conveyor belts, once linked to the river’s thunderous power, now as silent and still as sleeping juggernauts. Everywhere we looked, there were electrical lights strung like Christmas ornaments, each one bright individually but cumulatively smothered by the sheer weight of the surrounding gloom. Incongruously small, as well as out of place, a dusty 1930s fire-truck sat parked to one side.
“Boy,” Jonathon said softly as Greg approached us. “You sure know how to pick your spots.”
Greg shook hands. “I’m friends with the owner. It was the one place I could think of where no one would walk in on us. Emily’s waiting upstairs.” He gestured toward a broad flight of worn wooden steps.
Jon was still looking around like a star-struck tourist. “Your friend like paying utility bills?”
Greg laughed. “It’s free. Years back, when the power company bought the land, the man who owned this building demanded that part of the deal be free utilities in perpetuity. The lights burn day and night. It’s not a bad security system, although I know the guy would like to see the place put to better use. He’s tried to interest people in starting a business here, maybe a small manufacturer, but it’s been like moving a mountain with a spoon.”
We reached the top of the stairs and stood in a gigantic empty room, the size of a football field. It was clear of debris or obstacles apart from an orderly forest of regularly spaced steel pillars supporting the flat wooden ceiling. Every wall save one was covered with enormous paned windows, making the room as washed with light as its predecessor had been dark. Near one of these banks of windows was a small cluster of chairs, and sitting in one of them was the compact shape of Emily Doyle. She rose nervously as we approached.
Jonathon stepped ahead of me, as we’d agreed earlier. Given the mood of my previous encounter with Emily, I saw no advantage in being the point man. “I’m with the attorney general’s office, Officer Doyle. My name is Jonathon Michael. You’ve already met Lieutenant Gunther.”
She nodded, but made no comment. The fire I’d seen in her earlier had ebbed now that she felt herself in Padget’s shoes-a loss of spirit I took no joy in seeing.
Jon gestured for everyone to sit. Outside, mingling with the rain’s steady hiss was the throaty growl of the nearby river, visible at the bottom of the gorge as a frothing, lethal tumult. Fall Mountain opposite was lost in a veil of colorless mist.
“Before we begin,” he said, “I want to make one thing very clear. Despite what you might feel, you are under no obligation to be here, nor to speak with any one of us. Sergeant Davis is here so he can testify to that later if need be. You are absolutely free to walk away right now, and nothing will be made of the fact.”
A bit of the old Emily flashed across her face. “I doubt that.”
Jonathon didn’t let it pass. “You doubt what, Officer Doyle?”
“That if I walk out of here, it won’t be held against me. You guys’ll think I’m hiding something.”
Jonathon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his low, calm voice barely containing a sudden passion. “Your name has come up enough times that we wanted to talk with you. If you don’t want to be part of that process, fine, but don’t start thinking you know what’s going on in my head. I happen to know what it’s like being hung out to dry. I know you get distrustful and isolated. I know how conversations die when you enter a room. I won’t be wondering what you’re hiding if you hightail it out of here, because to me that would be the most natural thing in the world. Are we straight on that?”
I had to hand it to him. She merely nodded and said, “I’m sorry.” I did wonder, however, at the allusion he’d made, and the implication that so many of us had at one time or another found ourselves on the outside of a demanding, often stratified system.
He sat back and crossed his legs. “Don’t be. Now-do you want to be here or not? Simple yes or no.”
Now Emily Doyle surprised me. She smiled lopsidedly and said, “No and yes.”
Jon matched her smile and shook his head. “Point taken.” He paused a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, and continued. “One last technicality. As Sergeant Davis is your immediate superior, you might feel more comfortable with him out of earshot. That would also not be held against you.”
Here she was unequivocal. “No. I’d like him to stay.”
“All right. We’ll get started, but keep in mind that we’re groping for answers here, not trading accusations, so try not to get your back up. It is our understanding that you and Brian Padget were intimately involved with one another. When you broke up, was it amicable or were there bad feelings?”
The kaleidoscope of emotions that swept across her suddenly red face was painful to watch. Given the emotional strain this woman had endured, and her inexperience in dealing with it, I was half surprised she didn’t yield to her famous physical prowess and deck Jonathon Michael where he sat.
In fact, once her shock and anger had settled back down, like a suddenly disturbed flock of birds, her response, while tense, was delivered calmly. “We were friends before, and we still are.”
“Did you know early on about his affair with Jan Bouch?”
She pursed her lips briefly. “Soon enough, I guess-town this size.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“It wasn’t any of my business.”
Jon shifted in his chair, becoming slightly more pointed in his body language. “Let’s try that one again.”
“We’d already broken up. It was his choice.” She paused. No one else filled the silence. “I thought he was nuts, risking his career.”
I sensed in a slight widening of her eyes that she wanted to add something. But the moment was so quickly overtaken by Jon’s next question, I wasn’t even sure what I’d seen.
“Did other members of the department feel likewise? Was it a topic of conversation?”
“I knew they were talking about it, but not around me, since Brian and I had been going together. Sergeant Davis approached Brian unofficially, not that it did any good.”
Davis moved slightly, his eyes on the floor. He hadn’t told me of any such conversation and was no doubt feeling awkward. Unnecessarily, I thought-the talk had been confidential, and he’d honored that promise.
“You know Brian pretty well,” Jonathon went on, “and you seem to think highly of him, even if his relationship with Mrs. Bouch was perhaps poorly thought out. Were there other times he might’ve acted inappropriately?”
Her expression darkened. “Did he do dope, you mean? No fucking way… I’m sorry. I mean, he’s like a regular straight arrow. He won’t even drink a beer because he doesn’t want alcohol in his system just in case there’s an emergency.”
“How about his dealings with Norm Bouch?”
Again, I thought I saw that desire to say more, but all she said was, “I didn’t know he had any.”
Jonathon Michael frowned. “If he didn’t have any contact with Norm Bouch, how did he meet Jan?”
This time, the body language was more eloquent. Her eyes swept across all three of us, and she wet her lips before answering, “I guess it was just around town.”
“Not during a domestic to the house? The log shows the PD went over there pretty regularly.”
She nodded emphatically. “Sure. They could’ve met during a call.”
“Except that Brian’s name doesn’t appear in the log once, not as a primary, not even as backup.”
There was a long, awkward silence. Her voice, when it came, sounded tinny in the vast empty space around us. “Then I guess they didn’t.”
Jon continued as if nothing had happened. “Do you and Brian talk shop a lot?”
“As much as anybody.”
“But you implied you didn’t discuss the risks he was running by dating Mrs. Bouch, despite your friendship.”