“Heard you were in town and just thought I’d stop by to say hello.”
In idle moments I’d had many daydreams of smashing his face in. Back when I was in army intelligence and investigating the sins of various officers I frequently met Larson’s type. They were usually West Pointers and they were convinced of their superiority based on little more than that they knew the secret handshake of that institution. Their weapon was the sneer. To question them was to challenge them as they had not been challenged since they’d graduated. They would always bring up West Point at the first opportunity and commiserate with me because I’d never had the privilege of attending there myself. Putting me in my place, of course. I’d had a lot of daydreams of smashing them in the face, too.
“You always wear a dinner jacket?”
“Believe it or not, I’ve got a dinner party to go to tonight. It’ll be a little higher class than this, Conrad, but I have to admit I haven’t seen any of your guests eating with their hands yet. So I’m impressed.”
He hadn’t stopped just to say hello. We’d had too many near fistfights for him to be comfortable. One night in Chicago I’d gone so far as to throw him up against a wall. We had both been pretty drunk. Both staffs had jumped between us, stopping the fun.
“You haven’t seen Monica around here tonight, have you?”
“Monica? What the hell would she be doing here?”
For once he’d dropped his drollery. “There’s something going on. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s got me worried.”
“Why would I care what happens to you and Monica?”
The smirk was back. “Because, old boy, your people may be involved in it, too.”
But I was sick of him now and his game, whatever it was.
“Hold this,” I said, pushing my empty glass into his hand and walking away quickly. It is small victories like this that make life worthwhile.
Around ten o’clock, after the dinner and the speeches, the band started playing again and Kristin forced me onto the dance floor. For fast songs I have invented a series of miniature movements that to the casual eye seem to be what you could call dancing. But if you look carefully you’ll see that I’m actually standing in one place and cleverly using elbows and hips to fool any dance critics who might be looking on.
“C’mon, Dev, move around a little. Look at me.”
I was looking at her, which was a pleasure. That cap of gorgeous red hair and the slash of grin and the lithe body moving sinuously to the music. Since I’m neither pretty nor sinuous, I kept on dancing the only way I knew how. Stiff middle-aged white man gets his groove on.
Neither of us could go for much longer than thirty seconds without looking to the center of the floor where Susan was dancing. A long line of men had queued up to be the congresswoman’s brief partner. Each of them got about a fourth of the song. She could really dance. Apparently, all her nights in clubs had taught her well. The TV people loved it. So did the guests with digital cameras. As long as we could see her, we were happy. She wasn’t going to wander off without giving me the talk I deserved, as to just what the hell was going on.
Susan had competition in the form of her stepmother. Natalie had an even longer line of beaus, and where Susan was dancing just for fun, Natalie was putting on a show. In her mauve cocktail dress, her dark hair and makeup flawless, she was one of those absolutely perfect middle-aged women gerontologists are awed by. She was here to show the younger ones how to do it.
The few times she and Wyatt danced together, the cameras rushed to make the moment immortal. They danced to the slower songs and with such grace I wondered if they hadn’t taken ballroom lessons together; their steps and their physical attitude had that kind of drama and poise.
Natalie was no doubt pleased to see that the cameras had now shifted in her direction. She wouldn’t get as much screen time as her stepdaughter, but at least she’d be on the tube.
When they finished dancing, Wyatt Byrnes stepped aside so that a group of women could surround Natalie and gush. Byrnes’s gaze met mine and he walked over.
“Enjoying yourself, Dev?”
“Do I look as uncomfortable as you do?”
“You noticed, eh?” He laughed. “I like dancing with Natalie. That’s the fun part. On one of the cruises we took we got into ballroom dancing.”
“What’s not the fun part?”
He leaned in and said softly, “The people. I’m not much for parties and things like that. I’d rather be home with a beer, watching Western movies. My father read them and watched them all the time. Westerns, I mean. I guess I picked it up from him.”
The rich man with the taste of the common man. Hard to know if it was genuine. Political spouses and important relatives are trained to be good copy. When the press comes around, have a good story for them. And make that story something the largest number of people can identify with. And make it an “Aw” story, as in “Aw, that’s so nice he’s just a regular guy.” You have to be careful of “Aw” stories because they can get out of control fast and sound contrived and unctuous. For instance, never have your guy say that his lifelong ambition is to work in a leper colony.
“For what it’s worth, Dev, I think you people are doing a good job for Susan. I know that Natalie can get a little testy now and then, but when we’re alone she admits that you’re doing everything you can. The problem is Susan.”
On the edge of the dance floor Natalie stood with her admirers. When she was a little girl she’d probably dreamed of being popular in this way, show-biz popular. But now she’d begun looking around, her smiles stage tricks and her attention wandering.
“I think she’s looking for me,” Byrnes said. “I need to go and rescue her. Nice to see you, Dev.”
I had a fresh drink and listened to the band for a time. They did a pair of Stones covers that were especially good. Then I needed a break. I was on my way to the men’s room when my cell phone bleated. I stopped and answered it.
“Mr. Conrad?”
“Yes.”
“This is Tommy Nickels.” Whoever he was — and I didn’t have a clue — he was excited about something. “From the hotel? You said to call you?”
“Oh, right, Tommy.”
“Something happened in her room. I was carrying bags past her room and I heard her arguing with somebody. I couldn’t stop because I was loaded down and this guy was in a hurry to get into his room. I had to spend a few minutes before I got him all set up. Then I got back to the Davies woman’s door and there wasn’t any sound.”
“Maybe the other person left. Was it a man, by the way?”
“Oh, yeah, definitely a man.”
I wasn’t sure why he had called. Did he think this kind of information would get him more money?
“There was a security man up here checking on something, Mr. Conrad. So just for the hell of it I had him knock on her door and see if everything was all right. I mean she and the guy were really arguing when I heard them. He knocked, but he didn’t get any answer. I wanted him to let me in, but he wouldn’t do it until he got the night manager’s approval. Which he ended up getting. And that was when he found her.”
Somebody would have to teach Tommy how to write a news story. The lead was always the most important part and it was now obvious what that lead was going to be.
“Is she dead, Tommy?”
“Yeah. Whoever nailed her got her with this small brass statue we have in some of the rooms. Like I said, it’s small, but if you use it like a weapon, it’ll get the job done for you. So is this worth another twenty?”
“Yeah,” I said, but I was too troubled by what he’d just told me to pay much attention.