Pulling a large silk handkerchief from his pocket, Apostoll wiped away the sweat that had formed below his toupee.
Now, thought Burr in the hiatus. Go.
* * *
"And was Major Corkoran present on this occasion, Michael?" Burr asked innocently.
Immediately, a scowl of disapproval settled over Apostoll's darting features. His voice became snappish and accusing.
"Major Corkoran, like Lord Langbourne, was very much in evidence. Major Corkoran was a valued guest. He operated the projector and performed the social honours, he spoke correctly to the ladies, fixed drinks and made himself agreeable. When my clients half-humorously proposed that Major Corkoran remain behind as a hostage until the deal was completed, the idea was warmly received by the ladies. When general heads of agreement were drawn up by myself and Lord Langbourne, Major Corkoran made a droll speech and signed with much flourish on Mr. Roper's behalf. My clients relish a little foolery to lighten the daily burden." He took an indignant breath, and his little fist opened to reveal a rosary. "Unfortunately, Doctor, on the insistence of Patrick and his rough-tongued friend here, I have been compelled to denigrate Major Corkoran in the eyes of my clients to the point where their enthusiasm for him has waned. This is un-Christian behaviour, sir. It is bearing false witness, and I deplore it. So does Father Lucan."
"It's just so shitty," Lucan complained. "I don't think it's even ethical. Is it?"
"Would you mind telling me, please, Michael, exactly what your clients have so far been told to the detriment of Major Corkoran?"
Apostoll's head was stuck out like an indignant chicken's. The strings in his neck were taut.
"Sir, I am not responsible for what my clients may have heard from other sources. As to what I have told them myself, I have told them precisely what my ― " He seemed suddenly to have no word for his handlers. "I have advised my clients in my capacity as their lawyer of certain alleged facts in Major Corkoran's past, which, if true, invalidate his suitability as a nominee in the longer term."
"Such as?"
"I have been obliged to advise them that he has an irregular life-style and uses alcohol and drugs to excess. To my shame, I also told them he was indiscreet, which does not in the least accord with my experience of the Major. Even in his cups, he is the very soul of discretion." He tipped his head indignantly at Flynn. "I was given to understand that the purpose of this distasteful manoeuvre was to clear away the surrogate figure of Major Corkoran, thereby moving Mr. Roper personally into the firing line. I am obliged to tell you that I do not share the optimism of these gentlemen in that regard, and even if I did share it, I would not consider these actions to be consistent with the ideals of a true legionary. If Major Corkoran is found unacceptable, Mr. Roper will merely procure for himself another signer."
"Is Mr. Roper, so far as you know, aware of your clients' reservations about Major Corkoran?" asked Burr.
"Sir, I am neither Mr. Roper's keeper nor the keeper of my clients. They do not inform me of their inner deliberations. I respect that."
Burr put his hand into the recesses of his sweat-soaked jacket and dragged out a limp envelope, which he tore open while Flynn, in his broadest Irish, explained its contents:
"Michael, what the Doctor has brought with him here is an exhaustive list of Major Corkoran's misdemeanours before his employment by Mr. Roper. Most of the incidents relate to acts of venery. But we also have a couple of cases of riotous behaviour in public places, drunk driving, drug abuse and going walkabout for days at a time, plus peculation of army funds. As the guardian of your clients' interest, you are so worried by the rumours you've been hearing about the poor soul that you have taken it upon yourself to cause discreet enquiries to be made over in England, and this is what you've come up with."
Apostoll was already protesting. "Sir, I am a member in good standing of the Florida and Louisiana bars, and a former president of the Dade County Bar Association. Major Corkoran is not duplicitous. I will not be used to frame an innocent man."
"Sit the fuck down," Strelski told him. "And that's bullshit about the bar association."
"He just makes things up," Lucan told Burr in despair. "He's incredible. Every time he says something, he indicates its opposite. Like, if he's giving an example of the truth, it turns out to be a lie. I don't know how to get him out of it."
Burr put in a quiet plea: "If we could just discuss the question of timing, Patrick," he suggested.
* * *
They walked back to the Cessna. Flynn led again, his gun across his arms.
"You think it worked?" Burr asked. "You really don't think he guessed?"
"We're too stupid," said Strelski. "Just dumb cops."
"We're assholes," Flynn agreed serenely.
ELEVEN
The first blow seemed to hit Jonathan in his sleep. He heard the crunch of his jawbone and saw the black lights of a knockout, followed by a long flash of sheet lightning. He saw Latulipe's contorted face glaring at him, and Latulipe's right arm drawn back to hit him a second time. This seemed a silly thing for anyone to be doing: to use the right fist as if it were a hammer working at a nail and leave oneself wide open to retaliation.
He heard Latulipe's question and realised he was hearing it for the second time.
"Salaud! Who are you?"
Then he saw the crates of empties he had helped the Ukrainians stack in the yard that afternoon, and heard the striptease music playing through the disco fire exit. He saw a crescent moon hanging above Latulipe's head like a crooked halo. He remembered that Latulipe had asked him to come outside a moment. And he supposed he should hit Latulipe back or at least block the second blow, but indifference or some sense of chivalry stayed his hand, so that the second blow hit him pretty much where the first had, and he had a brief memory of being back at the orphanage and running into a fire hydrant in the dark. But either his head was numb by then or it wasn't a real fire hydrant, because it didn't have half the effect of the first blow, except to open a cut at the corner of his mouth and send a flood of warm blood tracking down his chin.
"Where's your Swiss passport? Are you a Swiss or not?
Talk to me! What are you? You fuck up my daughter's life, you lie to me, you drive my wife crazy, you eat at my table, who are you? Why do you lie?"
And this time, as Latulipe pulled back his fist, Jonathan kicked his feet out from under him and laid him on his back, careful at the same time to ease his fall because there was no nice tuft of windblown grass from the Lanyon to cushion him: the yard was paved with good Canadian asphalt. But Latulipe was undeterred and, scrambling gamely to his feet, seized Jonathan's arm and frog-marched him into the dingy alley that ran along the back of the hotel, for years an informal urinal for the male population of the town. Latulipe's Jeep Cherokee was parked at the far end. Jonathan could hear its engine running as they shuffled towards it.