Remember Me, Irene

“Well?” he asked.

“You’re right, I love it.”

“Here, sit with me on the staircase,” Keene said.

We sat there in silence for a moment, then he said, “I’m not sure what you already know about all of this. I’ve spent the last two days trying to figure out what I should and shouldn’t tell you. At first, I was just going to try to point you in the right direction. But things have changed.”

“Changed how?”

“Someone is just going crazy now. Honest to God, if I thought I knew who it was, I’d go to the police. You have to believe that.”

“Tell me what you mean by ‘going crazy.’”

“Hurting people! Maybe-maybe even worse. Hell, probably worse. When I heard about the woman who runs the shelter getting hurt, I guess I decided I’d tell you just about everything.”

I waited.

“I’ve got one or two promises to ask you to make. First, promise you won’t drag my kids into this. They’ve never known any of it, and I owe my late wife that much.”

“If they haven’t had anything to do with it, I won’t be the one to drag them into it, as you say. But I can’t make promises about what other reporters will or won’t do.”

“I understand. The second promise is more selfish, but I’m not ready to give up my hide yet, and I’m afraid that’s what I’d be doing if whoever is going around hurting people knew I talked to you.”

“What’s the promise?”

“You protect me as a source-keep my name and any description of me off the record. I’ll tell you all I can. But nobody knows I’m the one that talked to you. Not the police and not the public.”

I hesitated.

“I won’t do it any other way,” he said.

“Okay, I’ll protect you as a source. But if you’re investigated by the police, they may learn things on their own. I can’t protect you from the law.”

“Married to a cop, I suppose not.”

“Does that make you mistrust me?”

“Hell no. I know how you reporters work. You ever leak this to your husband, pretty soon you’ve got no reputation as someone who can be trusted. No one talks to you. You go nowhere, because no one will tell you anything they wouldn’t want the cops to hear.”

I nodded. “I guess you do understand how it works. But the cops are working on this, Keene. They aren’t stupid. Reed Collins, Jake Matsuda-the guys who are working these cases-they make co

“Good. I want the person who’s doing all of this to be caught. I just don’t want to be crucified while they’re looking for the guy.”

“So talk to me.”

He stared off toward the fountain, but I don’t think he was looking at it.

“Jesus, this is go

“I’ll give you some help. Someone saw an opportunity in Las Piernas. In redevelopment.”

He cleared his throat and said, “Allan Moffett and Roland Hill. It started with them.”

“Allan gave inside information to Roland, and Roland gave Allan kickbacks.” It was a guess, but I wasn’t out on any limb.

“Yes. And I went along with it. I don’t mean they ever cut me in on their deals, but because I was willing to keep my mouth shut, a lot of business came my way.”

“How much business?”

“Millions of dollars’ worth. Millions. I wouldn’t be sitting here calling this my hotel if it wasn’t millions. Not all with redevelopment. But because Roland used my company, other developers came to me.”

“And I’m sure Allan helped you to put in competitive bids for city projects.”

“There was that,” he admitted. “They weren’t stingy with financial advice and inside info-as you know. They handpicked all of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“They knew Selman was weak: guy had two separate child-support payments, expensive habits, and was always trying to impress young broads. I had seven kids, and even though the business was growing, I was having trouble keeping ahead of my suppliers’ bills. Corbin Tyler, he just had one kid, but she had some heart problem that kept him in the red. Booter Hodges is just a damned glad-hander. That joker would do anything to rub elbows with money, ’cause unless he brings the bucks into the college foundation, he’s out of a job. He was the one that suggested Selman.”

“And Ben Watterson?”

“Watterson came into it a little later, more reluctantly, I guess I’d say. He liked what it did for his business, liked what it did for the city. But it ate at him. I’ll tell you something. It ate at me. Still does. Maybe I’m telling you this because I don’t want to end up like Ben. I don’t want my kids to find me in a shower with my brains blown out. How he could do that to Claire, I’ll never know.”

“I’ve tried to understand that myself. Maybe he was afraid she’d be ashamed of him if the truth came out. Maybe it was easier to die than to see all those people disappointed in him.”

“Nuts to that,” Keene said. “People expect too much. Ben was only human. We all are.”

“Ben was in a position of trust. I can try to understand him, but I also have to be concerned about what he may have done to the city.”

“The city! Christ, that’s what gripes my ass. The city benefitted like crazy. Jobs, retail sales-tax income-I could go on and on. Sure, a couple of projects didn’t work out, but most of them pulled lousy neighborhoods out of the toilet. The people I hired-they’re part of this city, too.”

“I see. ‘The poor you have always with you,’ unless you can make them move to some other town.”

“It’s not so simple!”

“No. Neither is fixing a deal so that your competitors don’t have a fair chance to provide those jobs.”

When he finally answered, his voice was much quieter. “No,” he said.

“And for that matter, neither is murder.”

“No. But will anyone else see it that way? That’s what scares the shit out of me.”

“You know something about murder, Keene?”

The cavernous room was silent, so silent that I heard Keene Dage swallow hard before he said, “I’m not sure. I’m not sure, but I think I do.”

“Then tell me what you think you know.”

He looked down at his shoes and said, “Numbers. It all started with numbers.”

34

THE NUMBERS AND RESELMANcooked up?”

He nodded. “Allan didn’t like the original numbers Selman was coming up with on his study.”

“Too many people being evicted?”

“Jesus. You do know. Yeah, Allan didn’t think he could make his projects fly if there was some big protest over the number of people who’d have to move out. Allan and Roland called him in to talk things over. It was the first time they had worked with him, and Selman was smart enough to figure out just what kind of bonanza he had lucked into.

“So he starts giving his research assistant a hard time. This was Lucas. Lucas was ambitious, you know? Selman thought he could convince him that he had figured the statistics wrong, that Lucas wouldn’t risk pissing off his-what do they call it?”

“His advisor for his thesis.”

“Right.”

“Andre was also his employer,” I said. “Lucas needed the job to stay in school. But he didn’t understand that he was supposed to compromise his principles, did he?”

“Oh, I think he understood, although no one spelled it out-that would have been too dangerous. He just refused to do it. Selman’s not stupid. Fire this kid, and he’s going to have all kinds of trouble. This kid might turn his ass in, let it be known what the professor is up to.”

“So he found a replacement,” I said, “and a cocon spirator in Nadine Preston.”

“Replacement, cocon spirator, typist, bedmate-you name it. She was a piece of work.”

“I’ve seen her transcripts,” I said. “She got a D in Andre’s upper-division stat class. She’s got a D, and he hires her as a graduate assistant on a largely statistical study. She retook the class from him, and she got an A. Quite an improvement.”

“Yeah, well, I can tell you she truly studied under him.”