Bury the Lead - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,45
a secret anymore.”
Vince has to this point not come forward with his relationship to Daniel. It would be a brave thing to do, since it would expose Vince to the same kind of public scorn and hatred as the rest of us in Daniel’s camp. It is also a piece of news that can only impact Vince’s career and reputation negatively.
“That’s your call, Vince.”
He nods. “But I want to make sure it doesn’t hurt his chances in any way.”
“In the trial? I don’t see why it would. It might even be a slight positive, maybe make him a little more human and worthy of support. But the impact on the trial wouldn’t be big enough either way for you to factor it in.”
“Then I’m going to do it,” he says.
His decision made, I change the subject. “Vince, how well did you know Daniel’s wife?”
“Margaret? I knew her . . . we weren’t close or anything. We went out to dinner a bunch of times.”
“When you visited, did you stay at their house?”
“Nah, I stayed at a hotel. It was easier that way.”
“Did you like her? How were they together?”
I expect a quick “Yes” and “Great,” but that’s not what I get. Vince takes a while to think about it, measuring his answer. “She was always nice to me,” he says, “and I never saw them arguing or anything . . .”
His answer invites a “but . . . ,” so that’s what I give him. “But . . .”
“There is a poem,” he says, “by Edwin Robinson. It’s called ‘Richard Corey.’”
I nod. I’m vaguely familiar with the poem, mainly because Simon and Garfunkel had a song that ripped it off. The fact that Vince is talking about it is rather stunning. Until now I thought his intellectual awareness extended about as far as “knock, knock” jokes.
He continues. “It’s about this really wealthy guy, who everybody in the town thinks has the greatest life in the world. At the end of the poem, they’re all shocked ’cause the guy goes home one night and puts a bullet in his head.”
“So Daniel and Margaret seemed to have a great life, but you didn’t think it was real?”
He nods. “Something like that. She had all this money, and they lived in a great house and had fancy cars and stuff, but there was something missing . . . something a little off. I couldn’t place it then . . . I can’t even place it now . . . but I felt it.”
Vince seems like he’s getting upset, so I try to lighten the moment. “So now I’ve learned that not only did you once have sex, but you’ve also read a poem. What a life you’ve lived.”
My effort at lightening lands with a heavy thud. “Andy, you’ve been on this for a while now. You think Daniel could have done this? Killed those people? Killed Margaret?”
It’s the first time I’ve seen him exhibit any doubt, though I’ve always suspected it had to be there. It’s ironic because I’ve become more and more willing to believe that Daniel is innocent. “I don’t know anything about Margaret, Vince. I can’t really give an opinion on that. These killings here, though, they don’t fit with Daniel. But I’m not going to lie to you . . . I’m not sure, and I definitely could be wrong.”
“Thanks,” he says, and then without another word just gets up and walks out of the place.
This is not at all the Vince I know. Except for the part where he didn’t pay the check.
I pick Sondra up first thing in the morning for the drive over to the foundation. The transformation in her has been remarkable. It’s not just the conservative clothing Laurie has gotten for her; it’s also a change in attitude. Her reluctance to go after this new life has gradually faded, if not to eagerness, then a willingness to give it a shot. Laurie has performed miracles with her.
I’m a little nervous about Sondra and Willie meeting. He could come on with a heavy-handed “me boss, you slave” routine, which might cause her to bail out. On her part, she could decide that, even though she claims to like dogs, feeding them, cleaning their cages, and doing menial paperwork don’t constitute an upward career move.
There is also the potential for a natural clash of personalities. Both are strong-willed and independent, used to taking care of themselves and only themselves. The idea of a close working relationship