what had happened.
I flipped through the three pages of Danny Kellys and their scant contact information. I figured calling each of them was about the only thing I could do in my condition. I picked up the phone and dialed, figuring I’d know what to say when the moment came.
A woman’s voice answered. “Hello?”
“Hi, I’m trying to reach Danny Kelly.”
“I think you must have the wrong number.”
“Oh, sorry to bother you, ma’am.”
She hung up and I dialed again. A computerized voice told me that the number I’d dialed had been disconnected or was no longer in service and advised to me to check the number and dial again. The third number was answered by a man.
“I’m trying to reach Danny Kelly.”
“This is Dan,” the voice responded, with a hint of skepticism.
“Hi Dan, I’m a lawyer trying to find some information about Matt Bishop.”
“Who?”
“Matt Bishop? Do you know Mr. Bishop?”
“Never heard of him. I think you must have the wrong guy.”
“Oh, sorry to bother you.”
I had essentially the same series of interactions for two hours and slowly checked off the names and took notes about who had at least admitted to being a Dan Kelly. When it was over I’d reached five answering machines and left messages saying I wanted to talk about Matt Bishop and asking for Dan Kelly to call me back. Between calls I surfed the Internet and drank as much water as I could. I tried not to think about Morgan or Liz or the ramifications of what I’d done. But the images kept coming back to me. I could see her naked body in the streetlight, the image floating right in front of me when I closed my eyes. I would catch faint hints of her perfume wafting in from the hall, redolent, loaded with guilty, sweating images.
I imagined that nothing would come of it, that Liz would never find out and that Morgan would return to school and I’d never see her again. At least I wanted to believe that could happen, that somehow I could betray Liz, lie to her, cheat on her, and escape unscathed.
The phone rang. It was Liz. Perfect.
“Hey, how’d your meeting go?”
“Ah, shit, wouldn’t you know the partner cancelled on me so we’re having it this afternoon. Good thing. I’m still working on it.” My effort to speak in a lively tone betrayed me, it was too much.
“Are you okay? You sound like you’re sick.”
“Nah, I think I’m just tired. I was here late.” But what if she called? “Working in the library,” I added. “I didn’t sleep very well either.”
“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go to a work thing tonight. A dinner at my boss’s. I can bring my significant other. So you’re it, if you feel up to it.”
Significant other . . . Christ. I wanted nothing more than to go home and die. “Geez, I dunno. I’m tired, but maybe. When do you need to know by?”
“Well, sometime before I need to be there would be good.” She sounded pissed. Was this just how we interacted now? The last thing I could handle was a fight.
“I’m not trying to be difficult. I just — I need to have this meeting with this guy and then I’ll know whether I can get out of here at a decent hour. Bastard had me here half the night last night.”
“I know, I know. I just thought it might be fun. It might be good for you to spend an evening around people who haven’t sold their souls yet.” She laughed, but there was a mild irritation and aggression beneath it.
“Now you’re really being mean.”
“Hey, I know they give you a good price for your soul, but you should at least see how people with a conscience live.”
“Man, I’m getting no slack here, am I?”
“None.”
I told her I’d call her after my meeting and hung up, relieved. Liz believed everything, and why shouldn’t she? There was no reason to suspect anything, and working late made perfect sense. I was beginning to enjoy using work as an excuse. It was, perhaps, the only benefit of the grueling hours.
At two o’clock, I had done almost no coherent thinking about the case and I gathered up my papers, along with what remained of my self-confidence, and trudged upstairs to Carver’s office. As I approached the door I began to sweat. Was it nerves? Was it the hangover? Did I smell like gin? I had no way of knowing. I rounded the