Redirection Read online

  “You know what he’s capable of.”

  “Yeah. I do. Better than you, Shaw, actually.”

  “So you know he could have killed Rik. If he’d been angry enough, he could have. The night I saw him—”

  “Stop talking.”

  North didn’t recognize his own voice, the dead quality of it. He did, however, recognize the adrenaline that went through him like a chill, pimpling his skin.

  “You won’t be able to be impartial about this,” Shaw said quietly.

  “Fuck that. And fuck you for saying that.”

  “It’s not just me. No defense attorney worth the name would put you on the stand; a prosecutor would shred your testimony in two questions.”

  “You know what?” North shook his head and headed for the door. “I don’t ask for a lot from you.”

  “North, come on, I’m trying—”

  “So it’d be really fucking nice if every once in a while, if it wasn’t too fucking inconvenient, you could show me a little support.” He threw open the door and met Dick Laguerre’s tired gaze. “We’ll take the case.”

  Chapter 4

  THEY SPENT THE REST of Friday, Saturday, and Sunday chasing their own tails. Or that was how it felt to North, anyway. Dick put them in touch with Biff, who turned out to really be named Claude Isham, and why he went by Biff probably involved some godawful story about Vermont or punting (the boat kind) or a woman named Sissy. Biff couldn’t tell them much more than what Dick had already passed along, and when North tried—repeatedly, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday—to visit Tucker in the city jail, a series of mix-ups kept him from succeeding: he missed visiting hours, and then Tucker was being transported to the hospital for bloodwork, and then Tucker had been put on the wrong transport and gone to the county jail, and then visiting hours were over again, on and on like that.

  In between trying to track down Tucker, North spent time doing piecemeal work on the case against Ronnie. His one-time ‘uncle’ had been arrested for stealing intellectual property from Aldrich Acquisitions; the charges should have included murder, but the circuit attorney hadn’t been willing to try with the evidence they had. Even though North wasn’t officially—or even unofficially—part of the prosecution, he still spent as much time as he could trying to make sure Ronnie stayed behind bars. By Friday night, though, North was exhausted emotionally and physically. He drank himself out with Schlaflys. Saturday, he switched to vodka because he wanted to do it faster.

  Shaw spent those days trying to investigate the murder itself, although what he told North, in their infrequent moments of contact, was not promising: the motel room, where the murder had taken place, was still sealed and under twenty-four-hour watch as it was being processed, as was Tucker’s Webster Groves home, and police were canvassing both areas, making it impossible for Shaw to learn anything.

  On Monday, they sat in the courthouse hall while the arraignment was conducted. Tucker’s parents sat with them, along with some family and friends. From time to time, Dick would reach out, almost unconsciously, and squeeze North’s shoulder. Cathy, his wife and Tucker’s mother, had that kind of beauty that resisted time and age—a pixie cut of ice-blond hair, delicate bone structure, wrists and ankles like sparrows. The first time Tucker had introduced them, North had gotten one look at this woman and had her all figured out. He waited for the sniping, the heavy hand with the drinks, the air of perpetual dissatisfaction. Then, two minutes later, when she had asked about his parents and he had tossed off, without considering it, the fact that his mother had died years ago, Cathy had gotten tears in her eyes and hugged him tighter than anyone North could remember.

  Biff, leather-faced from the tennis courts, his cocktail gut snugged up in an immaculately tailored suit, emerged from the hearing with an unreadable expression. He told them the charge—second-degree murder—and the decision—Tucker had been bound over for trial. The judge had set bail at an amount that seemed staggering to North, but it only made Dick grimace, and then he and Biff hurried off to arrange Tucker’s release.

  In a surprisingly short amount of time, Tucker was with them, shaking hands, showing off all that perfect dental work, suitably charming with suitable reserve. He looked surprisingly well, all things considered, although his eyes were shadowed. He was wearing a navy suit North had picked out for him the year before, and it still fit him perfectly. When he left his circle of family and friends and approached them, North’s muscles tightened, an old, learned reaction. Tucker went for Shaw first, and although his movements weren’t sudden or fast, North startled and almost grabbed him. He caught himself at the last moment as Tucker grabbed Shaw in a hug. When he released Shaw, Shaw looked about as surprised as North felt. Then Tucker turned to North.

  “I don’t suppose you want me to hug you,” he said quietly.

  The uncertainty of the moment yawned before North. He fell back into the safety of habit. “You seem awfully celebratory for a guy who just got finished being charged with murder.”

  “I think technically the process of being charged finishes at the arraignment,” Tucker said drily. “Is that a no on the hug?”

  “I’d rather have you sign the damn divorce papers. Preferably before they seize my half of the assets and throw your ass in prison.”

  Color rushed into Tucker’s face, and he looked away.

  Shaw’s mouth fell open. “North—”

  “No, it’s all right. I deserved that.”

  “The martyr,” North said.

  Tucker’s gaze came up slowly. He bit his lip. Then, after a moment, he worked up a weary smile. “I know there’s nothing to celebrate yet. But I feel like celebrating because I had the second-worst weekend of my life, and now I’m free, and my dad said you and Shaw are going to help me. And I wanted to thank you for that, North.”

  “Wanting to thank me isn’t the same as thanking me.”

  “Then, thank you.”

  North snorted. “For what? I haven’t done anything yet.”

  Anger tightened Tucker’s features. Yep, North thought. Yep, you dumb fuck. I still know all your buttons.

  “Ok,” Shaw said, “I bet Tucker wants to get home, shower, relax. We do need to talk to you, as soon as you feel up to it, but it doesn’t have to be—”

  Tucker shook his head. Then he offered the same weary smile. “Nice idea, Shaw. You don’t know my family.”

  Even North had to admit Tucker was right on that part.

  The chatting and socializing in the courthouse hallway continued for a time, the polite babble of educated voices tempered by the familiarities of a closed circle, a social echelon most people would never penetrate. It had the air of a cocktail hour completely at odds with the splintered benches and the scuffed floors and the distant beep of the metal detector, and North wasn’t surprised to see several of the Laguerre’s friends and family glancing around, as though dismayed the waiters were being slow with the drinks. Eventually, the good times had to come to an end.

  Shaw plucked at North’s sleeve and tilted his head at Tucker. “Maybe now—”

  North shook his head.

  Then it was lunch at Adrienne’s, the little French restaurant in Soulard that had once been North’s favorite, before it got mentally filed with Tucker and moved to the back of the drawer. Filets and cocktails. Cathy fretting about the salade niçoise. At one point, when Dick started telling Tucker about a particularly tricky hole at a new course in Washington, North gripped the silverware tighter, trying to ground himself. Tucker smiled at whatever his dad was saying, elbowed Shaw, and said, “Here’s the real expert with a golf club,” and then he laughed so hard that Shaw, eyes panicking as he looked to North for help, laughed too.

  Three days of strain. Three days of running around. Three days of blackout drinking. Was that enough, North wondered, clutching the silverware so hard that his hands ached, to push a guy into a dissociative break? He didn’t remember eating his food. He remembered the whiskey he put b
ack, though, rolling through him like a smoke-out.

  And then, somehow, they were all standing outside. The July day hammered down, the air sticky and rippling above the asphalt. Even the river looked sluggish under the immense heat. Cathy kissed North’s cheek. Dick pumped his hand. Tucker offered Shaw another hug and then wrinkled his brow at North with a smile North used to find cute.

  “If you want to shower and change,” North said. “Be fast. We’ll be at your parents’ place in an hour; we need to talk.”

  “Can we do it tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think I slept all weekend. I’m wrecked.” Tucker cleared his throat. “Tomorrow would be better. Around eleven, maybe, and my mom will have something light for brunch. Shaw, sorry for the crack about the golf club—I was trying to make things less weird, but I feel like I made them worse.”

  “Tomorrow?” North said again.

  “It’s ok,” Shaw said, his eyes cutting to North. “I don’t want things to be weird.”

  “Any weirder than you beat the shit out of me and stole my husband?” A horrified look crossed Shaw’s face, and Tucker burst out laughing. “Shaw, relax. I’m—God, I really am making things worse. I’m going to go before—”

  “Tomorrow?” North snapped, grabbing Tucker’s arm as he started to turn away. “What the fuck are you talking about, tomorrow?” He tried to keep his voice low, and he managed that much, but he couldn’t tamp down the fury. “We have been working our asses off all weekend. For you. Because of you. We’re exhausted. Did you think about that? And now you’ve got your fucking head in a noose, and instead of doing the responsible thing, you want to take a nap and play croquet and probably eat a fucking lobster roll. You’re being charged with second-degree murder, Tucker.” He couldn’t help it; he clutched Tucker’s arm harder and shook him. “Do you understand that? We’re not talking about a slap on the wrist, and this isn’t something your daddy can pay your way out of. So, tell your parents that we’ll be there in an hour, and if your ass isn’t waiting for us at the front door, I swear to Christ you’ll be sorry.”

  For the second time that day, Shaw was open-mouthed with shock.

  Tucker, on the other hand, was grinning. A huge smile. An affectionate smile. Even through the film of anger, North could tell that the primary emotion was fondness. “Come on, Mickey.”

  “Don’t call me that. I hate that stupid nickname.”

  “You know I’m pulling your chain. God, you still make it so easy. I told my parents I was going with you. Let’s go; we can talk back at your place.”

  North was still trying to catch up. He remembered the throat clearing, Tucker’s tell, the one that gave away the big lies. All North could get out was “Don’t call me that.”

  With an indulgent roll of his eyes, Tucker squeezed Shaw’s arm and steered him toward the GTO. “Please tell me you know how to do that. Because if you don’t, I’ll teach you. You’re going to need to know for when he gets incredibly impressed with himself for changing a light switch or patching the drywall. When was the last time you made him buy a new pair of Redwings?”

  Shaw shot a nervous look back. “Well, I didn’t—”

  “He won’t buy them if you don’t make him. He’s too cheap. Let me guess; he’s still got those Levi’s with the ripped crotch.”

  “I was just telling him about the ripped crotch!” Shaw said, outrage winning out over reluctance. “I was literally just telling him he had to get rid of those because he was sexually harassing Pari and me and Truck and Zion by wearing them.”

  “He won’t,” Tucker said. “You’ll have to throw them away when he’s busy with something else. Better yet, cut them up and throw away the scraps. Sometimes he goes dumpster diving.”

  North looked at the sky. He took several deep breaths. And then he subvocalized a scream.

  Chapter 5

  WHEN THEY PULLED INTO the Pestalozzi Street Shopping Plaza, Tucker made a dissatisfied noise. “I thought we were going to your place.”

  “This is our new office,” North said as he parked. “Someone burned down Shaw’s house.”

  “I know someone burned down his house. I called you three times asking where I could send Shaw a card and a housewarming gift, and you never called me back.”

  “North!”

  “Be quiet,” North muttered.

  “I like housewarming gifts. He could have gotten me an afghan. Or a candle. Or one of those creepy wooden angels people collect.”

  “You don’t even have a new house!” North drew in a deep breath. “And I didn’t call you back because things were crazy.”

  “Uh huh,” Tucker said with a note of amusement. “Can’t we do this at your place, Mick? God, I don’t want to sit in another office. Shaw, tell him.”

  “Don’t call me that,” North snapped.

  “He’d definitely be more comfortable,” Shaw said. “We all would. And the puppy—”

  “We’re doing it here.” North pushed open the door, tried to slam it for emphasis, and then had to catch it at the last moment because Tucker was trying to climb out that way. North didn’t miss the wry patience in the look Tucker traded with Shaw.

  North decided to fuck it all and headed for the office. Inside, Pari was sorting mail, flinching every time the ceiling fan whupped overhead. Today, the bindi was mother-of-pearl. Even with the dangling fan, the air was heavy and still, and the french-fry smell seemed stronger than ever.

  “Oh, good, you’re back. This is from a collector—”

  “Later,” North said as he headed down the short hall. Without looking back, he called, “Don’t talk to them.”

  “I can talk to whoever I want!” The bell jingled. “Oh. Hi, Tucker. Shaw, you ate my last donette, so you owe me a new bag.”

  “I said don’t talk to them!” North bellowed over his shoulder. He hit the door to their office at full speed, and he barely winced at all when the handle bit into the paneling and got stuck. He dropped into the chair behind his desk. Then he stood. Then he sat again. Then he rolled his way over to the window, wheels sinking in the shag carpeting, and yanked on the cord to raise the blinds. The sun was too bright. He released the cord, and the blinds fell like aluminum chimes.

  “Hey,” Shaw said. He was in the doorway, watching.

  “Tell him to get his ass in here.”

  “Actually, I told him to wait a minute.”

  Shaw stepped into the office. He yanked on the door to get the handle free from the paneling, inspected the fresh gouge, and then shut the door. He crossed the room until he stood in front of North. Tiny slats of light fell across him, and they made him look far away.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Great.”

  Shaw sighed. “Do you want to share anything with me? Anything you’re feeling? Sometimes it helps to verbalize things. Putting them into words—”

  “Oh, yeah, love that idea. Love it. Here we go. I’m verbalizing. I am very fucking annoyed that I’m having this conversation right now. And I am also very fucking annoyed that my fucking husband, who refuses to give me a divorce, isn’t in this fucking office right now, so I can get this over with as quickly as humanly possible. That’s how I’m feeling, Shaw. How are you feeling?”

  “I feel like you’re a real jerk sometimes.”

  “Thanks for sharing that, Shaw. I know that must have been hard for you. I want you to know that I hear you.”

  For a moment, Shaw stood there. Then he turned, opened the door, and said, “You can come in.”

  Tucker entered the room slowly, shoulders hunched as though he expected a blow. The hand-in-the-cookie-jar smile he directed at North was too familiar.

  “Sit down,” North said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Could I get a glass of water? That third G&T—”

  “Sit down!”

  Shaw and Tucker sat. North dragged his chair through the ocean of shag and back to th
e desk.

  Biting a nail, Tucker looked from North to Shaw. “I’ve never done this before.” His lips quirked. “It’s my first time. Be gentle.”

  “Yeah, smart, crack jokes while we’re trying to—”

  “Why don’t you start with what happened Thursday night?” Shaw asked.

  “It’s hazy.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” North growled.

  “It is! Mick—North, I don’t know what you want me to say. I had a lot to drink at Teddi’s. Too much. I shouldn’t have been driving, but I did. Honestly, about the last thing I remember is walking into the motel room.”

  “You blacked out?”

  Tucker shrugged. “Like I said, I had too much to drink.”

  “But you were planning on meeting Rik?” Shaw asked.

  “Yeah.”

  North leaned forward. “To fuck?”

  Another shrug. “I’m not in a committed relationship. It’s not like I’m cheating on someone.”

  “Oh no. Not that. You’d never do that.”

  Shaw stretched back in his chair and kicked North’s leg.

  North clamped down on the words, but he didn’t even know what to call the sound he could hear himself making.

  “Had you slept with Rik before?”

  “Sure, lots of times.”

  “When did that start?”

  “They moved back in June. No, end of May.”

  “Bullshit,” North said.

  “They did! You can ask anyone.”

  “No, I’m saying it’s bullshit that you started in May. You fucked around with him in college.”

  Tucker straightened his suit jacket. “Yeah, I did. But that was years ago.”