“Leo, please, Mr. Lee. Just Leo.”
“And I’m Adam. How can I help you?”
“This is a hell of a nice office, Adam. Is that desk mahogany?”
“Yes. How can I help you?”
“Well, Adam, the thing is, I thought you were going to have Ms. Perkins call me.”
“Yes, I was. I’ve been unable to contact Violet. I tried, but her number has been disconnected. It was a, uh, one-night-stand type of thing. I’m sure you understand.”
“Oh, I understand perfectly. We’ve all been there, right? Hey, I like that suit. Armani, right?”
“Yes, Armani.”
“Mine’s just an off-the-rack job, but not too bad, huh?”
“No, it’s quite dapper.”
Leo could sense Adam tensing up, not sure if he should tell this short little bald man to get the fuck out of his office. Leo loved playing the cat-and-mouse game. It felt good. He liked being the cat. He liked the look of terror in the mouse’s eyes. He liked letting the mouse think he’d lost interest, then pouncing on him and starting the game anew.
“Yeah, we’ve all been there. One-nighters. But you were with her the entire weekend?”
“Yes, just as I told you earlier. I was under the impression that this matter was closed. It was a tragedy. I am still in mourning. I’m afraid that I can’t quite see how bringing my marital indiscretions into the light will deepen anyone’s understanding of a senseless death.”
It felt good to have a little power again. Leo wished for a cigar to top off this extraordinary sensation, this exhilarating rush of the kill. It had been so long. He was on top of his game like never before. This cheap prick in his thousand-dollar suit was easy prey.
“Of course not, but as I said earlier, I have to verify your story in order to close the file. Do you happen to remember where you first met Violet?”
“At the Hendrix Institute.”
“Where your son stays?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hewitt, but I’m a busy man. I don’t see the point to this. Am I under some sort of suspicion?”
“Well, actually, Mr. Lee, there have been some irregularities in the case. Certain inconsistencies.”
“Inconsistencies?”
“I don’t believe your son killed your wife.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I don’t. And because of this I’m going to have to verify your whereabouts that weekend. And I’m going to have to speak to Violet Perkins.”
“I see. Perhaps I should call my brother.”
“Perhaps you should.”
In the lobby of the Lawson Building, Leo stepped off the elevator and lit a cigar. When he looked up, he saw a painting of Rachel’s father, Benjamin Lawson. It was a massive oil on canvas framed in pewter. His date of birth and date of death were inscribed on a bronze plaque under the portrait.