Page 128 of Nobody's Fool

Marty knows better than to push it. “Okay, but the rest of you stay out here.”

“Wait,” Raymond says, nudging Debbie. “That’s not Smoke Show. That’s a man.”

Marty steps in. I follow. The lights are off. The shades are all pulled down. We move in slowly. Marty has a gun on his hip. He doesn’t take it out, but he keeps his hand on it, just in case. It is hot in the apartment. The air is stale, still, heavy. It feels like we’re walking through a beaded curtain.

We veer into the kitchen, but by now we both sense what we will find. You can just feel it. It isn’t woo-woo and I’m sure there is an actual scientific explanation. But we both just know. It isn’t so much a smell, though that’s there now, as a texture, a forced stillness. You always know before you find it and actually confirm it with your eyes, as though some kind of spectral figure is tapping you on the shoulder and beckoning you to follow.

We find Brian Powell in a kitchen chair, his head flat on the table, his long hair congealed in the massive amount of blood.

Marty calls it in and tells me to wait outside. I listen. My students are hushed. When I’m out on the stoop, I call Arthur and fill him in. He tells me not to say a word to the police or anyone else until he arrives. I don’t. I move across the street and encourage my students to leave before the police arrive. There is nothing against the law with doing that. I have their names and contact information and can provide them if necessary. They disperse, though Raymond vows to come back to woo Smoke Show.

Golfer Gary agrees to stay with me because I will need a ride up to the Solemani Recovery Center soon to see Caroline Burkett, the cohost of that now-notorious New Millennium party.

Marty looks a little piqued when he comes out. He is a good cop and a better man. He doesn’t handle scenes of violence well. His empathy is not well served here. I still remember the way he looked at me after PJ fell off the roof because of my negligence. I think his disappointed face hurt me more than that police inquisition.

When Arthur arrives, he says to Marty, “Don’t talk to my client. He’s not answering any questions.”

“It’s okay,” I say to Arthur. “Marty?”

“Bullet to the back of the head,” Marty says.

Just like with Nicole. I take deep breaths.

“A gun was left behind. I assume it’s the murder weapon. Ballistics will tell us if it’s a match with the bullet we pulled out of you. We will also be coordinating this murder investigation with the Newark Police. We’re already looking into the obvious.”

“That being?” I say, just because I want to hear him say it.

“That Tad Grayson is behind this all. That he shot you and killed Victoria Belmond and his former cellmate Brian Powell.”

I check my watch. “I have to go.”

“Back to the hospital?”

I shake my head. “Not quite yet.”

“Kierce.”

“I’m visiting Caroline Burkett. She was at the party the night Victoria Belmond was kidnapped.”

“Then I’m sure the FBI spoke to her back then.”

“She’s a Burkett, Marty. You think Judith would have let her say anything incriminating?” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Let me do this. Then we can worry about my little flesh wound, okay?”

Marty looks at Arthur. They are both tall men, and my standing between them makes us look like a bar graph with a dip in theeconomy. “I know you want to play hardball,” Marty says over my head, “but Kierce is going to have to give a statement.”

“I know,” Arthur says. “He’ll give one later. With counsel present. Right now, he has someplace he has to be.”

Marty lets loose a deep breath. Still looking at Arthur and over me, he says, “It’s all a little too neat, don’t you think?”

“What is?” Arthur asks.

“That Tad Grayson would hire his cellmate.”

“I’m not following,” Arthur says.

Marty shrugs. “It’s just that it’s pretty stupid, don’t you think? If Tad Grayson is behind this all, why would he be dumb enough to hire someone we could so easily trace back to him?”

Arthur nods in agreement. “Not just someone in the same prison as him,” he adds. “But his actual cellmate.”