Page 103 of The Instruments of Darkness

She pushed herself from the kitchen counter.

“I’ll be gone when you return,” she said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t want to spend another night here. It’s too quiet. I keep thinking I hear a child’s footsteps at night, and they’re not Henry’s.”

I did not reply, except to say that I’d ask one of the Fulcis to come collect her. She didn’t object. Then, quite unexpectedly, she walked over to me and kissed the corner of my mouth.

“Thank you,” she said. “I think you’re an extraordinary man. But you shouldn’t be out here alone. If you are alone.”

CHAPTER LXVI

The restaurant area of the Grill Room was busy when I arrived, but the bar was quiet. I’d received a text message from Macy to say she was running late, but I had the New York Times, and the bartender served me an unpronounceable Italian red that made me feel sophisticated before leaving me to my reading. I was halfway through a review of a contemporary art exhibition—trying to learn a new and difficult language was supposed to stave off dementia—when a man in a dark suit, a dark tie, and a very white shirt entered and stood at a respectful distance. He smelled of new car.

“Mr. Parker?”

“That’s me.”

“Attorney General Nowak would like to speak with you.”

I didn’t want to talk to Paul Nowak, not with Macy on her way and the promise of some quality time with her after, assuming she didn’t pour my wine over my head for discussing Sabine Drew on a date night. Even without the Macy factor, I was aware that Nowak wasn’t one of my cheerleaders, and my role in the Clark case wasn’t going to alter that. Objectively, Nowak wasn’t a bad guy, but he was a politician, which made him intrinsically untrustworthy. All politicians are ambitious, and ambition is a hunger that’s never sated. It’s a cousin to desire, even addiction. We’re all prey to the former, whatever the variant, and whether it becomes a vice or virtue depends on one’s principles. But politics, by its nature, requires compromise, and compromise and principles are like matter and anti-matter. In the end, every politician fails someone, but the last person he wants to fail is himself.

“Are you his driver?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is he in the car?”

“He’s dining in the restaurant.”

“So let me get this straight,” I said. “He called you to tell you to come in and inform me that he wanted a word, even though he’s already inside?”

“That’s correct.”

The driver kept a straight face, although whether through strength of character or because he’d swallowed too much of Nowak’s Kool-Aid was open to conjecture. Moxie, I decided, would want to hear whatever Nowak had to say, if only out of inquisitiveness. Unfortunately, Moxie wasn’t available.

“Tell him I’ll be over in a minute,” I said.

“I’ll wait to escort you.”

“I can find my own way. I’ve been here before, and I know what he looks like.”

“I’d still prefer to escort you.”

He might have been worried that I’d spring at Nowak’s throat, or try to interest him in a hooker and cocaine before running to the newspapers with the story.

“I guess it’s a job,” I said, “but I’ll still need that minute.”

I texted Macy to tell her to hold off on joining me and find somewhere else to cool her heels. Nowak is here, I added, by way of explanation. If she wanted to watch her career go up in flames, cozying up to me at the bar while Nowak choked on his meal would just about do it.

I put away my phone, picked up my wine, and followed the driver to Nowak’s table. I wondered if it was just an unhappy coincidence that had led Nowak to dine at the Grill Room on the same night that a reservation had been made there under my name.

Nowak was eating his main course alone at a table near the open kitchen. He had dark receding hair and a body built for short bursts of power. Nobody would have mistaken him for a male model, but women of my acquaintance, Macy among them, were prepared to grant him a certain appeal. He had the politician’s gift of making you feel as though you were the only person in the room, while simultaneously looking over your shoulder for someone more interesting or important. I agreed with most of his politics but would still have struggled to vote for him, even before he decided to use Colleen Clark as a vote-grabber, because I wasn’t convinced his views wouldn’t change next week, depending on how the wind was blowing. I’d prefer to have taken my chances with the holistic veterinary woman, who was terminally politically disadvantaged by actually believing what she said.

The place setting opposite Nowak had been removed, but I saw stains on the table. The Grill Room didn’t hold with stains. At some stage in the evening, Nowak had enjoyed, or tolerated, company.

“I always figured you for a grilled scallop guy,” I said, indicating what remained of the dish on his plate. “They don’t scream fancy.”

“What about the beurre blanc sauce they come with?”

“You probably hide that side of your character from the rubes. It’s hard to present yourself as a man of the people with beurre blanc on your clothing.”