Page 82 of The Instruments of Darkness

“Perhaps you should run it by him, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case, you know, you—”

“Mess things up, is that what you were going to say?”

He was on the verge of shouting, and regretted it. He regarded raising one’s voice, especially to a woman, as both a failure of courtesy and a sign of weakness. But for crying out loud, give a guy a break.

“No, that wasn’t what I was going to say,” she replied evenly, but he could tell it probably was, or some version of the same. “You’ve got nothing to prove, you know? Not to me, not to that detective, not to anyone.”

He finished checking the tires. She was following him as he knelt by each one, never letting him out of her sight, never giving him a chance to escape her attention. This was why he’d never had an affair. He could have gone to the North Pole and fucked an Eskimo in an igloo a half-mile from the cold heart of nowhere, and when he stepped outside to zip up his pants, she’d have been waiting for him in a pair of snowshoes, all disappointment—or chiefly disappointment, with a healthy shot of fury on the side. It was lucky that he loved her, too. Some of his former acquaintances, the ones who liked to screw around on their mogli, used to kid him about it, but he’d never minded. Why risk years of resentment for a fleeting pleasure? Because if he’d ever had an affair, divorce wouldn’t have entered into the equation. Amara wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction, not when she could spend decades reminding him of his indiscretion instead. He’d never have known peace again.

“How long will you be gone?” she asked. She had spotted the overnight bag on the back seat.

“One night. Two at most.”

“Call me when you get there, wherever ‘there’ is.”

“And when I wake, and before I go to sleep.”

“You’d better.” She gripped the lapels of his jacket and kissed him hard. “You’re an exasperating man, you know that?”

“Would you have me any other way?”

“Was it ever an option? If so, I don’t recall it being mentioned.”

“Probably not,” said Reggio. “But then, your father also warned me against marrying you because you couldn’t be tamed.”

This was true. Amara’s father had admitted it during his wedding speech. His wife had kicked him under the table after he said it, causing him to spill his champagne.

“He was right,” she said.

“Thankfully.”

She released him only reluctantly, and stayed in the yard to wave him off.

Once on the road, Reggio had felt a sense of liberation and purpose that was unfamiliar, but welcome. The work he did for Moxie Castin contributed to his sense of self-worth, but it was often mundane. This was different. A little boy was missing, presumed dead, and his mother was about to face trial for his abduction and killing. Mr. Castin didn’t believe she was responsible, and Reggio trusted his judgment. Reggio had a chance to do something useful, to make a difference. That was all most men wanted and the desire did not diminish with age. He selected ’50s Gold on Sirius and turned Connie Francis up loud. It was, he concluded, a good day to be alive.

CHAPTER LIV

I left Lyra Shapleigh’s office no wiser, but with the knowledge that she might be unlikely to do or say anything that would strengthen the case against Colleen Clark, if only out of self-interest—and if one were being cynical about it, self-interest was a more reliable stimulus than altruism, particularly when it came to the law. I was pulling out of the medical center’s parking lot when Dave Evans called from the Great Lost Bear.

“Do you know a guy called John Wayne Akers?”

“Seriously?” I said. “After the serial killer, or the movie star?”

“The movie star, smart-ass.” Dave paused. “Or I’m pretty sure it’s the movie star. Still, I’ll take that as a no. He drives a truck for Pine State, so he’s in and out of here every couple of weeks.” Pine State Beverage was one of the biggest beer and wine distributors in the region. “He’s solid.”

I dodged a battle-scarred cat on the road and saw that I’d also missed a call from Tony Fulci while speaking with Shapleigh.

“What about John Wayne Akers,” I said, “solidity apart?”

“He saw on the news that you were involved with the Colleen Clark case. He told me that a friend of his sister used to date Stephen Clark. Before he was married, obviously.”

“We all know that Clark cheated at least once on his wife,” I told him, “so I wouldn’t go rushing to qualify his behavior.”

“My grandmother used to say that every man looked like someone who’d cheat on his wife,” said Dave. “I think she did it to get a rise out of my grandfather. Worked every time. Anyway, John Wayne says that Clark used his fists on the girl. She came close to pressing charges, before deciding it might be less trouble just to dump him.”