The Dark Room(32)

“You wanted to see me?”

“The better question is, didn’t you want to see me?” Cain said. “Why the fuck didn’t you call the second you got them?”

Castelli went to his desk, pulled the chair back, and sat down. He took a gold pen from its wooden stand and rolled it back and forth between his fingers. That tic again, always needing to handle something. His fingerprints must have been on everything in the room lower than the ceiling.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You think I got something?”

“Bullshit,” Cain said. “You got elected to Congress. Twice. You can lie better than that.”

“You bother my wife, harass my daughter. You bust into my office at night, without an appointment, and call me a liar.”

Castelli swiveled his chair and opened the liquor cabinet, then came back around holding a fresh bottle of bourbon and a pair of crystal snifters.

“Call me a liar to my face—that’s nerve. I actually like that. This time you’ll have a drink with me. You can’t say no. And honestly, Cain, I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

He brought a nickel-plated folding knife from his desk drawer and used the blade to slice the red wax seal around the top of the bottle. He set the knife down, pulled the cork from the bottle, and poured an inch of bourbon into each of the snifters. He slid one of them across the desk and pointed at the empty chair.

“Sit,” he said. “Drink that. And tell me what’s going on.”

Cain picked up the glass but didn’t sit. He lowered his nose to the snifter’s narrow opening and smelled the good bourbon inside, and then he stepped around the desk, pulled the wastepaper bin out, and poured the drink on top of Castelli’s trash. He set the empty glass on the desk blotter. The mayor started to rise, but Cain kept him in his chair with a hand on his chest.

“Who was she?” he asked.

“The girl in the pictures?”

“Who else?”

“I don’t know,” Castelli said. There was no one he could call, no help to come running. But he was calm and in control, even with Cain’s hand pushing him down. “I told you that already.”

“What’s in the next four pictures?”

Castelli rolled backward in his chair until there was a foot of distance between them. He took his bourbon and drank it, then began turning the empty glass in his fingers, his wedding band clicking against its thin crystal side.

“That’s what you think I’m hiding?” Castelli asked. “The pictures?”

“I’m out there, digging up your secrets. One of the things I hear is you’ve got the pictures. You try and bury something, it doesn’t always stay down.”

He was expecting more of a reaction, but the mayor didn’t even look up from his glass.

“Is that all?” Castelli asked.

“When was the first time you saw those shots?”

“Last night.”

“You never had another set of prints?”

“Of course not.”

“You’re going to sit here and tell me you never saw her until a day ago.”

“I’ve been telling you that,” Castelli said. He poured another inch of bourbon and drank it, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I’m going to keep telling you until you get it.”

“If you hadn’t already gotten the next set of pictures, why would I get an anonymous note saying you did?”

“You got a note like that?”

Cain handed Castelli his phone. He’d taken a shot of the note and had it on the screen. The mayor held the phone close, and Cain took a bet with himself that he would pour a third drink. Instead, after the mayor handed the phone back, he corked the bottle and returned it to his liquor cabinet.

“I assume it crossed your mind he’s got an agenda,” Castelli said.

“Everybody in this thing has an agenda.”

“Helping you catch him isn’t part of his.”

“I follow the leads I get.”

“That’s a nice idea, but it’s not what you’re doing. You’re just doing what he wants.”

“And what exactly do you think I should be doing? Since clearly you know best.”

“The letter I got . . . what’s he want?” Castelli leaned back in his chair. “Easy. He’s fucking with me, so I won’t think straight. But at the same time, he’s telling me there’s a way out. Pull the trigger, he says. Take the quick exit—bang! It isn’t blackmail because he doesn’t want money. It’s just straight coercion. Isn’t that right?”

Cain nodded.

“And if I call his bluff? If I won’t even blink?” Castelli asked. He pointed at Cain with the glass in his hand. “Then he’s got to turn up the pressure.”

“Okay.”

“What’s the easiest way for him to do that? Look at you, shoving in here. Pushing me around, dumping out my whiskey like it’s water from the tap. You’re doing exactly what he wants. He’s playing you—What’s so funny?”

Cain was already walking to the door. He put his hand on the knob but turned to the mayor before he left.

“Assuming all I had was the note?” Cain asked. “I’d think you’re right. But it’s not all I’ve got.”