The Better Liar(68)

“Officer Courtenay,” the other officer said as we passed. She nodded and we went in.

Past the door lay a short industrial hallway lined with more peach-colored metal doors. At the end of the hallway was a plate-glass door left ajar. Nancy and I followed the officer into this new room. It was small and cramped, with walls made of cinder block and tables shoved cafeteria-style along the perimeter of the room. Someone had painted a decorative stripe on the walls in a dark, burnt orange, which gave me the feeling of passing through chambers in a conch shell, where the peachy accents of the outer rooms gave way to a deeper shade nearer to the heart.

The focus of the room was a long squat set of windows, each outfitted with telephones and bolted-down wooden stools. Sitting in the second window was Frank Clery.

He was white, blue-eyed, with a long face and weak chin that undercut the effect of his well-muscled torso. He wore glasses, plastic Buddy Holly frames that he’d propped up on his fleshy, lined forehead. His tongue crept out to wet his lips as he caught sight of us—he was one of those men who had permanently red, shiny lips.

“Here you are,” the officer who had led us in said. “You have until one-thirty.”

“Thank you,” Nancy said. She crossed the room quickly and cast herself down onto the wooden stool. The windows weren’t designed for two-on-one conversations; I sat awkwardly off to the side, leaning into her space in order to see.

    Clery eyed Nancy, then me. I couldn’t read on his face what he thought of us.

Nancy picked up the phone and motioned for him to pick up his end. He lifted the receiver with two fingers.

“Mr. Clery,” Nancy said. “I’m Officer Courtenay. This is Robin. We’d like to ask you a couple of questions about your relationship with a woman named Leslie Flores. We’re investigating her possible criminal conduct.”

Clery looked from Nancy to me. His odd oblong face remained flat, although his watery eyes gave him a persecuted air, like a man caught in a permanent windstorm. “Not talking,” he said, after some time had passed.

“Do you remember anyone by that name?” Nancy pressed.

He set the telephone gingerly back in its cradle, then met Nancy’s eyes through the glass. Not talking.

“Did she ever try to pawn anything at your store?” Nancy continued, speaking loudly and enunciating. The glass was thick, but not soundproof. We both saw him take in her question. “Did she ever hire you to perform any services?”

Clery turned in his seat toward the officer lurking on his side of the glass. His mouth moved, but he was facing away and I only caught the timbre of his speech. A question—Can I go yet, probably.

“Nancy, let me try,” I said, reaching for her hand under the stool, out of Clery’s sightline. “Please,” I said. “I have to. For Leslie. It’ll be different if he knows she’s my sister.”

Nancy’s face said that she didn’t believe it would be different at all, in fact, but she found it endearing that I did. She paused, then tapped the glass twice with her knuckles. Clery turned around. She pointed at me.

“Can you get me a coffee?” I said, glancing at the digital clock on the wall. “I saw a break room on the way here—I bet they would let you in.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with this guy.” Nancy was at her most heroic. If the room had had windows, a beam of light would have hit her right on her square jawline.

    “I think it’s the only way,” I said. “Besides, there’s not enough room for both of us to talk.” I adjusted my weight on the stool, crossing my legs.

She rubbed her neck. “I’ll come right back,” she said finally. “Call if he says anything to you that you don’t like.”

“I will.” I gave her a tremulous smile.

Nancy left and I spun to face Clery. The officer behind him was bored, face aimed away from us.

I was almost always smiling when I was around other people. Even when I was only walking down the street, I’d trained myself to keep the corners of my lips curved up. Now, in front of Clery, I let the smile drop. He eyed me, startled.

Clery picked up the phone—full-handed, not like a germaphobe this time, so I supposed I had already exceeded Nancy in his estimation—and I picked up my end.

“What’s up, sweetheart?” he said into the line. He had a strangely adolescent intonation combined with the gravel of a habitual smoker.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” I said. “I’m here to bargain with you.”

He laughed. “Bargain? Sure. Pack of cigarettes for a presidential pardon.”

“I want to know what Leslie Flores paid you to do. You want to avoid prison. Sound fair?”

His watery eyes fixed on me. “You a lawyer?”

“Nah,” I said. I let Robin fall off me, like a skin. Mary fell away just as quickly. Underneath I was nothing; teeth and holes. “I’m just like you.”

He looked me up and down, or as much of me as he could see. “Scrawny. Stupid. Not seeing any similarities.”

The teeth showed. “Jennifer’s your wife, right?”

He gripped the receiver. “Did she say something to you?”

“Nancy—Officer Courtenay—she told me the whole case rests on getting Jennifer to testify against you. If she swears it was an accident, you’ve got a much better shot, right?”