Harry stood on the front porch of the Deighton house. The street was jammed with fire trucks, an ambulance, and police cars. The blaze up the main staircase had been easily contained and doused. Severely burned, McKeown was loaded into the ambulance by the paramedics and rushed to the emergency ward. Donnie was also taken by ambulance to the hospital with his father. The fire trucks shut down their slowly twirling amber lights and started up their engines.
After giving the police his statement, Harry locked up the house. Overcome with weariness, he carefully lowered himself to the front steps of the porch. His shirt was torn and blackened; his pants were badly singed. McKeown had been at the center of the maelstrom all along. Harry’s thoughts were a jumble.
McKeown had murdered Marjorie, Rosie, and the paralegals—and God knew who else. The man was untouched by any kind of restriction devised by law or the soul. Some puzzles could never be pieced together.
Nothing to go home to, he thought bleakly. With Laura gone, he felt utterly drained and empty. So shattered was he that he scarcely knew what to do next. For several moments, a cool spring breeze caressed his face. Slowly, he felt his spirits begin to rise and his energy return.
Glancing at the house, he thought of Natasha, and the day they had met for the appraisal. Too much restriction had deadened his soul. Without any particular plan, he headed down the sidewalk to a phone booth at the corner. He fished a couple of quarters from his pocket and inserted them into the slot. She had said to call anytime. He dialed. It rang twice and was answered.
“Natasha?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Harry. Harry Jenkins.” He felt lightheaded.
“Harry?” Her voice was full of concern. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” He paused. A streetcar screeched by on its track, making it hard to hear, hard to think. “May I see you?”
“Now?”
He caught his breath, then said, “Well, yes.”
“Certainly, Harry. I’m not really dressed, but please come.”
He scribbled down her address. The trip from the phone booth to her apartment door took him less than fifteen minutes.
“My God, Harry! What happened to you?” She touched his cheek. For a second, he held her fingertips in his hand. Ushering him into her apartment, she took his jacket. He followed her into the living room.
Natasha was concerned. Harry looked pale and worn, and filthy. “Harry, are you hurt?”
With great effort, he produced a wan smile. He shook his head. “No. Really, I’m fine. I just wanted to see you.” There, he’d said it. She smiled gently. “I’ll tell you in a bit about my evening.”
His eyes traveled absently about the comfortable room. Somehow, it was warm and intimate, despite the grand view of the city skyline.
“I just needed to talk to you,” he concluded rather lamely.
“Would you like a drink?”
He gazed at her. She was gorgeous—the deep-cut red silk blouse and the black leather pants; the gold sandals and the red nail polish. And here she sat at last, not two feet from him.
She was waiting patiently for a response. Suddenly he realized that he had not replied. “No. Thanks. At least not yet. I’m still a little bit woozy.”
“Something to eat?”
He nodded. “May I clean up first?” She showed him to the washroom off the hall.
“Come into the kitchen when you’re ready, Harry. I’ll make us a late supper.”
In the washroom, he took a cloth to clean the worst of the black streaks from his cheek, then scrubbed his hands.
In the kitchen, he perched himself on the stool at the counter.
“Talk to me, Harry. I’m going to make the dessert first.”
He watched as she took strawberries and peaches from the refrigerator. She reached across him and took a banana and an apple from the basket on the counter.
Suddenly he found himself talking. He heard the weariness and frustration in his own voice. First, he told her of his discovery that Tony was the Florist. He told her about Donnie, Tony, and the fire. Then he spoke of Tony and Chin and the money-laundering scheme. He suspected that it pervaded the whole firm.
In frustration, he slapped the countertop. “I turned a blind eye to the fraud and got sucked in.” He swung around and faced Natasha. She set the fruit bowl down to listen.
“I should have known right from the start that Chin was laundering money through my trust account.”
“But how could you have known, Harry?”
“There were signs, all right. Why would Chin come to me? I don’t do land-assembly work. The land titles were the tip-off. Nobody conveys properties back and forth at ever-increasing prices unless they’re creating some kind of scheme. You spotted it yourself. But I took on the work, thinking this was my shot at the big time.” Harry was silent, overcome with disgust. “I’m just as greedy as they are.”
Natasha regarded him evenly. “So,” she said quietly, shrugging, “you’re human, not infallible. That’s not surprising. Besides, turning a blind eye to possible evidence of fraud is scarcely the same as planning and executing one, no?”
Harry looked up at her in surprise. He laughed. “You’d make a great defence lawyer, Natasha. I’ll probably need one.”
Smiling, she continued her work. He watched her, gaining pleasure in her soft, deft motions and her closeness. Sadly, he realized how long it had been since he and Laura had shared intimate moments of conversation. Now he was hungry to fill the emptiness within.
“Then you agree, Harry?” She held out a bunch of deep purple grapes to him. He took one.
“I suppose.” He shrugged.
“To me, there is a world of difference. But even so, now that you know, what are you going to do?” Natasha asked.
“When I blow the whistle, I’ll open myself to a lot of questions from the police and the Law Society.”
“I know, Harry. You put yourself at risk by exposing them. But what choice have you?”
“None,” he said.
Natasha reached for the peaches and was within inches of him as she continued, “I knew you would say that.”
“Why?”
“Because you are that kind of man.”
He gazed at her and nodded. “If McKeown dies, it will be harder to prove the fraud. Did you know him very well, Natasha?”
For the briefest of moments, she looked away. Turning back to him, she said quietly, “Fortunately, I met him only once. A frightening and dangerous man, without any soul.”
Harry was about to ask more, but he stopped. The thought of all the female victims in McKeown’s trail silenced him. Awkwardly, he reached for her hand. She smiled sadly and then withdrew her hand to continue her work.
She ran the water very hot and held the peaches in a strainer underneath the spray. The fuzzy skins of the fruit puckered and loosened in the heat. Drying them off, she peeled the skins, then cut each peach open to remove the dark brown pits. Harry watched as she cut the fruit into tiny slivers. Thin crescents of peaches lay glistening in the crystal bowl.
Next they were talking about Marjorie’s house and the Deighton family and the wills. He laughed when she recollected Cameron McCrea looking on all fours in front of the fireplace.
In the sink, she washed the strawberries and sliced off their green tops. Turning, she popped one strawberry into his mouth. Her finger lingered a fraction of a second on his lips. He was not fantasizing this time.
Slowly, strip by strip, she peeled back the skin of the banana. Then she sliced the pale yellow fruit into small wheels. At last, she mixed the fruit in the bowl with Grand Marnier and spooned whipped cream over it.
He caught some of the whipped cream on his fingertip and licked it off. He realized he had not eaten all day as the sugar rushed through his body. He watched intently as she decorated the bright, creamy surface with five small cherries.
For their supper, she made an omelet with tiny bits of cheese, green peppers, and mushrooms. Sitting side by side at the kitchen counter, they ate, and drank the white wine.
With each mouthful, Harry felt strength and energy flowing within him. His words tumbled out.
“You know, Natasha, I’ve always wondered about you.”
“Me?”
“You must deal with a lot of lawyers.”
“Yes, sometimes I think far too many.”
He chased the last morsel of egg about the plate, saying, “So what’s your opinion of the profession?”
Natasha set down her fork and paused. She decided to give his question serious consideration. She saw beside her a good and decent man, who was different from any other lawyer she had known. To her, Harry brought careful intelligence to every thought and deed. But he seemed trapped in his own decency and desperate to break free.
“I think most men in the profession,” she began, “are self-centered bastards. Little boys always demanding their due.” Her eyes flashed. Their deep brown color was speckled with amber. “And if they are denied, some can get very nasty. I don’t know much about the women in the profession. To survive, they may have to become like men.”
She took the dessert from the refrigerator and spooned the fruit into small silver bowls.
“You know,” began Harry after tasting the peaches, “in my practice, I’ve never gotten into the big money. I guess I thought it was a privilege to practice law and to serve people. And that the rewards would just naturally flow from that.”
“That is the proper way, Harry. At least I think so. Most lawyers are out to get whatever they can, however they can. But you’re different, and that is what makes you such a gorgeously attractive man.”
She set down her spoon. Now her hand was resting on his knee, moving up his thigh. If she were going to have this man, she would have to take charge.
Harry sat close to her on his stool, afraid to move, afraid to dispel this dream. Her face was very close to his.
“Do you want me, Harry?”
“Yes,” he breathed, then added, “Please.”
She was laughing. “Such a gentleman.” She slid from her stool. “Come with me into the bedroom, Harry.” She took his hand, and he followed.
In the darkened room, she touched his cheek and kissed him. It was a simple kiss, but one that aroused him from the depths of his being. Gently, he wound her glossy black hair through his fingers to bring her closer once more.
“No, not yet, Harry. Lie on the bed, and I’ll be back.” She switched on the bedside lamp, which cast a warm, soft pink glow throughout the bedroom. She propped up the pillows, and he obediently stretched out on the covers.
He was determined to keep the image of Laura from rising within him. Anger would douse his ardor faster than anything. For once in his life, he deserved to savor this pleasure. Consumed with desire, he twisted onto his side. Lovely Natasha.
Soon she returned dressed in a filmy black gown. He reached out to pull her gently down to him. He would melt away with her touch.
“No, wait, Harry,” she whispered close to his ear. Harry was about to collapse in frustration, but she smiled and with her fingers began the slow unbuttoning of her silk gown.
Giving into pleasure, he watched as the black silk fell away from her shoulder.
Natasha’s breasts were scarcely contained in the wispy black lace brassiere. The gown fell, floating and wafting to the floor.
Harry felt a strange sinking sensation. Everything seemed to be falling away. At last, he floated free. With her back turned, she unhooked her brassiere and tossed it to him on the bed. He jumped to catch it in mid-air. In delight, he laughed as she glowed in his appreciation. With each of her lovely and sensuous movements, Harry felt layer after layer of inhibition falling away.
She turned back to him. Swollen with pleasure, he could not contain his delight as he fingered her frilly lace garter belt. The garters were deep crimson and edged in black, snugly pressing into her thighs. Silently, she commanded him to undo their buttons. At last he unhooked the black lace stockings. Heightening the moment to its peak, he slowly drew the stockings down, one by one. Euphoria. In his eagerness, he fumbled with her panties, but at last she was naked.
She took his hand and drew him from the bed. Stunned by her beauty, he followed her to the bathroom. After turning on the shower, she slowly undressed him. Together, they entered the shower. The soft skin, her entire being, overcame him as the hot jets of water pulsed down on them.
After they had dried off with thick white towels, Natasha took him to the bed. He lay back and she straddled his thighs. Bending low over him, she gently cupped his chin and gazed at him. In his intensely blue eyes, she saw a man she could trust enough to love, a man confident enough to be only himself.
With her tongue, she slowly circled each of his nipples. His skin tasted salty.
Harry could not speak as he held her fast against him. Kissing him deeply, Natasha gently moved back and forth. She dimmed the lights and took his hand to guide it downward from her breast.
Natasha was soft, warm, and lovely. She enveloped him completely. Harry could wait no longer. Guiding her hips, he shifted above her. Years of denial of pleasure fell away. Harry rose and gently laid her on her back and entered her.
This time it was not fantasy. She was really there. Many times he had imagined the moment, pictured her with him, but never like this. For an eternity, Natasha prolonged him, teasing and arousing him further time and again. Then, all in one moment, Harry discovered the beautiful Natasha and himself together.
Much later that night, he woke. She was there beside him, breathing slowly and deeply. The sky was beginning to lighten over the lake. Reaching out to touch her smooth black hair, Harry marveled at her warmth and closeness.
She stirred and drew him close. “What is it, Harry?” she murmured.
“I have to decide something.” She raised herself on one elbow and touched his cheek. He was surprised at his readiness to speak and her willingness to listen. Laura and he had not talked in bed for ages.
“You have to decide what to do about Cheney, Arpin and your involvement. Am I right?”
Harry was delighted at the opportunity to talk.
“I have to think quickly about that. Then I have to figure out the rest of my life.”
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
She smiled and rose from the bed, pulling a silk dressing gown about her. He lay on the bed without moving until she returned with a pot of coffee and the cups. Her graceful movements gave him immense pleasure.
“So, what are you thinking?” she asked as she poured the coffee.
“A lot of different things,” he said, shrugging, hesitant to put his disjointed thoughts into words.
“Such as?” She handed him his cup and saucer. Harry immediately set the coffee on the night table and sat up.
“I’ve been wondering,” he began slowly, “why I didn’t peg Chin as a crook right from the start. I can tell myself that I was blinded by wealth, but still that doesn’t answer the question.”
“And?” Natasha said, after some moments.
“I didn’t see beyond what Chin represented to me: a chance, maybe a last chance, to make some real money.” Harry turned away from Natasha’s gaze, then continued, “All my life, I’ve thought that if I played by the rules, my reward would come. I stupidly saw Chin as my legitimate payoff, so I clung to that perception of him.”
Such honest reflection in a male was new for Natasha. Most men she had known were blindly self-confident and aggressive. She began carefully, “Harry, I think all of us grow from our own roots. We can’t help that. At worst, you may have been a bit naive.”
Caught up in his analysis, he continued, “My father would have pegged Chin. He wasn’t trapped in any preconceptions.” Harry’s tone was becoming bitter. Natasha searched for words to avert a slide into self-pity.
Harry twisted angrily in the bedcovers. “Crawford would have spotted Chin the instant he walked in the office.”
“And you’re still letting old ghosts haunt you, Harry?”
Sighing, Harry settled back on the pillow. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Listen, Harry,” Natasha began, “what matters is what you do next, not what happened years back. So what if you were blinded? You aren’t now. You have to act on what you know now.”
Harry knew she was right. Self-recrimination was useless. He shrugged. “I’ll turn my files over to the Law Society and brief them on everything.” He sipped his coffee. “But I have to talk to Conroy first.”
“Why?”
“He’s the Treasurer of the Law Society. I don’t think he knew what he was involved in. I think he deserves some forewarning.”
“Harry, do you understand the McKeowns of this world and the people who allow them to operate?” she asked.
“No, thank God. Do you?”
She smiled. “No, not personally. And that is fortunate.” Natasha knelt beside him on the bed. Harry was distracted by her closeness, but she spoke with such force and intensity that his attention immediately returned to her words. “To see McKeown as an evil sickness divorced from humanity, is a serious mistake, Harry. Unfortunately, he is a part of our world. Civilized behavior is meaningless to his kind. All of us have our dark currents, but we learn to control and mask them. Tony doesn’t even try. For him, there are no rules or lines because he simply does not care. But he is a human being.”
“But, Natasha, Conroy is not McKeown.”
Placing one finger on Harry’s lips, Natasha continued, “Tony seduces and captivates those around him, who then become willing participants. I would not warn Conroy. Perhaps he did not know, but you must acknowledge McKeown’s power. For his evil to spread, it must have been nourished.”
“And where does that leave me?” Harry said bitterly. “Right in the midst of corruption—either a participant or a fool.”
“You are neither.” Natasha shook her head in annoyance. “Your naïveté and the prospect of wealth blinded you. That’s very human. But leave that behind; what you do next is what counts.”
Harry knew she was right. He could simply walk away from his old ghosts, and they would lose their power over him. Lost in thought, he remained silent for some moments.
“But something else is bothering you?” she asked.
“Yes. Have you ever felt a sudden shift in your life, so that everything you once thought to be true no longer seems so?”
“Yes, It’s a sense of loss, of change.” She touched his hand. “It’s a feeling that you, yourself, have changed fundamentally.”
“Something like that.”
“I thought so, Harry. It’s in your eyes and in your touch.”
He sighed and lay back on the pillow. “My wife’s gone. The police have accused me of fraud, lining my pockets with fat commissions. My professional life is in danger and my life’s been threatened.” He stared at the ceiling. “Two weeks ago, my life seemed dead and boring. Now everything’s upside down.”
“You love your wife a great deal, Harry. Such a loss sometimes stays forever.”
“So you learn to live with it?”
“Yes, you never get over it.” Suddenly, she sat apart from him on the bed. “I will tell you a story about a very young man. He was a crazy kid.” There was laughter in her voice, but then she sobered and said quietly, “I loved him very much. One night, we were in a club with friends. There was a band, and too much drinking.”
She looked away, out the window. “A fight broke out, with a lot of pushing and shoving. A bunch of guys knocked a boy down and began kicking his head. The crazy kid knew none of them, but he tried to drag them off the boy on the floor. As I said, he was crazy to think he could stop four men.”
Natasha seemed to withdraw within herself as she clasped her hands around her knees. They watched the sun break from the lake’s horizon, and then she continued. “Two of them grabbed the crazy kid and marched him out to the street. His eyes were frightened, but still defiant.” She looked directly at Harry. “On the street, they shoved him up against a wall and drove a knife between his ribs. They ran off, laughing. The crazy kid bled to death on the sidewalk before help came.”
“My God, Natasha! Who was he?”
“He was my brother, Harry.”
There was nothing Harry could say. He watched as she rose to pour more coffee. “That was twenty years ago. Had he lived, he would be about your age.”
At last he said, “You can never recover from that.”
“You can only hope the pain will subside enough to learn something from it. What I saw in their eyes was mindless evil. So I do know the McKeowns of this world.”
Both of them lay back on the pillows and watched the sun climb into the sky over the Islands and the first ferryboat of the day set out from the dock. Without further talk, she drew him under the covers.
“Do you want me to make love to you, Harry?”
“Yes.” Softly, his hand caressed the length of her thigh. “Please.”