Low Pressure

“But their verdict was based on what you told them, and you told them he was guilty.”

“My arguments to that effect were founded on what came from Moody’s investigation. Was everything factual? At the time, I accepted it as such.”

“Maybe it was.”

“Maybe.”

“But you’re not one hundred percent sure?”

“Moody was under a lot of pressure from his superiors to nail that girl’s killer. He’d already put forth one suspect that fizzled. He’d’ve been made to look like a bumbling fool if his case against Strickland had fallen apart, too. The man was determined to see Strickland convicted.”

“By whatever means necessary?”

Again Rupe avoided giving a straight answer. “All I’m saying is that Dale felt the squeeze from city hall, the PD, the almighty Lystons, and Joe Q. Public.”

“So he bent rules to produce a culprit.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But if he’s got nothing to hide, why did he attack you?”

Rupe looked pained. “My thought exactly. It’s hardly the action of a man who is entirely innocent of wrongdoing. He also threatened me against speaking about this. To you. To anyone. But saying nothing smacks of a cover-up, and I want no part of it.”

Van Durbin’s ferret nose was practically twitching. As though composing the opening sentence of his next column, he said, “Moody nailed the wrong man, and that innocent young man died bloody in prison.”

“You’ve put words in my mouth that I didn’t say, Mr. Van Durbin. If you print that, I’ll demand a retraction and sue your newspaper. I hope to God that justice was served,” he added piously. “However—”

“There’s that word again. It gives me a hard-on.”

“If you want an exclusive quote from me, here it is. And this is all I will ever say on the subject: I swear on the heads of my beautiful wife and children that I did my job as prosecutor to the best of my ability, with integrity and a burning desire to see that Susan Lyston got the justice she deserved. I can’t speak to the motives or actions of former detective Dale Moody.”

“You would have been disappointed.”

Dent looked over at Bellamy where she sat in the right-hand co-pilot’s seat. She had been quiet throughout most of the flight, and he’d left her to her own thoughts. He figured she was reflecting on her dad’s declining condition and how his death would impact her.

But obviously he’d somehow factored into her thoughts, and they were compelling enough for her to have put on the headphones so she could share them with him now.

“Disappointed?”

“If we’d gone through with it last night, you would have been in for a letdown.”

“I was let down.”

“Yes, but not like you would have been if we’d continued.” She faced forward again, but he knew that her mind wasn’t on the view through the cockpit window. “When I described my marriage to you, you remarked on how boring it sounded.”

“I was being a smart-ass.”

“Of course you were. But you were right. Except for one thing. My husband wasn’t to blame, I was. Through no fault of his own, he became bored with me.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Why did he get bored with you?”

“I have issues with intimacy.”

“With fucking.”

She winced. “That’s an aspect of it.”

“What’s the other aspect?”