The Fifth Witness - Michael Connelly [110]
“What?”
“What is with you tonight? Is this something to do with Andrea? Getting me back for what’s going on in court or something?”
I felt her move off the bed.
“Maggie, of course not! Court’s got nothing to do with it.”
“Then what?”
But the bathroom door had closed before I could answer and the shower immediately was turned on, cutting off the exchange.
“I’ll tell you at dinner,” I said, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me.
Dan Tana’s was packed but Christian came through and got us quickly into a booth in the left corner. Maggie and I had not spoken during the fifteen-minute ride into West Hollywood. I had tried some small talk about our daughter but Maggie had been unresponsive so I let it go. I thought that I would try again in the restaurant.
We both ordered the Steak Helen with pasta on the side. Alfredo for Maggie and Bolognese for me. Maggie picked an Italian red for herself and I ordered a bottle of fizzy water. After the waiter left I reached across the table and put my hand on her wrist, gently this time.
“I’m sorry, Maggie. Let’s start over.”
She pulled her arm away from me.
“You still owe me an explanation, Haller. That wasn’t making love. I don’t know what’s going on with you. I don’t think you should treat anyone that way, but especially not me.”
“Maggie, I think you’re overdoing it a bit. For a while there you liked it and you know it.”
“And then you started to hurt me.”
“I’m sorry. I never want to hurt you.”
“And don’t try to act like it was a passing thing. If you ever want to be with me again you’d better start telling me what is happening with you.”
I shook my head and looked out at the crowded room. The Lakers were on the overhead TV in the bar that divided the place. People were crowded three deep behind the lucky patrons who had the stools. The waiter brought our drinks and that bought me some more time. But as soon as he left the table, Maggie was on me.
“Talk to me, Michael, or I’m taking my dinner to go. I’ll take a cab.”
I took a long drink of water and then looked at her.
“It has nothing to do with court or Andrea Freeman or anybody or anything else you know, okay?”
“No, not okay. Talk to me.”
I put my glass down and folded my arms on the table.
“Cisco found the two guys who attacked me.”
“Where? Who are they?”
“That doesn’t matter. He didn’t call the police, he didn’t turn them in.”
“You mean he just let them go?”
I laughed and shook my head.
“No, he held them. Him and two of his associates from the Saints. For me. In this place they have. To do what I wanted. Whatever I wanted. He said I needed it.”
She reached across the checked tablecloth and put her hand on my forearm.
“Haller, what did you do?”
I held her eyes for a moment.
“Nothing. I questioned them and then told Cisco to let them go. I know who hired them.”
“Who?”
“I’m not going to get into that. It’s not important. But you know what, Maggie? When I was in the hospital waiting to find out if they were going to be able to save my twisted nut, all I could think about were these violent images of me getting those two guys back. I mean, Hieronymus Bosch torture stuff. Medieval shit. I wanted to hurt them so bad. Then I get my chance, and believe me these guys would have just disappeared after, and I let it go… and then I’m with you and…”
She leaned back in the booth. She stared off into space, a mixture of sadness and resignation on her face.
“Pretty fucked up, huh?”
“I wish you hadn’t told me all of that.”
“You mean as a prosecutor?”
“There’s that.”
“Well, you kept asking. I guess I should’ve made up a story about being mad at Andrea Freeman. That would’ve been okay with you, right? If it was about men and women, you could understand that.”
She looked back at me.
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Sorry.”
We sat in silence and watched the activities in the bar. People drinking, being happy. At least outwardly. The waiters in tuxedos moving about and squeezing between the crowded tables.
When our food came I was no longer particularly