Virgil sent him back to the holding cell, asked Purdy whether Denwa Burke was worth interviewing, and Purdy said no. “He’s got no idea of what happened at that meeting. He’s ahell-raiser and a shovel operator for the port. When I say shovel operator, I mean the kind with a wooden handle.”
Virgil called Harney’s office to find out if he was in and was told that he was ill and was at home. Virgil called, Harney answered, and Virgil told him they needed to talk.
“Yeah, I figured you’d be calling. Listen, could you stop and pick up a couple of large lattes at The Roasting Pig? We’ve been up all night and we’re starving here...”
Virgil stopped at The Roasting Pig for the lattes, walked down the block to Dunkin’ Donuts and got a half dozen donuts—two chocolate-frosteds, two glazed sticks, two original sticks, in a bag, and a jelly to eat on the way over to the Harneys. The counter clerk offered him the donuts free again, but Virgil paid. A couple of donuts was okay; seven was a bribe.
—
When Harney popped the front door open, he looked as though he’d spent the night in hell. His hair stuck out in all directions, he had a large blue bruise in the middle of his forehead, and he looked like he’d gotten exactly no sleep. He told Virgil to come in, took the two large cups of coffee and handed one to his wife, who’d come up behind him, and they all went into the large kitchen to sit at the dining bar.
Harney said, “I guess Corbel told you that I had a thing with Gina years ago.”
“He didn’t say when it was,” Virgil said. He glanced at Karen Harney, who looked fairly relaxed; he wondered about the possibility of a Xanax or two.
“Five years ago,” Harney said.
“While I was pregnant with our second child, you asshole,” Karen Harney said.
Virgil to Ryan Harney: “You let me think you hardly knew her...”
“I really messed up the middle part of my life when I fell in bed with her,” Harney said.
“You betcha,” Karen Harney said.
Harney continued. “But I broke down and told Karen, and we put things back together, after a rough time, and I... well, I thought the fact that we’d had an affair, so long ago, wasn’t really relevant. Then that fuckin’ Corbel showed up last night.”
Virgil told him Cain’s theory that Harney got drunk—and Karen Harney interrupted to say, “He does drink too much”—and got violent after being turned down for sex. “He’d never get violent,” Karen Harney said.
Harney said, “We’ve been up all night here. This whole thing... we’re going to change our lives. We’re not happy here. I’m going to start looking around for a job in the Cities, or in Rochester. Maybe even Denver. Maybe an emergency room gig: get some regular hours, for a change, spend more time with Karen and the kids.”
“I do love him,” Karen said. “But Trippton’s never been right for us. We need a bigger place.”
—
They talked some more, and the Harneys ate four of the pastries and Virgil ate one (chocolate-glazed), and the two Harneys so casually dismissed Cain’s theory as crazy that Virgil decided he wouldn’t get anywhere with them without more facts to back him up.
As he was putting on his coat to leave, Harney said, “Virgil, you know, I didn’t want to say anything about this because it’s so minor...”
“Nothing’s minor in a murder,” Virgil said.
“When we were leaving, I was out at my car, and Justin and Margot walked down her porch steps, and Gina was up there alone with Lucy Cheever, and there was something really... tense... about their body relationships. They looked like they were arguing. But this was only a glance as I drove by. It’s probably nothing.”
“I’ll ask,” Virgil said. “I’ll keep you out of it.”
Driving away, Virgil thought a bit about Karen Harney. She’d dropped both Burke and Corbel Cain, two well-known brawlers, with a closet rod. There was a willingness to use violence... although it could have been simple fear and anger.
Still...
Betrayed by her husband, worried that he might be straying again...
—
At nine o’clock, he eased into a freshly plowed parking spot on Main Street in front of Margot Moore’s office at Moore Financial. The secretary said Moore was not in yet but was expected any minute. “Probably over getting a cup of coffee.”
Virgil waited in the lobby, reading an old copy ofModern Farmer, a magazine aimed at yuppies (“The Complete Chicken Guide”), and ten minutes later Moore came in, stomping her diminutive L.L. Bean rubber mocs. She saw Virgil, stopped, and said, “Oh, shit.”
Virgil asked, “Is that nice?”
