Page 81
"His penis has been cut off."
"Yes."
"Before he died."
"Yes."
"With what?"
"Something very sharp. It was done before the fire, but not very long before because there is a lot less bleeding than there should be, which means his heart was not beating for much longer after it was done." She looks up briefly and pulls a face. "I know. Poor man. Somebody had a very particular sort of grievance against him. I have no idea how it fits with an accidental explosion on a yacht, but that is the police's problem to work out, not mine. My job is just to write down what I see."
I look at his left hand again. There is a heavy silver signet ring on the third finger. And I know exactly where I have seen that ring before—when he grabbed me by the neck last night.
The loud man at the table behind ours, who loved to brag. He followed me to the bathroom and blocked my way when I came out, then proceeded to make some pretty lurid threats. When Laszlo pushed and pushed until I told him, he promised he would not do anything to the man in that room.
In that room.
I take a step back from the table.
"Daphne, I am so sorry. I have to go."
"You have only just got here."
"I know, but I have just remembered there is something I really do need to sort out before my shift starts. I will come back down after and we can talk properly, I promise."
"You said you wanted to talk to me about something."
"It is going to have to wait. See you later, okay?"
I walk out, get in the lift, then straight to my car and the train station to get to the Midtown address where I know he’s having his meetings this morning, because he told me by text. He tells me, even when I don’t ask. And when he doesn’t tell me, I ask Denis. Since I got married, my father sent him to watch over me, and now he gets to know where we both are at any given time. His loyalty, though, is still to me, and it seems Laszlo is fine with that. Denis is always in a position to keep an eye on my husband for me.
My husband, Laszlo Novak. I want to be face to face with him right now. He really should not have tortured that prick, and I want to look him in the eye and tell him that. But at the same time, I can't get my head around how he did it when he was with me the entire evening in the restaurant, and then later on in the car when the yacht exploded. Some awful animalistic part of me that I do not want to acknowledge is very awake this morning. It likes what he did and wants to know exactly how he did it. I am going to have to ignore that part of me completely while I unleash my fury on him.
The receptionist at the Spotlight building, a pretty woman with curly blonde hair, sees me as I walk out of the lift. Her nametag reads Renata. I introduce myself.
"Mrs. Novak, Mr. Novak is in a very important meeting and has asked not to be disturbed," she says, already standing up as I walk past her.
"I don't care. I am going in there whether you like it or not," I tell her. “I know where he is on this floor.” I reach a set of double doors and push them open.
"Mrs. Novak, please—"
"It is all right, Renata. Let her through and close the door behind you."
Every single face at the table turns to look at me, and I do not care in the slightest. No fucks to give for eternity—that’s how it feels. Denis looks properly shocked. Février though, old fox that he is, takes it all in stride. He’s got his cane and his tobacco, that’s all that matters. I give him my sweetest smile. He nods back at me. Guess my father now is comfortably in bed with the enemy.
Both of them know no woman has ever walked into one of my father’s meetings uninvited in the past. This little gathering here has the same charge. I should know; I eavesdropped on plenty of them as a teenager. A bunch of men talking about other men's dicks and who has the larger one. Short of whipping their junk out and measuring it, they did all the peacock-style posturing that males do when found in groups in the wild, all interspersed with bouts of serious business talk.
Now, speaking of dicks and penises…
The biggest one of all—in every possible sense—is sitting at the far end of the table. Laszlo sets his pen down on his notepad and leans back in his chair.
"Manon. Darling."
"Sorry to interrupt, everybody. Could I have a minute with my husband, please?"
Nobody dares to move. Everyone stares at me, then at my husband. Are they all scared to say anything? The Chicago people look like deers in headlights.
"Darling." His voice is quite pleasant. "You can see we are in the middle of something. Perhaps this can wait until evening. I know you have a shift starting shortly."
