Presumed Innocent Read Free Page A

few things that's going to stay the same when I get there. You'll still be in the chief deputy's office."
    I tell him, affably, that's a bunch of crap.
    "You'll never be P.A.," I say, "and if you were, Tommy Molto would be your guy. Everybody knows you have Tommy in the woodshed now." Tommy Molto is Nico's best friend, his former second-in-command in the Homicide Section. Molto has been a no-show in the office for three days. He hasn't called in and his desk is clean. The common belief is that when the furor over Carolyn's death abates a bit next week, Nico will stage another media occasion and announce that Tommy has joined his campaign. It will provoke a few more headlines. DISAPPOINTED HORGAN DEPUTY BACKS NICO . Delay handles these things well. Raymond has a fit whenever he hears Tommy's name.
    "Molto?" Nico asks me now. His look of innocence is entirely unconvincing, but I do not get the chance to respond. At the lectern, the reverend has asked the mourners to assume their seats. Instead, I smile at Della Guardia — smirk, in fact — as we are parting, and begin buffeting my way toward the front of the chapel, where Raymond and I are supposed to sit as office representatives. But as I go, making restrained gestures of acknowledgment to the people that I know, the heat of all of Nico's forceful confidence is still upon me. It is like having come in out of the blazing sun: the skin tingles and remains tender to the touch. And it strikes me then abruptly, as I gain my first clear view of the pewter-colored casket, that Nico Della Guardia actually may win. This prophecy is announced by a small voice somewhere in my interior reaches, only loud enough, like some whining conscience, to tell me what I do not want to hear. Undeserving as Nico is, unqualified, a pygmy in his soul, something may be propelling him toward triumph. Here, in this region of the dead, I cannot help but recognize the carnal appeal of his vitality and how far it is bound to take him.
     
     
    In keeping with the character of this public occasion, two rows of folding chairs have been positioned next to Carolyn's coffin. They are occupied, for the most part, by the dignitaries you would expect. The only unfamiliar figure is a boy in his late teens who is seated beside the mayor, directly at the foot of the bier. This young man has a poorly barbered tangle of blondish hair and a necktie drawn too tight, so that the collar points on his rayon shirt are lifted in the air. A cousin, I decide, perhaps a nephew, but definitely — and surprisingly — family. Carolyn's people, as I understood it, were all back East, where she meant to leave them long ago. Beside him in the front row, there are more of the mayor's people than there should be, and no room is left for me. As I pass in the row behind Horgan, Raymond leans back. He has apparently observed my talk with Della Guardia.
    "What did Delay have to say for himself?"
    "Nothing. Bullshit. He's running out of money."
    "Who isn't?" Raymond asks.
    I inquire about the meeting with the mayor, and Horgan rolls his eyes.
    "He wanted to give me some advice, just in confidence, me and him, because he doesn't want to appear to be taking sides. He thinks it would help my chances a lot if we arrested Carolyn's murderer before Election Day. Can you believe that jagoff? And he said it with a straight face, too, so I couldn't walk out on him. He's having a great time." Raymond points. "Look at him up there. The chief mourner."
    Raymond as usual cannot contain himself about Bolcarro. I look around, hoping we have not been overheard. I chuck my face toward the young man seated beside the mayor.
    "Who is the kid?" I ask.
    I do not think I have understood Horgan's answer, and I lean closer. Raymond brings his face right to my ear.
    "Her son," he says again.
    I stand up straight.
    "Grew up with his father in New Jersey," Raymond says, "then came out here for college. He's over at the U."
    Surprise seems to drive me backward. I