A look of discomfort came over the Commissioner’s face. “I—uh—I was talking to him.”
“Phone or flesh?” Carmine asked warily.
“Phone. Sit down, man, sit down!”
His wariness growing, Carmine sat. “Spit it out, John!”
“That’s no way to speak to your superior.”
“My patience is finite, sir.”
“I guess you know how important Myron is?”
“I do,” said Carmine, waiting for it.
“The thing is, he’s buzzing around in Hartford like a wasp inside a pair of shorts.”
“Angry, pushy and trapped.”
“Those, plus a lot else. He wants Erica Davenport’s murder put as our number one priority, and the Governor thinks that’s appropriate, given the publicity.”
“Myron leaked the story himself,” Carmine said.
“Yeah, well, we all know that. But the Governor wants him buzzing somewhere far away from Hartford. He’s got this bee in his bonnet—”
“Wasps, now bees. Just tell me!”
“I’m sending you to London to investigate Dr. Davenport’s time there as a student.” Silvestri coughed. “An anonymous benefactor has donated funds to send your wife and baby with you because of the recent attempt on their lives. Hartford has made a special grant to fund your own trip,” Silvestri ended, shutting his eyes on the gathering storm.
There were only two ways to go. One would ruin his entire day, the other would at least allow him to vent some kind of emotion. Carmine chose the other, and laughed until he cried.
“Fuck a duck!” He gasped, clutching his sides. “I can’t go to London, I just can’t! The minute I’m away, all hell will break loose. Surely you can see that, John?”
“Of course I can! And I said so! But I may as well have saved my breath. This investigation is being run as a political football, thanks to Myron Mandelbaum.”
“He means well, but he should butt out of what he doesn’t understand. His trouble is that he tends to see life as a movie—everything happens at the speed of light and no one pauses to think. An odyssey to London won’t help me find a killer or a spy, but it might let him get away.” Carmine groaned.
“I know, I know.”
“Did Hartford lay down any conditions? Like, how long I have to stay away?”
“Considering strains on the budget, I’d think the quicker you’re back, the better. The anonymous benefactor can’t bankroll a public servant.”
“Any bets?”
“How can I help?” Silvestri asked.
“Run interference with Hartford for me. It’s Desdemona and Julian preying on Myron’s mind, so if I come back in a couple of days, I’ll have to leave them in London for a few days more. If I can find the name of someone who can tell me about Erica’s time there before I leave Holloman, it will help. I can fly back as soon as I’ve milked the thing dry,” Carmine said.
“Delia! Put her on finding that name, Carmine.”
“She’s the one should be going to England.”
“Yeah, yeah, I agree, but Myron wouldn’t. However,” said the Commissioner, looking conspiratorial, “we might be able to throw some dust in everybody’s eyes. Don’t tell a soul where you’re going, just give it out that you’re moving your family out of Holloman for a while, and drive off to JFK as if you’re going to L.A. I’ll talk to Myron and put the fear of a Catholic Hell in his Jewish soul. He’s to tell everyone that Desdemona and Julian are going to stay with him. It makes sense, so I doubt you’ll be tailed to the airport, at least as far as the departure gates. That way, if you can finish London in two or three days, no one will get too cocky at your absence.”
In the end only Delia and John Silvestri knew where Carmine took his wife and son two days later. After some thought he also decided to confide in Ted Kelly, who could bumble around Cornucopia telling all and sundry that Carmine had gone to L.A. and could arrive back on the next plane if things got out of hand.
Desdemona was relieved and excited, explaining to the women of Carmine’s family that she was looking forward to revisiting the place where she had honeymooned: Myron’s Hampton Court Palace. That gentleman’s lavish hand was everywhere, Carmine discovered; they were picked up at their house by a limousine that had enough space in its nether regions to hold a small party, and whisked onto their 707 aircraft without joining the crush of people waiting to board. Though Carmine objected that his own ticket was economy even if his wife and son were traveling first class, he was put next to them in first class because, the chief hostess said smoothly, he had been upgraded. It didn’t escape his notice that the rest of the first-class passengers shuddered to see an infant and popped extra pills to ensure that they slept through a wailing baby. They needn’t have bothered, he thought with an inward grin; Julian enjoyed the experience, wincing as ascent and descent altered the pressure on his eardrums, but not howling. To him it must be small potatoes after Holloman Harbor.