house, Hardwick grinned. “She got to you, eh?”
“Not sure what you mean, Jack.”
“What was it got your attention? Love of truth and justice? Chance to kick Rodriguez in the balls? Or was it her fantastic ass?”
“Hard to say, Jack.” He found himself articulating the man’s name with a peculiar emphasis, as though it were a quick left jab. “Right now I’m just curious about the video.”
“That so? Not bored to death yet by retirement? Not desperate to get back in the game? Not hot to help the hot lady?”
“Just like to see the video. You bring it?”
“The murder movie? You’ve never seen anything like it, Davey boy. High-def DVD taken at the crime scene with the crime in progress.”
Hardwick was standing in the middle of the big room that served as kitchen, dining room, and sitting room, with an old country stove at one end and a fieldstone fireplace forty feet away at the other end. His gaze covered it all in a few seconds. “Shit, it’s a fucking feature spread in
Mother Earth News.
”
“The DVD player is in the den,” said Gurney, leading the way.
The video began arrestingly with an aerial shot of the countryside, the camera’s position slowly moving down at a steep angle until it was sweeping over green treetops, the bright green of springtime, following the course of a narrow road and a rushing stream—parallel ribbons of black asphalt and glittering water that linked a series of well-kept homes amid sprawling lawns and picturesque outbuildings.
An estate somewhat larger and grander than any of the others came into view, and the progress of the airborne camera slowed. When it reached a position directly above a vast emerald lawn with daffodil borders, its forward movement ceased entirely, and it descended smoothly to ground level.
“Jesus,” said Gurney. “They rented a helicopter to shoot their wedding video?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” rasped Hardwick. “Actually, the helicopter was just for the intro. From this point on, the video was recorded by four fixed cameras that were set up on the lawn in a way that covered the whole property. So there’s a complete sound-and-image file of everything that happened outdoors.”
The cream-colored stone house with its surrounding stone patios and free-form flower beds looked like a transplant from the Cotswolds—springtime in the bucolic English countryside.
“Where is this place?” asked Gurney as he and Hardwick settled down on the den couch in front of the DVD monitor.
Hardwick feigned surprise. “You don’t recognize the exclusive little hamlet of Tambury?”
“Why should I?”
“Tambury is a hotbed of important people, and you’re an important guy. Anyone who’s anybody knows somebody who lives in Tambury.”
“Guess I haven’t made the grade. You going to tell me where it is?”
“Hour northeast of here, halfway to Albany. I’ll give you directions.”
“I won’t be needing—” Gurney began, then stopped with a quizzical frown. “Wait a second. That wouldn’t by any chance be within Sheridan Kline’s—”
Hardwick cut him off. “Kline’s county? You bet it would. So you’ll have a chance to work with your old friends. The DA has a soft spot in his heart for you.”
“Jesus,” muttered Gurney.
“Man thinks you’re a fucking genius. Course, he did take the credit for your Mellery triumph, being the suck-ass politician he is, but deep down inside he knows he owes you.”
Gurney shook his head, looking back at the screen as he spoke. “Deep down inside Sheridan Kline there is nothing but a black hole.”
“Davey, Davey, Davey, you have such cruel opinions of God’s children.” Then, without waiting for a response, he turned to the screen and began narrating the video.
“Caterers,” he said as a team of spikily coiffed young men andwomen in black pants and crisp white tunics set up a serving bar and half a dozen hot tables.
“The host,” he said, pointing at the screen as a smiling
“Not sure what you mean, Jack.”
“What was it got your attention? Love of truth and justice? Chance to kick Rodriguez in the balls? Or was it her fantastic ass?”
“Hard to say, Jack.” He found himself articulating the man’s name with a peculiar emphasis, as though it were a quick left jab. “Right now I’m just curious about the video.”
“That so? Not bored to death yet by retirement? Not desperate to get back in the game? Not hot to help the hot lady?”
“Just like to see the video. You bring it?”
“The murder movie? You’ve never seen anything like it, Davey boy. High-def DVD taken at the crime scene with the crime in progress.”
Hardwick was standing in the middle of the big room that served as kitchen, dining room, and sitting room, with an old country stove at one end and a fieldstone fireplace forty feet away at the other end. His gaze covered it all in a few seconds. “Shit, it’s a fucking feature spread in
Mother Earth News.
”
“The DVD player is in the den,” said Gurney, leading the way.
The video began arrestingly with an aerial shot of the countryside, the camera’s position slowly moving down at a steep angle until it was sweeping over green treetops, the bright green of springtime, following the course of a narrow road and a rushing stream—parallel ribbons of black asphalt and glittering water that linked a series of well-kept homes amid sprawling lawns and picturesque outbuildings.
An estate somewhat larger and grander than any of the others came into view, and the progress of the airborne camera slowed. When it reached a position directly above a vast emerald lawn with daffodil borders, its forward movement ceased entirely, and it descended smoothly to ground level.
“Jesus,” said Gurney. “They rented a helicopter to shoot their wedding video?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” rasped Hardwick. “Actually, the helicopter was just for the intro. From this point on, the video was recorded by four fixed cameras that were set up on the lawn in a way that covered the whole property. So there’s a complete sound-and-image file of everything that happened outdoors.”
The cream-colored stone house with its surrounding stone patios and free-form flower beds looked like a transplant from the Cotswolds—springtime in the bucolic English countryside.
“Where is this place?” asked Gurney as he and Hardwick settled down on the den couch in front of the DVD monitor.
Hardwick feigned surprise. “You don’t recognize the exclusive little hamlet of Tambury?”
“Why should I?”
“Tambury is a hotbed of important people, and you’re an important guy. Anyone who’s anybody knows somebody who lives in Tambury.”
“Guess I haven’t made the grade. You going to tell me where it is?”
“Hour northeast of here, halfway to Albany. I’ll give you directions.”
“I won’t be needing—” Gurney began, then stopped with a quizzical frown. “Wait a second. That wouldn’t by any chance be within Sheridan Kline’s—”
Hardwick cut him off. “Kline’s county? You bet it would. So you’ll have a chance to work with your old friends. The DA has a soft spot in his heart for you.”
“Jesus,” muttered Gurney.
“Man thinks you’re a fucking genius. Course, he did take the credit for your Mellery triumph, being the suck-ass politician he is, but deep down inside he knows he owes you.”
Gurney shook his head, looking back at the screen as he spoke. “Deep down inside Sheridan Kline there is nothing but a black hole.”
“Davey, Davey, Davey, you have such cruel opinions of God’s children.” Then, without waiting for a response, he turned to the screen and began narrating the video.
“Caterers,” he said as a team of spikily coiffed young men andwomen in black pants and crisp white tunics set up a serving bar and half a dozen hot tables.
“The host,” he said, pointing at the screen as a smiling
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