The Fallen

Ninth District City Councilman Anthony Rood met with us in his City Hall office. He was a dapper young man, dressed in an expensive and well-tailored navy suit. His shoes and belt were black and magnificently polished. He used both of his hands to shake one of ours.

“I’m happy to meet you, Detectives,” he said. “I scarcely knew Garrett Asplundh but I’ll tell you what I know.”

He stood behind his desk, smiling. There were plaques and awards and pictures of children on the wall in back of him.

“You might want to close that door,” said McKenzie.

“Oh? Sure.”

Rood returned and sat. “What can I do for you?”

“You can tell us what you know about the Squeaky Cleans,” I said.

“Squeaky Cleans?” he asked. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

The red squares of the lie spilled from his mouth. Sometimes the squares bounce and lilt in the air, like balloons. Sometimes they line up side by side like boxes on a shelf and don’t move unless I touch them. Rood’s stood at attention.

“Sure you’re sure,” said McKenzie. “Jordan Sheehan’s girls.”

Rood’s face turned red. Not as red as the squares in front of him but still a full, vivid red.

“Mr. Rood,” said McKenzie, “I’ve never seen a man blush so deeply. It’s really kind of handsome on you. But don’t tell me you haven’t been with some of the Squeaky Clean Madam’s girls, because we’ve got video of you in action. Yeah, that’s right. It isn’t pretty.”

We let him stew. His expression went from shame to fear to petulance to resolve. The red squares diminished and were gone.

“I don’t believe you,” he said.

“Wrong words,” said McKenzie.

I took a folded piece of paper from my pocket and handed it to Rood. He opened it and the red flooded back into his face. He refolded the picture and flicked it back at me.

“So we need some answers,” I said.

Rood nodded, placed his elbows on his desk, and squared himself in his chair. “I... am acquainted with some of the young women called Squeaky Clean girls. I’ve met Jordan Sheehan socially and know of no connection between her and the girls. The women have never told me of a connection between them and Jordan. It appears that the label ‘Squeaky Clean Madam’ may be of the police department’s making. I have certainly never, ever paid money for sex — from alleged Squeaky Clean girls or anyone else.”

“You tipped Carrie Ann Martier two hundred dollars on a video that I saw,” I said. “Do you usually tip your lovers? Do you offer them apartments in return for sex?”

Rood’s face looked painfully red. “If she was a working girl, then I was fooled. I was lied to and manipulated. Not only by her but—” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“How did you meet Carrie Ann Martier?” I asked.

He looked at the ceiling. He looked at his hands. He looked into the space between McKenzie and me but he didn’t look at us.

“Jordan Sheehan asked me if I’d be interested in meeting a friend who had expressed an interest in me. That evening after work, Carrie and I met at a bar in Del Mar. There was no offer of prostitution, no implication, no money. Carrie’s a party girl, not a hooker.”

“What’s that going to matter to your wife?” I asked.

“Very little.”

“It matters to us a lot,” said McKenzie.

“What do you want from me? I only met Garrett Asplundh once. He seemed very intense and professional. I don’t know anything about his life or his death — except what I’ve read in the papers. His daughter, the swimming pool, everything.”

I waited for another rush of red squares but there was none.

Rood looked from me to McKenzie, then back to me again. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. He bowed his head. “I had no idea that Carrie was a professional. I’m devastated.”

Out came the symbols of the councilman’s dishonesty, red squares marching in formation through the air toward me.

“I swear upon the graves of my children I didn’t know.”

The red battalion came at me. If the squares had had substance and weight, I’d have been knocked off my chair.

“Did you know that Garrett had you on video?” I asked.

“My God, of course not.”

“Did you know that Stiles had been caught?”

“Steve? No, I had no idea.”

The red flood kept pouring out. Rood’s panicked gaze went back and forth between McKenzie and me again.

“What do you want from me? I’ve never been blackmailed before. I’m not sure of the protocol.”

McKenzie smiled and shook her head. “You’re funny, Councilman.” She took out her notepad, flipped it open and clicked her pen three times. “Let’s start with Tuesday evening, March eighth.”

“I was at an exploratory fund-raiser aboard the Midway. I’m interested in running for a seat in the state assembly.”

“I hope you win it and move to Sacramento,” said McKenzie. “Maybe the Gubernator can keep you out of trouble.”

“What did Jordan want in return?” I asked. “She introduced you to a wonderful woman who was very interested in you, even though you’re married. All you had to do was tip her when it was over. So what did Jordan want from you?”