David Handler - The Burnt Orange Sunrise

ALSO BY DAVID HANDLER

F EATURING B ERGER & M ITRY

The Burnt Orange Sunrise
The Bright Silver Star
The Hot Pink Farmhouse
The Cold Blue Blood

F EATURING S TEWART H OAG

The Man Who Died Laughing
The Man Who Lived by Night
The Man Who Would Be F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Woman Who Fell from Grace
The Boy Who Never Grew Up
The Man Who Cancelled Himself
The Girl Who Ran Off with Daddy
The Man Who Loved Women to Death

F EATURING D ANNY L EVINE

Kiddo

Boss

T HE
B URNT
O RANGE
S UNRISE

D AVID
H ANDLER

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS
ST. MARTINS MINOTAUR
NEW YORK

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS .
An imprint of St. Martins Press.

THE BURNT ORANGE SUNRISE. Copyright 2004 by David Handler. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.minotaurbooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Handler, David, 1952
The burnt orange sunrise / David Handler.1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-312-30735-7
EAN 978-0312-30735-6
1. Berger, Mitch (Fictitious character)Fiction. 2. Mitry, Desiree (Fictitious character)Fiction. 3. African American policeFiction. 4. Film criticsFiction. 5. PolicewomenFiction. 6. ConnecticutFiction. 7. Ice StormsFiction. 8. Parties Fiction. I. Title.

PS3558.A637B87 2004

813.54dc22

2004049404

First Edition: October 2004

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

F OR THE ONE AND ONLY B LACK C ANARY,
MY FAVORITE SONGBIRD

I AM ONLY GOING to tell you this one more time, she said to him in a quiet, determined voice. That mean old woman just has to die. You know it, I know it, we both know it. Do you get what Im telling you?

I get it, he responded irritably. Ive gotten it every single time youve said it, and this is, like, the third time.

She watched him carefully as they idled there in the Old Say-brook train station parking lot, hearing the icy pellets go tappity-tap-tap on the roof of the car. Well, what do you say? Thats what I want to know.

What he said was, We should get back before the roads get any worse. Though he made no move to put the car in gear. Just sat there behind the wheel, his gloved hands gripping it loosely. Well be missed.

Not until we talk this out, she insisted, staring out at the floodlit rail platform, which gave off a ghostly yellow glow in the frigid night.

The dashboard clock said it was only a few minutes past nine. It might as well have been three in the morning. Absolutely no one else was out. It was a weeknight. The wind was blowing. A steady frozen rain was falling, and it was supposed to turn to snow overnight. There were only a half dozen cars in the parking lot, left behind by Amtrak passengers who would be real unhappy when they returned in a day or so to find them encased in an impenetrable shell of ice. The station was a tiny one, situated almost exactly midway between New York and Boston on the Northeast Corridor. The much-hyped high-speed Acela did not even stop here. Only the occasional local train, none this time of night. The station office was shuttered. Old Saybrook was a shoreline town popular with summer people. During the warm, sun-drenched months, this parking lot was a joyous, bustling place, a place for animated helios and rushed, giggty good-byes.

Tonight, it was a cold, dark place to talk about murder.

A few businesses were clustered around the parking lot. A dry cleaner, newsstand, a health club. And the Chinese restaurant where they had just eaten. They had been the only customers in the place. Shed had beef with broccoli. Hed had moo shu pork. Also two beers. She could smell the beer on his breath as they sat there with the engine running, the cars interior growing warm as the heater took hold.

He had been maddeningly quiet all through dinner. She was the one who did all of the talking. And all of the thinking. This was not something new.

More than anything, I hate what she does to you, she said, trying a new approach.

Me? What does she do to me?

Its what she doesnt do. She doesnt appreciate you. Doesnt listen to you. Doesnt know you. She just takes you for granted, like youre her loyal hound.

He stuck out his lower lip like a hurt little boy. Sometimes he seemed so very young to her. Except, God knew, he wasnt anymore. Neither of them was. Thats something Im used to. Doesnt bother me. I dont expect her to respect me.

Well, you should. And you shouldnt have to put up with her. Neither of us should. Her eyes studied him expectantly. Still no reaction. Nothing. Look, Im just being honest, okay? Once the old ladys gone, well have everything weve ever wanted. And thats a good thing, isnt it?

True enough, he allowed, following her lead at long last.

Always, it was up to her to take the lead. Always, it had been this way when it came to men. And she was fine with it. Really, she was. Way back when she was a schoolgirl, shed been utterly floored when her class had read Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. What an impression that awful book had made on her. Those five sisters sitting there all pure and dewy-eyed and silly in their white frocks, tender young breasts heaving as they read their sonnets and waited and waited for some kind, handsome young lord to ride up on his horse and sweep them away, one by one. Not going to happen to me, she remembered saying to herself as she whipped through the pages, shaking her head in disbelief. Never, ever going to happen to me. Whatever I am going to get in this life I will get because I go out and get it myself.

Especially men. Men didnt decide things. Women did. This was something she had known since she was very young, and saw how they would respond to her. How she could get anything she wanted if she simply smiled at them a certain way. Men were easy. Men were slow. Shed made the first move with virtually every one of them she had been with in her whole life. If shed waited for them to make the move, shed still be waiting, book of sonnets in hand. And she had zero tolerance for those women who complained that they couldnt find a man. Bull. Any woman who really, truly wanted a man just had to go and get him. So what if he wasnt, strictly speaking, available at the time? If there was one thing shed learned in life, it was this: No man who is genuinely worth having is ever actually out there on the open market. He always belongs to someone else when you first meet him. You just have to take him away from her, thats all. He isnt going to be handed to you.

Life isnt going to be handed to you.

Which was what brought her to here and nowthis car, this night, this move. Because time was running out for her. She wasnt getting any younger. She still hadnt gotten everything she deserved, and it wasnt fair. No, it wasnt. Especially when she thought about how many opportunities shed let slide on by because she was waiting for something better, someone better. Especially when she looked at what all of her friends had. Compared to them, her life still constituted a total failure. And the window of opportunity was sliding shut faster and faster. And when she allowed herself to think about it, she felt an overwhelming sense of desperation that bordered on outright panic.