The Night Crew by Brian Haig Page A

The damned car is already started.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Unlike you, it doesn’t make a lot of noise. Yes, I’m sure.”
    She can be very funny. We proceeded up 95 North, then the Palisades Interstate Parkway, cutting left just before the Bear Mountain Bridge. Katherine napped with her head against the window for most of the drive. Thankfully, she didn’t snore and required no potty breaks, which was a treat. Men and women share an organ called a bladder, which serves roughly the same function, though theirs must be a quarter of the size and lacks an off switch.
    During her few waking moments, she did share a few tidbits of relevant knowledge. She notified me, “Our court date is in one month. We’ll have to work hard, and fast.”
    “You mean thirty days?”
    “Like most months, yes, Sean. I know it’s short. But I’ve already done a lot of the preparation.”
    “Have you interrogated the other accused yet?”
    “No. I thought we’d do it together.”
    “Filed any motions, yet?”
    “None have been necessary, yet. The answer’s no.”
    “Have you met with any witnesses?”
    “I have not . . . no, not yet.”
    “What have you done, Katherine?”
    “I hired a capable staff and arranged an office.”
    I shook my head. “Who’s paying for all this?”
    It was obvious where I was going with this line of inquiry and she chose not to answer. But I wasn’t letting go and suggested, “Isn’t Nelson Arnold a bit old, even for you?”
    “Why do you always see the worst in other people?”
    “Because the worst usually applies.”
    “You’re underestimating him, Sean.” She looked at me. “Don’t.”
    “He’s also rich, handsome, and owns half of Manhattan. Some women find that an attractive combination. Shallow, I know, but please answer the question.”
    “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
    “If he’s paying the bills, it’s very much my business. I want to know the extent of his involvement with this case—” And with you, though I didn’t say that, because obviously who Katherine sleeps with was no concern of mine. Right?
    But apparently she found this topic tiresome, because Katherine put her head against the window and was instantly asleep. I think she had decided to avoid me for the rest of the trip.
    Amazingly, we made it all the way to the small, sleepy village of Highland Falls on less than half a tank of gas. If they could manufacture one of these things in the size and shape of a Ford Bronco, I might even buy one.
    Anyway, Highland Falls, as I mentioned, is, in the official lexicon, a village, a small, charming, but slightly depressed burg whose main purpose seems to be serving the needs of the military academy. The first foot was set here way back in 1609, according to local legend, but it wasn’t until West Point was established in 1802 that any feet stopped moving. Most army bases get the garrison towns they deserve and, for the large troop bases, this means plenty of whorehouses, gin mills, pawnshops, and these days, a smattering of fast food joints and tattoo parlors. In the case of the military academy, that means a drowsy village with plenty of souvenir shops and nice churches.
    I gave Katherine a poke in the arm. “We’re on Main Street in Highland Falls. Where next?”
    She stretched for a moment, and looked around. “Stay straight, then hang a left on Partner Lane.”
    Partner Lane? This sounded presumptuous, but I didn’t think I could convince them to change the name just to fit my sensibilities. So I stayed straight, and, a moment after I took the left, Katherine said, “Drive to the top of the hill. A surprise is waiting for you.”
    I don’t like surprises and anyway, Katherine had already used up her limit for the night.
    I pulled up to the only house with the lights still on, and Katherine confirmed that I had made the right choice. The house was a small, two-storied clapboard affair, perhaps eighty or a hundred years old, or fifty neglectful