THE PAIN OF OTHERS Read Online Free PDF

shotgun.
    “I’m not leaving you.”
    “You saved my life, Letty . I’ll never forget it. Now go.”
     
    Five days later, at 6:01 p.m. , Chase Rochefort stepped off the elevator, dressed to the nines in a light grey Coppley and a cobalt Oxford, engaged with his iPhone as he breezed through the lobby of the neo-gothic Jackson Building whose twelfth floor housed his law practice— Rochefort , Bloodsworth & Sax, LLC. The stunning redhead followed him out onto the street, sprouting her umbrella against the drizzly Friday evening. Trailed him along South Pack Square to North Market, and then several blocks to the intersection with Woodfin , where Rochefort entered the Sheraton Hotel.
     
    He sat at the corner of the chophouse bar, letting his Chilean sea bass turn cold and drinking double Powers on the rocks with twists of lemon like his life depended on it. Halfway through his sixth, the barstool beside him opened up and Letty claimed it and ordered a glass of Merlot.
    While the barkeep poured her wine, Letty reached over, patted Chase’s hand, and asked with faux-empathy, “How you holding up?” Searched his face for some tell of the preceding weeks’ stress, but no indication presented aside from a darkness under his eyes that had mostly been erased with concealer and the blush of Irish whiskey.
    He worked up a glassy-eyed smile, slurred, “We know each other?”
    “Well, I certainly know you.”
    The barkeep returned with her wine. “That’s ten dollars. Would you like to start a—”
    Chase tapped his chest. “My tab.”
    “Of course, Mr. Rochefort .”
    Chase banged his rocks glass against Letty’s wineglass and threw back the rest of his whiskey. “Have I sued you before?” he asked, excavating the lemon from the melting cubes of ice, crunching the rind between his back molars.
    “No, you haven’t sued me.”
    “Good.” He grinned. “I’ve sued half the people in this town.”
    The barkeep arrived with a fresh double Powers on the rocks and swapped it out for Chase’s empty glass.
    “But I was curious about something,” Letty asked, letting her left knee brush against his leg.
    “What’s that?”
    “I’ve read the Citizen-Times cover to cover for the last five days and there’s been no mention of it.” He sipped his new drink, Letty wondering about the depth of his intoxication, how much of this was sliding past him. “I’ve called your home. Never got an answer. You and Skyler have been living out of this hotel all week, and you come down here and drink yourself into a stupor every night.”
    His face paled slightly through the Powers glow. “Who are you?”
    “I was there, Chase.”
    “Where? What are you talking about?”
    She leaned over, whispered in his ear: “Room 5212 at the Grove Park Inn when you met with Arnold LeBreck and hired him to murder your wife. I was in the closet. I heard everything.”
    He drew back, the noise of the chophouse swelling—thirty separate conversations intermingled with the clink of glassware and china.
    She said, “Last Sunday morning, I went to your house in Montford . I told your wife everything—”
    “Oh Jesus.”
    “—and when I left, she was holding a shotgun on Mr. LeBreck and on the verge of calling the police. I should never have left her…
    “But as I just mentioned, nothing in the papers. No sign of Daphne. So I’m sitting here wondering what happened, but before you answer, let me tell you that I’ve written a letter to the Asheville Police Department providing a firsthand account, and it will be delivered tomorrow by a friend of mine should I become scarce.”
    This last part was a lie. She’d only just thought of it.
    Chase drained his whiskey in one shot and slammed the glass down on the bar.
    “Why won’t you go back to your house, Chase? What did you do there on Sunday morning after I left? What did you do to your wife?”
    Chase grabbed the side of the bar to steady his hands. He closed his eyes, opened them again.