Текст книги "Secrets of the Demon"

Автор книги: Diana Rowland

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter 16

The mayor’s office was across the street from the station, and I had to resist the urge to skip and bounce on the way over. Funny how knowing that someone has your back makes all the difference in the world.But more than that, it was a relief to know that Crawford wasn’t going to let the weirdness of the other day influence his support of me as one of his detectives. I could accept that he wanted to keep his head in the sand with regards to the bizarre stuff I was involved in. It was unrealistic for me to expect—or even hope—that everyone could be as readily accepting of the arcane as Jill was.

But my gut was still tight with nerves as we crossed the street. My job was notcivil service, which meant that the mayor definitely had the pull to get me fired if he saw fit. And my days with the task force might definitely be numbered,I thought grimly.

On the way over I gave Crawford a summary of what was going on with my investigation—though I carefully censored out the not-so-normal aspects. An oddly pained expression crossed his face briefly after I finished, as if he knew I was holding something back, and I felt an unexpected wave of sympathy for the man. He truly did his best to be a good cop and an effective sergeant, and I’d unintentionally created a harsh dilemma for him. And no way to take it all back now. I wonder if he regrets stopping to help me?A whisper of remembered fear curled through me at the thought. If he hadn’t helped me, something badwould have happened. I knew that. Probably he did too. But I couldn’t really blame him if he did harbor a measure of regret.

Entering the city administration building, I forced myself back to the here and now. Crawford and I rode the elevator in silence to the third floor where the mayor had his office. I gave the receptionist my name and advised her that the mayor was expecting me, and was completely not surprised when she replied that the mayor was on an important phone call and that it would be a few minutes.

“Keep me waiting,” I murmured to Crawford as I took a seat in the waiting area. “Establish his control over the situation. I’m betting a beer that it’ll be at least ten minutes.”

He muttered something rude under his breath and dropped his eyes to his watch. “Fifteen.”

“That’s a bet.”

At the ten minute mark he tipped his watch to me and tapped it, expression turning smug. Thirty seconds later the receptionist told us we could go in, and I had to bite back a laugh. “Beer’s on you, Sarge,” I whispered.

But I carefully wiped all traces of humor from my face as I entered, though I took a small amount of pleasure in the annoyance that flicked across the mayor’s face at the sight of Crawford entering with me. Mayor Peter Fussell was a relative newcomer to the political game. The owner of a local chain of grocery stores, he’d made a run for mayor when the previous officeholder had to step down because of term limits and had won mostly because he’d poured a staggering amount of money into the campaign. In his late forties or so, with a trim build, brown hair, and blue eyes, he had the combination of looks and charm that had most assuming that Peter Fussell would be running for a higher office in the not-so-distant future.

“I requested to meet only with you, Detective Gillian,” he said, gruffly. “There’s no need to waste Sergeant Crawford’s time.”

“As her supervisor I’m electing to accompany her to any meeting where ongoing cases might be discussed,” Crawford replied, just as gruffly. “Unless, of course, this has nothing to do with anything police related, in which case I’ll excuse myself.”

The mayor’s expression hardened. “Fine. Have a seat then,” he said. He paused as we did so, and I had a feeling he was mentally shifting what he’d been planning to say. When he turned the warm smile on me I knew that he’d decided to shift from hard-assto benevolent leader who merely needs your assistance to make the world a better place.

“Detective Gillian,” he began in tones laden with pure politician, “as I’m sure you’re aware, we don’t live in a perfect utopia where the good guys always win and the bad guys always pay for their misdeeds. Hence the need for fine officers such as you and Sergeant Crawford here.” He paused, waiting for me to do my part and agree with him or nod or something. But I knew this was a game, and I had no desire to play it.

“Sir,” I said, “does this have anything to do with the investigation into the attack on Lida Moran, the fact that Ben Moran is her uncle, and the fact that Lake Pearl Bank—of which he is a board member—holds the majority of the loans for the city of Beaulac?” I allowed a hint of impatience to creep into my voice, though I did my best to maintain a polite and pleasant smile.

His warm smile turned tight. “I see you’re more into the direct approach, Detective. Very well. To answer your question, yes. Ben Moran has already expressed worry that his niece will suffer consequences for what is clearly a harmless prank that got out of hand. I’d already spoken to the chief about this matter and had thought it settled, but now I’m hearing that you’re continuing to harass and annoy members of the band.”

Harass and annoy? I resisted the urge to snort in derision and instead merely raised an eyebrow.

His response was to give me an oddly knowing look. “Detective Gillian,” he said, voice dripping with what was probably meant to be sympathy and compassion. “I’d hoped that youwould be more understanding of the mistakes that young people can make. I truly hate to see Lida’s future thrown away because of charges related to the incident at the concert. You of all peopleshould know that it’s possible to turn your life around after a rough start and become a valuable addition to society.”

I could feel the blood drain from my face, followed quickly by a white-hot surge of fury. The satisfaction that filled his eyes at my reaction wiped away any doubt that I might have misread what he’d said. How darehe attempt to manipulate me by bringing up my past issues with drugs? And how the fuck had he found out? I’d never been arrested, which meant that he’d have had to obtain access to medical records ...

I started to rise from my chair, breathing harshly. “You—”

A hand clamped onto my arm in an iron vise and nearly slammed me down into the chair. I shot a look at Crawford, ready to yank my arm away from him, but he merely shook his head and held my gaze in a hard stare for several heartbeats.

I let out a long breath, forcing my anger to drain away. The mayor was playing me. The easiest way to get me to back off would be to goad me into doing something that would get me suspended or fired.

Well, fuck him.

Taking another steadying breath, I turned back to the mayor as Crawford slowly released my arm. “Mayor Fussell,” I said, smiling so politely I thought my face would crack. “It’s heart-warming to know that you have so much sympathy and compassion for our youth. Unfortunately, the attack on Lida Moran took place in New Orleans, which means that you’ll need to direct your pressure and influence in that direction if you want it to go away.” I took an instant to take pleasure in the annoyance that passed over his face at that bit of info. “Moreover,” I continued, “any contact I’ve had with members of Ether Madhouse has been in the process of a murder investigation. Now then, sir, are you telling me that you want me to back off on that investigation as well?” I gave him an innocently questioning look.

His gaze flicked quickly to Crawford and then back to me, leaving me with an uncomfortable impression that if my sergeant hadn’t been in here with me, the mayor wouldhave tried to pressure me into doing just that. I filed that unpleasant little nugget away for future examination.

“Of course not,” he said after a brief pause. “I had no idea. Though, of course I remain worried for Lida, and I do hope she’s not a suspect. Why don’t you give me a briefing on the case so that I can reassure Mr. Moran?”

I damn near sprained my eyeballs in my fight to not roll them. “That’s not possible, sir,” I replied, not adding, and you know that, you asshat.“I’m unable to release information on an ongoing case. However, I’ll be sure to have our Public Information Officer forward any pertinent press releases to you.”

His politician mask slipped just long enough for me to see the hint of desperation in his eyes. He must be getting a lot of pressure from Moran. Does Moran really have that much influence?

“I’m the mayor of this city, Detective,” he said with a dark scowl, abandoning the pretense of polite conversation. “And I’m done playing games. You’ll either have the case file on my desk in an hour, or I’ll have your job.” He shot a black look to Crawford. “And yours too.”

I took a deep, slow breath as the threat hung in the air, oddly surprised to find that my pulse was racing. “Well,” I said. I looked over at Crawford. “You good?”

He gave me a stiff nod. “I’m good.” He stood and I followed suit, then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed a button on it. “Glad that worked,” he said casually, then he gave the mayor a friendly smile. “First time I ever used the voice recorder option on it.”

The mayor sat frozen, staring at Crawford’s phone, then he swallowed harshly. He looked as if he was about to speak, but I didn’t want to hear what he had to say.

“Mayor Fussell, it’s been a pleasure talking to you,” I said with too-loud cheerfulness. “I’ll be sure to take everythingyou said into consideration.” I caught Crawford’s eye and jerked my head toward the door. He turned and headed out, with me right behind him.

Somehow I managed to notturn and flip the mayor off on my way out.

I turned my own recorder off in the elevator, then let out a shaking breath. “Holy shit, am I ever glad you’re my sergeant.”

He let out a dry laugh as we reached the ground floor and stepped out. “Glad to know I’m appreciated.” Then he shook his head. “Though, I gotta be honest, I didn’t expect it to go that far. I’m glad we decided to use both phones. Between the two we should have enough recorded to cover our asses.”

I fell silent as we crossed the street and headed to the station. “Do you intend to press charges of public intimidation on him?” I asked after a moment. Threatening a police officer’s job was a criminal offense in Louisiana, whether you had the power and influence to do anything about it or not.

“No. Not at this time, at least,” he replied. “But you should do what you feel is right for you.”

I shook my head. “He’s an asshole, but he’s under pressure from Moran or someone else. I have the recording, which will keep him from coming up with some bullshit to fire us over.” I flicked a glance at Crawford. “But did you notice that he never asked who had been murdered?”

He blinked, then gave me an approving smile. “You’re right, he didn’t. Good catch.”

“He’s getting pressure, which means I’m doing something right.” Sure wished I knew what it was.

We reached the front door of the station, but Crawford paused before opening it, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Kara, I gotta ask. Is there a single official in this city who you haven’t killed, arrested, or pissed off?”

I burst out laughing. “Give me time. I’ll get to them all, I’m sure!”

Chapter 17

I stayed at the station only long enough to grab the printouts from my earlier Google searches, then took off. I still had an hour before I was supposed to meet Ryan at Adam Taylor’s studio, but I needed to get away from people for a little while. Even though the situation with the mayor had been salvaged without the loss of my job, the whole fact that the incident had occurred in the first place still roiled my gut. I’d met the mayor a few times before, and even though he was known to be a hard-ass and a bit of a jerk, I figured he had to be getting some serious pressure to resort to outright threats. So what was Ben Moran’s deal? What was his stake in all of this? Maybe I was being overly cynical, but I had a difficult time believing he was driven purely by concern for his niece’s welfare.

I drove without any solid idea of where I wanted to go, though after a few minutes I found myself heading for the east end of the lake and Leland Park. The park occupied nearly a mile of the lakefront—a sprawling combination of sports fields, basketball and tennis courts, playgrounds, and picnic areas. It was late enough that school had been out for a couple of hours, and the ball fields were busy with youth football teams engaged in practice scrimmages. I parked near the boat launch and then got out of my car and sat on the hood, letting the warmth of the engine make up for the faint touch of chill in the air. This was the time of year that tricked people into moving to this area. In fall and spring the weather could almost rival southern California’s. The winters were mild, with natives complaining any time the temps dipped below thirty, and I could count on one hand the times I’d seen snow here.

Today was one of those days, I decided as I leaned back on my elbows and listened to the distant shrieks of the kids in the playground. For most of the year the weather here was ideal. It was the summers that were nothing short of brutal. But if I moved north, then I’d have to endure winters,I reasoned with myself. Not that I could see myself ever moving.

The sound of a whistle pulled my attention to the football fields. The kids practicing on the field closest to me couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, wearing huge pads that seemed to swallow them. Parents were scattered along the bleachers. A few were actively watching and cheering, but most seemed to be occupied with books or intent on their cell phones.

Will that ever be me?I frowned at the unexpected thought. I’d certainly wondered before about my chances of finding someone to settle down and have children with. And I’d always dismissed the idea as impractical and most likely impossible. How could I marry someone unless they knew about the demon summoning?

Except that now I had a number of friends who knew ... and were still my friends. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that I could meet someone worth settling down with who could handle it. And I was still young. I wasn’t even thirty yet. Heck, I knew women who’d had their first kid when they were in their forties.

“Kara? What are you doing here?” A voice jerked me out of my reverie.

I turned to see my aunt standing beside my car, her head cocked in question. “Just chillin’,” I said, strangely pleased to see her. “I had a crazy day at work and wanted to take in some fresh air. What are youdoing here?” To my surprise she was dressed almost normally, in jeans, cowboy boots, and a T-shirt advertising something called Fruity Oaty Bars.

“Carl’s nephew plays youth football.” She gestured toward a field past the one I’d been watching where preteen kids were running drills. “Carl takes him to practice so that the boy’s dad doesn’t have to leave work early.”

“Carl has relatives?” I blurted without thinking. Then I winced. “Sorry, that was stupid.”

But Tessa let out a peal of laughter. “No, I totally understand. Actually, the nephew isn’t really his nephew, at least not biologically. Carl grew up in foster homes, and this is the kid of one of his foster brothers.”

My curiosity surged, but before I could say anything Tessa shook her head. “I don’t know much more about him, sweets. He doesn’t like to talk about his childhood.” Her expression dimmed. “I get the impression it wasn’t pleasant.”

I forced back my questions and merely nodded. I’d only spent a couple of months in a foster home after my dad had died and before Tessa had been able to return from Japan. That had been more than enough.

Tessa hitched herself up onto the hood beside me. I shifted to make room. “The last time I was out here was for a crime scene,” I said.

“Was that one of the Symbol Man victims?”

I nodded. “That baseball field way over there.” I pointed in the general direction. It was empty of players right now. Wrong season for it, I guessed. “It’s kinda neat coming out here when it’s busy, though. Holy crap, but there’re a lot of kids in this city!”

Tessa chuckled. “Scary, isn’t it!”

I smiled. “I don’t deal with kids very often. I think sometimes I forget they exist.” I paused. “Y’know I was just thinking about kids. I mean, me having them someday.”

She gave me a look filled with shock and horror. “Are you pregnant?”

“No!” I said quickly. “Holy shit, no. I was just thinking about ... someday.”

She relaxed, and I suddenly realized that the intensity of her reaction was most likely due to her fear that I could be pregnant with Rhyzkahl’s baby. Holy Yikes. Would that even be possible?“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “I’m still on the Pill.” Even though my social life had always been heartily pathetic, I was prepared and cautious when it came to any thoughts of children. I’d been on the Pill since I was sixteen, at my aunt’s encouragement. Okay, insistencewas probably the better word, though considering the hash I’d made of my teen years I couldn’t fault her for it. And even though it had been many years before I’d had my first sexual experience, I still appreciated the frank—and sometimes brutal—talking-to she’d given me about sex and the consequences of unplanned pregnancy.

Tessa patted my hand. “Good to know, sweets. Pregnancy is hard enough with a partner at your side, but going through it on your own is a tough haul that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.” She straightened and pushed off the hood of the car. “Looks like the practice is finishing up. I’d better go find Carl.” And with that she trotted off without another word.

I stared after her, her last words tumbling around in my head like rocks in a dryer. If I hadn’t know better, I’d have sworn that Tessa was speaking from personal experience.

Chapter 18

Leaving the park, I allowed my thoughts to explore the implications of what Tessa had said. I’m leaping to insane conclusions,I told myself. But ... were they really all that insane? Tessa had left Beaulac when she was nineteen and had only returned when she’d been asked to become my guardian. That was eleven years. It was more than plausible that Tessa might have had a child during that time.

And in all the time since then, she’s never spoken of it.Which either meant there was no baby and I was letting my imagination run wild, or that it was obviously a painful and/or touchy subject, and if she’d wanted me to know about it, she would have told me.

And, if nothing else, Tessa had managed to completely take my mind off of my other stress for a while.

My phone dinged with a text message as I drove, and at the next red light I clicked it to see a text from Roger telling me that the Lake Pearl Bank would have everything ready for me in the morning.

Nice to see at least one thing going right.

Then I gave myself a mental smack . Watch it, Kara. You’re going to jinx yourself again.

Sound System Studio was situated near the middle of town, in the “gray” area between the well-maintained downtown and the shoddier older sections that had been allowed to fall into disrepair. The studio was housed in a two-story windowless metal building—the kind of prefab construction that can go up in a few weeks and was usually picked as an “after” shot during storm season when a tornado turned it into a freeform sculpture of twisted aluminum. A bright blue sign hung over the door with the name of the studio painted across it in a swirling font, though I noticed that there were a number of pitted marks in the sign, as if someone had been throwing rocks at it. Not too surprising considering the neighborhood. Probably a good thing there were no windows.

Ryan was exiting his car as I pulled in. I checked my watch as I parked, pleased to see that I’d managed to kill an hour exactly.

“Perfect timing,” he said as I walked up.

“You had doubts?”

“Never.” He grinned. He walked to the door and held it for me, then followed me into a cramped foyer that barely had room for a desk, a chair, and an artificial ficus tree in the corner.

There was no one in the foyer, but we could hear music coming from beyond a door on the far wall. It was unlocked, and so we entered to find ourselves near the back of a room about thirty feet by twenty, though at least half of it was taken up with various music equipment. There were double doors to the right and left—I assumed that the latter set led to the outside judging by the orientation of the room. Against the wall nearest us was a table with a variety of wrapped snacks scattered upon it. Beside the table was a battered white refrigerator, though it was barely recognizable as white since damn near every inch was covered with stickers and magnets from an impressive variety of music groups.

Lida, Michael, and Trey were at the other end of the room amid their sound equipment, slowly playing something that I suspected was one of their new songs since I didn’t recognize it from the concert.

Lida looked much like she did at her house, wearing low-cut jeans and a white tank-top, with only a few piercings and very little makeup. She caught sight of us and gave us a small nod but didn’t stop playing. It didn’t surprise me that Roger wasn’t there. I could hardly blame him after the rough couple of days he’d had. I wassurprised to hear Michael missing notes. After the third time he fumbled, Lida called a halt.

“I’m sorry, Lida,” Michael said, clearly distressed

“It’s cool,” she replied gently. “It’s a new song, and we’re all trying to figure out how to make it sound right. That’s the whole point of rehearsing, okay? Why don’t you go get a Diet Coke or something.” He stared morosely at his keyboard, then nodded and stood.

Trey set his instrument aside. “I’ll take care of him, Lida. You go talk to the cops.”

It was apparently the wrong thing to say. Michael jerked his head up, seeing us for the first time. “Roger didn’t do anything wrong!” he announced loudly, features twisted in distress.

“Michael, they know that,” Lida said with a tired patience. “Roger isn’t in trouble, okay?” She gave us an apologetic look. “Give me a couple of minutes? I need to go take a walk with him and get him settled down.”

“Take all the time you need,” I replied.

The big man’s shoulder’s slumped and he allowed himself to be led outside, but not before shooting us another wary look.

Trey blew out his breath as they left. “Wow, the tension around here sucks ass.”

“How long has it been like this?” I asked, walking up to him. “Tense, I mean.”

He let out a dry bark of laughter. “Since we signed with the label?” Then he winced and shook his head. “That’s not really fair though. I was talking mostly about how things have been since Saturday night.”

“Can you tell me again what you saw?” I asked. I’d taken his statement after the incident, but I knew how useful it was to do follow-up interviews to see what was remembered, forgotten, or outright changed.

Trey tugged at the collar of his shirt before dropping down to sit cross-legged on the floor. Of all the band members, he was the one who looked the most different in “regular” clothes. He’d been fairly gothed out at the concert, in a getup similar to what Ryan had been wearing. I was amused to see that Trey was now wearing khaki pants and an oxford-style shirt—again, similar to what Ryan had on.

“I hardly saw anything,” Trey said. “The lights went out and something big shoved past me. Then I heard a bunch of screaming and yelling.” He toyed with the end of his shoelace. “I stood still since it was so dark, and I didn’t want to trip over anything and risk messing up my bass. About a minute later the lights came back on and Roger and Michael were all freaked out, yelling about someone grabbing Lida. Michael took off, so I ran after him. I didn’t know what was going on, but right then I figured the best way I could help would be to make sure that Michael didn’t get hurt or lost.” He grimaced. “I love Michael, but I wanted to throttle him for taking off like that. I’m not supposed to do any running.” Then he sighed. “But I can understand why he did. I’ve never seen anyone closer than those two.”

“You’re wearing running shoes,” Ryan pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s because I gotta wear them all the time,” Trey replied. “I have plantar fasciitis. The doc told me to lay off the running for a while.” He gave a morose sigh that at first made me think he was joking, then I realized he was truly upset about not being able to run. Then again, he had that lean lanky build of someone who probably ran a hundred miles a week without breaking a sweat. And enjoyed it.

Sick.

“And I don’t wanna end up like Roger,” Trey added, shaking his head.

I frowned. “What do you mean? What happened to Roger?”

“He used to do a lot of running too, coupla years ago.” Trey looked at me, tragedy written all over his face. “Then he messed up his feet. He stopped running. Stopped! Never went back to it. Went with the weight training instead.” He shuddered. “Man, I can’t even imagine.”

I stared at him, unable to come up with any sort of response that didn’t include the words Are you fucking kidding me?

“How have things changed since you signed with the label?” Ryan asked, saving me.

A pained expression flashed across his face. “I don’t know. I guess it’s not what any of us expected, y’know? I mean, it used to be tons of fun, and now there’s a bunch of pressure to earn back the money the label invested in us. And ... well, it’s not that great of a label, to be honest. We should have had a lot more distribution. So now we gotta think about making it big and getting noticed so that when our contract is up we can get signed with someone bigger. Plus, our concert schedule for the coming year is insane. But concerts are where we make money, not CD sales.”

Ryan and I exchanged a quick glance at the getting noticed. “Has anyone in the band been talking about ways to get noticed?” I asked.

“Well, yeah,” he said, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “I mean we’re always trying out new ways to do promo and stuff. Lida busts her hump writing new songs, and doing appearances and interviews. And I put together the website. But Adam’s the one who’s doing most of the regular promo. He works his ass off, but I think he has a lot riding on us really breaking out.”

“Why is that?”

“Times have been tough, y’know? He owns the studio, but his business has been shit lately.” Trey’s gaze swept the room. “He’s been trying to sell it, but no one’s interested.”

Well, that confirmed what Roger had said.

The side door opened and we all looked over to see Lida coming back in without Michael.

“Is he okay?” Trey asked her with what sounded like genuine concern.

Lida nodded, frustration and fatigue flashing briefly over her face. “I figured it was better to let him sit outside for a bit instead of bringing him back and risk him getting all upset again.” She shot us a look of apology and I gave her a slight nod of understanding in response.

Trey stood. “You want me to go sit with him?” She gave him a grateful smile, but then he glanced back at us. “I mean, unless y’all need to talk to me some more.”

“No, we’re done,” I said. “I know how to get in touch with you if I need to talk to you again.” I handed him one of my cards. “And feel free to call if you think of anything that might be useful.”

He tucked the card into the front pocket of his shirt. “Will do. Thanks.” He moved to Lida and gave her a quick, sweet kiss, then strode to the door and left.

Lida let out a soft sigh that sounded like it was tinged with relief. “Trey is so good with Michael. Like his best friend and big brother all rolled into one.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry about having to take him outside,” she said. “Roger came by earlier and told us about his client, and unfortunately, Michael heard him. He’s so sensitive that he gets really upset whenever he hears bad news. It’s like he doesn’t have the perspective to know that it wasn’t someone he was close to.” Sadness flickered across her face.

“Could Michael ever live on his own?” Ryan queried gently.

“No way,” she said without any hesitation. “And I don’t want him to go to a group home or anything like that either. He’s my brother,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “I can take care of him.” She sounded defensive.

“Has anyone suggested you do that?” Ryan asked.

Her defiant stance wilted slightly. “Adam suggested it once. As talented as Michael is, Adam worried that the stress of being in the band would be too much for him, especially with our current schedule. And Uncle Ben agreed with him, though he said Michael wouldn’t need to go to a home and said he’d hire someone to care for Michael at the house.” The frustration returned to her face. “I mean, I know they’re worried about me and think that I’m spreading myself too thin ...” She paused, then rolled her eyes. “Okay, my uncleis worried about me. I think Adam’s only worried that Michael will have a meltdown or something during a concert.” Anger flared in her eyes, but then she took a deep breath and seemed to push it down. “But I could never do that to him. It would kill Michael if he was taken out of the band. He loves it.”

“Follow your gut,” Ryan advised.

Lida gave him a firm nod. “Yeah, I intend to. Screw the rest of them.” She forced a smile onto her face. “Okay, I don’t need to be dumping on y’all. Sorry about that. You need to talk to me some more?”

“Yes, if you have the time and don’t mind,” I said. “Though we mostly came by because we need to speak to Adam.”

She frowned. “Adam’s been upstairs for hours, working, ever since he came back from his meeting with the label. It’s been a crazy day. It took over an hour to get Michael calmed down after Roger told us about Vic.” She stepped behind us and snagged a candy bar off the table. “Sorry, I’m starving. It’s probably a good thing Roger isn’t here. He’d make me do an extra half hour on the bike if he saw me eating this,” she said with a weak smile.