When I got to the car, he had the door open and was swatting away at the deployed airbag like it was a swarm of bees. His nose was bloodied. As he got out, his shoes slipped on the tall grass. He struggled to his feet. He saw me and turned to run, the stupid bastard. If it had been a stolen car, that might have been one thing, but you don’t leave behind your own car, and all its registration documents, and think you’re going to get away with something.
I grabbed hold of the back of his jacket and forced him down on the hood.
I had the image of that dead child in my brain. I might have held it together if, just after I had the cuffs on him, he hadn’t glanced at the splatters of red on his windshield and said in a puzzled voice, “I hope that comes off.”
Snap.
I worried, for a moment, that I’d killed him. His body went limp and slid off the hood and into the grass. I immediately called for an ambulance, and was relieved to find, before it arrived, that he was still breathing. But it was a couple of days before he regained consciousness. I’d given him one hell of a concussion.
The guy recalled nothing. He didn’t remember mowing down and killing two people. He didn’t remember the flashing lights in his rearview mirror. He didn’t remember feeling my hand on the back of his skull, or seeing the hood of his car coming up to meet him with incredible swiftness. It would have been easy to say the man had fallen while resisting arrest, that he had tripped and hit his head on the hood. There were, after all, no witnesses. That was, in fact, the version of events I put down in my report.
But I didn’t get away with it. Not entirely.
My car had a dash cam—a camera mounted in the front windshield that caught the whole thing. Just in the right side of the frame. I should have known better. I didn’t think my car was at the right angle to capture the scene. My chief brought me into his office and we watched the video together. Several times. No popcorn.
“I’m going to find a way to make this disappear,” he said. “And in return, you’re going to do the same.”
My excuse for public consumption: I’d decided to go private. It was something I’d often thought about, but it’s unlikely I’d actually have done it. I was lulled by a steady paycheck, a benefits plan. But now those were gone, and I didn’t have much choice but to get started on another career.
I was ashamed. I’d let my department and myself down, but worse, I’d let Donna down and I’d let Scott down, eight years old at the time. It was, up till then, the worst thing we’d been through, but we found the strength to get past it. Donna was the one who deserved the credit. She had every reason to be furious, to blame me for our predicament. It’s not as though she was pleased with what I’d done, but it had happened, and we had to deal with it.
At one point, she said she wished there were a way to tell the family of that dead mother and child what I’d done. “I think they’d want to thank you,” she said. It might have provided more satisfaction than the twelve-year sentence the guy got.
We decided to leave Promise Falls. Donna’s brother—at that time, he was a deputy chief—told her there was an opening in the administrative offices of the Griffon department. I was in the process of acquiring my New York State private investigator’s license, and it would serve me just as well in the Buffalo area as it would north of Albany.
So I really didn’t have anyone else to blame for being here, today, in Augustus Perry’s office.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Augie asked as he closed the door. His office had the feel of the proverbial woodshed.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said. That was pride talking, and I knew it. If my brother-in-law hadn’t stuck his nose into my business, I’d have been headed for a great deal of unpleasantness.
“Really?” he said, pointing a finger. “You think you could have gotten out of that one? You think you could have stayed out of jail? Let alone hang on to your license?”
I mumbled something unintelligible. When I eat crow I like to chew with my mouth closed.
“Sorry. I didn’t catch that. So let me ask you again, what the hell were you thinking? And don’t say this was some kind of bogus accusation, that you’re an innocent man. Don’t insult me, okay? We’ve both been around long enough to know bullshit when we step in it. We understand each other?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good. So, tell me.”
“I lost my head,” I said, pacing the room, steering clear of Augie.
“Excellent. Great defense.”
“There’s some truth to it,” I said.
“To what?”
“That I lost my head.” I stopped, rested my butt on the edge of his desk.
“Get your ass off my desk,” Augie said.
I did, but I didn’t jump. “Scott’s death . . . has driven me a little crazy.”
Augie’s hard eyes softened. “Go on.”
“You know I’ve been asking around, trying to find out who sold him that stuff.”
“I don’t know whether you’re aware, but that’s our job.”
“And how’re you coming along with it?” I asked.
“These things can take time,” Augie said. “You can do all the active investigation you want, then you stumble onto something. Eighty percent of solving crimes is luck, and you know it.”
“I’m not interested in waiting to find things out by accident. When I got a name, a good prospect, someone who might be dealing, I paid them a visit, arranged a meeting.”
“Like you did with this Tapscott kid.”
“Yeah.”
“That was, uh, that was pretty fucking dumb, Cal.”
“Any of the other kids, they’ve been too scared to do anything about it. They know they’re dirty and they don’t want to draw attention to themselves.”
“How many others?”
“Four, total,” I admitted.
He nodded thoughtfully, went around his desk and sat down and told me to do the same because it hurt his neck to talk up to me. “It’s not that I don’t admire your tactics, Cal. It’s just, when you’re a civilian, you run a few more risks employing them. But a couple of cops using your sophisticated interrogation techniques would have each other’s back. Like what I did for you.”
I managed to get the word out, but I nearly choked on it. “Thanks.”
He glared at me.
“I don’t think you made a friend out of Hank Brindle in there,” I said.
“He’s a big boy. He’ll get over it.”
“Brindle’s a bad cop,” I said. “He’s a bully.”
Augie shook his head. “He’s okay. Cut him some slack. He’s had a rough few months. His dad’s been sick. He’s had to take a few days off, help his mom look after him. And don’t let Haines fool you. He’s quieter, but he’s bent out of shape these days, too.”
“What’s his problem?”
“Girl he was seeing dumped him a few weeks back, packed up and moved back in with her family in Erie. They’re a pair. But you know something, Cal? This little meeting we’re having isn’t about them. It’s about you. It’s about you, and your attitude problem.”
I slumped in my chair.
“Why’d you do it, Augie?” I asked.
“Why’d I do what?”
“Why’d you save my ass? I was facing some serious charges in there.”
He struggled for an answer. “Jesus.”
“What?”
“You’re my brother-in-law.” He said it with more than a little shame.
“Seriously.”
“Don’t, for a minute, think I was doing it for you. I was doing it for Donna.”
That much I believed. But I remained puzzled. “Tell me this, then, Augie. If you’re actually looking out for me, then why the hell did you seize my car?”
“Why’d I what?”
; “My Honda. You’ve still got it. I just hope it’s not in a million pieces.”
Augie’s mouth hung open for several seconds. “I don’t know what in the hell you’re talking about. Who seized your car?”
“Haines and Brindle. They got the word from Marvin Quinn, who said he got the order from you.”
Augie leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers together atop his stomach.
“Well,” he said, “isn’t that a kick in the head with a frozen boot?”
THIRTY-EIGHT
“You didn’t tell Quinn to have my car taken in?”
Augie shook his head. “I did not. You’re a lot of things, Cal. Dickhead, asshole, a conceited fuck if I ever met one. And the stupidest son of a bitch I know at the moment, trying to scare these kids the way you did. But you didn’t kill that girl.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. Why would Quinn do that? I’d understand one of my officers bringing in a car to have it searched. They don’t need my approval for that. The question is why he would have said I wanted it done.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
“I saw Quinn while I was cooling my heels in the cell, before the lineup,” I said. “He might be in the building.”
Augie picked up a phone. “Where’s Quinn?” He waited a few seconds. “When did he go off shift?” He looked at me and mouthed “ten minutes.” He hung for another moment, then said, “Get him at home or on his cell. I want to talk to him.”
He pressed a button, then said, “Get me the compound.” Another moment on hold, then, “Chief Perry here. You got an Accord, was brought in last night, belongs to Calvin Weaver? Yeah, that’s the one . . . Uh-huh . . . Uh-huh . . . Okay. He’s coming to pick it up. I would ask that you extend him every courtesy.”
He hung up.
“No one’s even touched it,” Augie said. “They were awaiting further instructions.”
“I guess I’ll be on my way, then,” I said.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m going to keep looking for Claire,” I said.
“You don’t think maybe it’s time for you to take a step back? You nearly got yourself charged. Maybe you should count your blessings and go home for a while.”
“I told the mayor I’d stay on this for—”
It was like I’d poked a bear with a sharp stick. “Hold on,” Augie said. “Tell me you’re not actually working for that son of a bitch.”
“Sorry, Augie. You so pissed with him you don’t think he’s entitled to get his daughter back?”
He waved an angry hand at me. “We’re already looking for her. We’ve got a whole load of questions for her about this game she and Hanna Rodomski were playing.”
“I’ll try not to get in your people’s way,” I said. “Although that may be difficult, given the campaign of harassment you’ve been conducting against Sanders.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?” Bellowing.
“I’m talking about having cruisers parked on his street, watching him, trying to intimidate him. Cops frisking his daughter. Sanders is convinced you’ve even got his phone tapped.”
“That’s the biggest crock of horseshit I’ve ever heard.”
“Sanders blames you and all your surveillance for his daughter having to go to such lengths to get out of town without being noticed.”
His cheeks were getting red. I was reminded of a boiler on the brink of exploding.
“All bullshit,” Augie said.
“Here’s the thing,” I said. “When you go to a public meeting and tell the mayor your officers have never violated anyone’s rights, I know that’s a lie, and so does everyone in the room, but no one really cares, because everyone here is happy for you to treat the Constitution like it’s toilet paper. So what if you run roughshod over a bunch of punks from Buffalo? But if I know you’re lying then, how am I supposed to know whether you’re telling me the truth now?”
“I need my head read, helping you out.”
I moved toward the door. “What I’m doing has nothing to do with you or Sanders or any of the bad blood between you. I just want to find Claire. Once I do, maybe we can figure out who killed Hanna.”
Augie blinked, and a smile formed in the corner of his mouth.
“Don’t you know?”
“Don’t I know what?”
“We made an arrest this morning.”
“You’ve charged someone with Hanna’s murder? Who?”
“The boyfriend.”
“Sean Skilling?”
“Yup.”
I let my arm fall away from the doorknob. “The kid’s got an alibi. One of your own people pulled him over for running a stop sign.”
“I asked around,” Augie said. “There’s no record of a ticket.”
“I told you, they didn’t write him a ticket. He got a warning.”
“What do you want from me, Cal?” Augie said. “I asked around—no one remembers pulling that kid over in his Ranger.”
“My gut says he didn’t do it.”
“Would your gut feel any different if it knew Hanna’s jeans and panties were found under the seat of his pickup truck?”
THIRTY-NINE
Augie arranged for me to reclaim my phone at reception on my way out. There were three messages. Two from Donna, who’d evidently gotten word that I was in some kind of trouble, and one from the manager of the landscaping company. Before making callbacks, I got a cab to take me back to where I’d left Donna’s car on the shoulder of the road when Brindle and Haines had picked me up. Then I trekked back to the police department and parked the car in the lot.
Then I phoned Donna.
“Your car’s where you usually leave it,” I said.
“I called you twice.”
“I was indisposed.”
“Which was why I called. I’d heard you were in the building. And not in one of the rooms where they hold community meetings.”
“Yeah, but it’s sorted out. How’d you hear?”
“Kate heard it from Marvin, and she told me. I called Augie, but by that time you were out.”
“He intervened.”
“They didn’t find something in the car, did they?” Donna said.
“No, it was something else.”
A pause. “Something else?”
“Yeah. I guess I’ve been pressing my luck. Something came back and bit me in the ass.”
“How’d Augie get you out of this?”
“I’ll tell you all about it later. Really.”
“Sure.” Her voice sounded flat.
“What is it?”
“Last night doesn’t mean everything’s okay,” she said.
“I know.”
* * *
The lockup where they were holding my Honda was a large parking lot surrounded by high chain-link fencing with a nasty string of barbed wire running along the top. In the office I found a short woman, working away at the crossword, who was expecting me. She retrieved my keys and led me into the compound past decommissioned cruisers, cars that had been in accidents, and a few untouched vehicles like my own.
Once we’d found it, the woman shoved a clipboard at me and said, “You have to sign here.” I did. She handed over the keys, told me to have a nice day, and said to beep the horn when I reached the gate and she’d open it.
I didn’t just get behind the wheel and drive off. I popped the trunk, where I kept those tools of my trade. The laptop, an orange traffic vest, a matching hard hat. Among other things.
Nothing appeared to have been touched.
I went through the glove compartment and had the sense nothing in there had been fiddled with, either. As Augie’d said, no one had touched the car yet.
r /> Even so, I was surprised to see Hanna’s wig still in the car, on the floor in front of the backseat. Maybe it didn’t constitute evidence, since Hanna wasn’t wearing it at the time of her death, but it was all part and parcel of what had happened to her.
There was no shortage of other things to puzzle over. Why did Quinn tell Haines and Brindle to tow my car in? If he thought it should be searched for evidence, why lay it off on the chief?
And Sean Skilling arrested in Hanna’s murder?
I got behind the wheel. I inserted the key, started the engine, gave the pedal a couple of taps and listened to the engine rev. I got out my phone and listened to the message from the lawn service guy.
“Bill Hooper here, returning your call.”
He’d called an hour and a half ago. I tapped his number with my thumb to call him right back.
“You’ve reached Bill Hooper. I can’t take your call right now, but if you leave a message I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
Phone tag time.
When I reached the gate I tapped the horn, prompting the woman to hit the button and open it without so much as looking up from her crossword puzzle.
Sean could have been lying about a Griffon cop pulling him over. But then, if the incident never happened, what kept Sean from getting to Patchett’s in time to pick Claire up and deliver her to Iggy’s? The kid, at least in the short time I’d spent with him, didn’t impress me as a very good liar, or a killer.
But they’d found Hanna’s missing clothing in his truck. Not good. Not good at—
I blame distraction for what happened next. I pulled out of the police station parking lot and nearly hit a black Escalade. Hard to miss, given that the thing was big enough to have orbiting moons. The truck swerved and the man behind the wheel shot me the finger.
I slammed on the brakes, hard enough to make the tires squeal.
I should have seen it. But I just didn’t.
I took a second to collect myself and let the Escalade get a block ahead. Gave the brake pedal a couple of soft, reassuring taps, then continued on my way.
There was someone I’d been meaning to pay a visit to, but just hadn’t had a chance to get around to it. I had a feeling this person was not going to be very happy to see me.