CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AS WILL DROVE TO JAKE BERMAN'S HOUSE IN COWETA County, he debated with himself the level of fury Faith would feel when she found out that he had tricked her. He wasn't sure which would make her angrier: the outright lie he had told her on the phone about Sam finding the wrong Jake Berman or the fact that Will was going down south to talk to the man on his own. There was no way she would've kept her doctor's appointment if Will had told her that the real Jake Berman was alive and well and living on Lester Drive. She would have insisted on coming along, and Will wouldn't have been able to come up with a good excuse for her not to, other than that she was pregnant and diabetic and had enough on her plate without having to put herself at risk by interviewing a witness who could very well be a suspect.
That would have gone over really well with Faith. Like a lead football over the Mississippi.
Will had gotten Caroline, Amanda's assistant, to cross-reference Jake Berman with the address on Lester Drive. With that key piece of information, they had opened up Berman's background fairly easily. The mortgage was in his wife's name, as were all of the credit cards, the cable bill and the utilities. Lydia Berman was a schoolteacher. Jake Berman had drawn his full lot of unemployment and still not found a job. He had declared bankruptcy eighteen months ago. He'd walked away from around half a million dollars in debt. The reason behind his being hard to find might have been as simple as a desire to elude creditors. Considering he'd been arrested a few months ago for public indecency, it made sense that Berman would want to keep a low profile.
Then again, it would also all make sense if Berman was their suspect.
The Porsche wasn't comfortable for long distances, and Will's back was aching by the time he reached Lester Drive. Traffic had been worse then usual, an overturned tractor-trailer jackknifed across the interstate bringing everything to a standstill for almost a full hour. Will hadn't wanted to be alone with his thoughts. He had listened to every station on the dial by the time he crossed into Coweta County.
Will pulled up beside an unmarked Chevy Caprice at the mouth of Lester Drive. A lawnmower was sticking out of the back of the trunk. The man behind the wheel was dressed in overalls, a thick gold chain hanging around his neck. Will recognized Nick Shelton, the regional field agent for District 23.
"How they hangin'?" Nick asked, turning down the bluegrass blaring from the radio. Will had met the agent a few times before. He was so country his neck glowed red, but he was a solid investigator, and he knew how to do his job.
Will asked, "Is Berman still in the house?"
"Unless he sneaked out the back," Nick answered. "Don't worry. He struck me as the lazy type."
"Did you talk to him?"
"Posed as a landscaper looking for work." Nick handed him a business card. "I told him it'd be a hundred bucks a month, and he said he could take care of his own damn lawn, thank you very much." He snorted a laugh. "This from a guy who's still in his pajamas at ten o'clock in the morning."
Will looked at the card, seeing a drawing of a lawnmower and some flowers. He said, "Nice."
"The fake phone number comes in handy with the ladies." Nick chuckled again. "I got a good look at ol' Jakey while he was lecturing me on competitive pricing. He's definitely your guy."
"Did you get into the house?"
"He wasn't that stupid." Nick asked, "You want me to stick around?"
Will thought about the situation, the fact that, if he had given her the chance, Faith would have been right: Don't go into an unknown situation without backup. "If you don't mind. Just hang back here and make sure I don't get my head blown off."
They both laughed a little louder than the words called for, probably because Will wasn't really joking.
He rolled up his window and drove down the road. Just to make things easier, Caroline had called Berman before Will had left the office. She had posed as an operator for the local cable television company. Berman had assured her he would be home to let in the technician who was doing a general upgrade so that their service wouldn't be interrupted. There were a lot of tricks you could use to make sure people were home. The cable ruse was the best. People would go without a lot of things, but they would put their lives on hold for days at a time in order to wait for the cable company to show up.
Will checked the numbers on the mailbox, making sure they matched the note Sam Lawson had given Faith. Courtesy of MapQuest, which printed large arrows on their directions, and a couple of stops at some convenience stores, Will had managed to navigate his way through the rural town with only a few wrong turns.
Still, he checked the number with the mailbox a third time before getting out of the car. He saw the heart Sam had drawn around the address, and wondered again why a man who was not the father of Faith's child would do such a thing. Will had only met the reporter once, but he didn't like him. Victor was all right. Will had talked to him on the phone a couple of times and sat by him during an incredibly tedious awards ceremony that Amanda had insisted her team attend, mostly because she wanted to make sure someone clapped when her name was called. Victor had wanted to talk about sports, but not football and baseball, which were the only two sports Will paid attention to. Hockey was for Yankees and soccer was for Europeans. He wasn't quite sure how Victor had gotten interested in both, but it made for pretty dull conversation. Whatever Faith had seen in the guy, Will had been glad a few months ago when he started to notice that Victor's car wasn't in Faith's driveway when he went to pick her up for court days.
Of course, Will was not one to judge about relationships. His whole body was still sore from being with Angie last night. It was not a good sore—it was the kind of sore that made you want to crawl up into bed and sleep for a week. Will knew from experience it wouldn't matter, because as soon as he started putting one foot in front of the other, rebuilding some semblance of a life, Angie would return and he'd be back in that same place again. It was the pattern of his life. Nothing was ever going to change it.
The Berman home was a one-storey ranch spread out over a large lot. The house looked lived-in, but not in a good way. The grass was overgrown and weeds tangled the flowerbeds. The green Camry in the driveway was filthy. Mud caked the tires and there was a sheen of filth on the car that looked like it had been there for quite a while. There were two baby seats in back and the requisite Cheerios stuck to the windshield. Two yellow, diamond-shaped signs were hanging from the side window, probably reading Baby on Board. Will pressed his hand to the hood of the car. The engine was cold. He looked at the time on his phone. It was coming up on ten o'clock. Faith would probably be at her doctor's by now.
Will knocked on the door and waited. He thought about Faith again, how furious she would be, especially if Will was about to come face-to-face with the killer. Though it looked as if he wasn't going to come face-to-face with anyone. No one answered the door. Will knocked on the door again. When that didn't work, he stepped back from the house and looked up at the windows. All the shades were open. Some lights were on. Maybe Berman was in the shower. Or maybe he was fully aware that the police were trying to talk to him. Nick's hayseed landscaper act was pretty impressive, but he'd been sitting at the end of the road for about an hour. In a neighborhood this small, phones had probably been ringing off the hook.
Will tried the front door, but it was locked. He walked around the house, peering in the windows. There was a light at the end of the hallway. He was going to the next window when he heard a noise inside like a door slamming shut. Will put his hand to the gun on his belt, feeling all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Something wasn't right, and Will was keenly aware that Nick Shelton was sitting in his car listening to the radio right now.
There was the unmistakable sound of a window banging shut. Will jogged around to the back of the house in time to see a man darting through the back yard. Jake Berman was wearing pajama pants with no shirt, but he'd managed to put on his sneakers. He glanced over his shoulder as he ran past an elaborate s
wing set, toward the chain-link fence that separated the property from the neighbor on the opposite side.
"Crap," Will mumbled, bolting after him. Will was a good runner, but Berman was fast—his arms pumping, legs moving in a blur.
"Police!" Will yelled, misjudging the height of the fence so badly that his foot caught. He fell to the ground and scrambled up as quickly as he could. He saw Berman go down a side yard, past another house and toward the street. Will did the same, taking advantage of the angle, shortening the distance as he chased Berman across the road.
There was a screech of wheels as Nick Shelton's Caprice pulled up. Berman dodged the car, slamming his hand on the hood as he made his way toward another backyard.
"Dammit," Will cursed. "Police! Stop!"
Berman kept going, but he was a sprinter, not a marathoner. If Will was good at anything, it was endurance. He caught his second wind as Jake Berman slowed, trying to open the wooden gate to a neighbor's backyard. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Will, then took off again. Berman was too winded, though, and Will could tell from the slow way his legs were moving that the man was about to give up. Still, Will wasn't going to take any chances. When he got close enough, he lunged, bringing Berman down in a heavy tackle that knocked the wind out of both of them.
"Dumbass!" Nick Shelton yelled, kicking Berman in the side.
Considering his run-in with the doorman at Anna's building yesterday, Will would've thought he'd be more gentle in his approach, but his heart was beating so hard in his chest that he felt nauseated. Worse, adrenaline was pumping all kinds of bad thoughts into his head.
Nick kicked Berman again. "Never run from the law, motherfucker."
"I didn't know you were cops—"
"Shut up." Will started to put the cuffs on him, but Berman squirmed, trying to get away. Nick raised his foot again, but Will drove his knee into Berman's back so hard that he could feel the ribs bend. "Stop it."
"I didn't do anything!"
"Is that why you ran?"
"I was going for a run," he screamed. "I always run this time of day."
Nick asked, "In your pj's?"
"Fuck off."
"It's a felony to lie to the police." Will stood, yanking up Berman with him. "Five years in prison. Plenty of men's bathrooms in jail."
Berman's face turned white. Some of his neighbors had congregated. They didn't look happy—or, Will noticed, particularly supportive.
"It's all right," Berman told them. "Just a misunderstanding."
Nick said, "A misunderstanding by this dumbass who thinks he can run away from the police."
Will wasn't worried about appearances. He jerked Berman's hands high, making him bend over as he walked him back across the street.
"My lawyer is going to hear about this."
Nick said, "Be sure to tell him how you ran away like a scared little schoolgirl."
Will pushed Berman into the road, keeping his hands high so that the man had to walk with a stoop. He asked Nick, "Mind calling this in?"
"You want the cavalry?"
"I want a police car screeching up to his house with lights and sirens blaring so everyone in the neighborhood knows it's there."
Nick gave him a salute as he trotted off toward his car.
Berman said, "You're making a mistake."
"Your mistake was fleeing the scene of a crime."
"What?" he turned around, a look of genuine surprise on his face. "What crime?"
"Route 316."
He still looked confused. "That's what this is about?"
Either the man was delivering an Oscar-worthy performance or he was completely clueless. "You witnessed a car accident four days ago on 316. A woman was hit by a car. You talked to my partner."
"I didn't leave that girl alone. The ambulance was there. I told that cop at the hospital everything I saw."
"You gave a false phone number and address."
"I was just—" He glanced around, and Will wondered if he was going to bolt again. "Get me out of here," Berman pleaded. "Just take me to the police station, okay? Take me to the station, give me my phone call, and we'll work all of this out."
Will turned him around, keeping a hand on his shoulder in case the man decided to try his luck again. Every step, Will could feel his temper getting more and more riled up. Berman was looking more and more like a pathetic, weaselly excuse for a human being. They had wasted the last two days looking for the asshole, and then the idiot had made Will chase him across half the neighborhood.
Berman turned around. "Why don't you take off these cuffs so I can—"
Will spun him back around so hard that he had to catch Berman before he fell flat on his face. The nearest neighbor was standing in her open front doorway, watching them. Like the other women, she didn't look exactly displeased to see the man being led away in handcuffs.
Will asked, "Do they hate you because you're gay? Or because you're sponging off your wife?"
Berman spun around again. "Where the fuck do you get off—"
Will pushed him back around so hard that this time he lost his balance. "It's ten o'clock and you're still in your pajamas." He marched Berman through the tall grass in his yard. "You don't have a lawnmower?"
"We can't afford a gardener."
"Where are your kids?"
"Day care." He tried to turn around again. "What business is this of yours?"
Will shoved him again, forcing him go up the driveway. He hated the guy for so many reasons, not least of which because he had a wife and kids who probably cared about him a great deal and he couldn't even cut the grass or wash the car for them.
Berman demanded, "Where are you taking me? I said take me to the police station."
Will kept quiet, shoving him up the driveway, yanking up his arms whenever he slowed or tried to turn around.
"If I'm under arrest, then you have to take me to jail."
They walked to the back of the house, Berman protesting the entire way. He was a man who was used to being listened to, and it seemed to irk him more to be ignored than to be pushed around, so Will kept silent as he shoved him toward the patio.
Will tried the back door, but it was locked. He looked at Berman, whose smug look seemed to indicate he thought he was getting the upper hand. The window the man had sneaked out had guillotined closed. He slid it back open, the cheap springs clanging.
Berman said, "Don't worry. I'll wait for you."
Will wondered where Nick Shelton was. He was probably in front of the house, thinking he was doing Will a favor by giving him time alone with the suspect.
"Right," Will muttered, loosening one side of the cuffs and clamping Berman to the barbecue grill. He lifted himself up and angled his body through the open window. Will found himself in the kitchen, which was decorated in a goose theme: geese on the wallpaper border, geese on the towels, geese on the carpet under the kitchen table.
He looked back out the window. Berman was there, smoothing down his pajamas like he was trying them on at Macy's.
Will did a quick check of the house, finding only what he expected: a children's room with bunkbeds, a large master and attached bath, kitchen, family room and a study with one book on the shelves. Will couldn't read the title, but he recognized Donald Trump's picture on the jacket and assumed it was a get-rich-quick scheme. Obviously, Jake Berman hadn't taken the man's advice. Though, considering Berman had lost his job and declared bankruptcy, maybe he had.
There was no basement, and the garage was empty but for three boxes that seemed to contain the contents of Jake Berman's old office: a stapler, a nice desk set, lots of papers with charts and graphs on them. Will opened the sliding glass door to the patio and found Berman sitting under the grill, his arm dangling over his head.
"You have no right to search my house."
"You were fleeing your residence. That's all the cause I needed."
Berman seemed to buy the explanation, which sounded reasonable even to Will's ears, though he knew it wa
s highly illegal.
Will dragged around a chair from the table set and sat down. The air was still chilly, and the sweat he'd generated from chasing after Berman was drying in the cold.
"This isn't fair," Berman said. "I want your badge number and your name and—"
"You want the real one or you want me to make up something, like you did?"
Berman had the sense not to answer.
"Why did you run, Jake? Where were you going to go in your pajamas?"
"I didn't think that far," he grumbled. "I just don't want to deal with this right now. I've got a lot on my plate."
"You've got two choices here: either you tell me what happened that night or I take you to jail in your pajamas." To make the threat clear, Will added, "And I don't mean the Coweta Country Club. I'll stroll you straight into the Atlanta Pen, and I won't let you change." He pointed to Berman's chest, which was heaving up and down from panic and anger. The man obviously spent time on his body. He was cut, his abs well defined, his shoulders broad and muscled. "You'll find all those pull-ups at the gym didn't go to waste."
"Is that what this is about? You're some kind of homophobic jerk?"
"I don't care who you're blowing in the toilet." This much was true, though Will kept an edge to his voice to imply the opposite. Everybody had a button, and Berman's was his sexual orientation. At the moment, Will's seemed to be that the cheating prick chained to the Grillmaster 2000 was screwing around on his wife and expecting her to just suck it up and be a good spouse. The Oprah-esque irony was not lost on Will.
He said, "The guys down at the pen love it when new meat comes along."
"Fuck you."
"Oh, they will. They'll fuck you in places you didn't know could be fucked."
"Go to hell."
Will let him sulk for a few seconds, trying to get his own emotions under control. He concentrated on how much time they had pissed away looking for this pathetic idiot when they could've been following real clues. Will listed it out for him. "Resisting arrest, lying to the police, wasting police time, obstructing an investigation. You could get ten years for this, Jake, and that's if the judge likes you, which is doubtful considering you've got a record and you present like an arrogant asshole."