And Richard had put up no fight at all.
Those things still bothered her. Especially, she decided, the last one.
Something didn't quite make sense there. Even if Mike had had the element of surprise, it hadn't been that much surprise. She'd seen Mike coming and had time to move out of the way, but not only hadn't Richard fought, he hadn't moved at all. If Richard had known what she would do, wouldn't he also have known how Mike would react? Or at least have had an inkling? So why hadn't he cared?
And why did it feel as if he'd planned that part, too?
"You sure you're not dizzy? That's a nasty bump," Leaning Joe said.
He and Richard were standing just inside the door of the Clipper. Richard shook his head. "I just want to go home."
"I'd be happy to call an ambulance for you," he offered. To Richard, it seemed as if he were really saying, Please don't sue me.
"It's okay," Richard said, tired of the old man. He pushed through the door and stepped into the darkness. Scanning the parking lot, he noted that the police had already left. The rest of the parking lot was quiet as well, and he started making his way to his car.
As he approached, he realized someone was leaning against it.
"Hi, Richard," she said.
Richard hesitated before answering. "Hello, Andrea."
Andrea raised her chin slightly and met his eyes. "You feeling any better?"
Richard shrugged.
After a moment, Andrea cleared her throat. "I know this might sound odd considering what happened tonight, but would you mind giving me a lift home?"
Richard glanced around. Again, he saw no one.
"What about your date?"
She nodded toward the Clipper. "He's still inside. I told him I was going to the bathroom."
Richard raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.
In the silence, Andrea took a step toward him. When she was close, she slowly raised her hand and touched the bruise on his cheek, her eyes never leaving his.
"Please?" she whispered.
"How about we go someplace else instead?"
She tilted her head, as if wondering what he meant.
He smiled. "Trust me."
In Julie's kitchen, the coffeemaker was gurgling as Mike sat at the table.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
That everything that happened tonight seems wrong somehow, she thought. Knowing that Mike would do his best to convince her she'd misinterpreted it, however, she kept her answer vague. "Just going through it all again. It keeps replaying in my mind, you know?"
"Yeah, for me, too."
The coffeemaker beeped, and Mike got up from the table and poured two cups. Singer's ears lifted, and Julie watched as he made his way through the living room. In their haste to leave earlier, she hadn't drawn the shades, and she knew a car was coming down the street. There wasn't that much traffic at this time of night, and she watched to see if she recognized one of the neighbors coming home after an evening on the town.
Singer went toward the window as the light began to intensify. But instead of watching the sky fade to black again as the car whizzed by, she saw the beams from the headlights solidify. Moths and insects, drawn toward the glow, made the beams look as if they were composed of swirling fingers. Singer barked and began growling; the glow of headlights remained steady.
The car, she could tell, was idling in the road, and she sat up in the chair. She heard the engine rev, and suddenly the lights switched off. A car door slammed.
He was here, Julie thought. Richard had come to the house.
Mike looked toward the window.
Singer's growls grew louder, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Mike put a hand on Julie's shoulder and took a tentative step toward the door. Singer was barking and growling steadily now as Mike moved forward.
Singer went wild then, and in the fury came something unexpected. The sound was at once normal and startling, and Mike paused, as if trying to decide that what he'd heard was real.
Then it came again. Someone, they realized, was knocking on the door. Mike turned toward Julie as if asking, Huh?
He peeked out the window, and Julie saw his shoulders drop; when he glanced at her again, there was a look of relief on his face. He patted Singer's back and said, "Shh, it's okay," and Singer stopped growling. He followed Mike, however, as Mike reached for the door handle.
A moment later, Julie saw two police officers standing on the porch.
Officer Jennifer Romanello was new in town, new on the job, and looking forward to the day she'd have her own squad car, if only to get away from the guy she was working with. After doing the majority of her police training in Jacksonville, she'd moved to Swansboro less than a month earlier. She'd been riding with Pete Gandy for two weeks now and had four weeks to go-all rookies had to work with an experienced officer during their first six weeks on the job to complete their training-and if she heard him mention "the ropes" again, she thought she'd strangle him.
Pete Gandy turned the key, shutting off the ignition, and glanced over at her.
"Let me handle this," he said. "You're still learning the ropes."
I'm really going to kill him, she thought.
"Should I wait in the car?"
Though she had said it in jest, Pete missed the tone, and she could see him flexing his arm. Pete took his biceps very seriously. He also liked to look at himself in the rearview mirror before he went into action.
"No. Come on up. Just let me do the talking. And make sure to keep your eyes open, kid."
He said this as though he were old enough to be her father. In reality, he'd been on the force only two years, and despite the fact that Swansboro wasn't exactly a hotbed of high-profile criminal activity, Pete had developed a theory that the Mafia had started infiltrating the town, and darned if he wasn't going to be the one to handle it. Pete's all-time favorite movie was Serpico. It was the reason he'd joined the force.
Jennifer closed her eyes. Why of all the idiots did I get stuck with this guy?
"Whatever you say."
"Mike Harris?" Officer Gandy said.
Pete Gandy had put on the "I know the uniform intimidates you" pose, and Jennifer fought the urge to slap the back of his head. She knew that Pete had been acquainted with both Mike and Julie for years-in the car, he mentioned that Mike serviced his car, and he got his hair cut at the salon. He hadn't even needed to look up Julie's address. Life in a small town, she sighed. For a gal who grew up in the Bronx, this was a whole new world, and she was still getting used to it.
"Oh, hey Pete," Mike said. "What can I do for you?"
"Can we come in for a minute? We need to talk to you."
"Sure," Mike said.
They hesitated, and Mike glanced down at Singer. "Don't worry about him. He'll be fine."
The officers stepped into the living room, and Mike motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. "Can I get you some coffee? I just made a pot."
"No, thank you. We're not allowed to drink on the job."
Jennifer rolled her eyes, thinking, That only goes for booze, you putz.
By then, Julie had come out from the kitchen and was standing a few feet back, her arms crossed. Singer went to her side and sat.
"What's this all about, Pete?" she asked.
Officer Pete Gandy didn't like being called Pete while wearing the uniform, and for a moment, he wasn't sure how to react to the familiarity. He cleared his throat.
"Were you at the Sailing Clipper this evening, Mike?"
"Yeah. I played with the Ocracoke Inlet."
Pete glanced toward Jennifer, as if showing her how it was done. Oooh, big scoop, she thought. Only a million people verified that fact already.
"And were you involved in an altercation with one Mr. Richard Franklin?"
Before Mike could answer, Julie stepped into the living room.
"What's going on?" she asked.
Pete Gandy lived for this moment. Next to pulling his gun, this
was far and away the best part of the job, even if he was doing this to someone he knew. Duty was duty, after all, and if he let the little things slide, before he knew it, Swansboro would be the murder capital of the world. In the last month alone, he'd issued a dozen tickets for jaywalking and another dozen for littering.
"Well, sir, I hate to do this to you, but I've got a number of witnesses who say you attacked Mr. Franklin without provocation. That's assault, and it's against the law."
Two minutes later, Mike was being led away to the squad car.
Twenty-eight
"They took him to jail?" Mabel asked in disbelief.
It was Monday morning, and because Mabel had been visiting her brother in Atlanta, she hadn't heard anything until she'd walked in that morning. For the past ten minutes, Julie had filled Mabel in on everything that had happened. Andrea was busy mangling a gentleman's hair as she strained to listen in. She hadn't smiled since Julie had started talking, and the more she heard, the more she wanted to tell Julie that she didn't know what she was talking about.
Richard wasn't dangerous! Mike attacked him! Besides, Richard wasn't even interested in Julie anymore. Richard, she felt sure, had finally seen the light. And talk about romantic! He'd taken her to the beach and they'd talked! For hours! And he hadn't even made a pass at her! No guy had ever treated her with that kind of respect. And he was sweet, too. He'd asked her not to tell Julie because he didn't want to hurt her feelings. Did that sound like a stalker? Of course not! Even though he'd refused her offer to come inside when he'd finally dropped her off at her house, she'd been glowing since she woke up yesterday morning.
Julie shrugged. Her face was drawn and pale, as if she hadn't slept much.
"Pete Gandy questioned him for an hour, and he was there until Henry bailed him out."
Mabel looked baffled. "Pete Gandy? What was he thinking? Didn't he listen to what Mike was saying?"
"Not that I could tell. He kept trying to write this off as some sort of jealous spat. Kept wanting to know the real reason he attacked Richard."
"Did you tell him what's been going on?"
"I tried, but he didn't think it was relevant. Not to the assault charge."
Mabel tossed her purse onto the magazine-covered table. "He's an idiot. But he's always been an idiot. How he ended up on the force, I'll never know."
"That may be true, but it doesn't help Mike. It doesn't help me, either, for that matter."
"So what's next for Mike? Is he going to be charged?"
"I have no idea. We'll find out today, I guess. He has an appointment with Steve Sides later."
Steven Sides was a local defense attorney; Mabel had known his family for years.
"That's a smart choice. Have you ever met him?"
"No, but Henry has. Hopefully, he'll be able to work out something with the prosecutor."
"So what are you going to do? About Richard?"
"I'm changing my phone number today."
"That's it?"
"I don't know what else I can do. Pete wouldn't listen to me, other than to say that if it kept happening, I should report it."
"Did he call again on Sunday?"
"No. Thank God."
"And you didn't see him?"
"No."
Across the salon, Andrea frowned, thinking, That's because he was still thinking about me. Now quit bad-mouthing him.
"So you think he set that whole thing up, don't you?"
"I think he's been setting everything up, including Saturday night. Including me. I think he considers this whole thing a game."
Mabel met her eyes. "It's not a game, Julie," she said.
It took a while for Julie to respond.
"I know," she said.
"So what was he like?" Henry asked. "During the interview?"
They were seated in Henry's office, the door closed behind them. Mike exhaled in disgust.
"It's hard to explain."
"What do you mean?"
"It's like he already had an idea in his head as to how it all came about, and nothing I said could change his mind."
"He didn't care about the phone calls? Or the fact he was watching you guys earlier?"
"No. He said it sounded like she was blowing it out of proportion. People shop, he said, they get haircuts. No big deal."
"And how was the other cop? The lady?"
"Pete wouldn't let her say anything, so I have no idea."
Henry reached for his coffee and took a sip. "Well, you really did it this time," he said. "Not that I blame you. I would have done the same thing had I been there."
"So what do you think will happen?"
"Well, I don't think you'll end up in jail, if that's what you're asking."
"That's not what I'm talking about."
Henry looked at him. "You mean with Richard?"
Mike nodded.
Henry put the cup of coffee back on his desk. "I wish I could tell you, little brother," he said.
Officer Jennifer had just about had her fill of Officer Pete, and they'd been working together for only an hour that morning. She'd had to come in early to finish up the reports from Sunday that Officer Pete hadn't quite gotten around to, because, as he said, "I'm too busy trying to protect the streets to be tied down at a desk my whole shift. And besides, it'll help you learn the ropes."
In the two weeks she'd been working with him, she hadn't learned anything about the job, other than the fact that Pete was more than happy to slough off the busywork so he could have more time to devote to curling weights in front of the mirror. The man, she decided, was an absolute moron when it came to interviewing people.
The other night was a prime example.
She didn't need to be a Nobel Prize winner to see that Mike and Julie were scared, and not because Mike was being hauled off for questioning in the middle of the night. No, they were scared of Richard Franklin, and if what they were saying was true, Jennifer figured they had every right to be. Pete Gandy might have the instincts of a wooden post, but Jennifer's were well honed, in spite of the fact that she'd just finished her training. But then, she'd grown up hearing about this kind of stuff.
Jennifer came from a long line of cops; her father was a cop, her grandfather was a cop, and both brothers were cops, though all were still living in New York. How she'd ended up in coastal North Carolina was a long story, involving college, an ex-boyfriend, the need to make her own mark in the world, and the desire to see another part of the country. It all sort of collided about six months earlier, when she'd applied for the police academy on a whim and surprised herself by actually being accepted for a job opening in Swansboro. Her father, though proud she was "joining up with the good guys," was aghast that she was doing it in North Carolina. "They all chew tobacco and eat grits and call every woman darlin'. How's a nice Italian girl like you going to fit in down there?"
Only she had fit in, oddly enough. It was much better than she'd expected so far, especially the people, who-get this-were so friendly that they waved to strangers while driving. Everyone was great, in fact, except for Pete Gandy. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him flexing that arm again, making his muscle bulge, and whenever he passed another car, he nodded to the other driver, as if saying, Keep the speed down, buddy.
"So what did you think of Mike Harris's story the other night?" Jennifer finally asked.
Since he was caught up in his nodding, it took a moment for Pete to realize she was speaking.
"Oh, well, uh . . . he was making excuses," he said. "If I've seen it once, I've seen it a hundred times. Everybody who's charged blames the other guy. No criminal is ever guilty, and if he is, there's a very reasonable explanation. Once you've been through the ropes, you'll get used to that pretty quick."
"But didn't you say you knew him and that he always seemed like a laid-back guy?"
"Doesn't matter. The law's the law, same for everybody."
She knew he was trying to sound wise and worldly and above all fair, but in t
he two weeks she'd been partnered with Pete, none of those adjectives seemed to apply. Wise and worldly? The man considered professional wrestling a real sport, and fairness didn't even seem to be in the man's vocabulary. One of his jaywalking tickets had gone to a lady hobbling across the street in a walker, for heaven's sake, and the other night, when she'd opened her mouth to ask Mike Harris a question, Pete had waved her off, commenting that "the little lady is still learning the ropes about interrogation. Don't mind her."
Had they been anywhere but the station, she would have put him in his place for that one. She'd almost done it anyway. Little lady? Once she was out of training, she vowed she'd make Pete Gandy pay for it. Somehow, some way, he'd pay.
Anyway, since she was still technically in training, albeit the last stages, what could she do but seethe? Besides, that wasn't the point. Mike Harris and Richard Franklin were what this was all about. And Julie Barenson, of course. Because of what Mike and Julie had said and the "too smooth to be anything but squirrelly" way Richard had acted when they'd talked to him, she hadn't slept well after getting off her shift.
Richard, she had the feeling, was not the innocent victim in this. And neither Julie nor Mike struck her as liars.
"Don't you think we should at least look into it, though? What if they were telling the truth?"
Pete sighed as if the topic bored him. "Then they should have come down to the station to file a report. But they didn't. And they admitted they had no evidence. She didn't even know for sure that it was Franklin who was calling. So what does that tell you?"
"But-"
"It tells you that they were probably making it up. Look, it was a good collar, and we've got him dead to rights."
Jennifer tried again. "But what about her? Julie Barenson. She looked scared, don't you think?"
"Of course she was scared. Her little honey was just locked up. You'd probably be scared, too. Anyone would be."
"In New York, the police-"
Pete Gandy raised his hand. "No more New York stories, okay? Things are different down here. Blood runs a little hot in these parts. Once you learn the ropes, you'll realize that nearly every altercation has something to do with a feud or vendetta of some sort, and the law doesn't much like to get involved with those unless they cross the line, like this one. Besides, before you came in this morning, I was talking to the chief, and he said that he's had a call from the lawyer and that they're trying to work out something, so I think for the most part, this is pretty much over. At least where we're concerned. Unless it goes to court."