“I heard shots and glass breaking but I was too far away to see a license plate when I stuck my head out the window.”
Paul tried not to let his frustration show. “Thank you, Mrs. Swanson. Every piece of information is helpful. And of course, if you remember anything, no matter how small or unimportant it may seem, please let me or my partner know.”
“Of course, of course.” She bustled away, then stopped and reversed her steps. She spoke urgently, with an anxious expression. “Don’t let that Wilbur and his Neanderthal son drive you and Cliff away.”
Paul raised his brows. “Why do you say that? Do you think Wilbur had something to do with this?”
Judy glanced around and gestured for them to come closer. Paul’s patience was hanging by a thread, but he truly liked the woman and didn’t want to snap at her.
“Well, I can’t say, but at the last neighborhood watch meeting, Wilbur complained about you and Cliff. Said he didn’t feel safe having the kids trick-or-treat by themselves at your house. Sid Rasmussen and I both heard it, and let me tell you, we were appalled.”
Tamping down his blinding fury, Paul wrote the words on his pad, but his hand shook. Badly. Rob must’ve seen his reaction, because he intervened and began asking questions.
“Can you tell us anything else about what was said?”
“Well,” Judy demurred, “people got angry and shouted at him, saying that you and Cliff are good neighbors. And really, he’s one to talk, especially with that ruckus yesterday evening—cars coming and going, people talking loudly in their yard until midnight.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I got sidetracked. So anyway, after the meeting concluded, he got a small group together, and he was talking about a petition.”
“Petition for what? Do you know?” Rob asked, his pen poised above his memo pad.
Paul forced his mind to listen to his neighbor and away from the urge to stomp over to beat the shit out of Falk.
“I don’t know. They clammed up around me when I tried to listen since I was one of the ones who spoke up,” she said proudly. “And dear Mr. Rasmussen told them to shut their mouths.”
Paul’s eyes burned from both the admiration for his neighbors and the humiliation at having his private, personal life dragged in front of strangers. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“Thornwood Park may be growing, but we’re still a small town. We all know your family, Paul. You’re a good man, and your brother died for this country. Nobody’s got the right to tell you how to live your life.”
Rob nodded. “Mrs. Swanson, we appreciate what you’ve told us. Of course, if you hear or see anything else, please let us know.” He handed the woman his card, which she pocketed.
“You’re very welcome. Anything to help bring the criminals to justice.”
She hurried away, and Paul took several deep breaths. “What do you think?”
“Could it be this easy? That it’s the asshole from across the street?”
“Is it ever?” Paul asked. “Only one way to find out.”
Rob’s eyes twinkled. “Good, ’cause I’m in my I’m-ready-to-talk-to-assholes mood.”
Together they walked over to Falk’s. The house didn’t have the well-trimmed lawn and freshly painted outside of the surrounding homes. A rusty heap sat parked in the rear of the driveway behind a pickup truck, which Paul took note was gray, not black like one of the witnesses claimed she saw spinning its wheels as it raced down the block. Sagging front steps led to a rutted, splintered porch. A piece of cardboard taped to the bottom pane of one of the front windows couldn’t hide the cracked glass. Paint peeled off the shingles.
“And he has the nerve to bitch about Cliff and me,” Paul muttered. “Look at this dump.”
Rob rapped on the door, as a piece of paper was taped over the button stating: Bell broken, knock on door.
After a few minutes, Paul heard shuffling steps, and Wilbur’s face appeared at the half-glass window. “What the fuck you want?” he snarled.
It gave Paul inordinate satisfaction to flip his gold badge in Falk’s face, and Rob did the same. “Open the door, Falk. We’re here to ask you some questions.”
“I got nothing to say to someone like you.”
“Who, a detective?” Paul crossed his arms. “It’s okay, Wilbur. If you don’t want to talk to us here, you can come to the station. Talk to us there.”
“With your lawyer,” Rob added with a gleam in his eyes.
“Whaddya want?” Wilbur growled and slammed open the door to step out on the porch. He held a beer can in one hand and used the other to hitch up the sagging jeans over his protruding belly.
“What were you doing this morning around nine thirty?” Paul was prepared to be stymied in his questioning.
“Sleeping.” Wilbur belched. “I woke up when I heard all these goddamned sirens. Buncha crap.”
“Sorry to have interrupted your beauty sleep, but we have a problem with shots being fired into people’s homes. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Wilbur?”
The man’s piggy little eyes narrowed further. “No. I said I was sleepin’. I don’t know nuthin’.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” Rob said. Wilbur sent him a sharp glance, but Rob gave him his pleasant grin. “Do you own a gun, Mr. Falk?”
“Yeah, so what? It’s my second amendment right.”
“Which no one is questioning. What type?”
“I got a couple of hunting rifles and a Glock.”
Paul raised a brow. “What do you need a handgun for?”
Wilbur turned a sneering eye to him. “Whaddya think?” He made a shooting gesture, pointing his finger at Paul. “To shoot things I don’t like.”
Paul took a step forward. “You do any shooting recently, Wilbur?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“What about notes? You leave any threatening notes around? Try to scare people?”
Confusion rose in Wilbur’s face. “Notes? I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. I didn’t leave no notes.”
Paul actually believed him. He wasn’t sure Wilbur had the brains to write the notes, even if they were only three words long.
“Where’s Travis? What time did he leave this morning?”
Wilbur coughed and spat, missing Paul’s foot by a couple of inches. His stomach recoiled in disgust.
“I dunno. He’s a big boy. I don’t keep tabs on him.”
“Whose pickup is in the driveway?”
Wilbur scratched his head. “Mine.”
“What kind of car does Travis drive?”
“Bronco.” He took another drink from his beer can.
“Color and year?” Rob asked.
“Green and it’s a 2010. What’re you asking me all this shit for?” He let out a foul-smelling belch, and Paul wrinkled his nose.
“Because we can. And I’m trying to find out who shot two bullets through my front window this morning, that’s why. Good thing no one was hurt.”
“Izzat what happened?” An unholy gleam lit Wilbur’s beady eyes. “Too bad. Sorry to hear that.”
“We’re finished here. For now.”
“Always a pleasure, Officers.”
Rob took two steps toward Wilbur. “That’s Detectives, Mr. Falk. And we’ll be back to talk to Travis.”
They left him on his porch, hitching up his pants again.
“What a charming person,” Rob said as they left Falk. “Definitely not a part of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.”
Paul snorted. “I wasn’t sure whether he meant he was sorry someone shot out my windows or that no one was hurt.”
“Yeah, Paulie. That man is not a fan of yours.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Paul said grimly, his jaw tense. “And I’m not ruling him or his deadbeat son out, especially after what Judy Swanson said.”
“Yeah. We’ll have to check them both for priors when we get back to the station.”
“I need to check on Cliff first, though. Make sure he’s okay.”
Rob shrugged. “He seemed fine, but sure. I don’t blame you. I’d be the same way if it happened at my house.”
They passed Silvia from the forensic team, who was taking measurements and pictures of the skid marks and tire tracks in the middle of the street, as well as Manny searching the street, most likely to see if there were any shell casings to be found.
While Rob went to talk to Manny, Paul went inside. Forensics had been thorough—they’d dug out the bullets and marked out the spaces from the sofa and wall. Cliff had begun to clean up the glass, and Paul found him on his way to the kitchen.
“How’s it going? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. You don’t have to hover over me.”
Surprised by the sharpness of Cliff’s tone, Paul still pressed on. “I’m not hovering. I’m concerned. There’s a difference.”
Holding on to the broom handle, Cliff faced him, jaw set in a hard line. “Is there? You haven’t told me about the notes you received. Why is that?”
“At first I thought it was a joke. I mean, ‘I see you’ could be anything.”
“When did you get the first one?”
“About a month ago.”
Cliff set the broom aside and leaned against the counter. “You knew for a month and didn’t think it was important to tell me?”
Paul didn’t like the combination of hurt and anger reflected in Cliff’s eyes.
“It didn’t seem important at the time. But now, today, I get the same note, and then shots are fired. So yeah, now I’m worried.”
“And again,” Cliff snapped, “only because you thought it was important enough to tell me. If you didn’t, I’d still be in the dark. That’s not fair. I don’t need protection, Paul. I’m your partner in every way, not just in the bedroom.”
“I know that,” Paul said helplessly. “But I didn’t think—”
“That’s the point you’re not getting. You didn’t think. You reacted.” Cliff braced his hands on the kitchen island. “Can I ask you something?”
This reminded him of when he and Cliff first started seeing each other and he had no idea what to expect from a relationship. They’d been together a year and a half now, and Paul believed he had learned how to be a good partner. One of the main things was to listen. “Yes, of course. You know that.”
“You keep talking about protecting me, and every time you say that, all I think about is Harley.”
Hearing his brother’s name was like a punch to his heart, but somehow he managed not to flinch.
Cliff took his arm to lead him farther into the house and away from Rob and the forensics team still walking around. “Paul, I’m not going to leave you and die. I love you, but you have to stop looking over my shoulder, thinking you have to watch over me and protect me every minute. First of all, you won’t be able to. But also, if all I am to you is a second chance to make sense of Harley’s death, we don’t have much to move forward with from here, do we?”
Chapter Four
Paul’s pain seared through Cliff, but this was always the wall he came up against whenever Harley’s name was mentioned. His brother’s death surrounded Paul like a second skin he couldn’t or wouldn’t shed.
“I have to get to work.” Paul bowed his head and turned to walk away. Cliff couldn’t let him leave with the weight of this conversation on his shoulders, and he rushed over to put a hand on his shoulder.
“Please? Can we talk later? I really want to work through this with you.”
Their eyes met, and Cliff tried to convey his love and hope in that one look. Dragging in a single breath of air to his lungs hurt from all the emotion surrounding them.
The fine lines around Paul’s eyes deepened as they stared at each other. “Yeah. I think it’s time.”
“What we have…that’s not going to change.”
Paul’s brief smile was enough. “I’ll see you tonight.”
And then he was gone.
Cliff finished sweeping up the glass, and after the forensics team left, he pulled the curtain closed, then made a pot of coffee. Once it brewed, he poured himself a mug, and for the first time since the bullets crashed through the window, he sat on the sofa and attempted to take a sip. His hand trembled. Before it spilled, he set it down and hugged his arms around himself.
What the hell is going on?
He’d never once known the fear or hatred of someone who would wish him bodily harm. Knowing now that Paul had received threatening notes, coupled with the gunshots, made him rethink his mindset of living in the suburbs. The isolation made them targets. Maybe Paul’s apartment would be a better place to live, and they should consider renting the house and moving there when his tenant’s lease came due for renewal.
His phone rang, and Ryan’s name flashed on the screen. Bracing himself, Cliff answered. “Hey.”
“What the fuck, Cliff? Someone shot at your windows? I just heard. One of my buddies mentioned it.”
Damn, news traveled fast.
“Yeah. It was pretty scary, not gonna lie.”
“Listen, I get off shift in about an hour. Want me to come hang out?”
About to say he didn’t need a babysitter, Cliff realized that sounded pretty stupid. Ryan was being a friend.
“Yeah. I think I’d like that.” And as soon as he said it, a wave of relief rolled through him.
“Good. I’ll pick up some lunch too.”
“Thanks. I hadn’t even thought about it.”
“I’m not surprised. You’re probably in shock.”
“It was terrifying. I’ve never been so scared in my life,” Cliff admitted, recalling his shaking hands of a few moments ago. “The window guys should be here soon to put in new glass.”
“Good. I was gonna ask if you’d had a chance to call.”
On cue, Cliff spotted the van from the glass shop as it rolled to a stop in front of the house. All the gossips and onlookers had disappeared once the police cars and investigators had left.
“And here they are.”
“Take it easy, Cliff. See you soon.”
Cliff disconnected and rose to let the window man inside.
* * *
Two and a half hours later, Ryan and Cliff crumpled up the wrappers from their sandwiches. Cliff handed him a beer and took one for himself.
“Cheers, brother.”
They clinked the glass longnecks, and Cliff took a healthy swig. “Paul and I are going to have a talk tonight.”
Ryan’s expression turned wary. “About…?”
“His brother. Which is going to lead into a discussion of Paul needing to protect me from things. I found out today that he’s received threatening notes and never told me.”
Ryan’s brows shot up. “Whoa. Wait a sec. That’s a lot to unpack. First, what the hell do you mean, threatening notes?”
Morose, Cliff stared into his beer. “Yeah. Two. Both under the windshield wipers of his car. The first about a month ago and the other this morning.”
“Damn. What did they say? The same thing?”
“Yeah. ‘I see you.’ ” Cliff stared at Ryan. “Creepy, right?”
“As fuck. Yeah. What did Paul do?”
“I don’t know,” Cliff said, his anger at being kept in the dark rising again. “I only found out about them this morning. I’m assuming he took them to the station to see if there was anything he could trace. But he didn’t tell me until he was forced to because someone shot two bullets through the window. And when I asked him about it, he claimed he was trying to protect me.” Cliff drank more beer. “I’m not a child who needs protection.”
“Did you tell him that?”
Cliff nodded. “And more. I told him I wasn’t a substitute for Harley and his chance to make things right.”
Ryan winced. “Ouch. How did he take that?”
“Not well,” Cliff admitted.
He scratched at the label of the beer bottle. The yawning mass of loneliness before Paul came into his life was no longer an option. He n
eeded Paul, but Paul struggled to see it wasn’t his fault Harley died, and so it remained a wall between them. Breaking through that shield around Paul’s heart was proving to be a bigger task than he’d initially anticipated. It was about more than guilt.
He explained, “I know bringing Harley up hurts like hell, and I feel bad, but I also know I have to be on equal standing in this relationship and not let Paul drive the bus, so to speak. Every time one of my relationships has failed, it was because I gave in to what my partner wanted.”
“You think he’ll talk to you about it?”
Ryan hadn’t always been a fan of Paul’s, but in the months since Paul had moved in, they’d spent more time together and he’d come around. Still, Cliff suspected—without any proof—that Ryan didn’t fully trust Paul was as invested in the relationship as Cliff.
“I do. He’s changed a lot.”
“Yeah? How so?” Ryan settled into the couch, seeming sincere in wanting to understand.
“It’s in the little things, like always making sure I have a bottle of the wine I like to drink chilling in the refrigerator. He doesn’t drink it, so I know he’s looking out for me. Bringing home dinner from Maria’s, our favorite Italian place, when I’ve told him I had a hard day. Again, without me asking.” His lips curved in a smile at the warm thoughts. “Knowing how much my mother loves her romance novels and stopping by the bookstore to get the salesperson to pick out the newest releases for her when we go to their house for dinner. Imagine, a guy like Paul buying romance books.”
Ryan snickered. “Okay, you got me. That’s pretty damn funny.” He sobered. “But I get what you mean. And yeah, from the times we’ve had dinner together or I’ve come over to hang out, I can see how much he cares about you. His feelings are genuine.”
For Ryan to admit that was huge, as he’d been the most difficult person of any of his friends to win over.
“Thanks. I know he loves me. But I can’t stand the thought of him protecting me. Like I’m a child. I was on my own, taking care of myself, since my parents kicked me out. And I know the feelings stem from losing his brother before they had the chance to get close.”
“I’m sure. But I don’t see it as a huge problem between you two. I mean, you’re grown-ups. You’ll talk it out.” Ryan checked his phone. “I gotta get going. Have a date tonight.”
Death Comes to Main Street (The Paul Monroe Mysteries Book 3) Page 3
