A Tap on the Window

by Linwood Barclay

  It was a body. And it was a mess.

  From what I could tell, it was a young woman with short blond hair. Wearing the same clothes I’d seen Hanna in the night before. Most of them, anyway.

  She was naked from the waist down.

  She was on her side, her legs angled down toward the creek. I shone the light on her face, and I was as sure as I could be that this was the girl I’d found in my car when I came out of Iggy’s.

  “Jesus,” I said under my breath.

  The phone in my jacket pocket, pressed against my chest, went off. It was like someone had placed the paddles of a heart defibrillator on me.

  I reached for the phone, nearly dropped it next to the body, and put it to my ear before I’d had a chance to see who it was.

  “Hello,” I said.

  “You left a message,” Augustus Perry said. He sounded annoyed. “What do you want?”

  “What I called about has changed. Something else has moved to the top of the list.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  She looks out the window and sees that their boy is home. Well, not a boy, really. He’s a man now. But isn’t that how mothers always view their sons? As their boys?

  “I’m just here for a couple minutes,” he says to her as he comes through the door. “I’ve been running around all night putting out fires and I’m not done yet. But I wanted to see how he is.”

  “Wound up,” she says.

  “Did you give him something?”

  “No, but I may have to. He needs his sleep.”

  “I’m doing everything I can,” he says. “This’ll all get sorted out.”

  His mother shakes her head doubtfully. “We started off with one big problem and you turned it into two.” She’s about to say something else, but bites her lip. But he knows what it would have been. That if it weren’t for him, they wouldn’t have this problem in the basement to begin with.

  “I told you I’m going to deal with this. There’s a couple things I can do before morning.”

  “You better, because I feel like this is all ready to blow up in our face. It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when it does, it’s going to land on a mine.” She sighs. “You’re just one brainstorm after another.”

  Wearily, he takes a seat at the kitchen table. “God, I just want things to be normal. Things have never been normal.”

  “Some people’s lives are never normal,” she says. “That’s just the way it is.” She surveys the room, but she’s really looking beyond it. More to herself than her son, she says, “It’s like we’re all prisoners. I haven’t had a vacation in years.”

  “And I haven’t had a life,” he says. “This overshadows everything. It’s no wonder she broke up with me.”

  “She wasn’t right for you.” His mother never thought any of his girlfriends were right for him. “What did she say, exactly?”

  “She didn’t really say anything. She just ended it. But I know why. It’s because she could tell something wasn’t right. I mean, I couldn’t even bring her here, to meet you. It had to be at a coffee shop. She had to think it was weird that everything about this house was off limits.”

  The woman puts her hand to her forehead. It’s late, and she’s exhausted. “You have more important things to worry about. Finding that girl, and then the boy. Making sure he can’t hurt us.”

  “I know. You don’t have to keep telling me.”

  “Even after you find them, deal with them, we may have to make some changes around here,” she says, casting her eyes down to the floor, as though she can see right through it.

  “I’m going to go down and see him.”

  “There’s something going on with his book,” she says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s never where I can see it. He says he writes in it after I’ve gone. That’s not like him. I’m worried what he might be writing in it. I need you to go down and find it.”

  He goes downstairs, is gone several minutes. When he returns, he says to his mother, “It’s not there. I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “I asked him what he’d done with it. He said he didn’t remember.”

  “Tell me he didn’t . . .”

  “I think he did. I think he gave it to the kid.”

  The woman closes her eyes, as though she’s in physical pain.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “It’s all gibberish. It’s meaningless.”

  She shakes her head. “Maybe. But there are dates. And it’s all in his handwriting.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  When Scott was twelve, he had an idea for a movie. He spelled it out for Donna and me over dinner.

  “It’s about this guy who comes to Earth from another galaxy, or maybe it’s this one, like from Mars or something, it doesn’t really matter, but he comes here wanting to see what Earth people are like, and he has to take human form so nobody can see what he really looks like, which is kind of gross. Like, he has what looks like worms all over his face or something, but they’re probably blood vessels.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, glancing down at my noodles.

  “At first I was thinking someone like Arnold Schwarzenegger could play him, but it’s not really a Terminator kind of role, so I have to think about that a bit more. His mission is to make friends with one person, and to study him, and he picks someone totally at random and watches what this person does, and how this Earthling interacts with other Earthlings. But what the alien doesn’t know is, he picked a real nerdy, geeky guy who doesn’t have hardly any friends, so he doesn’t interact much with other Earthlings. So the alien guy goes back to his home planet and reports that all Earthlings are lonely and unhappy and don’t really fit in, because they’re weird and like stuff nobody else likes.”

  Donna and I said nothing for a moment. Finally, I asked, “That’s how it ends?”

  Scott shook his head. “No, no. It has a happy ending. The alien guy comes back, and takes the person he was, like, shadowing, back to his own planet, because he feels sorry for him, and the Earthling turns out to be really happy there because everyone thinks he’s really cool and interesting and he doesn’t think about killing himself anymore.”

  Donna put her hand over her mouth, got up, and left the room.

  Scott said, “Was it the worms thing? I could take that out if it’s too gross.”

  * * *

  I’m not sure why that memory popped into my head after I ended my brief conversation with Augustus Perry and made my way back up to the bridge, where Sean Skilling was waiting for me. Of course, I had Scott flashbacks about every five minutes since he’d died. He was always there, just below the surface, regardless of what I was doing.

  Maybe it was the notion of happy endings, how elusive they can be, and how they aren’t the same for everyone. For Scott, a geeky kid transplanted to another world, millions of miles from home, finds his happy ending among aliens who appreciate his uniqueness. But was it a happy ending for the parents he left behind?

  Scott was on my mind because I was starting to worry there might be no happy ending in my search for Claire Sanders. Not if she ended up the same way her friend Hanna Rodomski had.

  When I got to Sean, he was a mess.

  “Is it her?” he asked, tears running down his cheeks. “It can’t be her. There’s no way it’s her.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is,” I said. “But it’s a bad scene down there.”

  I had to grab him as he attempted to get past me to go under the bridge and see what I had seen.

  “You can’t go down there.”

  “Get the fuck out of my way,” he said, practically spitting the words into my face. He was a strong kid, and I wasn’t sure I was any match for him, but there was no way I wanted him going down there and seeing Hanna. First, he just di
dn’t need that, and second, I didn’t want him messing with evidence.

  Although the dogs had already done a good job of that.

  “Sean, listen to me,” I said, blocking his path. “You can’t go near her. I may have already screwed things up, getting as close as I did. Are you hearing me? Whoever did this to Hanna, we want the son of a bitch caught. You go down there now and you run a chance of messing up a crime scene. You hear me?”

  I could feel the muscles in his arms, taut as steel, relax ever so slightly. “Please,” I said. “We’ll stay here on the bridge, we’ll stand guard, make sure no one else goes down and disturbs her, okay? Let’s preserve what dignity she has left.”

  He turned and walked to the other side of the bridge, put his hand on the rusted railing. His body started to shake with sobs. I put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to find out who did this. I swear.”

  Sean turned and pointed an accusing finger at my face. “This is your fault. You dropped her off. You left her here for whoever killed her.”

  I was aware.

  I thought about that black pickup, pulled over to the side of the road, that I’d noticed seconds after Hanna had fled my car. The one that had taken off by the time I’d turned around and gone back for another look. I struggled to remember any details about it. Ford or Dodge? Foreign or domestic? I was usually good at that sort of thing, but it had been dark, and it had been raining.

  “If I hadn’t got pulled over by that damn cop . . . ,” Sean said. “I was supposed to be there. It wouldn’t have happened if I’d been there. She wouldn’t have tried to run away from me.”

  The trio from the porch were cautiously approaching. The one I knew as Mildred called out, “What’s happened?”

  “There’s a body under the bridge,” I said.

  “Mother of God,” Mildred said.

  I told her the police would be here shortly. When I’d told Augie who it was I’d found under the bridge, he didn’t know the first name, but he’d recognized the last. “Jesus. That must be Chris Rodomski’s kid. Chris and Glynis.”

  I’d confirmed it for him. He’d wanted to know what I was doing there, but agreed to wait for details until we could talk face-to-face.

  “Ten minutes,” he’d said. “And I’ll call it in.”

  I could hear sirens in the distance as I walked back over to Sean.

  “I’m gonna hafta call my parents,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Look, Sean, before the cops get here, is there anything you haven’t told me? About who Hanna was helping Claire get away from?”

  He shook his head. “I told you what I know. I swear.”

  “After the cops let you off last night, after you ran the stop sign, go through it with me. What did you do then?”

  “I drove by Patchett’s, just in case Claire was still there. Then I went to Iggy’s, in case Hanna or her were still around.”

  “What time did you get to Iggy’s? Did you see Hanna get into my car?”

  “No. I never saw you.”

  “So you didn’t follow me, did you, Sean?”

  “What?”

  “In your Ranger. Did you follow me down this way?”

  He blinked at me. “What are you talking about?”

  “I saw a black pickup around here after Hanna got out of my car. I’m gonna have to tell the police that.”

  The sirens grew louder.

  Sean shook his head. “Are the cops going to think I did this?”

  “They always look at the boyfriend. Luckily for you, the cops are your best alibi, since they had you pulled over around the time Hanna was killed. Plus, you may have been seen at Iggy’s, or caught on their security cam, if they have one, which again places you away from the scene.”

  I hoped Iggy’s was more diligent than Patchett’s where security was concerned. If they had cameras, Claire might have been caught on them after I’d headed off with Hanna.

  The first cruiser arrived at the scene, lights flashing, siren wailing. Two officers—a male and a female—got out. Kate Ramsey and her partner. The ones who’d sent the bikers on their way. Seconds later, another car rolled up. Out got Ricky Haines and Hank Brindle.

  “What about you?” Sean asked.

  The arrivals had distracted me. “Huh? What about me?”

  “Aren’t they just as likely to think you did it?” Sean asked. “You dropped her off just before she got killed.”

  It occurred to me at that moment that pissing off the chief of police at family get-togethers over the years might not have been such a good idea.

  TWENTY-THREE

  And then there he was, arriving just seconds after his uniformed officers in a white Chevy Suburban. Augustus Perry had a short huddle with them before striding over in my direction.

  I stood and let him come to me.

  “Cal,” he said without even a hint of a nod. He looked at the teenage boy standing next to me. “Who are you?”

  “Sean Skilling.” A pause, then, “Sir.”

  Augie squinted. “Ford dealership?”

  “My dad’s, yes, sir.”

  Augie nodded. “Adam Skilling. You folks do all the servicing on our vehicles. I’ve seen your father at our garage.”

  “That’d be him.”

  Augie put his eyes back on me. “Show me.”

  Leaving Sean behind, I led my brother-in-law to the railing and pointed down to Hanna’s body. “Hard to see all of her from here,” I said.

  He grunted. “Tell me how it came to be that you found her.”

  “It’s a long story,” I said.

  “All the more time I get to spend with you,” he said.

  I gave it all to him as quickly as I could. Picking up Claire at Patchett’s, and everything that followed. And then, earlier this evening, two of his men coming to see me, trying to find Claire.

  “This part I’m guessing you already know about,” I said.

  He stared at me blankly, although I couldn’t tell whether that meant he didn’t know, or did and just wasn’t saying.

  “Go on,” Augie said.

  I told him I felt a responsibility where Claire was concerned, and started asking around myself. Looking for Claire led me to Hanna, Hanna led me to Sean Skilling, and his recollection of his short phone call with Hanna had led us back here, around the corner from where Hanna had jumped out of my car. “She tossed her wig when she got out. It’s in my car.”

  “Mayor’s kid’s missing,” Augie said under his breath. “Girlfriend dead.”

  “Yeah.”

  He looked over his shoulder at Sean Skilling, who was currently being interviewed by Officer Ramsey and her partner. “What about the kid? Girl gets killed, the first, most logical suspect is the boyfriend.”

  “I know. But I don’t think it’s him. And he’s got an alibi courtesy of the Griffon PD. One of your people’d pulled him over to write him up for running a stop sign about the time it all went down.”

  “So there’ll be a record of the ticket.”

  “No, there won’t. Sean says the cop got another call before he could finish writing it out.”

  Augie scowled. “Convenient.”

  “Look, maybe it’s the kid, I don’t know. But I think something different’s playing out here.”

  “Who were they trying to trick? With the switch?”

  “No idea.”

  “The Skilling kid know?”

  “He claims not to.” We were both looking at him now, being questioned by Ramsey and her partner. “Who’s with Kate?” I asked.

  “Hmm? That’s Marv Quinn.” Augie took another look over the railing. Haines and Brindle were searching the hillside around the body, flashlights in hand. “That girl’s missing her drawers.”

  “I noticed,” I said.

  “You think the Sk
illing kid and the girl were having troubles? She wants to break it off, he gets mad, things get out of hand, he wants one last go at her?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  He took one more long look at Hanna Rodomski and said, “These sorts of things aren’t supposed to happen here.” Even in the dim glow of the streetlamps, I thought I saw genuine sadness cross his weathered face.

  He rubbed his mouth thoughtfully, then said, “You think it’s turned around somehow?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “This crazy stunt the girls pulled, fooling someone into thinking it was Claire who got into your car, which allowed her to slip away. Could it be the other way around? Maybe it wasn’t that Hanna was trying to make someone think she was Claire. Maybe Claire was trying to make someone think she was Hanna.”

  That made my head hurt. “No. It doesn’t play that way.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But it’s possible, whoever killed the Rodomski girl, they could have been thinking she was Claire. Thoughts?”

  “That’d definitely cross Sean Skilling off your suspect list,” I said.

  He said, “Hmm.”

  I asked, “Why are you looking for Claire Sanders?”

  “Who said I was?” the chief said.

  “The collective you, Augie. Your minions.”

  “Who was it again came to talk to you?”

  “Brindle and Haines. Haines I know. He was the one. . . . He brought us the news about Scott.”

  Augie’s face softened. “About that. Haines should have called me. He shouldn’t have delivered that news to you himself. It should have been me. I’m Scott’s uncle, for Christ’s sake. I’m sorry about that.”

  I nodded. It wasn’t the first time Augie had mentioned it.

  “I honestly don’t think he made the connection,” Augie said. “If he’d thought for a half a second, seen the name Weaver on Scott’s ID, thought about Donna in payroll—you’re supposed to have some smarts if you’re a cop.” He glanced down toward the creek, where Ricky Haines and his partner were still mucking about. “Anyway, those two came to see you. Tell me about that.”