by W. H. Clark
“That why you’re living in a motel?”
“That’s just a temporary measure,” Ward said. “I’m thinking of taking a look at some real estate. Might put me down some new roots.”
“So you’re sticking around.”
Ward said, “Yes, ma’am.”
A party of four entered the diner. Ward picked up his hat and put it on.
One of the new customers whispered, “Table for four,” and gawked at Cherry’s injuries as she directed them to a table.
Ward tipped his hat at Cherry and said, “Ma’am,” and he left and he felt her eyes on his back all the way out of the Honey Pie.
45
Ward hadn’t needed to call Larsson. He’d somehow got Ward’s cell number. He thought Newton. They’d set up a meeting for the next morning. Ward had asked for somewhere out of town. Larsson knew a place – a truck stop on the I-15 highway.
When Ward pulled into the parking lot of the truck stop Larsson was already there, shivering and smoking a cigarette, which he took a large double draw on before tossing the butt into a puddle. Larsson held out his hand but Ward didn’t take it.
“Have you had that hand looked at?” Larsson asked, and Ward ignored the question. “Could be broken.”
Ward looked him up and down. He was a weasel. He might have been five ten but he stooped to five six and snowman eyes fixed Ward and asked questions before they’d even started. His gray hair was swept back and up, presumably held by hairspray, and it offered patchy coverage in places. His teeth seemed sharp and small. More gum than tooth. He made an attempt to dress for the job but his tie was loose and his top button was open. He looked like he needed a dry clean.
A tractor, minus its trailer, revved as it passed them heading towards the pumps. Larsson stepped back to avoid getting his hundred-dollar suit splashed as it drove over the winter-plowed surface, potholes filled with oily water. Ward did the same just in time and Larsson smiled hungrily.
In the direction the truck had come from Ward noticed the girl. One of the whores from the house where Troy had taken his beating. She was probably selling blowjobs to the truckers. She starts early, Ward thought. Probably hitched up here for the price of a blowjob too. There were plenty of trucks parked up. Ward guessed there would be some good business for her.
They entered the truckers’ lounge which was just fixing to open, although a trucker had already managed to get himself a beer and sat at the counter pondering his next shave. The trucker glanced around at the two of them and then returned to his beer. Ward guessed he was Mexican.
Ward and Larsson sat and a young woman came to their table. Told them the kitchen was closed for food till twelve. Drinks only. They both ordered a coffee. Larsson’s smile was still on his face. He occasionally glanced at Ward and looked everywhere else in between times. Ward’s eyes didn’t leave Larsson. They sat like that for a minute or two.
“It’s good to see you, detective,” Larsson said finally. “Can I call you detective now, since you’re suspended?”
“Cute,” Ward said, trying to be friendly. He took off his hat and placed it on the table and then rubbed at his head.
“I need to know what I’m getting if I can be so vulgar,” Larsson said.
“Well, that depends,” Ward said. “Depends on what I get.”
“Well, we can go on depending till Labor Day but I got to know I’m not wasting my time here. With respect.”
“You seem to have a line into the department already,” Ward said.
“I do.”
Ward touched his beard with his blue, swollen hand.
“That really is a nasty injury,” Larsson said. “That guy was a real mess, wasn’t he?”
Ward held his tongue.
“Cop on a charge of assaulting a citizen. That’s a big story,” Larsson said, and he grinned and he chattered his small teeth.
Ward said, “I need a few days.”
“Well, let’s see, I can give you a couple and then it runs,” Larsson said.
Ward nodded.
“And I want the inside exclusive when you solve these homicides.”
Ward nodded again. He said, “You got what you need,” and the young waitress appeared with their coffees. She plonked the cups down and slipped the check under the napkin dispenser that sat in the center of the table.
Larsson said, “Thank you, missy,” and he watched her all the way back to the counter, where she sat and rested her head on her hands and stared into nothing.
“Where are you at with the Bill O’Donnell case?”
“We got one or two leads we are following up. Nothing concrete. Nothing you don’t already know.”
“So, my next headline is ‘Cops No Closer to Finding Man’s Killer’? Is that how you want it to read?”
Ward felt his busted hand. “Okay, we’ve got a new lead. Suspect fled from the scene and left prints matching the ones on the windowsill of the old man’s room at the nursing home.”
“Very good,” Larsson said, and he started to take notes in shorthand. “You think he’s the killer?”
“He’s a line of inquiry,” Ward said.
“Okay. What about the little boy? How’s Newton? He feeling the pressure?”
Ward didn’t answer.
“Good, good,” Larsson said, and he scribbled something on his pad.
Ward reached for his hat and stood up. “I’m wasting my time here.”
“No, no, detective. We have a deal.”
“Right now I’m wondering whether to leave you facedown in a shit-filled puddle or under the wheels of a semi.”
Larsson’s smile twitched and fizzled off his face. “Let’s not… let’s take a deep breath there, detective,” Larsson said, and he moved his hands like an orchestra conductor. “We’re coming to the main course. I’m just doing my job. It would be a dereliction of duty for me not to ask these questions.”
Ward slowly sat again.
“Okay.” Larsson took a sip of coffee. Added some sugar. “You know I covered the original case? You do. Of course you do. It was hot that summer. Hot as hell. Hell, it was hotter than Texas.” He laughed. Ward didn’t. “I even bought myself air conditioning. You imagine that?” He knocked back his coffee. “Say, you not drinking that coffee?”
Ward shook his head.
“Then do you mind if I…”
Ward nodded and Larsson took the coffee and sipped at it. He poured some sugar in, stirred and took another sip.
“We had forest fires too but I’ll get to that. The night the boy disappeared I was sweating over a story about corruption in City Hall. Never did like that kind of story. Wanted to cover real crime, you know? I get excited over homicides, not white-collar crime. I know that might sound wrong but I’m a reporter and… well… the boy wasn’t noticed missing till the next day. Say, what do you know about his parents?”
“Only what it says in the case notes,” Ward said.
“Does it say both were drunks? Eugene and Janice Novak. A model couple. Model parents.”
“Janice was Bill O’Donnell’s daughter, right?”
“Right. I’m sure she was a nice girl, but Eugene Novak. There was a son of a bitch if ever I saw one. Sure, he cried and made appeals for the safe return of his son. But he was down one punching bag.” Larsson looked up at Ward.
Ward said, “He was abusing his son?”
“Don’t it say that in the file?”
“Maybe I haven’t gotten that far.”
“Well, maybe you haven’t or maybe it’s not there. I had to do some digging to get that information. Social Services was never alerted to it but I found out.”
“How?”
“Investigative journalism, see. It’s what I do. What I keep telling you. The only thing is I could never go to print on that. It was hearsay and there’s Eugene Novak sobbing to the cameras saying how he wants his son back and the people see him as this helpless victim. I’d say it makes me sick to think about it but I have a detached indifferenc
e to these things. I’ve seen it all, detective.”
“Go on.”
“My theory is the boy was fleeing another beating. He goes walking off never to be seen again. Why would he do that unless to get away from his abusive daddy?” He took a drink of Ward’s coffee and added some more sugar.
“So you think someone took him?”
“Well, I know what Newton thinks and I reckon that that just about ruined the case for him. Early in the case he was leaning towards Bill O’Donnell, the grandpa. You want to know why?”
“Go on.”
“Well, you see, it’s all about timing. Way O’Donnell explains it, his truck got stolen and he took off looking for it.”
“And a police report backs that up.”
“Yes, it does. It’s merely a coincidence that this little boy goes missing on the same weekend as his truck. But the truck got taken first. Police report shows that.”
“You buy that? Or did he report the truck missing knowing that he was taking the little boy to kill him? A cover story. An alibi?”
“I see how it could sound like that but look… Bill O’Donnell was a good man. Was the janitor at the elementary school. All the kids loved him. The teachers too.”
“You spoke to him?”
“I did. And his story came across as genuine. He was distraught about the boy. Totally destroyed and I believed him. I’ve seen people go on TV to make appeals and you kinda know straight away that they did it. Never got that with O’Donnell. Not to say he was an open book.”
“How do you mean?”
“He didn’t want to talk, of course he didn’t. He wanted to help the case but nobody trusts a reporter, do they?” He laughed and then took out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. “Something he said but didn’t elaborate on has always stuck with me.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, detective, if you don’t mind I’ll get to that later.” He smiled and Ward suppressed the urge to wipe that smile from his face. “I told you we had forest fires that year. Had a couple up at the National Forest. Big ones. Some weeks later once the fires was put out they found the truck burned out. Some joyriders had taken it up into the hills and left it there to burn. Never got the varmints but they never do. Truck was destroyed. The heat was so intense that it was mostly melted. Thing is, Newton goes and puts two and two together and reckons that O’Donnell had taken the body into the hills to bury and left his vehicle there. Of course there was no forensic evidence left. Hell, there wasn’t much left of the truck. I saw it myself. They got it towed back. And that was that. It all dried up. And a while later the FBI came on board. The captain at the time, guy called Garrett, called them in. He’d fended them off long as he could. Newton wasn’t pleased. FBI thanked him for his work and waved him away. He’d had his shot and blew it.”
“I don’t have much background on the FBI investigation.”
“Neither do I, but that’s because they found nothing. They retraced Newton’s steps, followed up his leads, basically did the same job as he had done and they got the same result. They took it nationwide so I guess they did something. I guess that’s what finished the case. Soon as the FBI pulled out, Captain Garrett wasn’t inclined to put any more hours into it. Of course, they tell the media that the case is still open and that manpower will still be allocated to the case but that means zip. They called it off and gradually people forgot about it. Newton took it hard. He got a bad press and I guess that’s down to me.” He smiled broadly and Ward wanted to knock his weasel teeth through the back of his neck.
“Did the bureau like O’Donnell for it?” Ward said eventually.
“Well, let’s say they weren’t as enamored as Newton was. They spoke to him but they bought his story about the truck and so on and so forth.”
“Did anyone like the parents for it?”
“Not really. They were just drunks.”
“But you say the father was abusive.”
“He was. Nobody was convinced that he had it in him to kill the boy though. The boy was his favorite sport. And besides, his story that he was in a drunken coma at the time the boy walked off didn’t take much convincing. Not to say they didn’t look at the father, they did, but that line wasn’t going anywhere.”
“So, what happened to the parents?”
“Janice got herself impregnated again and had another child a year later. Child died. She died a few days after.”
Ward sat up at that. He thought of Alice White and her book of dead babies and wondered if the child was in there.
“Eugene Novak got tangled up in the back wheels of a trailer. Killed instantly. Shame. Would’ve liked to have seen him drink himself to a painful death.”
Ward nodded and instantly hated himself for agreeing with this man.
“You mentioned something about O’Donnell said something interesting.”
“I’m coming to that. Patience, detective. Can we get another coffee?” He gestured to the waitress and shouted, “Can we get a freshen-up here?”
The waitress nodded and wrenched herself off the counter as Larsson finished Ward’s coffee.
“I can’t function without caffeine,” Larsson said. “So, where were we? Ah, yes. You will have noticed from the case notes that there were no eyewitnesses. Well, there was one but he was ruled out as being an imbecile. Which, to be fair, he was. You read what he said? At the time? He said the boy was abducted by aliens! How about that? Who would take seriously a witness who says such a thing?”
“You, right?”
“Ah, you’re one step ahead of me. You gotta slow down there, detective. I’m telling the story. Don’t you go taking my punch line now. I won’t abide that.”
“Go on.”
“You might want to effect a drum roll now. Bang a couple of spoons on the table or something. We’re getting to the best part.”
Ward ignored him and was close to putting his good fist through his face as the edges of his patience began to fray.
“I interviewed Bill O’Donnell, God rest his soul. I told you he was really cut up with the whole thing. He’d helped with the search himself. Didn’t sleep or eat for days or so it seemed. Got a search party up and the whole town turned out. They did it for him more than the parents. Everybody knew they were drunks and probably not suitable parents. Searched high and low. If the police couldn’t find him then he sure as hell would. He didn’t, of course.”
“About this interview.”
“Okay, you’ve waited long enough,” Larsson said, and then the goddamn waitress came over with the coffee pot and she poured. Larsson checked her out again and thanked her in the same condescending manner as before.
“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such a family man,” Larsson said. “Wouldn’t you like a piece of that skanky ass there?” He sucked his lips. “So, where were we?”
“You goddamn know where we were,” Ward said, and the threat seemed to do the trick.
“Okay,” Larsson said with hands up in surrender. “I asked him if he thought that the cops had done enough. An innocent question and a straightforward answer came forth. Didn’t think nothing of it back then but it’s kinda been grinding away at me in the years since. No, to be totally honest, I hadn’t given it a second thought until the case resurfaced and then it came back to me. So O’Donnell says maybe they did too much. How about that? A satisfied customer. You should be proud of your department, detective. The cops didn’t just do enough, they did too much.”
Ward shifted in his seat.
“Thing is, Newton had this guy down for the kid’s disappearance so maybe it was a reference to the harassment that Newton gave him. He did too much. Or maybe they did so much to find the boy it was meant as genuine praise. But this is where it got interesting for me. The only eyewitness, old Mitch Filmore, said that the boy was taken by aliens. He said he saw lights.” Larsson’s eyes glistened and he wanted Ward to catch up. “You see where I’m going with this?”
“Not really, but carry on.”
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“Detective, he saw lights. Don’t you see? Maybe flashing lights?” He gave Ward a few beats.
“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying.”
“I’m not saying anything, detective. Man saw lights is all I’m saying. And O’Donnell says the cops did too much. Two and two.” He did a magician’s reveal gesture and Ward expected him to produce some flowers from his sleeve.
“You think the cops were involved? You gotta be kidding me. All that for this? You gotta be kidding.”
“No, sir. I’m an investigative journalist. That’s my job. I see things that others might not. Not to blow my own horn too much.” He grinned.
Ward stood and picked up his hat. “Well, thank you for your time.”
Larsson quickly drank his third coffee and followed Ward into the parking lot.
“We’ve still got a deal. Don’t forget about our deal.”
“I said it depends,” Ward said.
“Aw, come on detective. A deal’s a deal. Don’t go welshing on me now.”
Ward was walking towards his car and he paused to let a semi pass. Larsson hurried past him and nearly got wiped out by the truck. A tire clipped a puddle and shit-colored water splashed up the back of his pants.
“Fucking shit,” he said, and Ward continued to his car. “We have a deal.”
Ward stopped, turned to Larsson.
“Just out of interest, what happened to the corruption piece?”
Larsson perked up. Smiled at Ward. “That got pulled.”
“Any reason?”
“Who can say? As I understand it they couldn’t make anything stick anyway.”
“Who was involved?”
“A few people in City Hall. A property developer.”
“Who was the property developer?”
“James Kenny.”
Ward’s eyebrows raised.
“He pay off your superiors to get the story killed?”
“Couldn’t possibly say.”
Ward turned and started walking away.
Larsson called out, “Hey!”
The waitress appeared at the door of the truckers’ lounge waving the check. Larsson looked at the stain on the back of his pants and cursed.
