by Sean Black
At the motel, he parked at the back, got out and walked to the manager’s office. A woman in her late fifties, who must have applied her makeup in the dark, greeted him cheerily enough. He kept the conversation to a minimum, paid in cash for a week, and explained that he would clean his own room.
‘No hookers. No drugs,’ she said, licking her finger and thumbing through the roll of bills he had just handed her.
Lock agreed politely to the terms, took the room key and headed back outside. As he walked to the car, he saw the empty passenger seat.
He scanned the area. Malik was nowhere to be seen. Then he noticed him by a Dumpster. He was standing there, hands in his pockets, staring out at the road.
Lock went over to him. ‘You do know you’re supposed to be hiding out, right?’
Malik turned, as if he had only just noticed him. ‘Sorry.’
‘Listen, Malik, we’re both taking a risk in helping you. Not that I’m complaining. But you have to hold up your end. And, right now, your end is staying out of sight. If you’re having second thoughts, if you don’t think you can stay put, I need to know. I can organize an attorney, and they can speak to the authorities. You’d still be taking a risk handing yourself over, but it would be better than getting picked up by whoever happens to find you first.’
Malik looked at Lock, and for the first time Lock got a glimpse of the man he had been before his family was slaughtered in their home. ‘It won’t happen again. I promise.’
A half-hour later, with Malik set up in his room, Lock peeled back out of the motel parking lot. Malik had been sleeping when Lock had left the room, the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign swinging gently from the handle. He headed for the highway, moving north, back toward Harrisburg, hoping for some answers.
Part Three
Fifty-four
‘Jack?’ he said quietly.
The boy stared at him from under a fringe of brown hair. He got up. Jack’s mother tried to grab her son’s hand but he brushed her away.
Jack followed him out of the room. Jack understood. They were brothers. Bound not by blood but something much stronger: bound by pain and torment and, more than anything, their controlling emotion. Bound by rage.
‘If you touch him …’ Eve shouted after him.
‘You know I’d never do that, right?’ he said to Jack. It was important Jack knew that. Vital.
Jack shrugged, like he didn’t care one way or the other. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘You’re not like them. You’re like me.’
‘Was like you,’ he corrected the boy. ‘Not anymore. That’s the good news, Jack. It’s important you know that all this changes. You don’t have to be stuck feeling the same way.’
Jack followed him outside into the sunshine. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth on his face. He took pleasure in the simple things. Sunshine. Fresh air. The smell of the pine trees. The pretty college town laid out beneath them, the people in it oblivious of what lay ahead.
‘You have any news about the coach?’ Jack asked.
Jack asking questions was a good sign. A very good sign. He was making progress. He had started to see the larger picture.
‘He’s safe, as far as I know,’ he told the boy.
Jack said, ‘That’s good. I’m glad. He tried to help me.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘He did. And look at the thanks he got. That’s what we’re dealing with here, Jack. An honest man tries to tell the truth, and look what they do to him. That’s why they have to be punished.’
Fifty-five
Lock pulled up in a silver Chevy Blazer. A second later Ty emerged through the woods at the side of the road. He opened the passenger door and climbed in.
‘What’s with the new ride?’ he asked Lock.
‘Rental. Thought I’d let the Audi cool off. We had a little static on the trip down there.’
‘How’s he holding up?’ Ty asked.
Lock didn’t know how to answer that one. As he knew too well, when someone had been through what Malik had, there was no way of someone measuring how they were holding up. Your head could be clear one moment and the next you could have a gun in your mouth with your finger on the trigger. You were in the middle of the storm and there was no way of knowing how long it would last.
‘He’s safe,’ Lock said. ‘Had to change the safe-house last minute so I put him in a fleabag motel outside Madison. As long as he stays put, he should be fine. If he’s picked up it’ll be by the cops in Madison, the feebs or state. Either way it’s better than being pinched here. I told him that if he’s arrested, he’s to lawyer up immediately and explain the situation he was facing in Minnesota so that at least the cops there are aware of what’s going down here.’
‘If we can figure out what actually is going down because, right now, I have no idea,’ said Ty.
Ty had already taken Lock through his abduction from the police station by Tromso, Kelly’s involvement as she, at very least, had turned a blind eye to Tromso taking him, and the events at the cabin.
‘Okay,’ said Lock. ‘So we know Tromso was involved in the cover-up, if not the abuse itself.’
‘I wouldn’t rule it out either,’ said Ty. ‘That first night when he rolled up at the stadium after Malik called it in, he must have had an idea it was Becker.’
Now they were on Wolf Road, the stadium over to their right, rising out of the open ground. Lock headed back toward the main college campus. ‘We don’t know that for sure. Worst thing we can do right now is rush to conclusions.’
They kept driving until they reached the edge of the campus. Knots of students walked to class, backpacks slung over their shoulders or cellphones in hand. They seemed subdued, but maybe not much more so than usual. Lock pulled over and parked.
‘What we doing here?’ Ty asked.
‘Malik told me about the chancellor, Laird, that he was someone else who was keen on getting him to stay quiet. He was using a new contract as bait. Different bait, but the intent was the same. Thought I might talk to him.’
Lock pulled on the parking brake and started to get out. ‘I want you to check out the Becker residence. Should be clear by now. They only have the homicide investigation, according to Salas. They’re not running anything about Becker’s previous activities. Do some snooping. Phone bills, computers, anything you can find.’
Fifty-six
The chancellor’s office was situated in a red-brick building housing mainly administration offices that faced a grassy quadrangle in the middle of the campus. On the other side was the main college library. In the middle of the quadrangle a grey statue was mounted on a granite plinth. Students were scattered around on the grass. A couple of jocks threw a football to each other, shooting glances at a gaggle of sorority girls setting up a booth for some charity fundraiser.
Lock walked past them toward the red-brick building. He jogged up the steps, and went inside. As he checked a building directory, a middle-aged security guard wandered over.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked Lock.
‘Chancellor’s office? I’m kind of in a hurry. Supposed to be meeting him five minutes ago. Couldn’t get parked.’
‘Fourth floor. Elevator’s kind of slow. Stairs might be quicker.’
‘Thanks.’
Lock pushed through a set of double doors into a stairwell. He climbed the stairs, and exited through another set of double doors on the fourth floor. He walked down a corridor, following the signs for the chancellor and vice-chancellor’s offices. He pushed through a heavy wooden door with a brass handle into a small waiting area. A secretary was performing the usual gatekeeper function. He leaned close to her, keeping his voice low. ‘I’m from Celltech Security. Could you let the chancellor know I need a moment of his time? It’s urgent. If you emphasize I’m from Celltech, I’m sure he’ll see me.’
Lock had barely had a chance to scan the first mahogany-framed graduating-class picture on the wall before the secretary was putting down her phone. ‘You can go straight in,’ she told him.
Laird was pacing by the window as Lock walked in. He closed the door gently behind him as Laird turned. Lock registered Laird’s lack of recognition. ‘Given that your head of security, chief of campus police, or whatever title he had, has just been killed, you might want to do something about your personal security.’
‘Who did you say you were from?’ Laird asked.
‘That’s what I’m talking about.’ Lock walked around the desk to the window that faced out over the quadrangle. ‘Chancellor, it might be an idea if you kept your blinds closed. At least for the next few days.’
Laird looked round as Lock closed them, shutting out the sunlight, leaving them both in the gloom. ‘I don’t follow. Why would I—’
‘Tromso was killed from a distance by a sniper,’ said Lock.
Laird began to reach for his phone. Lock grabbed his wrist. ‘I’m here to help you, Chancellor. If you’re not already beyond help. Now, look at me.’
Laird did. Lock let go of his wrist. ‘If I wanted to harm you, it would already have happened. Now, what do you know about who killed Tromso?’
‘Shaw?’ said Laird. ‘You think it was Shaw?’
Lock walked across to the credenza and flicked on a lamp. He wanted to get a good look at Laird’s face. He sat down opposite Laird. ‘No, it wasn’t Shaw. Whoever did this was a professional. A pro sniper, not a pro baller. Almost certainly someone with military experience. You have any idea who that might be?’
‘This has all gotten completely out of hand,’ Laird said.
‘Y’think?’ said Lock, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
Laird slumped forward at his desk. His head was in his hands. ‘You don’t understand the pressure I’ve been under. If this got out …’
His fingernails digging into the palms of his hands to stop himself exploding, Lock studied the curious specimen of humanity sitting across from him. What he really wanted to do was throw Laird and his five-hundred-dollar suit through the window. ‘“If this got out” — what?’ he said. ‘Your college’s reputation would be dragged through the mud? You’d lose money? You’d be fired? Listen to me, Chancellor, we’re beyond all that now. A man’s family has been killed because he was trying to tell the truth. And you’d already tried to pay him off. Was it you, Chancellor? Did you ask Tromso to go kill the Shaw family? How deep are you in?’
Either the shock on Laird’s face was genuine or he was one hell of an actor. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You think a man in my position would countenance something like that? I offered Coach Shaw that deal to prevent any …’ He trailed off.
The idea of throwing Laird out of the window was starting to gain fresh appeal to Lock. Not that Laird knew it, but he was lucky it was him he was dealing with and not Ty. Ty would have killed him by now. There was no doubt in Lock’s mind about that.
Lock bent over so that he was in Laird’s face. ‘To prevent any what?’
Laird swallowed hard. ‘When I was made aware of Aubrey Becker’s activities, I banned him from campus and handed over the investigation to the relevant authorities. I did what I was required to do.’
‘Required’, thought Lock. A nice neat word. The kind of word an attorney would use. Of course, what it meant in reality was that Laird had done the bare minimum to get the whole mess off his neat mahogany desk.
‘And I’m sure they’ll give you a chocolate medal. Now, I’m going ask you again. To prevent what?’
Laird looked at Lock. Their eyes met. There was a little steel in Laird’s expression now. ‘Aubrey was the governor’s brother. A scandal like this … the stakes were high. I was trying to protect Coach Shaw. It’s hardly my fault that he couldn’t be persuaded.’
Lock snapped. He grabbed Laird by the throat, and began to squeeze, increasing the pressure slowly, making sure he had the man’s full attention. ‘Listen to me, you sanctimonious paper-pushing asshole, you are going to tell me everything you know about this. You understand? And if you don’t, then this college is going to have one more dead body when I walk out of here.’
Fifty-seven
Ty pulled up to the Becker house. The gates were closed, and he doubted there was anyone inside to open them. He got out and checked the mailbox. It was full. He separated the real mail from the junk, jammed the junk back in, and tossed the real mail onto the passenger seat. He got back into the car and drove down the road a few hundred yards. He nudged off road, and left the Chevy Blazer hidden from passing traffic by a stand of trees.
He hiked his way to the house. The drapes were still closed from the night of the murders. The front door was locked. He walked round to the back of the property, smashed a glass panel in an external door and let himself in. The alarm had been switched off.
Ty took off his shoes and walked through the house. There was still dried blood in the front hallway where Gretchen and Aubrey Becker had met their end. In the dining room, their final meal lay on the plates. Green mold had already started to form on a basket of bread in the middle of the table. This crime scene didn’t trouble him, or give rise to any strong emotions, not in the way that seeing Malik’s house had.
He walked back into the hall, and climbed the staircase, with its family portraits of the Becker clan. It didn’t look like a child molester’s house, but Ty wasn’t exactly sure what would. Guys like Becker hid in plain sight. The higher their profile, the less likely it was that people would assume they had anything to hide.
The real puzzle for Ty was Becker’s wife, Gretchen. She must have known on some level that the interest her husband took in young boys was abnormal. Even if she hadn’t witnessed anything directly, surely she would have had her suspicions. Maybe that was where Becker’s money came in. For her to turn in her husband she would have stood to lose a lot, assuming the inevitable civil suits from victims, as well as her status in the community.
At the top of the stairs, Ty stopped and listened. Satisfied that he was on his own, he moved into the master bedroom. He checked through closets and drawers, taking his time, trying to ensure he didn’t miss anything. He wasn’t surprised that Becker didn’t have a gun safe, or a firearm of any description. It spoke of the man’s arrogance that he didn’t appear to have worried about his own safety.
He moved methodically through the rooms. The master bedroom had a large en-suite. Apart from a prescription bottle of Viagra, which made Ty shudder, there was nothing of interest. It was the same for the three guest bedrooms. He left Aubrey Becker’s study until last.
It was almost as large as the master bedroom. The walls were wood-paneled, and the carpet, a red and green plaid pattern, looked as if it had been bought in a country-club closing down sale. There was a green leather chesterfield next to the window, and a large desk surrounded by bookshelves. Apart from the usual leather-bound classics, there was one shelf devoted to photography, and another of books about sailing. The ass end of Minnesota struck Ty as a strange place to settle for a man interested in boats, but there were lakes, he guessed.
On the desk was a large computer screen. Ty would have laid good money that if there was anything incriminating about Becker it was here. He followed the cable running from the monitor to the tower. As he bent, he saw wires trailing where the hard drive had been ripped out. A couple of the screws from where the casing had been removed were lying on the carpet. Becker could have done it himself when things had begun to go south, or it might have been removed by a third party later on. There was no way of knowing.
Ty went back to the books. On one of the lower shelves he noticed a high school yearbook. It dated back to the 1960s. He pulled it out and flicked through, finding a suitably pompous-looking teenage Aubrey Becker dressed in a suit and tie. He didn’t look all that different from the more recent pictures of him and his wife in silver frames on the desk. The guy looked like he’d born and died middle-aged.
Ty put the yearbook back on the shelf, and worked his way through the rest of the titles, hoping to turn up other personal stuff. He was out
of luck. The yearbook was as personal an item as there was in Becker’s study. The hard drive was a likely treasure trove, but that had either been destroyed or spirited away to save the Becker dynasty any further embarrassment.
Fifty-eight
The esteemed chancellor’s office reeked of the vomit he’d deposited in the trash can under his desk after Lock had cut off his air supply for long enough to get his attention. The blinds were still closed. Laird was half slumped over his desk. He didn’t look any better for having got it all off his chest. Neither had Lock learned much more than he and Ty already either knew or suspected.
Laird had been at the college for a little under six years. He’d transferred from an institution in Indiana where he had driven some serious growth in student numbers and alumni contributions via an ambitious football program. The college at Harrisburg had signed him on to perform the same magic here. Leading the appointments committee had been none other than Aubrey Becker.
‘It makes it more than a little awkward when you start to suspect that the man to whom you owe your job is less than savory,’ he’d told Lock.
There had been nothing specific connecting Aubrey Becker to anything criminal. Becker used the campus as his own private fiefdom, and was often seen with teenage boys. The story was that, as he and Gretchen couldn’t have children, this was his way of compensating for a fatherly instinct. Not everyone bought it, including Laird, but there had only been rumors. If complaints had been made, they had not reached Laird’s desk.
Lock wasn’t sure he believed that part. But he did know that a man like Laird was hardly going to start screaming, ‘Child molester!’ and pointing the finger at a man like Becker without something more than suspicious behavior and rumors.
