by Stephen King
Alec whistled. ‘Holy shit.’
‘So you know he was there!’ Marcy cried. Red spots were burning in her cheeks. ‘You have to know it!’
But Ralph didn’t want to go there; he had spent too much time there already. ‘Terry mentioned the Dayton trip the last time I talked to him. He said he wanted to visit his father, but he said wanted with a funny kind of grimace. And when I asked him if his dad lived there, he said, “If you can call what he’s doing these days living.” So what’s the deal with that?’
‘The deal is Peter Maitland is suffering from advanced Alzheimer’s disease,’ Marcy said. ‘He’s in the Heisman Memory Unit. It’s part of the Kindred Hospital complex.’
‘So. Tough for Terry to go see him, I guess.’
‘Very tough,’ Marcy agreed. She was warming up a little now. Ralph was glad to discover he hadn’t lost all of his skills, but this wasn’t like being in an interrogation room with a suspect. Both Howie and Alec Pelley were on high alert, ready to stop her if they sensed her foot coming down on a hidden mine. ‘But not just because Peter didn’t know Terry any longer. They hadn’t had much of a relationship for a long time.’
‘Why not?’
‘How is this relevant, Detective?’ Howie asked.
‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s not. But since we’re not in court, counselor, how about you let her answer the damn question?’
Howie looked at Marcy and shrugged. Up to you.
‘Terry was Peter and Melinda’s only child,’ Marcy said. ‘He grew up here in Flint City, as you know, and lived here all his life, except for four years at OSU.’
‘Where you met him?’ Ralph asked.
‘That’s right. Anyway, Peter Maitland worked for the Cheery Petroleum Company, back in the days when this area was still producing a fair amount of oil. He fell in love with his secretary and divorced his wife. There was a lot of rancor, and Terry took his mother’s side. Terry … he was all about loyalty, even as a boy. He saw his father as a cheat, which he was, of course, and all of Peter’s justifications only made things worse. Long story short, Peter married the secretary – Dolores was her name – and asked for a transfer to the company headquarters.’
‘Which were in Dayton?’
‘Correct. Peter didn’t try for joint custody or anything like that. He understood Terry had made his choice. But Melinda insisted that Terry go to see him from time to time, claiming that a boy needed to know his father. Terry went, but only to please his mom. He never stopped seeing his father as the rat who ran away.’
Howie said, ‘That fits the Terry I knew.’
‘Melinda died in 2006. Heart attack. Peter’s second wife died two years later, of lung cancer. Terry kept on going to Dayton once or twice a year, to honor his mother, and kept on reasonably civil terms with his father. For the same reason, I suppose. In 2011 – I think it was – Peter began to get forgetful. Shoes in the shower instead of under the bed, car keys in the refrigerator, stuff like that. Because Terry is – was – his only close living relative, it was Terry who arranged to get him into the Heisman Memory Unit. That was in 2014.’
‘Places like that are expensive,’ Alec said. ‘Who pays?’
‘Insurance. Peter Maitland had very good insurance. Dolores insisted. Peter was a heavy smoker all his life, and she probably thought she’d inherit a bundle when he went. But she went first. Probably from his secondhand smoke.’
‘You speak as if Peter Maitland is dead,’ Ralph said. ‘Is that the case?’
‘No, he’s still alive.’ Then, in a deliberate echo of her husband: ‘If you want to call that living. He’s even stopped smoking. It’s not allowed in the HMU.’
‘How long were you in Dayton on your last visit?’
‘Five days. Terry visited his father three times while we were there.’
‘You and the girls never went with him?’
‘No. Terry didn’t want that, and neither did I. It wasn’t as if Peter could have been grandfatherly to Sarah and Grace, and Grace wouldn’t have understood.’
‘What did you do while he was visiting?’
Marcy smiled. ‘You speak as though Terry spent huge wallops of time with his father, and that wasn’t the case. His visits were short, no more than an hour or two. Mostly the four of us were together. When Terry was at the Heisman, we hung out at the hotel, and the girls swam in the indoor pool. One day the three of us went to the Art Institute, and one afternoon I took the girls to a Disney matinee. There was a cinema complex close to the hotel. We hit two or maybe three other movies, but that was the whole family. We went to the air force museum as a family, and to the Boonshoft, which is a science museum. The girls loved that. It was your basic family vacation, Detective Anderson, with Terry taking a few hours away to do his filial duty.’
And maybe to steal a van, Ralph thought.
It was possible, Merlin Cassidy and the Maitland family certainly could have been in Dayton at the same time, but it seemed farfetched. Even if that had happened, there was the question of how Terry had gotten the van back to Flint City. Or why he would have bothered. There were plenty of vehicles to be stolen in the FC metro area; Barbara Nearing’s Subaru was a case in point.
‘Probably ate out a few times, didn’t you?’ Ralph asked.
Howie sat forward at that, but said nothing for the moment.
‘We had a fair amount of room service, Sarah and Grace loved it, but sure, we ate out. Assuming the hotel restaurant counts as out.’
‘Did you happen to eat at a place called Tommy and Tuppence?’
‘No. I’d remember a restaurant with a name like that. We ate at IHOP one night, and I think twice at Cracker Barrel. Why?’
‘No reason,’ Ralph said.
Howie gave him a smile that said he knew better, but settled back. Alec sat with his arms crossed over his chest, his face expressionless.
‘Is that everything?’ Marcy asked. ‘Because I’m tired of this. And I’m tired of you.’
‘Did anything out of the ordinary happen while you were in Dayton? Anything at all? One of your daughters getting lost for a little while, Terry saying he’d met an old friend, you meeting an old friend, maybe a package delivery—’
‘A flying saucer?’ Howie asked. ‘How about a man in a trenchcoat with a message in code? Or the Rockettes dancing in the parking lot?’
‘Not helpful, counselor. Believe it or not, I’m trying to be part of the solution here.’
‘There was nothing.’ Marcy got up and began collecting coffee cups. ‘Terry visited his father, we had a nice vacation, we flew home. We didn’t eat at Tommy and whatever it was, and we didn’t steal a van. Now I’d like you to—’
‘Daddy got a cut.’
They all turned to the door. Sarah Maitland was standing there, looking pale and wan and much too thin in her jeans and Rangers tee-shirt.
‘Sarah, what are you doing down here?’ Marcy put the cups on the counter and went to the girl. ‘I told you and your sister to stay upstairs until we were done talking.’
‘Grace is already asleep,’ Sarah said. ‘She was awake last night with more stupid nightmares about the man with straws for eyes. I hope she doesn’t have any tonight. If she wakes up, you should give her a shot of Benadryl.’
‘I’m sure she’ll sleep through. Go on, now.’
But Sarah stood her ground. She was looking at Ralph, not with her mother’s dislike and distrust, but with a kind of concentrated curiosity that made Ralph uncomfortable. He held her gaze, but it was difficult.
‘My mother says you got my dad killed,’ Sarah said. ‘Is that true?’
‘No.’ Then the apology came at last, and to his surprise, it was almost effortless. ‘But I played a part, and for that I’m deeply sorry. I made a mistake I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.’
‘Probably that’s good,’ Sarah said. ‘Probably you deserve to.’ And to her mother: ‘I’ll go upstairs now, but if Grace starts yelling in the middle of the night, I’m
going to sleep in her room.’
‘Before you go, Sarah, can you tell me about the cut?’ Ralph asked.
‘It happened when he visited his father,’ Sarah said. ‘A nurse fixed it up right after it happened. She put on that Betadine stuff and a Band-Aid. It was okay. He said it didn’t hurt.’
‘Upstairs, you,’ Marcy said.
‘Okay.’ They watched her pad to the stairs in her bare feet. When she got there, she turned back. ‘That Tommy and Tuppence restaurant was right up the street from our hotel. When we went to the art museum in the rent-a-dent, I saw the sign.’
19
‘Tell me about the cut,’ Ralph said.
Marcy put her hands on her hips. ‘Why? So you can make it into some kind of big deal? Because it wasn’t.’
‘He’s asking because it’s the only thing he’s got,’ Alec said. ‘But I’m interested, too.’
‘If you’re too tired—’ Howie began.
‘No, that’s all right. It wasn’t a big deal, just a scrape, really. Was that the second time he visited his father?’ She lowered her head, frowning. ‘No, it was the last time, because we flew home the next morning. When Terry left his father’s room, he smacked into an orderly. He said neither of them was looking where he was going. It would have been no more than bump and excuse me, but a janitor had just finished mopping the floor, and it was still wet. The orderly slipped and grabbed Terry’s arm, but went down anyway. Terry helped him up, asked if he was all right, and the guy said he was. Ter was halfway down the hall before he saw his wrist was bleeding. One of the orderly’s nails must have gotten him when he grabbed Terry, trying to stay on his feet. A nurse disinfected it and put on a Band-Aid, like Sarah said. And that’s the whole story. Does it solve the case for you?’
‘No,’ Ralph said. But it wasn’t like the yellow bra strap. This was a connection – a confluence, to use Jeannie’s word – he thought he could nail down, but he would need Yune Sablo’s help. He stood up. ‘Thanks for your time, Marcy.’
She favored him with a cold smile. ‘That’s Mrs Maitland to you.’
‘Understood. And Howard, thanks for setting this up.’ He extended his hand to the lawyer. For a moment it just hung there, but in the end, Howie shook it.
‘I’ll walk you out,’ Alec said.
‘I think I can find my way.’
‘I’m sure you can, but since I walked you in, it makes a nice balance.’
They crossed the living room and went down the short hall. Alec opened the door. Ralph stepped out, and was surprised when Alec stepped out after him.
‘What was it about the cut?’
Ralph eyed him. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I think you do. Your face changed.’
‘A little acid indigestion. I’m prone to it, and that was a tough meeting. Although not as tough as the way the girl looked at me. I felt like a bug on a slide.’
Alec closed the door behind them. Ralph was two steps down, but because of his height, the two men were still almost eye to eye. ‘Going to tell you something,’ Alec said.
‘All right.’ Ralph braced himself.
‘That arrest was fucked. Fucked to the sky. I’m sure you know that now.’
‘I don’t think I need another scolding tonight.’ Ralph started to turn away.
‘I’m not done.’
Ralph turned back, head lowered, feet slightly spread. It was a fighter’s stance.
‘I don’t have any kids. Marie couldn’t. But if I’d had a son your boy’s age, and if I had solid proof that a homicidal sexual deviant had been important to him, someone he looked up to, I might have done the same thing, or worse. What I’m saying is that I understand why you lost perspective.’
‘All right,’ Ralph said. ‘It doesn’t make things better, but thanks.’
‘If you change your mind about telling me what it was about the cut, give me a call. Maybe we’re all on the same side here.’
‘Goodnight, Alec.’
‘Goodnight, Detective. Stay safe.’
20
He was telling Jeannie how it went when his phone rang. It was Yune. ‘Can we talk tomorrow, Ralph? There was something weird in that barn where the kid found the clothes Maitland was wearing in the railway station. More than one thing, actually.’
‘Tell me now.’
‘No. I’m going home. I’m tired. And I need to think about this.’
‘Okay, tomorrow. Where?’
‘Someplace quiet and out of the way. I can’t afford to be seen talking to you. You’re on administrative leave, and I’m off the case. Actually, there is no case. Not with Maitland dead.’
‘What’s going to happen with the clothes?’
‘They’re going to Cap City for forensics examination. After that, they’ll be turned over to the Flint County Sheriff’s Department.’
‘Are you kidding? They should be with the rest of the Maitland evidence. Besides which, Dick Doolin can’t blow his own nose without an instruction manual.’
‘That may be true, but Canning Township is county, not city, which makes it the sheriff’s jurisdiction. I heard Chief Geller was sending a detective out, but just as a courtesy.’
‘Hoskins.’
‘Yeah, that was the name. He’s not here yet, and by the time he makes it, everyone will be gone. Maybe he got lost.’
More likely stopped somewhere for a few pops, Ralph thought.
Yune said, ‘Those clothes will end up in an evidence box at the sheriff’s department, and they’ll still be there when the twenty-second century dawns. No one gives a shit. The feeling is Maitland did it, Maitland’s dead, let’s move on.’
‘I’m not ready to do that,’ Ralph said, and smiled when Jeannie, sitting on the sofa, made fists and popped two thumbs up. ‘Are you?’
‘Would I be talking to you if I was? Where should we meet tomorrow?’
‘There’s a little coffee shop near the train station in Dubrow. O’Malley’s Irish Spoon, it’s called. Can you find it?’
‘No doubt.’
‘Ten o’clock?’
‘Sounds good. If I have to roll on something, I’ll call and reschedule.’
‘You have all the witness statements, right?’
‘On my laptop.’
‘Make sure you bring it. All my stuff is at the station, and I’m not supposed to be there. Got a lot to tell you.’
‘Same here,’ Yune said. ‘We may crack this yet, Ralph, but I don’t know if we’ll like what we find. This is a pretty deep forest.’
Actually, Ralph thought as he ended the call, it’s a cantaloupe. And the damn thing is full of maggots.
21
Jack Hoskins stopped at Gentlemen, Please on his way to the Elfman property. He ordered a vodka-tonic, which he felt he deserved after being called back from his vacation early. He gulped it, then ordered another, which he sipped. There were two strippers on stage, both still fully dressed (which in Gentlemen meant they were wearing bras and panties), but humping at each other in a lazy way that gave Jack a moderate boner.
When he took out his wallet to pay, the bartender waved it away. ‘On the house.’
‘Thanks.’ Jack dropped a tip on the bar and left, feeling in a marginally better mood. As he got moving again, he took a roll of breath mints from the glovebox and crunched a couple. People said vodka was odorless, but that was bullshit.
The ranch road had been strung off with yellow police tape – county, not city. Hoskins got out, pulled up one of the stakes the tape was tied to, drove through, and replaced the stake. Fucking pain in the ass, he thought, and the ass-pain only deepened when he arrived at a cluster of ramshackle buildings – a barn and three sheds – to discover no one was there. He tried to call in, wanting to share his frustration with someone, even if it was only Sandy McGill, who he regarded as a prissy twat of the first order. All he got was static on the radio, and of course there was no cell service out here in South Jerkoff.
He grabb
ed his long-barreled flashlight and got out, mostly to stretch his legs; there was nothing to be done here. It was a fool’s errand, and he was the fool. A hard wind was blowing, hot breath that would be a brushfire’s best friend if one got started. There was a grove of cottonwoods clustered around an old water pump. Their leaves danced and rustled, their shadows racing across the ground in the moonlight.
There was more yellow tape stretched across the entrance to the barn where the clothes had been found. Bagged and on their way to Cap City by now, of course, but it was still creepy to think that Maitland had come here at some point after killing the kid.
In a way, Jack thought, I’m retracing his path. Past the boat landing where he changed out of his bloody clothes, then to Gentlemen, Please. He went to Dubrow from the titty-bar, but then he must have circled back to … here.
The open barn door was like a gaping mouth. Hoskins didn’t want to go near it, not out here in the middle of nowhere and not on his own. Maitland was dead and there were no such things as ghosts, but he still didn’t want to go near it. So he made himself do just that, step by slow step, until he could shine his light inside.
Someone was standing at the rear of the barn.
Jack uttered a soft cry, reached for his sidearm, and realized he wasn’t wearing it. The Glock was in the small Gardall safe he kept in his truck. He dropped the flashlight. He bent and scooped it up, feeling the vodka surging around in his head, not enough to make him drunk, just enough to make him feel woozy and unsteady on his feet.
He shone the light back into the barn, and laughed. There was no man, just the hame of an old harness, nearly busted into two pieces.
Time to get out of here. Maybe stop at Gentlemen’s for one more drink, then home and straight to b—
There was someone behind him, and this was no illusion. He could see the shadow, long and thin. And … was that breathing?
