New Blood

by Shane Lusher

  “It’s been a long day,” I said.

  “Come,” Trueblood said, pulling up another wrought-iron chair. “Sit, sit.”

  I mumbled that I could only stay for a few minutes, and then I sank down into the chair.

  “Beer?” Trueblood asked.

  “No thanks,” I said. “Let’s get down to it.”

  Anderson stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and leaned forward on his knees.

  “You’ve been asking questions about Randall Dubois,” he said without preamble.

  I wondered where he’d gotten the information, but I knew better than to ask: not many people had been honest with me in the past forty-eight hours, and I didn’t expect anyone to start.

  “I have,” I said.

  “Can you please tell us what Randall Dubois has to do with the murder of Mr. Trueblood’s daughter?”

  I shook my head and leaned forward. “Maybe nothing,” I said. “But I should ask you the same question. I know that you three,” I indicated Trueblood with a glance, “Go way back.”

  Anderson opened his mouth, but didn’t respond. He also didn’t look at Trueblood. He pinched his lower lip and appeared to be considering something.

  “Why don’t you tell me what Dubois has to do with this case? It would make what I’m doing a hell of a lot easier,” I finished. I leaned back in the chair and waited.

  Anderson glanced at Trueblood, whose face hadn’t changed from its usual, jovial smile, and then said to me:

  “We go way back because we have all three lived here for a long time. We have a lawyer, a sheriff, and an insurance salesman,” he said, spreading his arms. “What do you expect?”

  “I know that you three were involved in the Quiverfull,” I said.

  Anderson made a dismissive gesture. “Business,” he said. “We all have our business interests.”

  “And then you had a falling out, sometime,” I said, looking at Trueblood. “You told me that yourself.”

  Trueblood’s smile vanished, replaced by a furrowed brow.

  “We did,” he said. “It’s not something I like to talk about.”

  “I gathered that,” I said.

  Anderson snorted. “Come on, Wayne, these things happen,” he said. “He’s going to find out on his own anyway.”

  Trueblood sighed and stood up. He walked over to the pool and bent down to fish out a piece of debris, a dead insect. He remained squatting and looked up at me.

  “Dubois had an affair with my wife,” he said and looked off across the pool. “My first wife. We kept it quiet, got a divorce. I suppose I was acting in my own interests when I decided it was time to get him out of office.”

  I considered that. “You were divorced in 1990?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “And you waited nearly twenty years to get your revenge?” I asked.

  Trueblood shrugged. “Ullie?” he said, standing up.

  Anderson took his time lighting a cigarette, then held it between his thumb and forefinger as he looked at me.

  “We cut him out,” he said in his raspy voice. “He only owned ten per cent, but we made it clear to him he would have to sell to us.”

  I watched as he put the cigarette back to his lips. I remembered he’d told me the day before that he was Dubois’ attorney, as well. I wondered how he juggled that with the stance he was taking with Trueblood.

  “Or what?” I asked.

  Anderson shrugged. “You don’t do business with people who screw with you,” he said.

  “So, he sold you his ten per cent, and then after twenty years, you decide his time is up?”

  Anderson looked over at Trueblood.

  “What?” I asked. I got up out of the chair and walked a distance away from them, to the edge of the terra cotta tile, before turning around. “What is the big fucking secret here?” I asked. “Wayne. Do you or do you not want me to figure out who killed your daughter?”

  Wayne sighed loudly, blowing his cheeks out, and stood up.

  “Randy was fine up until four or five years ago,” he said. “And then his wife died—cancer—and he started getting a little—unstable.”

  “Unstable how?” I asked.

  “He started following Hannah around,” Trueblood said. “At first, we figured it’s a small place, no reason Randy wouldn’t wind up at the same functions she did.

  “But then when he would be sitting in his car across from Colby’s school when Hannah picked her up—this was before she could drive, when she was around twelve or thirteen—we started to get worried. To tell you the truth, I didn’t believe it at first. Hannah has been a good wife, but there have always been emotional things I’ve had to consider. But when she started writing down all of the—incidents—I went in and spoke to Randy about it.”

  I looked over at Anderson, who was watching Trueblood, a calculating look in his eyes.

  “How did he react?” I asked.

  “He said he was worried that she might be in danger. Colby, he said, that Colby might be in danger.”

  “From who?” I asked.

  “He didn’t say,” Trueblood admitted. “And then it stopped. You’re going to find out about this sooner or later, but I raised the amount on Colby’s life insurance policy a month before she died. The reason I did that was that Randy had begun following her around again.”

  I waited for him to continue.

  “Only this time it was different.” He put his hands in his pockets and kicked at something on the ground. “He’d ticket her for one thing or another. Speeding, when she was only going two or three miles over the speed limit. Once he stopped her and gave her a citation because her tires were not inflated to the proper limit.”

  If I hadn’t heard that one before, I might not have believed it: a friend of mine had once dated the ex-wife of a cop, and the man had begun stalking him. He’d gotten a fine for the exact same thing.

  “Okay, so what?” I said. “So, you go to the State’s Attorney, you go to Internal Affairs at the State Police, or whoever is in charge of that. Why didn’t you do any of that?”

  Trueblood looked at me for a moment, his face stricken.

  “I never would have thought he could do it,” he said. “I wasn’t in fear for Colby’s life.”

  “You must have been,” I said, “Otherwise you wouldn’t have changed the life insurance policy.”

  I pointed at Anderson. “Why is he here?”

  Anderson came up out of his chair, tottering a bit, and then looked me in the eye.

  “He is here to make sure that you are not harassing his wife any longer,” Anderson said. “Hannah is not in a very good state at this point in time, and she does not need you to make her feel any worse.”

  Trueblood spoke up. “Look, Dana, I know you’re doing your best,” he said. “But I needed you to be looking into who did this to Colby. I figured-” He raised his arms and dropped them.

  Anderson made a dismissive gesture with one hand and then pointed a gnarled finger in my direction.

  “You want to continue to pursue a private investigation of your brother’s murder, you go ahead. You want to help Mr. Trueblood’s son figure out that two junkies were killed by another junkie, go ahead. But you are no longer to continue your investigation into the circumstances surrounding the death of Colby Trueblood.”

  I watched Anderson, who was panting now with the effort of his short speech.

  “You knew my grandfather,” I said, repeating what he’d told me twice in as many days, for lack of anything else to say.

  “I did,” Anderson said. “And he would have known better.”

  I looked over at Wayne, who had his gaze fixed on the ground. I waited until he looked up, a sad smile on his face, the bags under his eyes glistening a bit in the late afternoon sun.

  “I’m sorry, Dana,” he said. “I really am. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this. I just wanted-”

  “Why do you have insurance policies on all the children who go through the Quiverful
l?” I interrupted.

  Trueblood’s eyes widened at that, but only for a moment, and then his face molded back into its characteristic smile. “Now, hold on-”

  “Enough!” Anderson boomed. That set off a fit of coughing, during which he limped around the end of his chaise longue and placed himself between me and Trueblood. “You need to exit the premises at this moment. If you don’t, I will inform the police and I will file for a temporary restraining order to ensure that you allow these people to grieve.”

  To allow these people to grieve?

  I raised both hands, palms out, and backed out into the yard. I was late, I hadn’t expected any of this, and I needed to leave anyway.

  “I was just leaving,” I said.

  When I got back to the car, I made sure the nine millimeter was still in the glove compartment before I pulled out of the driveway and turned right on Broadway toward Pekin.

  Thirty-Eight

  Kelly emerged from the front door carrying a suitcase. She walked down the wooden steps and waved at me as she opened up the back of the SUV.

  She was dressed to the nines, wearing a yellow cotton summer dress with a floral pattern that revealed just enough of her front to remain tasteful, her hair piled up on top of her head and pinned.

  I thought then, for the first time, that I could probably make a good life with her.

  Erin and Casey came out of the house carrying backpacks, completing the picture. When Erin saw me, she ran down the driveway and across the lawn to lean into the open passenger window.

  “Dana, I’m so excited! Did you know we’re going to the Hard Rock Café?” she said and then sniffed.

  “Why does your car smell like onions? Gross!”

  I smiled at her and then switched off the cell phone in my hand. I couldn’t remember who I’d been planning on calling.

  We had just hit I-74 toward Bloomington, Kelly driving and the girls giggling in the back seat in anticipation of what the weekend held in store, when I thought about trying Rassi one last time.

  “Shit,” I said. The girls giggled again.

  “What’s wrong?” Kelly asked as she shifted into fifth and settled back into the seat.

  “I was going to try to get in touch with Rassi,” I said. I’d already filled her in on my conversation with Anderson and Trueblood. She’d actually appeared relieved. She seemed to think it was for the best and told me that I should just let it go.

  “Sorry,” I said. I worked my cell out of the pocket of the cargo pants I’d put on in place of the sodden suit pants after showering at Kelly’s.

  She reached over and touched my arm, and then grabbed the phone out of my hand.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hay is for horses,” Kelly said. The girls groaned.

  “Erin, could you put this somewhere he can’t find it?” Kelly said. She looked over at me, her eyes sparkling. “It’s the weekend. This isn’t the Chicago P.D. Besides. Most men would be overjoyed to get to spend time alone with three women.”

  I opened my mouth to protest and then shut it. She was right, anyway, and besides, I would much rather have watched the cotton of her dress move along her legs as she drove than talk to Dave Rassi any day.

  “What are we listening to?” I asked, poking at the radio.

  “Don’t change it!” Erin squealed from the back seat.

  “What is this?” I asked. “Prince?”

  Kelly glanced over at me.

  “Who’s Prince?” Casey called out. “This is Robin Thicke.”

  “He’s hot,” Erin added.

  “Jesus,” I mumbled under my breath. “They’re only nine years old.”

  “And counting,” Kelly murmured. “Besides. He is.”

  “Great,” I said.

  “Remember Growing Pains? Alan Thicke? The dad?”

  “Jesus,” I said again. “Are we going to listen to this the whole way?”

  “It could be worse,” Kelly said as we passed Goodfield and descended into the Mackinaw River Valley. “They could make us listen to old Van Halen tapes the whole trip.”

  We’d gotten out of Pekin in good time, but after two bathroom breaks and the McDonald’s at Dwight just south of I-80 the girls had begged us into, it was just after 7:30 by the time we got to Michigan Avenue and into the parking garage on Ontario.

  I’d forgotten to make sure that we had adjoining rooms, but the clerk at the reception desk looked at the four of us and made that jump.

  “One room for you two,” she said as she handed Erin one of the key cards and me the other. “And one for you.”

  I hadn’t discussed sleeping arrangements with Kelly, but other than a quiet exchange between Erin and Casey, nobody seemed to have an issue with it and so neither did I. We would figure it out when the time came, I guessed.

  It didn’t come up, either, when we checked out the rooms and stowed our luggage, the girls already ooh-ing and ah-ing at the view from the tenth floor, and I decided I would just play it by ear.

  The girls were discussing the fancy nature of the translucent amber soap when I ushered them back outside. It was 8:00 already and I was worried we would lose our table. Never having actually been to the Hard Rock Café, I wasn’t sure what the wait would be like for people who’d missed their reservations.

  “Can we watch pay-per-view tonight when we get back?” Casey asked as we went back out into the hallway toward the elevator.

  “Uh,” I said. “I don’t care.” I looked at Kelly.

  “Hey, you’re the one paying, remember?”

  “Then sure,” I said. “We need to ask the front desk about parental controls, though.”

  “Please,” Kelly said.

  “Hey, I used to watch soft porn on cable when I was nine years old,” I said.

  “You did not,” she said as we got into the elevator.

  “Did so,” I said.

  “What are you talking about?” Erin asked.

  “Never mind,” Kelly said.

  We left the hotel and walked west on Ontario, the girls a few steps ahead of us, ogling the masses of people and the displays in the stores.

  “Can we come here tomorrow?” Casey asked, pointing toward the Bloomingdale’s sign as we crossed Michigan Avenue.

  “We can,” Kelly said. “Sky’s the limit.”

  She slipped her hand into mine. I glanced at her face, fresh in the summer twilight, wisps of hair curling down past her ears to the soft pronouncement of her jaw. She smiled and looked ahead, her eyes trained on the street ahead of us.

  “Is this safe?” she asked.

  “Probably,” I said. “It’s not far, though. We could take a cab.”

  “Pussy,” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

  We had just been seated at the Hard Rock—we were, after all my worries about being late, ten minutes early—and just ordered drinks (Cokes for the girls, a margarita for Kelly and a Goose Island for me) when, somewhere, my phone rang.

  Erin blushed red and looked around, and then opened up her purse. She took out my phone and looked at it and then handed it over to me.

  “Erin, you weren’t supposed to-” Kelly said as I grabbed the phone.

  It was Wayne Trueblood.

  “I need to, I mean, do you mind if I?”

  Kelly frowned and waved her hand in the air.

  “Make it quick,” she said.

  I picked up the phone and said:

  “Just a moment,” and made my way out through the front lobby and onto the sidewalk, which was actually louder than inside. Pressing my thumb into my free ear, I said:

  “Wayne. What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to apologize to you again for the way things worked out,” he said. “We shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

  I watched the cars going by on the street. “Well,” I said. “Sorry that I couldn’t be much help in the matter.”

  “I’m just curious,” Trueblood said. “Why you decided to pester my wife when you haven’t even in
terviewed any of the people who were with my daughter the night she died.”

  This wasn’t true, but I had already mentioned Pinnel’s name to Percy, and I decided that was enough.

  “That isn’t entirely correct, Wayne,” I said. “I’m not sure where you’re getting your information, but-”

  “I know pretty much everything that’s going on,” he said. “I know about Rassi’s allegations against the Sheriff. I know about my son taking over to fill his place. I know the contents of your deposition,” he said. He was breathing heavily into the phone, as if he’d just exerted himself.

  “I see,” I said.

  “Now I understand that you’ve taken the weekend off,” Trueblood said. “Chicago trip. Nice. I haven’t been up there in a while. If you have time, and the means, you should try out the Lexington. They dry-age their own beef.”

  “Okay,” I said. “This is more of a working vacation, actually. I’m meeting with some people up here.”

  “Oh,” Wayne said. “Well, then. I wouldn’t want to keep you. I just have one more question.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Was my wife actually a suspect in your investigation?”

  “Well, no,” I said. “She’s-”

  “Good,” Trueblood said. “She’s a bit upset about the whole ordeal.”

  “Wayne, I’m not sure-”

  “Thanks for taking the time,” he said. “You can get back to your dinner now.”

  “How did you know-”

  “Music. The clatter of knives and plates. Like I said, not much gets by me.”

  I didn’t say anything at that, watching the line of people waiting to get in to the restaurant behind me and the traffic going by on the street. Right then and there I decided I would be switching off my telephone for the night.

  “Enjoy your trip,” he said and hung up.

  There was something wrong about what he’d said, but I couldn’t quite place it. Something about Chicago.

  “This phone is off,” I said, powering it down and handing it over to Kelly. “Dispose of that, please.”

  Our drinks had arrived, and as we clinked glasses our waiter returned and asked us if we were ready to order. I wasn’t, but the girls and Kelly did the rounds, and by the time they were done I’d decided on fish and chips, something safe.