by Ben Follows
“Why does that matter?”
“Just answer the question.”
Thomas let out an exasperated sigh. “I was at a sports bar. I was drinking with a few of my buddies until closing. Before that I was at my cottage up north all weekend. You can check with them if you really care, but I don’t think it matters.”
“I will,” said Norman, although he was certain Thomas wasn’t the person who had abducted him the previous night. He took a business card from the inside of his jacket and handed it to Thomas. “Call me if you hear anything about Joel Sweetwater.”
“Sure, whatever,” said Thomas, taking the card and flicking it before putting it into his pocket.
Norman turned and began to walk away.
“Hey, Norman,” said Thomas.
He turned back toward the young man, who was still holding the card.
Thomas grinned. “You got kicked out of the NHL because of steroids, right?”
Norman turned back to him. “Allegedly.”
Thomas laughed. “So you don’t give a shit about morals, right? That’s how you survive as a private detective, isn’t it? By taking the cases that the police don’t want to touch?”
“What do you want?”
“I assume you know about my record.”
Norman nodded, although he was shocked how candidly Thomas was talking about it.
“I do,” he said, remaining casual.
“I want to know the name of the cop who led the investigation.”
Norman frowned. “Why?”
Thomas took a few steps toward Norman and put his lacrosse stick behind his neck. Norman stood his ground.
Thomas stopped a few inches from Norman’s face.
“Here’s the thing,” said Thomas. “I wasn’t moving anywhere near enough product for the cops to be interested in me,” he said. “This was a targeted investigation because of who my family is. Whatever you’re charging those other donkeys, I’ll triple it.”
“That’s almost a thousand dollars a day.”
Thomas laughed. “You think I give a shit? I’ve had a trust fund since day one that makes your annual salary every day just from dividends. You’ll get paid. Just find the fucker who targeted me.”
Norman swallowed, thinking.
The allure of the money was too good to pass up. Norman was on the verge of losing his condo and would no longer have a place in Toronto to take care of his dogs. He had considered moving to the country, but he wouldn’t be able to get any detective work out there. Julia had said many times that she never wanted to leave Toronto. It was home, and she had no intention of leaving.
Norman said, “I want the ability to drop out of the case at any time if a conflict of interest appears.”
Thomas smirked. “You mean if you find out I’m involved in your other case? Cleanwater or whatever his name was?”
“Sweetwater. Joel Sweetwater.”
“Whatever. Are you going to take the job?”
Norman nodded. “I’ll do a preliminary investigation and get back to you in a few days.”
“Good.”
Norman went to leave then turned back. “If you don’t mind me asking, how much pull does your family have with the NHL?”
Thomas laughed. “You mean can I get you a new contract?”
“Something like that.”
“Find the cop who came after me, and I’ll look into it, okay?”
“Okay.” Norman turned and walked away, glancing back at Thomas, who had rejoined the rest of the lacrosse camp.
Norman felt a nostalgic twinge in his gut as he watched the kids run back and forth along the field. Although he had hated the drills and practices while he was in them, looking back, he missed them. There was something about the pride of working until the brink of exhaustion with twenty of your closest friends that was impossible to replicate.
He left the facility, climbed into his car, and pulled away from the camp, wondering whether he was getting closer to finding the truth about the death of Joel Sweetwater.
Chapter 9
Robin had warned Norman that her family would be uncooperative. So it was with a sense of dread that he pulled up to the house to interview them. The mailbox on the road was embroidered with their family crest, and the house looked as though it had a team of professional gardeners working around the clock. Not a rose was out of place.
Robin opened the door and ushered him inside. She gestured for him to take off his shoes and join them in the living room. The inside of the house was just as immaculate as the exterior.
The living room was large and rectangular. There were three people waiting for them. A middle-aged professional looking woman stood and introduced herself as Mary Sweetwater, Joel’s mother. She introduced the other two family members in turn.
Dr. Harold Sweetwater was Joel’s stepfather and Mary’s second husband, a stern and serious-looking man who reminded Norman of every doctor he’d ever met. Although he introduced himself as the stepfather, there was no indication of where their biological father was. Considering he’d heard nothing and that the children had their stepfather’s last name, Norman figured it was safe to say the biological father wasn’t in the picture.
The final member of the family was Amelia Sweetwater, who was sitting in the corner with a knee pulled to her chest.
Norman jumped back when he saw the girl. Amelia looked like a female version of Joel, right down to the rigid cheekbones and uneven parting of the hair. She was a mirror copy of the person Norman had seen in dozens of crime scene photos over the last couple days.
“This is Amelia,” said Mary. “She’s Joel’s twin sister.”
“Hey,” said Amelia with a complete lack of interest. Her black hair hung around the edges of her face.
Norman cleared his throat and looked at the entire family. Robin was leaning against the doorframe.
“If you don’t mind,” said Norman, taking out his notepad and clearing his throat, “I’d like to ask you all some questions. I’m aware this is very difficult. I have reason to believe there is more to Joel’s death than the police uncovered.”
“Wow,” said Amelia, looking up at him. “A detective Robin is paying thinks that there’s something fishy going on. I can’t possibly imagine any reason why you would want the case to keep going. Robin, why are you paying this moron?”
“There’s more going on,” said Robin, looking at her younger sister. “Joel didn’t kill himself.”
“That’s bullshit, and he’s playing you for a fool.” Amelia fell back into the couch and crossed her arms. “All Norman cares about is your money.”
Mary and Harold leaned against one another and glanced at Amelia.
“Please,” said Mary, gesturing to Norman. “Take a seat.”
Norman turned a chair to face the rest of the family and leaned in, his notepad in hand.
“Mary and Harold,” he said. “I’d like to start with you.”
The couple straightened their shoulders and looked at him.
“What do you want to know?” said Mary.
“Tell me about Joel. I’ve heard what he was like from Robin and a few kids who went to school with him, but I’d like to hear your opinions. Parents often see things others miss.”
“Of course,” said Mary. “Joel was always a very sweet boy. Everyone liked him, and he always managed to have a social life, even when he was deep into hockey. He was a star student. Maybe hockey was too much on top of that. He was so busy all the time. I think that he must have had some undiagnosed mental illness. There’s nothing we could have done. He could have been clinically depressed. He could have had bipolar disorder. We won’t know, but everyone has been reminding me it was nothing I could have foreseen. It’s a tragedy, but it was also fate.”
Norman made a note. “So you don’t have any doubt that it was suicide?”
“At first I thought there must be something else,” said Mary, looking down, “but the police did the investigation, and I’ve been throug
h a lot of therapy to come to terms with it. Sometimes things happen and there’s no justification.”
Norman listened and nodded. He turned to Harold. “What about you? What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” said Harold. “I think Mary’s right. We need to trust what the police say. There’s nothing we could have done.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Norman caught Amelia shaking her head.
Norman turned to Amelia. “Do you have anything to say about your brother, Amelia?”
“No.”
“Why not?” Norman said.
Amelia shrugged. “Everyone knows what happened. The cops did a thorough investigation. Leave this alone, like Robin should.”
Norman shrugged. “There’s nothing else you want to say?”
Amelia locked him in her gaze. “There’s nothing left to say.”
Chapter 10
“Sorry about Amelia,” said Robin.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Norman.
They were sitting in a coffee shop. Norman was nursing a cup of tea and using it to warm his hands. The snow had continued to fall, and he had forgotten to bring any gloves.
“She’s been through a lot,” said Robin. “Joel was her twin brother, and the cops grilled her for hours.”
“You found him. That seems worse.”
“Two sides of the same coin.”
“I suppose.”
“Anyway,” said Robin, finishing her coffee and placing the cup onto the table, “I need to get going.”
“Thanks for your help.”
Robin looked back at him. “My offer to help with the investigation is still open. If you need any help, two heads are better than one.”
“Sorry,” said Norman. “I don’t want a partner.”
Robin nodded but seemed disappointed. “Alright, I’ll see you around. Let me know if you need anything.”
She turned and walked out of the coffee shop, disappearing into the falling snow. Norman finished his tea and walked into the snow. Somehow, in the middle of March, this was the worst snowfall they’d had all year.
He drove to Vince’s warehouse studio. He was buzzed inside and met with Vince in his office.
“Norman!” said Vince, looking up from his computer as Norman walked in. “How are you doing, buddy?”
“I’m doing great. Thank you so much for getting the police report on Joel Sweetwater.”
“Of course,” said Vince. “You look serious. I suppose this isn’t a social visit.”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Vince sighed. “Are you serious? You can’t be coming by here only when you need something. It’s irritating, man.”
“I’ve been super busy.”
Vince let out an exasperated breath. “Fine, what do you need?”
“Do you know the name Thomas Ruutu?”
“No, who’s that?”
“Rich kid who spent some time in jail for selling drugs. I need to know the name of the lead detective on his case.”
“Why?”
Norman shrugged. “It’s part of an investigation.”
“Is this related to the Sweetwater case, or is this something unrelated?”
“Something else.”
Vince tapped his fingers along the top of the table. “This is the last one.”
Norman frowned. “What do you mean?”
“If you don’t start giving me more information about these cases, or at least treating me like anything more than a tool for you to use, then I’m done.”
Norman frowned. “What are you talking about, Vince? I thought you loved doing this stuff. You came to me and offered to teach me how to be a detective. Any success I’ve had is because of you.”
Vince shrugged. “Things were different then. The name Norman Green meant something. Now you’re just a washed-up hockey player. When I found out you had started your own detective agency in Toronto, I saw a chance to give back to the sport that had helped me through some of the hardest parts of my life. You aren’t part of that anymore.”
“I can’t do this without you,” said Norman. “You’re my only source.”
Vince shrugged. “Then I guess you aren’t as good a detective as everyone thinks you are. I’ll get you the report on the Ruutu kid, but after that I’m done.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know,” said Vince, leaning back and crossing his legs. “What can you offer me?”
“I don’t know,” said Norman after a pause.
“You better figure it out,” said Vince, “or your business is in trouble.”
Norman sighed. “You can say that again.”
Chapter 11
Norman was lying awake, staring at the ceiling of his and Julia’s bedroom. Julia was sleeping soundly a foot away, her breath a gentle rhythm.
There was a knock on the door. Norman jerked his head off his pillow and glanced at the clock on the side table. It was 2:58 in the morning on a Tuesday.
He climbed out of bed.
There was another knock, more frantic this time.
Norman walked through the living room. The dogs perked up their heads as he walked past but didn’t respond to the knocking. They had been trained by Julia to not react. It would have been too much chaos for a dozen dogs to be running at every guest who came into the condo. They had been even more docile than usual since Teddy’s disappearance, as though they knew what had happened.
Norman looked through the peephole and frowned. Standing just outside the door was Amelia Sweetwater. She was pacing back and forth across the hallway, her hands balled into fists and her hair a mess. She looked as though she had just rolled out of bed and come to his condo.
Norman took a deep breath and opened the door. The moment the door opened a crack, Amelia barged into the condo, slamming the door against the wall and sending Norman stumbling backward into the closet door.
“Asshole!” she screamed, launching at him with her fists flying. “You did this! What the fuck were you thinking? You think you’re so goddamn special. You piece of shit! Fuck you!”
Norman backed against the wall and managed to grab Amelia’s fists as they were swinging through the air.
“Calm down,” he said. “The dogs.”
Amelia turned her head, and her eyes opened wide. There were six dogs standing in the hallway, baring their teeth at her and growling under their breath.
“What the fuck?” said Amelia, her anger dissipated by her confusion.
“What happened?” said Norman.
Amelia looked up at him, her anger dissipating as she fought to keep back her tears.
“What happened?” said Norman.
Amelia looked down at the ground and whispered, so softly Norman could barely hear it, “Robin’s dead.”
Chapter 12
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Green,” said Detective Dennis Franklin, a broad-shouldered cop with a thick mustache resting on his upper lip. They were sitting in the kitchen of the Sweetwaters’ home. It was still dark outside. The clock in the kitchen indicated it was four in the morning.
The moment Norman heard what had happened, he insisted that Amelia take him to where it had happened. She had initially been reluctant, but he managed to convince her that he had nothing to do with Robin’s death and that he only wanted to help.
The ride back to the Sweetwaters’ house had been in complete silence, and Amelia had refused to give any details about what had happened, only that it was at their parents’ house.
They arrived and he introduced himself. Detective Franklin immediately separated them.
“What happened to Robin?” said Norman.
Franklin eyed him. “You don’t know anything about this?”
“Should I?”
“Maybe.”
Norman looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Mr. Green,” said Franklin, “we believe she was killed investigating her brother’s death.”
Norman frowned. “You need
to let me see the crime scene,” he said. “She might have discovered something that could be crucial to solving her brother’s murder.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Green,” said Franklin, “you need to stop investigating this case. If you know anything, tell me now. We will resume the investigation and look into it.”
Norman thought for a moment. “Tell me what happened, and I’ll leave the case alone.”
Franklin put a hand on his shoulder. “You were just doing your job.”
Norman shrugged off his hand. “Tell me if it was my fault.”
“I don’t think so. I need you to tell me exactly what you’ve found thus far.”
Norman looked around the small den and at the furnishings that had surrounded Robin during her childhood. All these things had made an impact on her life.
“Show me the crime scene and tell me how she died,” he said, “then I’ll tell you everything I’ve found.”
Franklin thought for a moment then nodded. “Come with me.”
Norman followed Franklin out of the room. In the living room, the rest of the Sweetwater family was sitting with another cop, who was asking them questions.
Franklin and Norman grabbed their coats and walked into the backyard, which was illuminated by so many spotlights it may as well have been daytime. CSI teams were moving between their trucks and the crime scene.
Franklin led the way. He raised the crime scene tape so Norman could get underneath. Norman stood back as Franklin told the investigators to stand back. After a moment, they did so, giving Norman his first look at Robin’s body.
She was lying on the ground face first in the snow. A small layer of snow had gathered on top of her. The back of her head had a bloody bullet hole.
“When was she found?” said Norman, putting his hand over his mouth to quell his nausea.
Franklin rubbed his hands together. “She was found at 2:00 a.m. by Amelia, who screamed and biked to your condo for some reason. I guess in her panic she thought you were responsible. The scream woke up the rest of the family, and they called us. CSI puts the time of death closer to midnight.”
