UNEASY PREY

by Annette Dashofy

  “You’re gonna call Mr. Troutman’s daughter?” Seth asked.

  “Not yet. We may drive over there.” Pete glanced at Seth’s pained face and grinned. “Or I can drop you off at the station and go by myself.”

  “No. That’s okay. It’s my job.”

  “It’s your day off.” Besides, Pete wasn’t convinced busting an old man in front of his family was the right move at the moment. He keyed in Nate’s number.

  “What’s up, Chief?” his weekend officer answered.

  “I need you to keep an eye out for Marcus Baker. You know the kid, right?”

  “Yeah, I know him.” There was a note of annoyance in Nate’s voice.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Not really. And I don’t need to keep an eye out for him. He’s standing right here in front of me. I’m currently debating whether to lock the punk up or take him home to his mama.”

  “What’s he done now?”

  “Those kids that were sled riding on the hillside near the Jennings’ place? Marcus showed up and started a fight. Busted one boy’s nose. Blackened another one’s eye. What do you think I should do with him?”

  “Hold him right there. I’m on my way.”

  Lauren sat with her hands folded and her head lowered. At first she didn’t speak.

  Zoe waited.

  Finally the reporter sighed. “You’re right. I had a dream career going back east. Big cities. Major papers. I couldn’t have asked for more.” Lauren paused. “But I did. I was working on a story. I thought it was the biggest of my career. The one that might bring a job offer from CNN.” She fell silent, staring into space at a memory that obviously pained her. She shook her head before lifting her gaze to meet Zoe’s. “It was a piece about police corruption on a huge scale. I’d started the investigation at the bottom. Worked up the ladder, finding graft at every level.”

  Zoe thought of the last article she and Sylvia had found in their online search. Police corruption.

  “I was introduced to a new source. Someone inside the department, who had information about the graft going all the way to the commissioner’s office. My editor warned me to tread lightly, but I was blind to everything except the idea of nailing this guy and moving on to a big-time television career.”

  Lauren grew quiet again, closing her eyes. Zoe wondered if she was reliving the experience inside her head—or trying to block out the memories.

  After several long moments, Lauren swiped a hand across her face. “Without boring you with all the sordid details, my new source had been planted to feed me false information. Once I’d run with the story, he recanted everything. He went so far as to show them proof that the story was a complete fabrication. Not only did I have egg on my face for that part of the investigation, but now every story I’d written was called into question. The paper fired me. Quietly, so as not to call attention to the error of their ways for ever having employed me in the first place. But everyone inside the news industry knew. No one would give me a job. Hell, I couldn’t even get hired to clean their restrooms.”

  Zoe leaned back in the chair. “Why would he do that? Ruin you, I mean.”

  Lauren huffed a humorless laugh. “He was planted by one of the police lieutenants I’d taken down. If I was proven unreliable, he could make it look like I’d falsely accused him too.”

  The reporter’s hard veneer may have crumbled, but she restrained the tears giving a sheen to her eyes. Zoe studied her. And believed her. “All right. So what’s the deal with you being here?”

  “At Golden Oaks?”

  “That too. But at this new newspaper in Phillipsburg, working on this case.”

  “I’ve spent two years trying to reestablish my credibility. Small pieces. No bylines. I could see I wasn’t ever going to get near where I used to be. But I’m a reporter. And dammit, I’m a good one. A small paper is better than none. At least I get to do what I love, and in this case, maybe help save some lives in the process.”

  “What about the Naimans?”

  “You can believe me or not, but I never heard of them before today. I didn’t warn them about you. I phoned for help and then I ran for the car because the guy who knocked you out looked in my direction. I thought he saw me and was coming after me. I thought he might have a gun.” The reporter leaned toward Zoe, holding her gaze. “I know I should’ve tried to do more, but I have to be honest. Bravery is not my strong suit. Remind me someday to tell you about the time I got shot in Philadelphia.”

  “So you’re only here to question Barbara about her grandsons?”

  Lauren squirmed, and for the first time since they’d sat down, Zoe suspected the reporter was withholding the truth. “Well?”

  “Actually, Chief Adams asked me to look into Golden Oaks in exchange for giving me the scoop on the arrests. He told me one of the residents has made some accusations. I learned the Naimans’ grandmother lived here, so I figured I could tackle both investigations at once. I came into Brunswick for the latest news conference and swung by here afterwards.” She lowered her voice. “I’m undercover. The staff thinks I’m doing a feature on health-care facilities for the elderly.”

  One of the residents. Pete hadn’t mentioned the resident in question was his father. Zoe bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Have you found anything?”

  “Not a thing. I’ve worked on stories about these kinds of places before, and I have to tell you. This is one of the nicest, most well-run senior care homes I’ve encountered.”

  Zoe closed her eyes for a moment in relief.

  “So,” Lauren said, “are we good? You and me?”

  Zoe wasn’t sure why the reporter cared, and her expression must have revealed her thoughts.

  “I’m relatively new in the area. I’m a reporter.” Lauren made self-deprecating air quotes around her job title. “So it’s doubly hard to make friends. I was serious about my love for horses. I kind of hoped…well, that you’d give me a chance to prove I’m not a jerk.”

  Zoe eyed her. “You want to prove you’re not a jerk? Go easy on Barbara Naiman.”

  Lauren winced. “You’re asking an investigative journalist to give a key resource an easy ride?”

  “No. I’m asking a former big-city reporter to give an old woman a break. She’s lost more than most of us over this situation with her grandsons.”

  Lauren contemplated Zoe’s request. Then shrugged. “You have a point, I suppose.”

  “Thanks.” Zoe stood. She’d left Patsy with Harry and Barbara long enough. And her cousin hadn’t signed on for a full afternoon of nursemaid duties.

  Lauren trailed her back to the room, where everyone was just as they’d left them.

  Harry looked up as they entered. “Zoe, I’m so glad to see you.” He patted Barbara’s arm and climbed to his feet. “I need to talk to you,” he whispered to Zoe.

  The fact that Harry didn’t remember he’d seen her only minutes earlier didn’t surprise her. That he knew her name did.

  He excused himself and took her arm, ushering her back into the hallway. “I need you to talk to Pete.”

  “Okay.” She considered asking about what, but if Harry was as lucid as he appeared, she already knew.

  Helpless desperation glistened in his eyes. “This thing with Barbara’s grandsons. He can fix it. I know he can.”

  Zoe couldn’t bring herself to destroy Harry’s hope. “I’ll talk to him.”

  Harry took her hand, clinging to it as if it was a lifeline. “Please. I realize I haven’t known Barbara all that long, but I…” He lowered his face a moment. When he lifted it to meet Zoe’s gaze again, he said, “I care about her. A lot.”

  The sorrow in the old man’s pale blue eyes—eyes that matched his son’s—ripped a hole in Zoe’s heart. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll do everything I can.”

  He smiled weakly
. “Thank you. My boy’s in love with you, you know.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

  He held onto her hand as they returned to Barbara’s room. Lauren sat on the bed beside the older woman.

  Patsy was on her feet, clearly determined not to be abandoned again. “You ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” Zoe said her goodbyes and followed her cousin into the hall.

  “Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Patsy asked as they headed for the stairs.

  “I’ll tell you on the way back to Vance Township.” Zoe already had something else on her concussion-hazed mind. “Do you mind making one more stop before dropping me off at home?”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Without wind to swirl the stuff, the snowfall created a translucent screen, cutting visibility to little more than a hundred yards. Since it was Sunday, the road crews weren’t making a big effort either. Pete was grateful for the Explorer’s heavy winter treads as he churned up the narrow road, which probably didn’t see much snowplow action even on a work day. Only one set of tracks remained visible in the couple inches of white stuff, and those were quickly filling in.

  Near the top of the hill, red and blue strobes emanating from Nate’s cruiser swept the gray-white landscape. Pete spotted his officer speaking with a half dozen kids, all in the early teen and preteen age range. An assortment of sleds, inner tubes, and toboggans littered the ground around them. Pete also noted one head visible in the backseat of the cruiser.

  With Seth at his side, Pete trudged toward the group.

  Nate looked up. “Hey, Chief.” He nodded at Seth. “Metzger.”

  Two boys sat on a downed tree, one holding a wad of bloodied tissues to his nose, the other pressed a mittened handful of snow to his eye. Pete wondered what condition Marcus was in. The rest of the kids stood in a semicircle, hands shoved in pockets or arms crossed. All of them had their shoulders hunched and chins tucked toward their chests. Embarrassed? Sullen? Obstinate? Or simply cold? Hard to tell.

  “What’s going on here?” Pete directed the question at Nate.

  The officer’s expression was easier to read than the kids’. Annoyance. “The general consensus is that Marcus Baker jumped these two without provocation.” Nate aimed his pen at the wounded pair.

  “Really?” Pete feigned mild amazement. “No provocation, huh?” He let his gaze settle on each of the kids in turn.

  A couple of them looked up at him, but quickly averted their eyes. The rest didn’t make even that much of an effort.

  Pete noticed one smaller boy standing slightly away from the group. He wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that sat askew on his face. And unlike the morose expressions the others exuded, this kid appeared more scared than inconvenienced.

  Nate again gestured at Bloody Nose and Black Eye. “I’ve called their parents. They’re on their way.”

  “Can the rest of us go now?” one of the older boys asked, his voice a whiny drone.

  The rumble of approaching vehicles drew Pete’s attention. He spotted a gray pickup grinding its way up the snow-covered road followed by a dark SUV. The parents of the injured boys, most likely. He wanted to speak to them before they collected their darlings. First though, he let his gaze sweep the rest of the kids. “Does anyone have anything they think we should know?”

  A wall of silence met his question.

  He turned his back to the boys and addressed his officers. “I assume that’s the parents.” He shifted his eyes toward the pickup. “I want to chat with them before they leave. Nate, take care of reuniting them with their offspring. Seth, take the other boys aside individually and see if anyone wants to share what happened without his buddies thinking he’s a snitch. Then let them go.” Pete eyed the loner with the bent glasses. “I want to talk to that one. Afterwards, I’ll speak with the parents.”

  They split up to herd the youngsters in different directions. The small kid with the glasses grew wide-eyed when he realized he’d been singled out by the chief of police. “Can I go home?” he said, his adolescent voice cracking.

  “In a minute. Do you mind if I ask what happened to your glasses?”

  The boy glanced around as if seeking help, but not really expecting any.

  “It’s okay, son.” Pete unzipped his coat and pulled his reading glasses from his shirt pocket. “I have them too. And I’m always sitting on them or getting bumped when I have them on. They’re a pain. Right?”

  The boy swallowed. Nodded.

  “What’s your name?”

  He hesitated. “Ethan Yancy.”

  “Yancy?” Pete thought of the township’s retired fire chief. “Any relation to Bruce Yancy?”

  The boy nodded again. “He’s my great uncle.”

  “He’s a good guy. Do you think you might want to be a firefighter when you get older?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think I’d be any good at it.”

  Raised voices drew Pete’s attention toward the vehicles. One of the mothers was yelling at Nate and waving a hand toward the squad car. Nate stood firm and emotionless, arms crossed over his massive chest. Pete started to turn back to Ethan, but the sight of Marcus’ face in the backseat window stopped him. The Baker boy wasn’t looking at the angry woman. He was watching Pete.

  Or was he watching the boy with the glasses?

  “Ethan,” Pete said, facing the youngster, “what happened to your glasses?” He expected the boy to shoot a fearful look toward the person responsible—Marcus.

  Instead, Ethan glanced at the boys who were taking their turns with Seth. “Can I go home now?”

  Pete rested a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “If someone busted your glasses, you can tell me.”

  “I just wanna go home.”

  Surrendering, Pete dug out one of his cards and scribbled his cell phone number on it before handing it to the boy. “Your Uncle Bruce and I are good friends. If anyone picks on you, you give me a call. They won’t find out you snitched. You have my word.”

  Ethan gazed at the card for a moment. Shoved it in his pocket. “Can I—”

  “Yes, you can go home now.”

  It was then that the boy turned his head toward the squad car. And Marcus. Instead of looking fearful or even smug, the boy’s expression seemed…grateful. Without a word, he grabbed a small red plastic disk, which resembled a garbage can lid, and shuffled off toward the houses on the far hillside.

  Pete turned his attention to the unhappy mother, who had at least lowered the volume of her tirade.

  The vocal woman turned out to be Broken Nose’s mother. While Black Eye’s parents seemed more interested in questioning their son about his part in the melee, Broken Nose’s mom held firm in her belief that her baby boy had been the victim of an unprovoked attack. “I want that delinquent locked up,” she bellowed while jabbing a finger in Marcus’ direction.

  By the time Pete assured her that Marcus would be held accountable for his actions and sent her and the other parents on their way with their battered sons, Seth had released the remaining boys.

  Which left Marcus simmering in the backseat of Nate’s car.

  “Have you reached his mother?” Pete asked.

  Nate removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh, knocking off a thick coating of wet snow. “There’s no answer at her residence.”

  “That’s because she’s working at her grandmother’s house.”

  “And that number’s been disconnected.” He put his hat back on, giving it a tug. “I’ve tried the cell phone number the kid gave me for her. No answer. I left messages on it and on the home phone.”

  “Try her cell again,” Pete said. “Janie may have been running the vacuum and didn’t hear the phone ringing.”

  While Nate worked on reaching her, Pete climbed in behind the wheel and twisted to glare at the boy. “Marcus, I thou
ght we’d agreed to stop meeting like this.”

  He looked uncomfortable with his wrists handcuffed behind his back. The comment didn’t seem to bother him though. He avoided Pete’s eyes, choosing to stare out the window.

  “You have the right to remain silent.” Pete watched for any reaction from the boy as he read him his Miranda rights. Other than looking bored, there was none. “Do you understand? You don’t have to answer my questions without an attorney.”

  “I understand,” Marcus muttered. “And I don’t want an attorney.”

  “All right. What did those two guys do to goad you into beating the snot out of them?”

  Either the idea of violence—or Pete’s colorful phrasing—brought a fleeting smirk to the kid’s face. But he still didn’t reply.

  “Did you bust Ethan Yancy’s glasses too?”

  That question snagged Marcus’s attention.

  “When did you start getting your jollies bullying small kids and old women?”

  “What?” Marcus snapped. “Ethan didn’t tell you I did that.”

  “No, he didn’t. But I figured while you were busy kicking ass, you must have tossed him in for good measure.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “I know you did enough damage to those other two to earn yourself a trip to juvie.”

  Marcus turned his gaze to the window again. “Whatever.”

  “You don’t deny fighting those two?”

  “Why bother? Everyone saw what happened. All of it. But the only part they’re gonna tell you is that Marcus Baker beat up a couple of dudes.”

  “And Ethan?”

  “Anyone who tells you I’m the one who done that to Ethan is a lying sack of shit.”

  Another time, Pete would have scolded the fatherless boy for his language, but they’d gone way beyond that today. He gave Marcus a moment to cool down. “All right. Why’d you beat up the other two?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Pete wanted to reach into the backseat and snatch the boy by the collar. Scare some sense into him. Nothing else had worked. But he tamped down the impulse and kept his voice calm. “Yes. It matters.”