by Lisa Gardner
Rainie ignored his comments. “Whose bike, Charlie?”
“Why? Gonna make me an offer?”
“Whose bike, Charlie?”
“Mine—”
“It’s sized for an eight-year-old.”
“I’m nostalgic.”
“Really? And here I thought you were just a lying piece of shit. Get off the bike, Charlie, and put your hands in the air.”
Charlie finally dropped his James Dean routine long enough to scowl and whine. “Hey, I won the bike fair and square. It’s not my fault the kid never learned to dodge left in a fight.”
“I said now.”
“I’m on my father’s property—”
“Now!”
Charlie finally went quiet. He stared at her. He stared at Quincy. Then he grudgingly swung a leg over the bike and let it drop to the ground. “All right, all right, don’t get your panties in a wad.”
“Hands in the air. Turn around. Place them against the tree trunk. Spread your legs.”
“You’re gonna pat me down? Over stealing a bike?”
“Who said this had anything to do with a bike?”
“What the—”
He was too late. Rainie had already gotten close enough to hook her foot around his. She twisted him straight into the tree trunk, planted his hands above his head, and frisked him. A minute later she was the proud owner of a corkscrew, a switchblade, two hundred dollars cash, and a roll of quarters.
Quincy helped himself to the coins. He hefted the roll in his hand, fisted his fingers around it, and admired the weight. Charlie Kenyon knew how to pack a punch.
“Slow nights, Mr. Kenyon?” he asked Charlie.
Rainie released her pressure on the teen’s back. He turned around unhurriedly, making a big show of shaking out his arms and fussing with the collar of his leather jacket. After smoothing back his brown wavy hair, he gave Quincy a disdainful stare.
“I’m sorry,” the teen said with bracing sarcasm, “but I didn’t catch your name.”
“Supervisory Special Agent Pierce Quincy. FBI.”
“Ah shit,” Charlie said.
Rainie finally smiled. “Funny, your father said the same thing when I spoke to him this afternoon. It appears it’s one thing to tangle with the locals, but not even your father feels like messing with the feds.”
“You can take the bike.”
“No kidding. Charlie, tell us about Danny O’Grady.”
“What?”
“You heard me. We want to know everything you ever said to Danny. And if I were you, I’d give us absolute cooperation, because a few eyewitnesses have already told us enough to book you as an accomplice to murder. You’re nineteen, Charlie. You end up aiding and abetting a mass murder, and there’s nothing your pissant ex-mayor father can do to help you anymore. You graduate to a whole new league of adult delinquency. We’re talking hard time, and not even at one of those lovely country-club prisons. You’d get the real thing.”
“Hey, hey, hey, hey.” Charlie held up two hands and made a big show of backing off. “You think I was involved with hurting those girls? No way, no how. I got an alibi.” He gave Quincy a look. “And she’s real sweet, if you know what I mean.”
“Why were you hanging out at the elementary school? Are high school kids too tough for you? Bigger, stronger, might actually put up a fight?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just got a thing for jungle gyms.”
“I’m getting angry, Charlie. I’m not getting a lot of sleep these days, and the mayor told me this morning to do whatever’s necessary to solve this case, so I wouldn’t make me angry right now.”
“I got a federal witness,” Charlie said promptly.
Quincy looked at the sky. “Where?”
“Shit, I thought you guys had standards.”
Quincy eyed Rainie balefully. “I guess that explains Waco.”
Charlie flinched. “This just burns me, man.”
“My heart’s breaking,” Rainie assured him. “Why were you at the elementary school, Charlie?”
“’Cause I get bored, okay? ’Cause there’s nothing to do in Bitchville, U.S.A., and sometimes I need a little distraction.”
“Is that what Danny O’Grady was to you? Distraction?”
Charlie shrugged. “Danny was interesting. Real potential, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t. He was a good student, smart, stayed out of trouble. The only potential I saw in him was to get a lot further in life than you ever will.”
Charlie turned away from her. He looked at Quincy slyly. “You know what I mean, don’t you, fed? I’ve heard about you. You’re some big-shot profiler. Best there ever was, put away the infamous Jim Beckett. Dazzle me, fed. It’s damn slow around here. I need someone to say something interesting just so I can stay awake.”
“I think you should keep doing the talking,” Quincy said evenly. “Us law-enforcement types have a hang-up about hearing things in your own words. Besides, I’m sure you love to listen to yourself speak.”
“You’re no fun.”
“It’s a job requirement.”
“Charlie, what were you doing with Danny?”
“Nothing, okay? Exercising our First Amendment rights. You come down on me for that and I’ll sic the ACLU all over your small-town ass.”
Rainie turned to Quincy. “This isn’t working for me.”
“He seems very belligerent,” Quincy agreed.
“I think we’re going to have to do something about that.”
“Harm a single dead-skin cell on my head and my father will sue you back to the Stone Age.”
“At this point, your father would have to get in line.” Rainie turned back to Quincy. She said thoughtfully, “I’m thinking hair or jacket.”
Quincy carefully scrutinized Charlie’s black biker jacket and meticulously styled hair.
“Jacket,” he said.
“Okay.” Rainie stepped forward. Charlie saw her coming and tried to duck right. She countered, found a sleeve, and neatly spun Charlie around. A second later she held the black leather jacket and Charlie stood stunned.
Rainie smiled at him. She was in such a dark mood these days. She didn’t want to deal with punks. She was sick of kids who wielded guns and switchblades with no real concept of death.
“We’re going to play a game, Charlie. I’m going to ask questions. You’re going to answer. Quincy, the expert, is going to evaluate your answers for truthfulness. If he doesn’t like what you say—or you make me angry again—I’m going to start slicing up your coat. You give me lip, your jacket loses a sleeve. Got it?”
“It’s just a dumb jacket. I can buy a new one.”
“Okay.” Rainie opened his switchblade and found the collar.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” Charlie was panting. His gaze was locked down on the collar, and perspiration beaded his upper lip. The jacket was old and sported a biker gang’s symbol on the back. The kid could deny it all he wanted, but Quincy and Rainie had him pegged. The jacket was part of Charlie Kenyon’s costume, and he felt overexposed without it. They might as well have snatched Superman’s cape.
“First question, Charlie. Why were you hanging out with Danny O’Grady?”
“Because he was cool, all right?”
“Danny is a computer geek. How is that cool?”
“No, no, no.” Charlie was shaking his head. “You don’t get it. You had to look in his eyes. He was old, man. And . . . and . . . angry. At his father. I know these things.”
“Danny’s a kindred spirit?” Rainie asked dryly.
“Something like that.”
“What about Melissa Avalon?” Quincy interjected. “What was she?”
Charlie’s answer was more forthcoming. “She was hot! Jesus, fed, did you look at her? Whoa, mama.”
“You ever approach her?”
“Sure, I tried.” He shrugged, his hands digging into his pockets. He was definitely self-conscious without his jac
ket. “She, uh, was intimidated by my good looks. Besides, I heard later I violated her age rules. Avalon had a geezer fetish.”
“Was she a kindred spirit?”
“What d’you mean? Oh, was she angry? I don’t know. Didn’t seem angry to me. You should ask Danny. He was the one spending so much time with her.”
“Did he ever mention his feelings for Miss Avalon to you?”
“Didn’t have to. The boy was lovesick for her. You could see it all over his face.”
“Did Avalon know this?”
“Probably. I don’t think puppy crushes were new to her.”
“How did she treat Danny?”
“I don’t know. I hung around the school grounds, not the freaking computer lab.”
“Did Danny know about her ‘geezer fetish’?”
“Sure, I told him. What, you guys think Danny killed her in a jealous rage? Nah, you don’t get it.” Charlie shook his head, sounding honest for the first time. “Danny’s smarter than you think. He knew he liked her, but hell, she was a teacher. He understood what that meant. Worship from afar, end of story. He wasn’t imagining white picket fences or the mother of his children. The kid’s thirteen, for chrissakes.”
“What about the other two girls?” Rainie asked. “Sally and Alice?”
“Couldn’t pick them out of a lineup if I tried.”
“Are you going to go to the funerals, Charlie?”
He shrugged. “The old man’s making me.”
“Do you think it’s sad that they’re dead?”
“Don’t know them. Don’t care.”
“You’re a real hard-ass, aren’t you, Charlie Kenyon?”
“You’re the one threatening my jacket.”
“Did you ever talk to Danny about killing people?”
“We talked about lots of stuff.”
“Charlie.” She held up the switchblade, then his jacket.
Charlie’s jaw hardened. She thought he was going to freeze up on her. Then she moved the blade closer to the collar and he surrendered again.
“Yeah. Sure. You wanna know? Sometimes I dream of blowing this whole freaking town off the map. I dream of getting my hands on a big motherfucking nuke and saying sayonara, babe. You know, plant life grows back bigger and stronger after a nuclear holocaust. Maybe that’s what this town needs.”
“You told all this to a thirteen-year-old boy?”
“Only after he told me he wanted to hack his father into twenty different pieces and run him through a blender.”
Rainie stared at him. A muscle worked in her jaw. She said with more anger than she wanted to give away, “A child tells you he fantasizes about murdering his own father, and you didn’t think to go to the police?”
“Who am I going to go to? Shep, his dad? Or, better yet, you?” Charlie chuckled unkindly. “Isn’t that a pretty picture? Half this town still talks about what you did to your mother. What would you have done with Danny? Mail him a shotgun?”
“I never harmed my mother,” Rainie said hotly. “And if I had done such a thing, I’d be in prison where I’d belong, not standing here talking to you.”
But Charlie had that sly look back on his face. “I know, I know,” he said with a conspirator’s wink. “The fed’s here. You don’t want to blow your cover. That’s all right. But you don’t have to lie to me, babe. I’m telling you, I can see these things. And you’re a member of the cool-kids club too. Hell, around here, you’re probably the charter member.”
“One last question,” Quincy interjected quickly, because the shotgun comment had pushed Rainie to the brink and they all knew it. “Did Danny ever mention an on-line friend to you? Someone named No Lava?”
“Computer geek? Yeah, maybe. Danny was always into something. I didn’t know how one person could spend so much time staring at a screen.”
“Did you ever see any of the e-mails?”
“What the hell would I want with them?”
“Danny really liked No Lava. Maybe you were jealous.”
“Look, I’ve never even heard of this No Lava, and frankly, the name sounds like an impotent dude to me. Danny liked mail, okay? Six months ago, eight months ago, I don’t remember, he was all excited about someone he’d met on-line. He was always having to go check his frigging e-mail. That’s all I know.”
“You encouraged him,” Rainie said softly. “Danny was troubled and you helped push him over the edge. Now three people are dead, and some of that’s on your head, Charlie. You’re going to have to live with that.”
“Who gives a fuck? Legally, I’m free as a bird. Now, give me my jacket back. As much fun as this has been, I got places to go and people to see.”
“Sure,” Rainie said. She smiled at him. Then she raised the switchblade and sliced the collar clean off his coat.
Charlie shrieked. Quincy took a shocked step forward.
Rainie retrieved the severed piece of leather. A moment later she squeezed the long plastic bag of white powder from the collar onto her palm.
“Heroin. About three ounces of it, which would make a little more than simple possession. Congrat-ulations, Charlie. Legally speaking, your troubles are just beginning.”
“Goddamn cunt! How dare you! You’re no better than me! You’re no better than any of us!”
“Sure I am, Charlie. There are two choices for angry people in this world, and only one of them wears a badge.”
Charlie shrieked again. Rainie enjoyed loading him into the car.
TWENTY
Thursday, May 17, 9:05 P.M.
IT TOOK RAINIE four hours to process Charlie Kenyon. She had to catalog the heroin into evidence. Then she had to store it in the safe that passed as the department’s evidence locker. She’d just finished fingerprinting Charlie when his father’s lawyer arrived and tried to tell her she’d used entrapment to find the drugs. Rainie volunteered an FBI agent as her corroborating witness. FitzSimons turned downright abusive. She’d had no right to search Charlie Kenyon, no justification for mutilating his jacket, and she’d violated every constitutional law ever envisioned by the forefathers and then some.
Rainie took it in stride. It amazed her how comforting the drug bust felt after the relative chaos of the past three days. She knew Charlie, she knew FitzSimons, she knew Charlie’s dad. All the usual suspects, all the usual paperwork, all the usual crimes. She could’ve done this arrest in her sleep.
She spent two hours carefully wording the arrest report and building the file against Charlie. Then the paperwork was done and she returned to the task-force center, where the shadows had grown long and the attic office was eerily quiet. Well past ten o’clock; another long day in a long, strange case.
Luke Hayes had gone to Portland, where he would hopefully interview Melissa Avalon’s parents. Sanders was out doing God knows what Sanders did. Maybe arranging the soup cans in the grocery store or crashing a Tupperware party for more stay-fresh seals. Quincy was following up on No Lava. Or maybe he’d started in on Shep. Whatever he found, she’d probably be the last to know. She was both frustrated by that and grateful.
Now there was just her and the hum of the old computer and the buzz of all the thoughts still crowding her head.
Charlie had rattled her today. Not just with his accusations against her. Rainie knew what people thought and said. She accepted that salacious rumors would always be more appealing than cold, hard fact. It didn’t get to her.
He had spooked her with his comments about Danny.
“Only after he told me he wanted to hack his father into twenty different pieces and run him through a blender.”
Rainie couldn’t let the statement go. So much violence. So much rage. She knew these things happened. God knows, some nights . . . Huddled in the closet, bruised and shaking and still tasting the blood on her split lip. Wishing it would go away. Wishing she’d have the strength to make it stop.
The fantasies. That she’d rise up and her mother would finally cower before her. That just once she’d strik
e back, maybe slap her mother hard, and then her mother would repent, weeping, “I never knew how much it hurt. I swear I never realized. Now I know and I’ll never do it again.”
Maybe that was the difference. Through all of her pain, Rainie never forgot that Molly was her mother. And the kernel of her fantasies was still about love and forgiveness. That her mother would realize what she was doing. That she’d give up the bottle. That she’d take her little girl in her arms and swear never to hurt her again. That for once Rainie could relax in her mother’s embrace and feel safe.
Even at the worst of it, she had not wished her mother dead.
It had taken a great deal more than that to push her over the edge.
Rainie paced the tiny attic. Her body ached and her mind ached and she couldn’t stand being alone with her own thoughts anymore. She needed sleep, a decent meal, a good hard run. It was too late to jog, she had no appetite, and she was honestly afraid to close her eyes.
“What would you have done with Danny? Mail him a shotgun?”
No, she would’ve told him that she understood. She would’ve taken him to her back deck, where the mountain pines towered above them and owls hooted deep in the shadows and it was difficult to take yourself seriously when you were so small in the general scheme of things. She would’ve let him talk. Get it all out, angry child to angry child if that’s what it took. Then maybe she would’ve talked. Perhaps she would’ve told him things she’d never told anyone else. Sitting on her deck with the trees around them and the clean mountain air fresh on their faces.
Maybe she would’ve saved Danny O’Grady.
But she hadn’t done any such thing. She’d seen him just two weeks before the shooting. She’d thought he was pale and jumpy and curt with his father. And in the next instant she’d shrugged it away because, just like everyone else, she thought it was a phase. Trouble happened only in bad families. Not to a nice, ordinary kid like Danny.
She, a kindred spirit, had failed him. And she didn’t know yet how she was going to live with that.
QUINCY WAS HUNCHED over his laptop in his cramped hotel room when knocking sounded at the door. He’d been working for two hours, scouring various on-line carriers for any record of a member named No Lava. His eyes were blurry. His shoulders carried knots the size of small boulders. Every time he shifted to get more comfortable, the rickety desk threatened to collapse and take his laptop with it. Thirty minutes ago he’d started cramming crime-scene photos under the uneven legs for better support. He did not want to know what this said about his life.
