“Yeah. It looked brand new.”
Jerry did the math in his head while Flynn terminally pissed off another driver by riding their bumper before passing them. “Okay, so you were thirteen, right? That would make it 1992.”
“Yes.” Flynn ground the word out, his gaze fixed on the road as though they were driving backward in time.
“So, did you look at photos of vans today?”
Flynn nodded. “This afternoon. On your laptop.”
Jerry had the briefest impression Flynn wanted to say something to him about the laptop, but then everything Flynn had researched started flashing before Jerry’s eyes. Details of engine design, cargo layout, the implementation of airbags, the year Ford stopped using amber turn signals…. It was as though Flynn was rapidly flipping through pages of a tech manual in his mind. The flow of information slowed and then suddenly locked in on one particular make and model. Jerry could practically hear the click in his own head. That’s it. That’s the one.
He knew that feeling well. Would he ever experience it again, or would it only be reflected from Flynn?
“The most popular van at the time was made by Ford. Fortunately for us, 1992 was the year they did a massive redesign on the exterior of the Econoline. More aerodynamic. Sleeker, less boxy.” Flynn spoke with confidence now, describing something he was seeing in his head.
The car sped through the night, flying through pools of light cast by overhead lights on the freeway. Light, dark, light, dark. The rhythm was almost mesmerizing.
The license plate was partially covered with mud. I can’t see all the numbers, but it was a Virginia plate. It turned off the road in front of me. I remember the yellow turn signal flashing….
I stepped on something in the clay. It was one of those clip-on hair bows that girls wear. It looked like one of Rachel’s. It was dirty, though, so I tossed it on the ground.
“When the van turned, was there anything written on the side? Any logo? Words? A picture? Anything?”
Flynn shook his head. “No. Nothing. It looked off-the-lot new. The paint was shiny, despite the mud. It definitely was an Econoline. I’m sure of it.” They took the exit that would lead them back to the precinct, the streets nearly empty at this hour. The car hit a dip in the road and felt like it left the ground at the first intersection.
“Slow down a bit, will you? That’s not much to go on in court. Anything else? Besides the partial plate, I mean. Bumper stickers? Mud flaps? Red light.”
Flynn didn’t appear to have heard him.
“Red light!” Jerry shouted as they sailed through the next intersection. Fortunately, no one was coming down the adjacent road. He braced for a possible impact just the same. The car raced on without incident, and he glared at Flynn.
Flynn was oblivious, obviously casting his mind back over the day’s events.
“So,” Jerry said slowly, not letting go of the overhead handle, “how does knowing what kind of van was in the area of your sister’s disappearance help us in any way? What is it about today that makes that piece of knowledge stand out?”
Flynn made another sudden, unexpected turn onto one of the main boulevards, tires squealing.
“For fuck’s sake, Flynn! Slow down.” He hated himself for thinking it, but it had to be said. “This all happened over twenty years ago. What’s your rush? I thought we were going back to the police station.”
“Rick’s van is a 1992 Econoline.” There was no more uncertainty in Flynn’s posture. Leaning forward in his seat, both hands on the wheel, he looked like a bloodhound pulling on the end of the leash.
“How do you know?”
“I saw the date stamped on the taillight when I checked to make sure I hadn’t busted it. Clear as day. 1992. And the green paint? That wasn’t original. There was white paint underneath it.” An image of the taillight flashed into Jerry’s mind, followed by a close-up of the scrape, as though he was watching an episode of one of those edgy crime shows.
“We’re headed back to the bar to confront Rick, aren’t we?”
“How very perceptive of you, Watson.” The tightness of his delivery told Jerry Flynn wasn’t making a joke as much as playing the game. Living up to the code of the smartass investigator, making quips even as he bled out.
“Being telepathic helps.”
With a sardonic snort, Flynn put his foot down hard on the accelerator, and the engine howled.
Chapter 14
THEY PULLED into the parking lot they’d left hours before.
“You’re sure about this?” Confronting Rick in his bar felt like a bad idea.
You know we don’t have enough to take this to the police. Exultation tugged at Flynn’s control and broke free. Don’t you see? Killian’s used to make deliveries with the van. We would see it in our neighborhood sometimes. Rick was the driver then. They’d just gotten it. They hadn’t put the logo on it yet. It was him. It has to be him.
That would certainly explain the sense of guilt and shame that surrounded Rick.
Assuming it was the same van, after all this time, there would be no evidence. They had no case. It was like the search for a “cure” for the telepathy all over again. Jerry hated seeing Flynn get his hopes up one more time. Shouldn’t he be the one to dissuade Flynn from this reckless action?
Not if he wanted to have any sort of relationship with Flynn ever again.
The truth of his thoughts kept him silent as Flynn angled the car across the mouth of the drive so no one could leave the parking lot. It was empty, save for the van. Jerry reflexively checked his watch. It was just after two a.m. The bar was probably closed.
“What are we going to do?” Jerry got out of the car behind Flynn. It had gotten cooler since they’d left the bar, and damp, too. A light mist was coming down, making small halos around the streetlights.
Flynn flashed him a brief but intense look. He said we. We’re in this together.
There was just enough uncertainty in Flynn’s thought that Jerry wanted to pet him on the shoulder. He settled for a more bracing response instead. “Of course we are, you idiot.”
Flynn’s answering grin was fierce, almost feral. “Okay, come here. Look.” He took out his phone and illuminated the rear corner of the van. They bent over together to inspect the damage.
“You have a funny definition of a minor ding.” The corner of the bumper was sprung, as the end of the car had briefly hooked it.
Flynn, not unexpectedly, ignored him. “See? White paint under the green. How much you want to bet it got painted after Rachel’s murder?” He straightened suddenly. “It did. I remember it now. She was killed in late May. By June the van was a different color.” From the distant expression on his face, Jerry could tell he was seeing another place and time.
He touched Flynn on the arm. “We still don’t have enough to go on.”
Flynn flicked the light in Jerry’s eyes, shutting it off when Jerry flinched and put up a hand to shield them. “That’s why you’re going to come inside and listen to what Rick has to say for himself when I ask him some questions.” Jerry heard the snick of the cover snapping shut on the cell phone. You owe me this one.
He could hardly refuse. “What if he’s not here?”
“He’s here. The bar probably closed around one thirty or so. There’s cleanup and restocking to be done. Someone has to do inventory. Maybe even the books. He’s here all right.” Even as he spoke, there was the sound of laughter from in front of the building, and several staff members called out good nights to each other before crossing the street to where they’d parked their cars.
No one looked back at the lot where he and Flynn stood, deep in the shadow of the bar. Flynn looked at the back of the building as though he were staring at a stained glass window in a cathedral. The light over the back door shone down upon his upturned face. He was like a beautiful, terrible, avenging angel. The line where he ended and Flynn began had become blurry over the last couple of days; they were one in this.
Wha
tever went down here, Jerry would back him 100 percent.
“Wait.” Jerry stopped Flynn when he would have knocked on the back door. “You brought a gun to a meet-up with your friends?” The image of Flynn’s gun in Jerry’s shoulder holster was clear in Jerry’s mind. He’d wondered why Flynn hadn’t removed his jacket in the heat of the bar. Now he knew.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Flynn pounded the door with his fist.
“No, no I don’t. My weapon is back at the hotel, locked up in the safe. That’s where yours would be, too, if you were a sensible person.”
“Yours would be back at the apartment if I hadn’t insisted on bringing mine on this trip.” He struck the door with the edge of his fist, hard enough that Jerry knew it had to hurt.
“Someone’s coming,” Jerry said. It was hard to tell, but he thought it was Rick. The person approaching the door was certainly pissed, that’s for sure.
“We’re closed!” Rick shouted through the closed door.
“Rick, it’s me, Flynn. Open up!” Flynn shouted. He looked puzzled when Jerry smacked his arm with the back of his hand and pointed to himself. Slow realization dawning, he nodded and gestured to Jerry to do the talking.
“Flynn?” Rick didn’t sound too sure.
“Yeah, Flynn.” Jerry let friendliness ooze into his voice. “I think I left my wallet here. I can’t find it anywhere.
“No one turned in a wallet.” Rick was cautious, as well he should be. Bars were nice targets for robbery, especially on a Saturday night when the till was full. Flynn had made Rick suspicious by speaking out of turn. Great. It was going to be up to Jerry to make this work.
“I might have left it in the bathroom. I sorta got interrupted there.”
He could feel Rick’s curiosity war with his sense of caution. He exchanged glances with Flynn when they heard the deadbolt turn. Jerry tried to convey “stay cool” with his eyes.
Teach your granny to suck eggs, will you?
Jerry didn’t have time to retaliate; the door was opening. “If it was in the bathroom, it’s probably long gone by now. I thought you had it out when you guys were leaving.” Rick stopped speaking at the sight of the two of them. The sense of unease coming off of him heightened.
“You mind if I take a quick look? I wouldn’t bother you this late, but hell, it’s got all my ID, credit cards, everything.”
Rick shifted his gaze from Jerry to Flynn and back to Jerry again. “Yeah. Sure.” He let them both into the lighted corridor.
He shut the door behind them and led the way to the front of the building by way of the kitchen. Jerry closed his eyes to the sight of dirty dishes and the line of grease all around the grill. Thank God they hadn’t ordered dinner here. Rick led them through a swinging door into the main part of the bar. “You want to tell me what happened between you and Paul? He came out just after you left, looking fit to be tied. His face was red, and he was starting a nice bruise on his jaw. He actually said he slipped on some water in the bathroom and fell against the sink.” Rick laughed a little. Jerry could feel the nervousness behind it. “No one believed him, though.”
“Paul and I had a little difference of opinion,” Jerry said. “We need to talk, Rick.”
“I can see that.” He spoke with an ease that belied his real state of mind, going round behind the bar as if to put the solid counter between them.
“Come out from behind the bar.” Flynn spoke to him in the same manner that law enforcement officers everywhere said, “Keep your hands where I can see them.” If Jerry could have flicked him on the forehead, he would have.
Rick raised scruffy eyebrows. “I’m just pouring myself a drink. I’d offer you guys one, but I have a feeling this isn’t a social visit.” Rick took a bottle of bourbon off the shelf and poured himself a glass with casual concentration. He lifted it to his lips and took a sip. “What’s this all about?”
The image of a loaded gun underneath the counter was like an acid-etched engraving in Rick’s mind.
“You know, I think I’ll take you up on that offer.” Jerry closed in on the bar, resting his hands on the counter.
“I thought you didn’t drink. Nancy certainly gave us that impression earlier tonight.” Rick didn’t wait for his answer, however. He moved to collect another glass off the shelf behind him. While his back was turned, Jerry pointed his index finger and thumb into the shape of a gun and then indicated the counter below. Flynn’s eyebrows lowered as he got the message. Jerry breathed a silent sigh of relief as Rick flipped over the glass and poured a shot of bourbon into it. He pushed the glass across the counter to Jerry.
He took a sip, feeling the smooth burn of the alcohol warm him all the way down. He gave Flynn’s best half-smile, the one that made him look serious and yet approachable all at the same time. “You know how it is with ex-girlfriends. They think they know everything there is to know about you.”
Rick nodded in agreement, a reluctant smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. It faded, however, as he eyed Flynn, who was watching him with the intensity of a cat seeing something move in the grass. If Flynn had had a tail, it would have been lashing.
“If this isn’t about your wallet, and it isn’t about your fight with Paul, what is this about?”
He really didn’t know. Jerry could feel the confusion coming off him even as a sort of ingrained wariness rose to the surface again.
“Why don’t you tell us about it?” Flynn’s voice was limned with frost. Just hearing it made Jerry catch his breath. He didn’t see any way to stop Flynn from taking an “interrogating the prisoner” sort of tone here, though.
Rick still looked confused, but the tension in his body ratcheted up several notches. The hand artfully resting on the glass of bourbon trembled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” No, it couldn’t be. Not after all this time.
Jerry could practically hear Rick’s racing heart.
He knows. Crap, he knows. How am I going to get out of this one?
“Rachel Flynn. You remember her, right? Of course you do.” Flynn was so quietly cutting Rick flinched. Flynn pursued relentlessly. “In May of 1992, you were sixteen years old. You’d just gotten your driver’s license. Delivering the takeout, that was your job, right? Funny, I never thought about it before, but Killian’s stopped making home deliveries not long after Rachel was murdered. What’s the matter, the van have unpleasant associations after that? How’d it happen, huh, Rick? Did you see her walking along the side of the road and decide to give her a ride home? It was innocent enough at first, right? You never meant to hurt her. Or maybe you did. Maybe you were just looking for a victim that day. Which was it, Rick?”
Rick looked at Flynn in open-mouthed horror. He thinks, ohmygod, he thinks that I—it wasn’t like that. I can’t—but how does he know?
Every line of Flynn’s body said he wanted to be right up in Rick’s face. He was leaning forward on the balls of his feet, just asking for an excuse to come over the counter at Rick. He was holding himself back, though, his hand hovering in readiness so he could reach for his weapon if necessary. “Was she the only one? Was she your first? Or was she one of many?” Did she suffer? Was she scared before she died? I need to know!
“Okay, your partner? He’s nuts.” Rick didn’t move; he only cut a glance in Jerry’s direction. He had the stiff-limbed frozen posture of someone cornered by an unfriendly dog, and he was hoping Jerry would call him off.
“We know the van used to be painted white, Rick.” Jerry spoke calmly, hoping Rick would see the futility of maintaining his innocence. “We have a license plate. It’s a matter of going back through DMV records now.”
No! That’s impossible! “If you had a license plate all this time, why didn’t you pursue it before now? Why wait all these years?” There was an edge of hysteria to his voice. Rick heard it, too, and looked down at the glass in his hand as though he’d forgotten it was there. He lifted it, draining it dry in several gulping swallows. Setting the glass down on the counter
with a thump, he refilled it. He wouldn’t make eye contact with them.
“A new witness came forward. Someone who didn’t remember what they’d seen until recently.”
“A new witness.” Laced with scorn, Rick voiced what any good defense attorney would probably say. “After all this time, how reliable could they possibly be?”
“Pretty good. Seeing as he’s an FBI agent.”
Jerry let that sink in. Rick looked up sharply, eyes widening as he realized what Jerry was saying. “No. No. That can’t be.” He shot a desperate glance at Flynn before looking at Jerry again.
Jerry saw the trapped-rat fear in his eyes and tapped the counter in front of him. “I wouldn’t reach for the gun under here if I were you. Parker is just looking for an excuse to shoot you.”
Rick turned terrified eyes in Flynn’s direction. Flynn clearly had his right hand inside the left lapel of his coat now.
“No, no, wait!” Rick shrank back from the look of fury on Flynn’s face, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. “You’ve got it all wrong!”
“Don’t fucking lie to me!” Flynn snarled. “We know it was your van!”
Jerry felt sorrow, regret, and despair wash over Rick, even as the man’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “It wasn’t like that.” He looked away from Flynn, making eye contact with Jerry now. He was pleading with Jerry to understand. Pleading with Rachel’s brother. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Goddamn it!” Flynn shouted, pulling his gun out of his holster and leveling it at Rick. “You’re not going to get away with this!”
“Wait.” It was but a single word, quietly spoken, but it got through to Flynn just the same. With narrowed eyes, Flynn relayed his frustration and anger at Jerry, who merely held up his index finger. Flynn lowered his weapon. It hung in his hand by his side. Proof or no proof, I’m not letting him walk.
“It was your van, but it wasn’t you, was it, Rick?” Jerry kept his voice gentle.
Walk a Mile Page 22
