What the Dead Leave Behind

by David Housewright

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “We’d like to speak to your son, Steven,” Downing said.

  “What about?”

  “Is he home?”

  Downing was right about the badge. If it had just been me, Annette might have slammed the door. With a police officer standing there, though, she hesitated, uncertainty etched on her face as she considered what to do. Downing tried to help her out.

  “This is simply routine,” he said. “We just want to ask him about the car.”

  “He found it. What else do you need to know?”

  “Is Steven home? May we come in and speak to him?”

  Annette thought about it some more before stepping away from the door.

  Downing said, “Thank you.”

  I didn’t say a word, mostly because the detective had made me promise to keep my mouth shut.

  He and I slipped past her into the house. It had been decorated for the holidays as if Annette were competing for a prize.

  “Steve,” Mrs. Geddings shouted. “Steven.”

  “Is your husband home?” Downing asked.

  “He went ice fishing at Mille Lacs early this morning with Katie Meyer’s husband. We don’t expect to see either of them until Sunday night. Steven?”

  Steven rounded a corner and halted like a kid playing a game of Red Light, Green Light. He looked first at me and then at Downing before glancing over his shoulder as if he were thinking of making a run for it. Downing flashed his badge and ID at him.

  “I’m Detective Clark Downing of the New Brighton Police Division,” he said. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Steven said.

  Downing gave me a quick glance. I was sure he was thinking the exact same thing I was—only people with a guilty conscious claim that.

  “We’d like to ask you about Malcolm Harris’s car,” Downing said.

  “I found it in the park,” Steven said.

  “When?”

  “This morning.”

  “When?”

  “You want to know the exact time? It was … I left here about noon, so it was … okay, it wasn’t this morning. It was about twelve forty-five, one o’clock, somewhere in there.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “I was jogging.”

  “Do you jog often?”

  “He runs every day,” Annette said.

  “Mom…”

  “Mrs. Geddings, please,” Downing said. “This is your home and you’re welcome to listen in, but if you keep interrupting, I’ll need to ask your son to accompany me to police headquarters.”

  “You can’t do that,” Annette said.

  “Ma’am, with all due respect, you son is not a minor. He’s an adult.”

  “Hear that, Mom?” Steven said. “Just leave me alone.”

  “Do you jog often?” Downing asked.

  “Yes, but not every day. I’m not a fanatic. I jog three, four times a week just to keep in shape. So I can run in a few 5- and 10Ks during the summer with my friends.”

  “Did you ever run with Malcolm Harris?”

  “No, Malcolm—I doubt he could run across the street without gasping for breath.”

  “Do you usually run in the park?”

  “About, I don’t know, a third of the time, maybe? I have a couple of different routes mapped out. Three miles, five miles, it depends on how I’m feeling that day.”

  “You ran in the park today?”

  “The paths are always plowed down to the asphalt, you know? So it’s dry. You’re not slipping on the ice and falling on your ass.”

  “How did you find Malcolm’s car?”

  “I was running and I looked and there it was.”

  “You’re familiar with the car?”

  “I’ve seen it before, sure.”

  “It’s easily recognizable?”

  “Well, I mean, if you have twenty of the same model lined up I doubt I could tell them apart.”

  “But you recognized his just running by.”

  “No, I mean…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re deliberately trying to confuse him,” Annette said.

  “Mrs. Geddings,” Downing said.

  “Mom, I’m not confused,” Steven said. “I’m just trying to say … Detective Downing, what happened—Mrs. Harris called earlier. She was looking for Malcolm because he didn’t come home last night. She was pretty upset, but I was thinking, maybe he got lucky last night because, you know … Anyway, I was running and I saw the car and I thought, Hey, that looks like Malcolm’s car, and as I got closer to it, I thought, Hey, that is Malcolm’s car. I can’t recite the license plate or anything, but it was like, I knew it was his. So I called my mom and told her, and she called Mrs. Harris.”

  “Why didn’t you call her?”

  “I don’t know, it’s just—she and my mom are pretty tight, so…”

  “Did you see Malcolm Harris last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “At the New Year’s Eve party at Mrs. Meyer’s home?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “Well, yeah. It was a party.”

  “Weren’t you involved in a fight with Malcolm just a couple of days ago?”

  “Not me.”

  “At the Bru House coffeehouse?”

  “No, no, no, that was Critter.”

  “Critter?”

  “Christopher Meyer. They were the ones fighting.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You were there.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “He said he wasn’t involved in the fight,” Annette said.

  “Mom, stop it,” Steven told her. “I got this. Detective, I didn’t do anything. I was just standing there watching and this girl sucker-punches me, this friend of Malcolm’s. Minding my own business and wham, she just whacks me. You want to ask questions, you talk to her. Ask her what the fight was about. Or Critter. Or Malcolm. Cuz I was just standing there.”

  “You and Malcolm didn’t talk about the fight at the party?”

  “Why would we? We weren’t the ones fighting.”

  “Did Christopher Meyer and Malcolm talk about the fight?”

  “Dang if I know.”

  “Did they seem to get along at the party?”

  “I guess. They weren’t yelling or anything. No one was throwing punches.”

  “Did you see Malcolm leave the party?”

  “No. Like I told Mrs. Harris, I didn’t even know he was gone until she came looking for him at midnight.”

  “You have no idea where he went?”

  “N’-uh.”

  “If he received a text or phone call?”

  “Like I said, n’-uh.”

  “You said that maybe Malcolm got lucky last night. What did you mean by that?”

  “What I meant—I don’t know—he stays out all night…”

  Steven turned his head so that his mother couldn’t see his face and gestured with it as if he wanted Downing to join in a conspiracy. “You know,” he repeated.

  “No, I don’t know,” Downing said. “Are you saying that Malcolm was with a woman?”

  Steven gestured with his head more emphatically. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “What woman?” Downing asked.

  “I don’t know, geezus.”

  “Don’t know or won’t say?”

  “Mal and I have known each other for years, but it’s not like we tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets, okay?”

  “What deep, dark secrets?”

  “Ah, geez.”

  “Steven, if you have information—”

  “He said he doesn’t know,” Annette said.

  “I’m just saying, if a guy leaves a party and he doesn’t go home it’s usually because he’s going to another party is all,” Steven said.

  “But you have no idea w
hat party?” Downing said.

  Steven thought about it for a few beats and shook his head.

  “What about Christopher Meyer?” Downing asked. “Did you see him leave?”

  “Yeah, he said good-bye at—I wanna say ten thirty, ten forty-five, thereabouts.”

  “Right before Malcolm left?”

  “Yeah, well, it must have been.”

  “Was he waiting for Malcolm when he left?”

  “What? No. I don’t know. Crittter said he was going to a party. He said the Hotdish thing was dead and he was going to a party crosstown thrown by a couple of guys he knew from college.”

  “Did you believe him?” I asked.

  Steven, his mother, and Downing all turned to look at me at the same time. I think they forgot I was in the room.

  “Whaddya mean?” Steven asked.

  “Do you believe that’s where Critter went?” I said.

  Steven’s casual shrug and vacant stare convinced me that Critter must have kept his rendezvous with Diane Dauria a secret.

  How chivalrous of him, my inner voice said.

  Downing gave me a look. It asked “Are you finished?”—and not in a nice way. I wasn’t.

  “Why were you following me?” I said.

  “I wasn’t,” Steven said.

  “Are you saying that you didn’t follow me to the Bru House yesterday?”

  “That was just a coincidence.”

  “The day before, when you followed me from the Szereto Corporation, was that a coincidence, too?”

  “I didn’t follow you, geezus.”

  Whatever Downing must have thought about the exchange, he decided to follow my lead.

  “We have video from traffic cameras showing your car,” he said.

  Steven’s mouth hung open as if he were wondering how that was possible. ’Course, there was no actual traffic footage, although if we jumped through enough hoops we could probably get our hands on it.

  “I don’t know what to say,” he told us.

  His mother did, though.

  “That wasn’t Steven,” she said. “That was me. The Acura belongs to me; Steven just drives it sometimes.”

  “You were following me?” I asked. “Why?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “It has nothing to do with Malcolm running away from home or whatever he did.”

  “Mrs. Geddings,” Downing said.

  “It doesn’t.”

  “Please. Tell me the truth and we’ll be on our way.”

  “McKenzie was making everyone unhappy with his questions about Frank Harris. He actually accused Jayne of killing her own husband, did he tell you that? What he said to Diane, practically accusing her, too … I thought—we thought—we should keep an eye on him.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “The members of Hotdish, some of the members. Okay, it was a mistake. We appreciate that. We stopped when McKenzie attacked my son in the parking lot at—what are you going to do about that? He attacked my son, dragged him from his car. Shouldn’t you arrest him for that?”

  Downing turned toward Steven.

  “Are you willing to press charges?” he asked.

  Wait. What?

  “Charges?” Steven asked.

  “For assault.”

  C’mon …

  “You’d need to come down to police headquarters and swear out a complaint, sign a statement, provide evidence to the county attorney’s office, eventually testify before a judge…”

  Okay, my inner voice said. He’s looking out for you; making it seem as if the kid would be the one in trouble.

  “No, no,” he said.

  “But Steven,” his mother said.

  “Mom, nothing happened. There wasn’t any assault. Geezuz.”

  Annette was clearly disappointed to hear it.

  *   *   *

  True to his word, Detective Downing ended the interview. A few moments later we were on the sidewalk and moving toward his car.

  “That was interesting,” he said.

  “Which part?”

  “The part where the New Brighton Hotdish was so concerned about the questions you were asking that they put a tail on you—such as it was.”

  “I’ve been wondering about that myself.”

  “Although you did promise to keep your mouth shut.”

  “I lied,” I said.

  “I noticed.”

  “What next?”

  “Let’s go chat with Critter Meyer.”

  “Works for me.”

  “I expect you to keep quiet this time.”

  “I promise.”

  TWELVE

  Critter wasn’t home. Or at least he didn’t answer when Detective Downing rang the bell and knocked on the door. I told Downing that the last time I saw Critter’s mother—Katherine Meyer—she was at Jayne Harris’s house. We decided to drive over there. Jayne must have seen us get out of the car and move up the sidewalk, because she pulled open her front door before we reached it. I knew she recognized Downing because she called him by name before he flashed his ID.

  “Detective Downing,” she said. “McKenzie must have called you. Good.”

  “I’m sorry for your troubles.”

  “Thank you. Please come in. Please. McKenzie. Have you learned anything?”

  Annette Geddings had departed, of course, but Katie Meyer and Diane Dauria were still there, looking even more somber than before.

  “We took a look at your car at Long Lake Regional Park,” Downing said. “There’s no sign of an accident or … anything out of the ordinary. I’d like your permission to impound it and have our forensics people take a closer look.”

  “Do you think that’s necessary?” Jayne asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. What has me curious is the fact that it was parked so close to your home. Why not at your home if Malcolm went off with someone of his own free will?”

  The words made Jayne wince. I gave her the car key. She squeezed it in her palm before handing it off to Downing.

  “Whatever you think is best,” Jayne said. “People keep telling me that I’m overreacting, and probably I am, except I remember what happened before.”

  Downing rested a hand on her shoulder.

  “You have no idea how sorry I am that I haven’t been able to give you any answers concerning your husband’s case,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Technically, it’s still a little early to involve the police in a missing persons investigation without evidence of, well…”

  “Foul play,” Jayne said. “Are those the words you’re trying hard not to say?”

  “Mrs. Harris, I’d like a list of Malcolm’s friends and acquaintances.”

  “We’ve been calling all day,” Diane said.

  “I appreciate that, ma’am. My experience, though, a young man’s friends are often more likely to confide in me than in the young man’s family. No disrespect, Mrs. Harris. Usually kids are less afraid of getting their friends in trouble with the police than they are with their mothers.”

  “I understand.”

  “I would especially like to speak to … Do you know someone called Critter?”

  “My son.” Katie spoke in a soft voice that contained none of the breathless exuberance I heard when we conversed the day before. “His name is Christopher. Christopher Meyer. Why do you want to talk to him?”

  Diane’s face colored, although no one seemed to notice except me. She moved against the far wall.

  “Where can I find him?” Downing asked.

  Katie spun in her seat and angled her body so she could look through the door leading to the kitchen.

  “Christopher,” she said. “Chris, honey?”

  Critter stepped through the door. He was drying his hands with a dish towel. The swelling around his nose had disappeared, and the bruising around his lip had turned from purple to a dull yellow.

  “What can I get you?” he asked. �
��Do you want more coffee?”

  He stilled himself when his eyes found me and then shifted to Downing. The detective pulled out his badge and ID and gave Critter a good look at both.

  “Critter Meyer?” he said.

  “Critter,” Katie said. “This is Mr. Downing.”

  “Detective Clark Downing of the New Brighton Police Division. I’d like to ask you a few questions—”

  “About Malcolm,” Katie added.

  Downing was clearly annoyed at Katie for interrupting him. He was even more irritated when I said, “In private,” but went along with it.

  “Can we use your kitchen, Mrs. Harris?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  Downing used his bulk to bully Critter back through the door. I followed behind. Diane seemed to be holding her breath. I whispered to her as I passed, “I’ll try to keep your secret.” I wasn’t seeking to protect her as much as my personal knowledge of how she spent New Year’s Eve and the muscle it might give me later. Sometimes I can be a sonuvabitch.

  There was a table with chairs. Critter sat in one, and Downing sat in another close enough so that their knees nearly touched. I found a counter to lean against.

  “Tell me about the fight,” Downing said.

  “What fight?” Critter asked.

  “You decide. There were two of them, weren’t there?”

  “No, there was only the one at—it wasn’t really a fight. At the Bru House. We were just … discussing something.”

  “Punches were thrown. Customers inside the coffeehouse had to break it up, didn’t they?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess?”

  “What I mean is—it wasn’t that big a deal.”

  “What was the fight about?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “Damn, I’m tired of hearing that from you Hotdishers.” Downing switched to full-blown bad-cop mode. “Am I stupid? Do you think I’m stupid, Critter?”

  “No, I—”

  “You have a fight with a man in a public place in front of thirty witnesses and you tell me that you don’t know what it was about? It sounds like you think I’m stupid. Why else would you say such a foolish thing?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Don’t want to get into trouble? Is that why you’re lying, because you don’t want to get into trouble? Because guess what? You’re in trouble.”