Dooley Takes the Fall

by Norah McClintock

  Someone, Dooley thought, like Linelle.

  “If you need some privacy, there’s a phone in the kitchen,” Rhodes said.

  Dooley went into the kitchen and punched in his uncle’s cell number.

  “How’s Jeannie’s mother?” Dooley said as soon as his uncle answered.

  “It’s too soon to tell,” his uncle said. “What’s up with you? Graff hasn’t come at you again, has he?”

  Dooley told him no. He asked, “How’s Jeannie? Is she okay?”

  “She’s worried,” Dooley’s uncle said. “What about you, Ryan?”

  “I’m fine. Linelle and I are having lunch.”

  “Linelle?”

  “From work. She’s the one who usually answers the phone when you call the store.”

  “Linelle,” Dooley’s uncle said again. “The one who told me you were in the can when you were really at the party? That Linelle?”

  “She was just doing me a favor,” Dooley said. “You want me to put her on so she can apologize to you?”

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and Dooley was afraid his uncle would say, sure, go ahead. Instead, he said, “You working tonight?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “So I can get you at home later if I need to.”

  “Yeah,” Dooley said.

  “And you’ll call me or get Annette to call me if anything happens?”

  “Yeah,” Dooley said. “You still planning to be back in town tomorrow night?”

  “Why? You got another party planned?”

  Jesus, the guy never let up

  “Yeah, probably tomorrow night,” his uncle. “If anything changes, I’ll call you.”

  “Tell Jeannie I said I hope her mom’s going to be okay,” Dooley said before he hung up.

  When Dooley went back to the games room, Rhodes was sitting in the same place, nursing the same beer.

  “Everything okay?” he said.

  “My uncle’s a hard-ass,” Dooley said. “He checks up on me all the time.”

  “My dad’s like that sometimes,” Rhodes said. “What were you saying about Mark? What weird stuff?”

  Jesus, and didn’t his pager vibrate again? He checked the read-out.

  “Not your uncle again, I hope?” Rhodes said.

  “He’s giving me a hard time, that’s for sure,” Dooley said. “Do you mind?”

  Rhodes gave him a sympathetic look.

  Dooley hesitated.

  “I don’t suppose there’s another phone I could use. Maybe a little more private.”

  “Sure,” Rhodes said. “My dad’s study is down the hall from the kitchen. There’s a phone in there.” He grinned at Dooley. “Don’t tell me… it’s a girl, right?”

  “I won’t be long,” Dooley said.

  He had no trouble finding the study. He’d used the phone in there the night of the party. He dialled the number on his pager.

  Warren answered on the first ring.

  “I went to the library and checked out those newspaper pages that were in those pictures,” he said as soon as he knew it was Dooley. “And guess what?”

  He was really buzzing, talking fast and talking loud. Dooley bet his face was flushed.

  “They’re from different dates,” Warren said. “But they’re both from last winter, one in January, one in March.”

  January and March. Dooley remembered the scraps of photocopies that he’d found in Everley’s backpack. He’d seen partial dates on them—January and March.

  “And you know what else, Dooley?” Warren said.

  Dooley humored him. “What?”

  “On both of them there are stories about homeless guys who were killed.”

  “Killed? What do you mean, killed?”

  “The paper said homicide,” Warren said. “I checked all the newspapers that came after, all the way up until yesterday, and as far as I can tell, the cops never found out who killed those guys. No one saw anything. They didn’t find any evidence they could use—at least, that’s what it sounded like in the paper. But you know cops. There’s plenty of stuff they don’t tell regular people.”

  Yeah, Dooley knew cops.

  “You get it, right, Dooley?” Warren said. “First there’s the animal skulls—maybe from animals that he tortured and killed. You know what they say about people who kill small animals, don’t you? Guys who torture cats and puppies, they’re the ones that grow up to be serial killers.”

  “Tell me those dates again,” Dooley said. When Warren told him, he said, “You mean last January, Warren?”

  “I mean, just this past January,” Warren said. “I told you Mark Everley was fucked up. I told you.”

  On the basis of what Beth had told him, Dooley had to agree.

  “You want me to call the cops?” Warren said.

  “No,” Dooley said. He thought again about what Beth had said. He thought about how she would react. He thought about Rhodes comforting her. “No, it’s okay,” he said. Sometimes, the less people knew, the better. “I’ve got the stuff with me. I’ll take care of it, Warren.” He was already making a plan. Step one, go home and call his uncle. Step two, call Annette Girondin—his uncle would tell him to do it—and get her to go with him to the police. No way was he going on his own. “Do you have copies of those pictures, Warren?”

  “I printed them out and gave them to you.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t have copies on your computer?”

  “No,” Warren said. “I printed them off the flash drive and I gave the drive back to you.”

  Dooley patted his pocket, reassuring himself that the drive was still there.

  “Okay,” he said. “Don’t do anything. I’ll take care of it. I’ll let you know, okay?” He was about to hang up when he remembered another question he wanted to ask. “Hey, Warren? You know those locked files? You said some were older than others. Do you remember which ones were the most recent?”

  “Sure,” Warren said. “The weirdest ones—the ones of the skulls and the dead homeless guys. Everley locked those almost exactly a month ago.”

  Dooley glanced at the calendar on the desk. A month ago was two days before Everley died.

  “Thanks, Warren,” he said.

  He hung up the phone and started to turn around, glancing as he did at the family portrait in the silver frame at the edge of the desk, then at one of the smaller single portraits beside it. He picked it up and looked closely at it. He fumbled in his pocket for the pictures Warren had printed. What were the chances? He looked at them both again and then put the pictures and the small framed portrait into his pocket. Then he turned toward the door, and jumped—involuntarily—when he saw Landers leaning against the doorframe. Dooley wondered how long he had been there. He put a blank look on his face and pushed past Landers, but felt him behind him all the way back to the games room.

  “Everything okay?” Rhodes said. He wasn’t on the couch where Dooley had left him, but was over by the bar now.

  “Yeah,” Dooley said. “That was my uncle again. Look, I gotta go.”

  Landers was right beside him now, crowding him.

  “I thought you wanted to ask me something about Mark,” Rhodes said. “And about his girlfriend? That’s why you came over here, isn’t it?”

  “It’s going to have to wait,” Dooley said. “If I don’t get home, my uncle is going to bust me. If you ever met him, you’d know what I mean.”

  “At least finish your drink,” Rhodes said. “What’s a couple of minutes? It’s not like your uncle’s going to know, right?”

  Huh?

  “He’s out of town until tomorrow night, isn’t that what you said?”

  He sure hadn’t said it to Rhodes.

  So much for privacy in the kitchen. Dooley was glad he’d made his second call from the den.

  “That doesn’t mean he can’t check up on me,” Dooley said. “He calls me where I’m supposed to be and then freaks out if I’
m not there. And today I’m supposed to be home. I really have to go.”

  “He took a picture from your dad’s desk,” Landers said.

  Shit. What was Landers even doing here?

  “A picture?” Rhodes said.

  “One of the framed ones,” Landers said. “I saw him put it in his pocket.”

  Rhodes looked almost disappointed. He reached out a hand. Dooley took the framed picture from his pocket and handed it to him.

  Rhodes glanced at it and set it on the bar.

  “Eddy told me you used to steal things,”he said. “But he never told me that you stole from friends.”

  Dooley shrugged apologetically. He muttered that he was sorry and headed for the door. For sure Rhodes would want him out of there, and Dooley was only to happy to oblige. Landers blocked his way.

  “He was talking to someone named Warren,” Landers said. “I think it was that dweeb from school. I told you I saw them leaving school together the other day. Hanging with the losers, huh, Dooley? Guess it takes one to know one.” He glanced at Rhodes. “They were talking about pictures.”

  Rhodes didn’t ask what pictures. He didn’t even look surprised that that’s what Dooley had been talking about. He just nodded. That’s when Dooley saw exactly where Rhodes was sitting—on a stool at the end of the bar, right beside the phone.

  Dooley started again for the door. Rhodes nodded at Landers. Landers shoved him back hard.

  “Hand them over,” Rhodes said, sliding off the bar stool and coming toward Dooley.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The photos and the flash drive. Hand them over.”

  So he knew about the flash drive. That meant he’d been listening. Dooley shoved Landers out of his way. Landers shoved him back and, Jesus, the guy was strong. Dooley would have bet everything he had that Landers worked out. Regularly. When Dooley tried again to get past him, Landers took a shot at him. Dooley made a move to strike back, but Rhodes grabbed him from behind and pinned his arms. Dooley struggled to free himself. Rhodes’s parents were out of town. Dooley had no idea where Esperanza was. He had to get out of there—now. But Rhodes turned out to be as strong as Landers. He held Dooley while Landers punched him, hard, in the head—bam, bam, bam, Jesus—almost knocking him out. Dooley sank to his knees, then to all fours. His head was ringing.

  “Empty his pockets,” Rhodes said.

  Dooley felt hands on him, thrusting into his jacket pockets, his pants pockets, pulling out stuff, his wallet, his keys, the envelope of pictures, the flash drive. Rhodes kept a firm grip on him the whole time.

  “There’s a utility bin under the sink at the bar,” Rhodes said. “There’s some duct tape in it. Get it.”

  Landers went for it. When he returned, Rhodes held Dooley and Landers taped Dooley’s hands behind his back. Once Dooley was secured, Rhodes picked up the envelope and flicked through the photos.

  “What’s in them?” Landers said, glancing at Rhodes but mostly keeping a close eye on Dooley, ready to hit him again if he had to. Maybe eager to hit him again. Dooley’s head pounded. He wished he had his baseball bat and free hands to use it.

  “He knows,” Rhodes said. “Eddy must have told him.”

  Dooley looked at him, surprised.

  Landers turned pale. “Jesus, Win, what are we—”

  “Relax,” Rhodes said.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “It’s okay, Peter,” Rhodes said. “The cops already think Dooley killed Eddy.” He set the photos on the bar. “What do you think they’d do, Dooley, if they found out the whole story about you and Eddy?”

  So Gillette hadn’t kept his mouth shut about that. Dooley supposed that figured.

  “They also have their suspicions about you and Mark,” Rhodes said. “What if someone told them that you’d made threats against Mark? Peter was there when you had that fight. He could tell the police that you and Mark had words the next day. Maybe Mark tried to get even with you and you didn’t like that. Maybe you decided to deal with him once and for all. With your history and your record, not to mention your temper—what do you think would happen then? After all, they found you with his backpack.”

  Dooley tried not to panic. What was Rhodes going to do? Call the cops on him and frame him for murder? Well, good luck. That wasn’t going to stop Dooley from telling what he knew. He was surprised that a guy as smart as Rhodes didn’t realize that. Besides, Warren had seen the pictures, even if he hadn’t kept copies of them. Warren could back him up. Well, except Warren thought the photos were about Everley. Even if they were, they weren’t just about Everley.

  Rhodes was leaning calmly against the bar now, looking relaxed. He came across like a smart guy. Preppy, with a good-guy likeability about him, happy to welcome people into his house. But he wasn’t anything like he seemed. He went behind the bar and fiddled with something. When he came back around the bar, he had a glass in his hand.

  “Have a drink, Dooley,” he said, extending a glass.

  “No, thanks,” Dooley said.

  Rhodes grabbed a handful of Dooley’s hair and jerked his head up. Dooley turned his head aside.

  “Hold his nose, Peter,” Rhodes said.

  Landers hesitated. Dooley tried to get up. Rhodes pushed him down again.

  “Do it, Peter.”

  Landers pinched Dooley’s nose shut. Dooley held his breath as long as he could, but finally he had to open his mouth. Rhodes jerked his head back further and started pouring the drink down his throat. Dooley resisted, tried to spit it out, and almost choked instead.

  “Good boy,” Rhodes said, getting up and taking the glass back behind the bar where he washed it and dried it and set it back on a shelf. “Watch him,” he said. He left the room.

  Dooley turned to Landers.

  “Win’s right,” he said. “I know. I know what you did.” He was guessing Landers was involved—look at the way he’d reacted when Rhodes had said it must have been Gillette who told Dooley. “What you and Rhodes did,” Dooley said. “And Mark.” He saw right away from Landers’ face that he was wrong there. Everley hadn’t been involved. So where did he fit in? He must have found out somehow. Found out and taken those pictures. “I bet it was Rhodes who instigated it, am I right, Peter?” Dooley thought about the little framed picture he had taken from the desk in the den. He thought about how Everley could have known. “You know what I would do if I were you, Peter? I’d go to the cops. I’d get there first, before Rhodes can say anything, and I’d tell them he made you do it. You cooperate and they could go easy on you.”

  Landers just stared at him, but Dooley knew he was right. He remembered what Warren had told him. When Rhodes got Landers to back off, he’d told him he could have his fun some other time. Rhodes was the leader. Landers was the follower. And Rhodes had befriended Gillette, of all people. He had described the circumstances. Dooley had a pretty good idea how Everley had ended up as a friend, too. Rhodes probably thought the two of them had a lot in common.

  “I’ve known a lot of guys who did a lot of shit, Peter,” Dooley said. “I’ve done a lot of shit myself. And I’ll tell you what—you think you’re never going to get caught, but eventually you do. Mark found out what you and Rhodes did. I found out. You think someone else won’t?”

  “Mark?” Landers said. He looked surprised. Maybe too surprised.

  “That’s why you and Rhodes killed him,” Dooley said, watching Landers’ face and realizing with alarm that the room was starting to move around him. There had been days, plenty of days, when he would have welcomed the feeling, would have sought it out if no one had offered it. But not today. Not now. “You killed those homeless guys and Mark found out, is that it? Did he tell you he was going to the police? Or did you and Rhodes find out about the pictures Mark had taken? Is that it?”

  “What are you talking about?” Landers said. “Mark fell. Nobody killed him. The cops said it was an accident.” Either he was an outstanding actor or he really
believed what he was saying.

  “You didn’t hear?” Dooley said. “The cops think someone pushed Mark off that bridge.”

  “They think you pushed him,” Rhodes said, coming back into the room, carrying something in his hand. “They also think you killed Eddy. And then you came over here because you know that I can tell the police what Eddy told me—the night of my party when you got into it with Eddy, you told him if he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up just like Mark Everley. Isn’t that what you said, Dooley? Oh, no, wait a minute—your excuse is that you don’t remember what you did that night. I bet the police are really buying that.”

  “At first I thought it was Mark,” Dooley said, looking at Landers, not Rhodes, working to keep Landers in focus. “I thought that was his stuff. From what Beth told me, he seemed fucked up enough. I thought those were his pictures. His trophies.”

  “Trophies?” Landers said. “What are you talking about?”

  “But they aren’t,” Dooley said. “Mark wasn’t even in the country last January.”

  Landers shot Rhodes a look.

  “Did he tell you he had the pictures?” Dooley said. “Did he threaten you with them? Was he trying to help Esperanza?” Dooley could see a guy like Everley thinking he could pull that off. “Or did you find out he had taken the pictures? Is that it? You found out he’d stumbled onto your secret and he’d photographed it.”

  “What pictures?” Landers said again, angry now. “Pictures of what?”

  Dooley thought about what the woman at the immigration place had told him. He turned to Rhodes. “You know what I think?” he said. “I think Mark was here the night he died. I think he came to get Esperanza. I think he wanted to make sure she was safe before he took those pictures to the police. Isn’t that right?” It made sense now. Everley had wanted to get Esperanza out of there. Dooley bet Rhodes knew about the two of them and Everley didn’t want Rhodes to try to get back at him by having Esperanza deported.

  Landers looked confused. “What’s he talking about, Win? What pictures?”

  “You killed Mark,” Dooley said. “He knew how fucked up you are and he didn’t want any part of it, so you killed him.”