Murray. So that’s how it’s gotten. Janochek was not reassured.
“You would be with us, Dad. And you could lock up again after we looked. And we could do it at a time that wouldn’t be an inconvenience. Whenever you say.”
Could she actually be telling the truth? Janochek wondered. Was he projecting his own boyhood lust on the Kiefer kid? Janochek thought maybe he had become a little too cynical.
“Okay.” He made a snap decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret. “Okay, let’s do it tomorrow. I’ll finish my rounds early and we’ll walk around before dark. I’ll collect the keys and bring that big flashlight because they’re pretty dark inside. There are about four or five of what they call garden crypts, and the columbarium. High groundwater’s not a problem in this area, and people don’t seem to mind going right in the ground. We should be able to see everything in around an hour or less.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll tell Murray. That will be really interesting.”
Janochek continued to try and read Pearl’s true motive in this project, but her face was impenetrable. His gut told him this was a ploy of some kind and that she was going to stall out her school-paper cover story as long as possible so he would forget to ask to read it when it was done.
“But here’s the deal,” he said. “I’ll do this, but I want to read that paper as soon as it’s finished. Cemetery history fascinates me, and I want to see what you say about it.” He felt like he was trying to surround a queen with a couple of pawns. I’m out of my league, he thought.
SPEED DEMON
When Robert got back from browsing Rite Aid after work, the first person he saw when he entered the lobby was the new guy. Bruce was standing near the front window by the divan, talking with an old man.
“Yo, Robert!” Bruce had spotted him. He quickly finished his conversation and was walking up, heading Robert off before he could reach the stairs.
“Hold up, hold up!” Bruce was closing fast. “I want to ask you something.”
Robert hated being rushed up on. Was the guy going to run right into him, for crissake?
“Stop!” he yelled at Bruce. That was as loud as he could ever remember speaking. It was either that or hit the guy.
Bruce stopped and held up his hands like he was under arrest. “Take it easy. Take it easy. Cripes, man, I like you, but you are so sensitive. Chill, dude. I got something to tell you.”
Robert tried to calm his breathing.
“Speed Demon is playing tomorrow afternoon at four, man. And it’s on this side of town and it’s cheap. Four bucks! Four bucks, and we can buy our own candy over here at that big store beforehand and not spend major bucks for that theater crap.”
“Rite Aid.”
“What?”
“Rite Aid. That’s the store’s name.” Whenever Robert remembered a detail, it was important, a victory. He didn’t know what else to say.
“Yeah,” Bruce said, a little puzzled. “Okay, Rite Aid. But, so, how about it? Let’s go. It would be fun. Guys out on the town. Let’s do it!”
Robert was stymied. He couldn’t think of any reason not to, except that he was kind of afraid, and he didn’t want to admit that to Bruce, or anybody else, for that matter. He had the money. He had been thinking about seeing a show.
“I can’t tonight.”
“I’m not asking about tonight,” Bruce said. “Tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow afternoon.” Bruce acted like the repetition would filter through. He was making a visible effort to hang in there with Robert, trying not to seem too impatient.
Robert had given Bruce some thought. Bruce probably already knew that, in this hotel, Robert was about the only one working, about the only one who had any money to spend on nonessentials. And Robert knew that Bruce had some money, too. Yesterday Bruce had told him that, although his dad had thrown him out of the house, he still sent him a fairly generous monthly allowance.
Robert could tell Bruce thought he was slow, a little thick. Well, screw him, Robert thought. Yeah, he’s quick but I’m careful. You can’t be too careful.
“I’m going out for steak tonight.” Robert wanted to establish some order here.
“Right. Right! That’s very cool. Good for you. You going with the donut guy?”
Robert nodded.
“Great!” Bruce said. “That guy your dad or your uncle?”
Robert shook his head, no.
“Well, great,” Bruce said. “Tonight, steak; tomorrow, movie! Something to look forward to! See you then. Get some candy, walk to the movie. Three o’clock. Down here in the lobby. Don’t be late. Takes about twenty minutes to walk over there.” He headed off toward some people who had just come in.
Robert, unaware that he hadn’t really made a decision, knew he needed to write this down, right away. Tomorrow afternoon. Three o’clock. Here in the lobby. And today, steak. He climbed the stairs, repeating it like a litany.
AS IF HE WOULD HIT HER
Waldrop’s office was in a two-story wood-frame house two blocks east of the courthouse. Billup had been up since eight getting ready for this ten o’clock appointment. He was sitting in the waiting room, wondering if he had put on too much English Leather and how Waldrop would know he was there. At five minutes after ten, a woman opened one of the doors to the room and looked out.
“Mr. Billup? Come in, please.”
Her office had one of those Persian-design rugs on top of another, larger rug. There were two chairs on either side of it, facing each other, and some kind of Far East artwork on the walls that Billup didn’t care for. She sat in a substantial brown leather club chair and motioned him to a matching one across the rug. As he sat, Billup took her measure. Thirties, heavyset, round face, expensive-looking woman’s suit with an annoyingly frilly blouse under, insincere smile. She picked up a file folder from the table next to her.
“So, Officer Billup, we’re here today to discuss the relationship between your drinking and the pass you made at a fellow police officer.”
Jesus, Billup thought, this broad doesn’t beat around the bush.
“What relationship?”
“Officer, you and I both know it is very unlikely you would have so seriously offended this woman if you were sober. Moreover, the incident took place in a bar, where, at the time, witnesses state you had been drinking heavily.”
“Look,” he said, hoping to set this woman straight and get this over with, “I was a little high and I got a little too friendly with a woman I thought I was pals with because we had worked together a lot.”
“Twice.”
“Okay, twice.”
“You were friendly enough to get slapped with a harassment suit. She filed.”
Shit!
“Officer Billup, thus far you have tried to minimize the gravity of this situation. I want to understand your perception of the groping incident, and what you think about your drinking problem.”
Groping incident! Billup resisted the urge to throttle her.
“Sir, unless I am satisfied today that you are abusing but not yet addicted to alcohol—”
“I don’t have a drinking problem!” Billup interrupted.
Waldrop ignored that. “Unless I believe that you understand your behavior well enough to modulate it, I am going to recommend continuing suspension and a mandatory alcohol/drug program. Are we clear?”
Ball-breaking bitch! “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“Good. Now let’s begin. How much do you drink?”
“Most days I have a beer or two, sometimes I go a little overboard. No more than anyone else in the department.”
“Some people in the department don’t drink.”
Billup was surprised.
“Are you able to make a conscious effort to cut back your drinking when an occasion demands it?”
“Of course! I never drink at work.” Billup didn’t think there was a shred of evidence that he had on those afternoons.
“How do you feel talking about your drinking with me or with your s
upervisor?”
“It pisses me off because it’s a false issue.”
“Do you ever have a beer or a drink the day following heavy drinking, to settle your nerves or as an eye-opener in the morning?”
“No, no. If I should happen to drink too much one night, I don’t want to see it again for days. Don’t want to smell it. No, I’m careful.”
“Why would you need to be careful?”
“Damn it! Don’t interrogate me!” Billup heard his voice getting way too loud for the small room. He backed off. “Everybody’s careful. Why wouldn’t they be?” he asked, his voice back to normal volume.
Billup noticed that Waldrop pulled back when he yelled. Maybe she thought he might lose control. Crap, Billup thought. As if he would hit her or do anything funny when she practically had his life in her hands. He’d have to play the rest of this session real cool. He didn’t want her to tell Fowler that he was a loose cannon.
“Officer Billup.” Waldrop maintained her distance. “Let’s move on to your family. Did either of your parents drink?”
* * *
Billup left her office feeling agitated. He didn’t think it went well. He wished he hadn’t raised his voice. Still, he felt relieved to have this over with, and his meeting with Fowler wasn’t until the following Monday.
Now maybe he could enjoy the rest of his little vacation. He wondered how much better Costco’s prices were than Liquor Barn’s.
STEAK DINNER
Driving to the Sadler House, Gates realized he had been looking forward to dinner with Robert, and not just because of the investigation. He admired the guy for working and not trying to milk the system. He could feel that Robert wanted to make it on his own.
He was going to let Robert decide where they ate tonight. He wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible, in control. Robert was down in the lobby, pacing, when Gates arrived. Gates checked his watch. He was five minutes early. He took it as a good sign that the young man was eager to see him, or maybe, he realized, just eager to get this over with.
When Robert got into the pickup, Gates asked him where he’d like to go for a steak. Robert gave him a blank look. Obviously, the question had not occurred to him.
“Any place you like?” Gates prompted.
“I don’t know.” Robert was facing forward, looking out the windshield.
“I know some good places,” Gates said. “Shall I choose?”
“I got something to tell you,” Robert said.
Gates did not show any reaction. “Well, great,” he said. “How about we go to…” Now he wanted someplace near, before Robert forgot. He wanted to be able to watch Robert as he spoke, to gather every nonverbal cue he could.
“How about we go right over here to Bistro Rouge?”
Gates turned off the engine and they walked across the street. Bistro Rouge was quiet and expensive. He didn’t think the boy had ever eaten there—probably had never even noticed the place.
“Get a steak?” Robert asked, making sure the deal still stood.
“Sure, get a big steak, baked potato or french fries, whatever you like, and you can fill me in on what you remembered.”
Waiting for the salad to come, Robert seemed impatient to begin. He doesn’t want to forget it, Gates thought.
“So,” Gates said, “what did you recall?”
Robert told him about the argument that day at TacoBurger. He said that had made him remember he had seen a guy and a girl fighting even worse than that at the high school. They were in a car and the man hit her and she shut up and he drove away real fast.
Gates tried to recall if he had unintentionally planted any of this picture in the young man’s mind. No. He had asked if Robert saw the girl walking and Robert had volunteered that she was in a car with a man.
“Do you think this girl was wearing a bright white cheerleading outfit?”
“Maybe.”
Gates was having trouble concentrating. The father! Could it have been the father? He picked her up, they argued, he hit her, maybe accidentally killed her. Maybe she was going to expose him for molesting her.
Gates realized he didn’t even know the girl’s father. Hadn’t seen any statements from him in the investigation reports. They hadn’t searched his car! Robert had said “maybe a white car.” Gates could hardly restrain his impulse to call the station and get the DMV report on the Parker family’s cars.
The salad had arrived and Robert was chowing down. Gates picked at his, no longer hungry. When Robert finished his salad and mopped up the dressing, Gates spoke again.
“When you think about the man in the car with the girl, what did he look like? How old was he?”
This was important. Robert knew it. “Uh, the guy in the car was a guy, he wasn’t a boy.”
“You mean he was definitely older than the girl, not another student?” Gates bit his tongue. He must not supply his own ideas to this young man and taint the only eyewitness account he might ever get.
“Yeah, I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“The guy was angry.… He was like you.”
“In what ways? You mean he was a big guy? Brown hair? Wore a uniform?”
Robert thought about that. He could see the guy sitting in the car like on a distant TV. It was all of a piece and no detail presented itself. And then the steaks arrived and the picture faded.
While Robert began cutting his meat, Gates excused himself, saying he needed to use the bathroom but making a call to the station instead.
By the time the meal was finished and Robert had eaten his Chocolate Decadence and the rest of Gates’s chocolate mousse, Gates was ready to try again.
“So they were sitting in a car at first. What was the car like?”
Robert struggled to re-form a picture of the scene.
Gates tried to set the stage without compromising the information. “So they were in a car near the front of the high school, and they were arguing and he hit her. How did you know they were arguing?”
“I could hear them yelling. That’s how come I looked in the first place.”
“So you looked and what did you see?”
Robert struggled to make the picture come to his mind. “A pretty big white car … and this guy and girl were yelling at each other in the front seat and … she was kinda pretty. She had brown hair. And his head was turned toward her and…”
“What was his hair like?”
“Like yours.”
“In what way?”
“I only saw the back, I think, but it wasn’t long.”
“What color?”
“Brownish maybe. He had a big neck.”
“What made you think so?”
“I don’t know.” Robert had a sense of the guy’s power, the way he swung his arm so fast and hit the girl. Scary!
Gates didn’t want to push any farther tonight and run the risk of driving Robert away. He had new information. Time to follow up on that and give the young man a break.
“Well, I’m full!” Gates put his hands on his stomach, but the truth was, he could barely remember eating. “How about we head home for the night and maybe get together in a couple of days. Maybe get an ice cream sundae. I know a good new place across town I think you’d like.”
That sounded good to Robert.
“And how about you call me at this number on this card if you remember anything else?”
Walking back across the street to the hotel, Robert spoke as he walked, but Gates didn’t catch it.
“Say again?” Gates asked.
“Get a sundae,” Robert repeated.
“Yeah,” Gates said, touched by the kid’s habit of verifying a promise. He guessed the young man had been deeply disappointed more than a time or two. “Hot fudge or something,” Gates reassured.
As he watched Robert walk into the hotel, it surprised him to notice that he cared what Robert thought, cared whether Robert trusted him. He shook his head. He wondered if he might be getting too sof
t for this work, caring how a possible suspect felt about him.
JUST A RUMOR
Gates woke up the next morning with doubts about the father hypothesis. Why would the father pick her up at school when she had her car there? He didn’t know she had driven? He needed to stop her immediately before she told someone something? Her faculty advisor and her friends said she hadn’t seemed at all upset or worried that day.
Gates went to his laptop in the study to see whether the profile on the father that he had requested from Riverton Police had been e-mailed. It was there.
PARKER, DAVID MARION
Vice president of the Cascade Valley Bank, continuous employment for the past twenty-four years. No arrests. Long-standing member in Rotary and Leadership Council. Board member of two local social service organizations.
So far, Gates thought, none of that eliminated him. During his time as a law officer, Gates had seen that molesters, murderers, thieves came from all social strata. In fact, often the higher the status they achieved, the more clever they were at concealing their crimes.
He read on.
Married, twenty-one years’ duration. Two children: Jack, a nineteen-year-old sophomore at St. Mary’s College, Bay Area; Nikki, a sixteen-year-old junior at Canyon High.
Vehicles: 2004 Buick Park Avenue, dark green, license 6 CAH 439; 2003 Toyota Highlander, burgundy, license 5 RDM 393; 1999 Camry, silver with gold trim, license 2 KDJ 244; 1996 Ford 150 pickup, gray-black two-tone, 6F 65970.
The report didn’t sound any alarms for Gates. He guessed the Buick was Parker’s, the Highlander, his wife’s. He knew the Camry was the girl’s. The profile and statement didn’t seem in any way unusual. He was well acquainted with Drummond and the two other men RPD had assigned to the case. They were thorough.
Gates had worked with Drummond once or twice before. He knew the man was dedicated and rigorously honest. He was one of those men who is always physically tight, as if he were holding in his belly and doing isometrics. Gates could imagine him twisting on the steering wheel with his grip when he drove places.
He called Drummond at the department.
Dead Connection Page 9
