‘So where’s Al?’ Anna asked without looking up from her computer game.
‘I don’t know. Working, probably.’
‘Are you guys still an item?’
‘I guess,’ Cat said.
Anna’s eyes flicked away from the Chromebook. ‘You guess?’
‘I haven’t talked to him. He’s busy.’ Then she added: ‘I did something stupid. I asked if he was in love with me. It freaked him out. We haven’t talked since.’
‘Guys don’t want serious. They want right now.’
‘Al is different. We’re not even having sex. We’re waiting until it feels right.’
Anna’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, and then she kept typing. A smirk flew across her lips. ‘You think he’s going to get hornier as that basketball of yours gets bigger? I don’t think so. Most guys are afraid the baby will reach out and grab their dick while they’re pumping.’
Cat frowned as Anna giggled at her own joke. Then she said: ‘So how’s Fred over at the bar?’
‘Fred is Fred. He’s pissed about the cops and reporters hanging around. Are they any closer to finding the guy who did it?’
‘Stride and Serena don’t tell me anything about that,’ Cat replied.
‘They’re cops. No surprise.’
‘I miss the bar.’
‘Well, Fred won’t let you back in. Sorry.’
Cat knew that Anna was right, and she wasn’t happy. She chafed under the restrictions on everything she did. It was summer. No school. She was free, but she felt as if she’d been locked in prison.
‘I’m low on cash,’ Cat admitted.
‘Seriously? Again?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Don’t the cops give you an allowance?’
‘It’s not much,’ Cat said. ‘I don’t think they trust me with money. They figure I’ll buy cigarettes. Or drugs.’
‘Uh huh.’ Anna took off her wool cap and primped her spiky hair. ‘Well, there’s a church project this weekend if you want. Cleaning out a house in West Duluth. You might pick up a couple bucks that way.’
Cat hesitated. ‘I don’t like doing that stuff.’
‘Hey, the last job worked out okay, huh? Painting that place in Superior? Plus, that’s where you met Al. You complaining about that?’
‘No.’
‘Well, it’s your call,’ Anna said. ‘Do whatever you want.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
Anna flipped down the cover of her Chromebook. ‘I don’t have to be at work for a couple hours. You want to go get a burger and a Coke somewhere? I’m buying.’
Cat grinned. ‘Great!’
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘How about the Anchor?’
Anna shook her head. ‘You just want to run into Al.’
‘I miss him.’
‘Cat, he’s a guy. Guys like him come and go like empty beer cans. Especially when you start throwing the L-word around with someone who hasn’t even poled you yet.’
‘I told you, we’re waiting—’ she began, but Anna waved a hand in front of her face to stop her.
‘Listen, I didn’t want to tell you this, okay? I knew you’d get upset.’
‘Tell me what?’
Anna fixed a drooping strap on her tank top. ‘Couple weeks ago, Al was over at the Grizzly Bear talking to Fred. I think he was looking to pick up some PT work. Anyway, my car had a flat, so Al drove me home. It was late, and he came inside with me, and we had a few drinks and put on some flicks. Next thing I know, his tongue was down my throat, and his hands were inside my T-shirt.’
Cat shot to her feet. ‘Al made a pass at you? Al?’
‘Sorry, kiddo,’ Anna told her, ‘but yeah, he did. Like I said, we were both pretty drunk. He’s probably been nursing a major hard-on wanting to get into your pants. The thing is, I won’t lie to you, Cat. As passes go, this wasn’t exactly a dropped ball in the end zone.’
‘What are you saying?’ Cat asked, but she already knew.
‘I’m saying it was a completed pass. Al spent the night with me.’
43
When Janine entered the visiting room, Stride noticed the physical changes of eight years, the same way he did when he looked at himself in the mirror. They were both older. She wore no makeup. No jewelry. Like every other inmate, she was dressed down. In the past, watching Janine walk was like following a celebrity who could part a crowd with her presence. She had an otherness that set her apart from ordinary people. Now she was one of many.
‘Hello, Jonathan,’ she said as she sat down across from him.
‘Hello, Janine.’
He could see her taking his measure, the way he’d done to her. She was probably thinking similar things. He was older. Bruised and not as cocky. They sat in silence for a while, and others in the waiting room stole glances at them. Everybody knew who they were. There were no secrets here.
‘I can’t tell you how sorry I was to hear about Cindy,’ Janine said finally.
‘Thank you.’
‘She was probably my only real friend. Not that I’m comparing my loss to yours. I know what a love match the two of you were. My heart ached for you when I heard. Really. I wrote to you, but I didn’t expect a reply. I just wanted you to know that my grief was sincere.’
‘I got your letter,’ Stride told her.
‘Good.
More awkward silence followed. Once upon a time, they’d been something like friends. Now he didn’t know what they were.
‘Are you involved with someone?’ she asked him.
He didn’t answer, and she sighed and looked away.
‘So I’m still the enemy, am I?’ she went on. ‘I thought after all this time things might be different. Well, it may not matter coming from me, but I know Cindy would want you to be in love. I envied the two of you. How you could be different and yet the same. Obviously, I never mastered the art of relationships.’
He was silent again, and then he said: ‘I’m involved.’
‘I’m glad. Is it serious?’
‘Yes.’
‘Even better,’ she said. Her eyes traveled around the room. ‘I suppose it doesn’t happen very often, coming to see people you put in prison.’
‘No, not very often.’
‘Of course not. Why would you? I don’t get many visitors.’
‘What about Howard Marlowe?’ Stride asked.
Janine’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘You know about him? Well, of course you do. I forgot I have no privacy here.’
‘Howard has built quite a hobby out of you,’ Stride told her. ‘He got copies of most of our investigative records through Archie. He calls us all the time. He wants us to investigate new leads. I gather he’s writing a book.’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘He visits you here, too.’
‘He does. Is it strange, a man like that who can’t let go?’
‘It happens,’ Stride said. ‘People get obsessed.’
‘On one level, I’m grateful. For the company. For someone who believes in me. On the other hand, I feel as if I’m cheating him out of his life.’
‘You don’t have to see him.’
‘I know. And yet when I think about taking him off the list, I just can’t do it. A part of me can’t let go. I’m hoping he’ll decide on his own that I’m not worth it.’
Stride wondered if she was sincere. The old Janine would always have put herself first.
‘I assume Archie has been in touch with you,’ he told her.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘So you know we’ve identified the gun that was used to kill Jay,’ he went on.
‘After all these years. It’s quite a mystery.’
He expected to see a glint of triumph in her face. She knew that this discovery,
whatever it meant, opened up new legal doors for her. For the first time, she had a realistic chance at a new trial or even a complete dismissal. The idea of release from prison was no longer a fantasy. Except he was surprised by what he saw. Anxiety. Even fear. The life inside was the life she knew. She really had become an indoor cat. Outside was uncertain. Outside was scary. She couldn’t simply walk back to her old life, and she knew it.
‘I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on that mystery,’ Stride said.
Janine shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. You know I can’t do that.’
Which was the answer he’d expected.
‘I suppose Archie reminded you not to tell me anything that might jeopardize your release,’ he said.
‘Yes, he did.’
‘There’s a solution to this puzzle. I’m going to find out what it is.’
‘I wonder if you will,’ she replied. ‘I’m not doubting you, but nine years is a long time.’
Stride stared at her eyes, looking for answers. ‘Can I be honest with you, Janine?’
‘I’m sure you will be.’
‘I think you’re guilty. I always have.’
‘I know that.’
‘And if you’re guilty, that means you must know what happened to the gun that killed Jay and where it’s been all these years.’
‘In other words, where did I hide it?’ she asked. ‘Or who did I give it to?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Even if I knew, you realize it would be foolish of me to tell you. Legally speaking.’
‘I know that.’
‘So why ask me? Why did you come down here?’
He couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice. ‘Because this is about more than finding an old gun in the woods and running a ballistics test. This gun was used to kill a woman just a few weeks ago. The man who did it is on the loose. The lives of other women may well be at stake. I have just one clue. His gun. Eight years ago, that gun was in your living room. It’s the gun that murdered your husband. If I knew where it went after that, then I stand a chance of figuring out who used it last month.’
He hoped he would get through to her. She was already in prison, and he wanted to believe there was enough regret in her heart over what she’d done that she would choose to save someone else’s life. He saw her hesitate. He knew – he knew – that she had the answers he needed.
Janine leaned across the table and, violating the prison rules, took both of his hands in hers.
‘I’m sorry, Jonathan,’ she told him. ‘I know what you think of me, but I’m telling you the truth. I was telling you the truth all those years ago. That gun was never in my hands. I’m not the one who shot my husband.’
44
Howard had long ago memorized the jewelry that Janine Snow lost when her husband was murdered, but he still reviewed the photographs every time he entered a pawn shop. Six items. All expensive. A black pearl ring in a white gold setting. Matching earrings and a matching necklace. A bracelet of twisted gold chains interspersed with diamonds and blue sapphires. A hummingbird pin with a breast of real rubies. An emerald brooch in the shape of the letter J. Each piece was a custom design.
He parked in the ramp of the Fond-Du-Luth casino and emerged onto Superior Street. The casino was next to him, belching cigarette smoke when the doors opened. He’d never been inside. He didn’t gamble. It was a sweltering afternoon, and he thought about stopping at a bar, but beer fogged his head. He needed to be sharp as he perused the jewelry locked under the glass of the pawn shop counters.
For eight years, he’d visited the same shops again and again. Duluth. Cloquet. Grand Rapids. Hinckley. Even down to the Twin Cities. Dozens of them, from the upscale mall shops buying gold and silver to the alley-side joints that served up fast cash and payday loans. The owners all knew him, although he’d never told them what he was looking for. Howard was paranoid that if any of the owners knew they were fencing property stolen in a murder case, they’d make those items quietly disappear before he could identify them.
He climbed 2nd Avenue in the heat. He wore a red Kohl’s polo shirt, tan khakis, and sneakers with reinforced arches for his flat feet. The shoes were new, and the soles squeaked. Zenith Pawn was at the next corner, garish with neon.
Black pearl ring in a gold setting.
Hummingbird pin.
Emerald J brooch.
All these years, all these fruitless hours spent hunched over display cases, and he’d never lost faith.
Howard thought about his last visit with Janine and the odd confession she’d made. It shocked him, until he’d realized that she was trying to drive him away. He’d been too honest with her about his frustrations with Carol. Janine blamed herself for his dissolving marriage, and maybe she was right. Even so, he refused to let her send him away.
‘Say whatever you want,’ he had told her. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
Howard opened the glass door of the pawn shop. Inside, the air conditioning made his damp skin cold. It felt good. Another customer was at the counter, a silver-haired lady dickering with the owner over the price of an old penny. The shop overflowed with inventory. Jewelry. Guns. Video games. Stamps and coins. Leather. Cutlery and knives. Electronics. Some items were new, but most were used, the litter of the Great Recession. Three balls were the universal symbol of boom times gone bust.
‘This is a 1933 wheat penny,’ the old woman insisted. ‘I looked it up. It’s worth twenty dollars. I cleaned it up for you, too. Nice and shiny.’
The owner was bald and big and reminded him of a pro wrestler like Jesse Ventura. He wore jeans and a black leather jacket. Somewhere inside the jacket, Howard assumed the man carried a bad-ass gun.
‘Beverly, sweetie,’ he replied in an Aussie accent, ‘it’s twenty dollars in uncirculated condition. This penny looks like it’s been through a stretchy machine at Fun Land. And cleaning it makes it worth less, not more. I’ve told you that.’
‘Twenty dollars,’ she repeated.
‘Sweetie, I can give you two dollars and a cup of decaf, and that’s because I’m in a good mood.’
The old woman continued to argue. Howard ignored her. He saw the owner shoot him a wink and a grin.
Howard slipped reading glasses onto his face. He bent over the long counter crammed with one-off jewelry items, and the glasses slipped down to the end of his sweaty nose. He tried to stay focused. After a while, the jewelry all looked alike. The same stuff week after week, most of it cheap paste.
He checked the tag on each item. Ring – four hundred dollars. Necklace – seventy-five dollars. Elvis tie tack – ‘priceless’. The owner had a sense of humor. Each piece was nestled in a velvet sleeve, and when Howard had surveyed the entire counter, he moved on to the next one.
Watches. Earrings. Murano glass charms.
But again – nothing.
It had been nothing all day in the other shops. It had been nothing every month since he began his search years ago.
He’d hoped today would be different because of the gun. The police had finally found the gun that killed Jay Ferris, years after the crime. The same gun had been used in a murder in West Duluth the previous month and in a Chicago robbery shortly before Jay’s death. No one could explain it.
Howard didn’t know how or why this particular gun had made its way from one crime to the next, but he felt vindicated. He’d been right all along that Jay’s own gun had played no part in the shooting. This was something different. This was what you’d expect from a home invasion, just as Janine had insisted. A stranger came to the door. Killed Jay. Stole the jewelry. Disappeared, along with the gun.
Now the gun was back.
Where had it been for eight years? Howard didn’t know, but he was willing to bet that wherever the gun had been hidden, the missing jewelry had been hidden there, too. If someone had used the
gun, then it made sense that the jewelry might show up at the same time. The truth was coming to light.
‘Howie!’ the owner bellowed at him. His name was Caffy, which was short for his last name, Cafferty. ‘Mate!’
Caffy loomed on the other side of the counter like a brown bear. Wheat Penny Lady was gone, clutching two dollars in one fist and a styrofoam cup of Green Mountain Nantucket Keurig coffee in the other.
‘Want an old penny?’ the owner asked, flipping it in the air with his thumb and catching it in his giant palm. ‘Only twenty bucks.’
Howard stopped his search and looked up, his mouth falling open. A grin bent across the owner’s face.
‘Kidding, mate. This penny ain’t worth a dime. If you’ve got a chair that wobbles, stick it under one of the legs.’
‘So why’d you give her two bucks?’ Howard asked.
‘Oh, Beverly’s all right. Likes a yank on the crank in the casino now and then. Who knows, maybe she’ll take my twofer and win a Cadillac or something.’
Howard smiled. He actually liked Caffy. Most of the pawn shop owners he met were too slick by half, but Caffy dealt straight with people. If he didn’t have a soft spot, he had a thinner plate of steel near his heart. They’d talked over the years. Sports. Chinese history. Irish poets. Caffy was surprisingly well read, and well traveled, which Howard found fascinating. The man had led the kind of unattached wanderer’s life that Howard envied.
Even so, he’d never shown the photographs of Janine’s jewelry to Caffy. You could like someone face to face and not trust them when your back was turned.
‘That watch over there,’ Caffy boomed. ‘That would look good on your wrist.’
‘Who wears watches anymore?’ Howard asked.
‘Ah, they’re coming back. Smart watches. That’s the new thing.’
‘No, thanks.’
Caffy never took rejection personally. ‘Sure, whatever. You’re in earlier than usual, ain’t you? Thought it would be another couple weeks before you showed up again.’
Goodbye to the Dead (Jonathan Stride Book 7) Page 27
