“Did the neighbor hear anything, the glass door breaking, for instance?”
The chief shook his head. “He couldn’t say. It appears that whoever broke the door may have cut his hand on the glass. There were also some fingerprints around the place. Myers sent them to the county, so they can run them through the computer.”
Sounded as if he was talking about laundry being sent out to the dry cleaners, Tucker thought. Not something as weighty as Carl’s guilt or innocence.
Tucker’s heart felt like a brick in his chest. He was not really surprised that Sanborn would suspect Carl, but a cold dread filled him as he wondered if Carl really did it. They had just had Carl over Sunday night for Easter dinner. Could he possibly have robbed the Degans’ house that same night? Tucker still didn’t have a high opinion of Carl, but he truly doubted he would do something like that. Carl had been doing so well, working at the church and living on his own, not causing any problems for anyone.
“I’m going to bring him in for questioning,” Sanborn went on. “I’ve sent out a car to pick him up. They should be back any minute. I wanted you to know that.”
Tucker held his tongue, not trusting himself to speak. Chief Sanborn almost seemed to be enjoying this. He couldn’t wait to prove that he was right about Carl and that Tucker was wrong.
“What’s your plan here, to see if the neighbor can I.D. him?”
“Something like that.”
“That doesn’t mean much, Chief.” Tucker swallowed back a hard ball of anger in his throat, struggling to keep his voice even. “Witnesses like that make ridiculous mistakes all the time. You know that. Just because some neighbor identifies Carl doesn’t mean he did it.”
The chief let out a long slow breath, rubbing his chin with his hand. “I knew you were going to say something like that. Your loyalty is admirable, Tucker. But I think it’s been sadly misplaced.”
Tucker stood up from his chair, though he hadn’t been dismissed. He was so angry, he could feel himself shaking with it. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see, Chief.”
The chief glanced up at him. He had already begun reading the report. “Yes, we’ll see. You ought to go now. I’ll let you know what’s happening.”
“Fine. But I’m going to stick around until Carl is done here tonight.”
They both knew Tucker meant to see if he needed a lawyer.
“We’re just going to talk to him.”
“Yeah, I know. I know the drill by now.” Tucker knew his tone was a shade disrespectful and wondered if his boss would call him on it.
Chief Sanborn didn’t look up again. “Suit yourself.”
TUCKER WAS SITTING AT HIS DESK WHEN CARL WAS BROUGHT IN. HE felt the other cops looking at him as he went over to the desk Sergeant, who was checking Carl in.
“They just want to talk to you, Carl. There’s nothing to worry about,” Tucker promised. “Just answer their questions and they’ll let you go.”
Carl, flanked by his two police escorts, gave a short, bitter laugh. “Sure, that’s what they always say.”
Tucker suddenly noticed a large bandage on Carl’s left hand. “What happened to your hand?”
“I cut myself fixing something at the church. What’s the problem? Didn’t you ever see a bandage before?”
Tucker swallowed hard, still unwilling to think the worst.
“You don’t have to say anything without a lawyer present. I’ll call one for you.”
“I don’t need no lawyer. I can speak for myself. I’m not afraid.”
Carl needed to have an attorney present, Tucker thought with alarm. There was no telling what he might say once he got angry. Tucker had questioned his share of suspects. He knew the tricks. Carl might incriminate himself without even realizing it.
“Hold up here awhile. I’m going to get him a lawyer,” Tucker told Tom Schmidt, one of the officers with Carl.
“We’re just delivering him to the questioning room, Tucker. They’ll read him his rights, like always. He’s got to ask for the lawyer. Not you.”
“The man is right,” Carl said. “I been through this before. I remember how it goes.” He turned to Schmidt. “All right, lets get this over with. I don’t have all night to hang around here. I’m a busy man.”
Tucker waited at his desk, pretending to be working while Carl was questioned. He called home and left a message for Fran, warning her that he was held up at work and would be late. He didn’t explain what was going on with Carl. He wanted to wait to see what happened before he told her anything.
Two hours passed. Tucker walked back to the interview room and asked what was going on. An officer standing near the closed door told him a detective from the county was still questioning his brother and taking his statement. They were waiting for the Degans’ neighbor to arrive to see if he could identify Carl.
Tucker nodded and headed for the locker room, where he got a soda from the machine. Frank Myers, who was on the team sent to the Degans’ house after him, was in there, pulling on his jacket.
“Tough break, Tucker. I heard they brought in your brother.”
“Yeah, some county detective is talking to him now. I just hope they don’t get him talking, make him say something stupid.”
Myers stared at him, and Tucker suddenly felt a cold distance between them. “Like what? A confession, you mean?”
“There’s no proof Carl did this, Myers. Not a shred. Just some neighbor who might have seen some guy who might look like my brother on a pitch-black rainy night.”
“It wasn’t raining yet. But I get your point. I’d feel the same if one of my relatives was brought in.” Myers touched Tucker’s arm in a gesture of camraderie, but Tucker shrank back.
“See you around,” Myers said softly.
“Right, see you.” Tucker turned away and headed back into the station. As he passed the front desk, he saw a man walking in and gazing around, looking confused. He guessed it was the Degans’ neighbor, coming to view Carl through the one-way window.
Well, at least this would be over soon. He sat at his desk again, forcing himself to look busy and unconcerned. The truth was, he felt torn apart, seesawing between believing Carl was innocent and feeling as if he’d been played for a fool.
Carl was once picked up for breaking and entering, back when he was a teenager. It had to be thirty-five years ago by now. But Sanborn would find that on his record, if he hadn’t already, and jump on it like a dog on a bone.
Tucker wondered what Carl’s alibi would be. He remembered the bandage on Carl’s hand. The burglar had cut his hand on the glass door, Sanborn said. They would probably match the blood type, though that didn’t mean much unless they used DNA testing, which Tucker knew was so expensive it would never be used on a case where there was only property damage. Carl could have cut his hand at work, like he said. But it didn’t look good.
He thought of the missing stickpin again and felt as if its needle point had jabbed right into his heart. Maybe he should have known back then. Maybe Fran was right.
Still, Tucker found himself wanting to believe Carl was innocent. It seemed as if he had really changed these last few weeks. Was that all just an act?
Tom Schmidt stopped by Tucker’s desk and spoke in a confidential tone. “I wanted to tell you. I was just back there. They’re going to let him go.”
“The neighbor couldn’t I.D. him?” Tucker asked hopefully.
“It was shaky. The guy got rattled, kept wiping his glasses. That doesn’t look so good in court. Sanborn got annoyed. The blood on the door was a match—O positive. But everybody’s got O positive, even Sanborn’s mother.”
Tucker forced a smile. “How about the fingerprints? Did they hear back yet on that?”
“No, the prints they had weren’t clear. Sanborn’s sending someone back to the house tomorrow to see if they can find more.”
That was unlikely, Tucker thought. By the next day, with the family walking around carrying on with their lives, they wouldn’t find a
nything matchable. He felt relieved—until he realized that feeling this way must mean he thought Carl was guilty.
Tucker rubbed the side of his cheek and looked up at Schmidt, thinking, He thinks Carl is guilty, but he feels badly for me and is trying to help me out.
“Will he be out soon?”
“Sounds like it.” Schmidt glanced over his shoulder, then moved closer to Tucker and lowered his voice. “They were trying to get a warrant to search Carl’s place for stolen goods, but the judge wouldn’t sign off. Not enough cause.”
Tucker hadn’t even thought of that. A search through Carl’s belongings might explain everything—or not. He could have hidden small items anywhere, not just in his room. He could have hidden things at the church, for instance, Tucker thought. He pulled back from the idea; it seemed too sad and cynical.
“Thanks, Schmidt. I owe you one,” Tucker said quietly.
“That’s okay.” Schmidt rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. “See you tomorrow. I’m checking out.”
Nearly an hour later, Carl emerged. He looked even more worn and haggard than usual, with deep, dark rings under his eyes and a glassy angry stare as he approached Tucker.
“Well, I’m out of here. I told you I didn’t need no lawyer.”
Tucker felt every eye in the station house watching them. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift home.”
Carl nodded and followed him, seeming oblivious to the attention. “A police station has a certain smell. Ever notice? I sure hate that smell.”
Tucker didn’t answer. The truth was, he was starting to dislike it, too.
They got in Tucker’s car and started toward the house where Carl now rented a room. It was an old-fashioned building outside the village, three stories high and squarely built. At the turn of the century it had been a boardinghouse for summer visitors. The present owner, an elderly lady, rented furnished rooms at cheap rates. Tucker knew what it looked like inside, though he’d never been to see Carl there. The rooms were small and dark, hot in the summer and cold in the winter. But the place was clean overall, not a complete dump.
He pulled up outside and parked. “So, I heard the neighbor couldn’t really identify you. Were you even there?” He tried to sound mildly curious, no pressure.
Carl’s back went up at once. “I just sat through umpteen hours of questions. Now you’re starting in on me, too?”
“I’m just curious, Carl. You might have been there. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It seemed to mean a lot to that county detective.”
Tucker felt his gut clench. “You told him you were there? Did you put that in a statement or something?”
Carl shook his head. “Oh, man. Let me out of here. I got nothing else to say to you, Tucker. Maybe I do need a lawyer.”
He started to open the car door. Tucker touched his arm. “Look, Carl, this is serious. They tried to get a warrant to search your room tonight, but the judge wouldn’t give it to them. Tomorrow, though, they might find one who will.”
“You know what they say, if at first you don’t succeed.” Carl laughed bitterly at the expression on Tucker’s face. “What do you think they’re going to find up there anyway, Tucker? Besides a bunch of dirty laundry and soup cans, I mean. Why do you look so nervous, man?”
“I’m concerned for you. Can’t you see that? I don’t want you put away for something you didn’t do.”
“Neither do I, when you put it like that.” Carl stared straight ahead. “You act as if you think I did do it. That’s what is sounds like to me.”
Tucker felt as if his head might just explode. “Stop talking in circles for a minute, will you, please? Did you do it? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
Carl leaned back, laughing quietly. “You’re the cop, what do you think? Some neighbor says I was running through the backyard but face-to-face doesn’t recognize me. I cut my hand, see?” He raised his bandaged hand. “And I did time for killing a man and have a record of breaking and entering—”
“Did you give a statement? Did you sign anything?” Tucker interrupted him.
“Sure I did. They wouldn’t let me out otherwise.”
“They can use that in court against you. Don’t you know that?”
Carl turned and looked at him. “Who says I’m going to court? They’ve got nothing on me.”
Tucker sighed in frustration, not knowing what to believe.
“You’re the one who’s in hot water,” Carl taunted him. “I saw the way you were moping around the station house, Tucker. You had a bad day at work. You ought to get home.”
“Right, I need to go home.” Tucker felt totally frustrated with Carl. Not that he ever expected a thank you. He’d had enough of talking in circles for one night.
“Good night, Carl. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
Carl slipped out of the car and closed the door. He leaned in through the half-open window. “So long, Tucker. Take it easy.” Then he turned and walked toward the boardinghouse, looking like a man who didn’t have a care in the world.
TUCKER WALKED OUT TO HIS SQUAD CAR THE NEXT MORNING, EAGER TO leave the station house and get out on duty. He unlocked the door and looked up to see Reverend Ben crossing the parking lot.
“Reverend, good morning,” Tucker said as Ben approached him.
“Sorry to bother you at work, Tucker. I hoped to catch you before you left the station. I need to talk with you.”
“This is about Carl, right?”
The reverend nodded. “I went down to the church this morning and found this note.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. He handed it to Tucker, but Tucker didn’t even bother to open it. He had a feeling he already knew what it said. “He’s gone, right?”
“Yes. He left for Maine to see that friend of his. He says he’ll call when he has an address so I can send some back pay. But I don’t understand what he’s talking about in the note. What robbery? When did the police question him?”
Tucker felt his body sag. Whether it was with sadness or relief, he couldn’t tell. He took a deep breath before he answered the reverend’s question.
“Two nights ago there was a break-in on North Creek Road. A neighbor claimed he saw a man who fit Carl’s description. So they brought Carl in for questioning.”
“I see . . . and you were there, too, I gather?”
Tucker nodded. “I wasn’t allowed in the interview. But I waited for him. I drove him home last night.”
“Do the police think he’s guilty?”
“Well, he’s the only suspect so far. It’s all circumstantial evidence—not even a fingerprint to go on. But Carl did admit to being in the neighborhood that night. His alibi isn’t strong.”
He had finally heard Carl’s story this morning from another officer on the case. The story made Tucker cringe with embarrassment. It seemed so trumped up and transparent.
“What was it?” the reverend asked with interest.
“Carl says he was walking a dog down North Creek Road. Says he takes out the trash and walks the landlady’s dog some nights as part of the deal on his rent.”
“Yes, I know. I helped him find that room. That was the arrangement,” the reverend confirmed.
Tucker paused. So Carl hadn’t been lying about that part.
“Well, he said the dog spotted a cat or a raccoon or something and ran away from him. So he chased the dog through some backyards and wound up coming back out to the street through the Degan’s yard. That’s why the neighbor saw him, he said.”
The reverend nodded. “That makes sense to me. But you don’t sound as if you believe him.”
“I don’t know what to believe, Reverend. I tried to believe he’s changed . . . but yesterday I felt like a fool, trying to defend him. Now he’s taken off, run away from this whole mess, which definitely makes it look like he’s guilty. If they get some solid proof, they’ll go looking for him.”
“Carl’s leaving town doesn’t prove anything.
And even if he is guilty, you have nothing to be ashamed of, Tucker. You tried to help him. You went out of your way to give your brother a new start here. You acted with kindness and courage.”
“Thanks, Reverend,” Tucker said, feeling better about sticking up for Carl and looking out for his rights. He’d probably do it again, given the chance.
It didn’t look like there would be another chance, Tucker realized. Carl was gone. He’d probably never see him or even hear from him again. Tucker had a strange feeling and swallowed back a lump in his throat. When he looked up, he realized the reverend was still standing there, watching him.
“I better get to work. Appreciate you stopping by, Reverend.”
“That’s all right, Tucker. If you want to talk about this some more, you know where to find me.”
“Yes, I do.” Tucker nodded and jammed the unread note into his pocket. He doubted he would want to discuss Carl anymore with anyone. Just thinking about Carl made him confused and depressed. He wished he could forget his brother ever existed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A“RE YOU SURE IT’S SAFE? I MEAN, THE WATER ISN’T VERY DEEP, is it?” Molly stood in the middle of her kitchen, clutching a knapsack of extra clothes she had packed for Lauren and Jill in case they got wet. They were going kayaking today with Phil down in Essex, but now Molly felt reluctant to let them go, even though they were on spring break and she needed to work. “How do you know there won’t be any rapids or currents or things?”
Phil and Lauren stood staring at her. Lauren rolled her eyes, then glanced at her father.
“Really, Molly. It’s very safe,” Phil said.
“Really? Then why do you need all these extra clothes? Don’t those boats tip over a lot?”
“It will be fine, honestly. They’re going to love it.”
“It’s not too cold out for this?”
“Perfect weather. You don’t want it too hot.” Phil took the knapsack from her grasp and hooked it over his broad shoulder. “Listen, if you’re so worried, why don’t you come with us? You need a day off, Molly. You’ve been working too hard.”
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