“Ryan, do you know Jeffrey Eccles?”
Jeffie?
“I thought you said this was about Lorraine,” Dooley said.
“Do you know Jeffrey Eccles?”
There was no point in denying it. Teresa had already talked to the cops. She had mentioned his name.
“Yeah, I know him.”
“How do you know him?”
Dooley shrugged. “I just know him. From around.”
“Would you say that you and Jeffrey Eccles are good friends?” Keeping it present tense, Dooley noticed.
“Good friends? Not really,” Dooley said. “But friends? Yeah, for a while. We kind of lost touch, though.” Mostly because Dooley had been locked up. “I ran into him once, maybe six months ago, after I started living with my uncle.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“What did you talk about?”
“Nothing,” Dooley said. “Stuff. You know, catching up. I saw him on the street.” Actually, Jeffie had seen him. If Dooley had spotted Jeffie first, there wouldn’t have been any conversation. “We talked for maybe five minutes. I didn’t have a lot of time. I was on my way to an appointment.”
Randall perked up. “An appointment?”
“With this psychologist I was seeing.” He didn’t want to get into that, so he hurried it along. “We talked, I left, and I never heard from him again until he called me a couple of weeks ago.”
“Do you know he’s dead?”
“Yeah,” Dooley said. “His girlfriend told me. But what does Jeffie have to do with—”
“His girlfriend told you?”
“Yeah. She called me.”
“Are you good friends with her, too?”
“No,” Dooley said. “I hardly know her.”
“But she called you? Why did she do that, Ryan?”
“To tell me about Jeffie. To tell me he was dead.”
“So a girl you hardly know calls you to tell you a guy you’re not really friends with is dead,” Randall said, making an effort to sound as perplexed as he was trying to look. “I don’t get it. Why would she do that?”
Dooley thought about the video camera that was running. He wondered if maybe now was a good time to say he wanted a lawyer. Randall would love that. He’d think he was onto something.
“Like I said, Jeffie called me a couple of weeks ago. He asked me to meet him.”
“Meet you?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you aware that Jeffrey Eccles was in the drug trade, Ryan?”
“Don’t you mean, allegedly in the drug trade?” Dooley said. As far as he knew, Jeffie hadn’t been arrested again since that last time, and that hadn’t been for drugs.
“Did you know?”
“I heard what some people said, if that’s what you mean.”
Randall was quiet for a few moments. Dooley had to fight the urge to fill up that silence, to explain himself so that Randall wouldn’t suspect him of anything. It sounded easy—just sit there and say nothing—but it never was.
“Why did Jeffrey want to meet you?” Randall said finally.
“He wanted to borrow some money,” Dooley said, feeling more confident now that he was on solid ground. He even told the detective how much Jeffie had borrowed. Randall whistled softly.
“That’s a fair-sized chunk of change,” he said. “What did you say?”
“I said okay.”
“You said okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Why would you agree to lend that much money to a guy you weren’t really friends with?”
“Like I said, we used to be friends. I owed him one.”
“Yeah? You want to tell us about that?”
“No,” Dooley said. There were some things that were none of their business.
Randall studied Dooley for a few moments.
“Where does a guy like you lay hands on that kind of money, Ryan?”
“At the bank. I have a job.”
“So after Jeffrey called you a couple of weeks ago—when exactly was that, Ryan?”
Dooley told him.
“So after Jeffrey called you—two days before your mother died—what happened?”
Wait a minute. What was going on? Were they trying to connect Jeffie’s death with Lorraine’s? Because if they were, the only connector Dooley could see was himself.
“I went to the bank and took out the money,” Dooley said. “Then I met up with him and gave it to him, and he promised to pay me back.”
“Where did you meet him?” he said.
Dooley told him.
“When exactly was that?”
Dooley told him.
“So you went into the ravine at ten o’clock at night to meet Jeffrey, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes.”
“I understand your uncle keeps you on a short leash, Ryan. Did you tell him where you were going that night?”
“No.”
“Did he know you were out?”
“Yeah.”
“Where did he think you were?”
Shit.
“I told him I was taking a walk,” Dooley said.
“A walk?” Randall said. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t mention that you were meeting Jeffrey Eccles?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why is that, Ryan?”
“My uncle didn’t like me hanging around with people from … before.”
“People from before.” Randall seemed to like that. He even smiled. “So you didn’t tell him you were lending money to a guy who was in the drug trade?”
Cops. They thought they were so smart.
“No,” Dooley said.
“In other words, you lied to your uncle. Is that what you’re telling me, Ryan?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Dooley said. He hated being caught out by the cops because once they had you telling one lie, they started playing that game—if you were lying then, how do we know you’re not lying now?
“You guess?” Detective Randall seemed to like that, too. He leaned back in his chair. “So you went to meet Jeffrey, and then what?”
“I gave him the money. We arranged to meet up again so he could pay me back. Then I went home.”
“Did he say what he wanted the money for?”
“He said he owed someone.”
“You loaned him money so that he could pay off someone he owed?” Randall said.
“Yes.”
“Sounds like a bad risk, Ryan, wouldn’t you say?”
“He said he’d pay me back.”
There was a long pause before Randall said, “If he was borrowing money to pay off a debt, where was he going to get the money to pay you back?”
Dooley looked at the detective. He couldn’t possibly be that stupid.
“I guess he was going to earn it,” Dooley said.
“If he could earn money that easily, why did he need to borrow from you?”
Dooley wished he knew where Randall was going with his questions.
“He said the guy he owed wanted his money right away.
He wouldn’t wait. I was willing to give him a week.”
“Did you meet Jeffrey Eccles in that ravine to buy drugs from him, Ryan?”
What?
“No. I don’t do drugs.”
Detective Randall looked evenly at him.
“I don’t do drugs anymore,” Dooley said.
“Did you tell your uncle where you were going?”
“I already told you—no.”
“Did you and your uncle discuss Jeffrey Eccles?”
Dooley stared at the detective.
“No.”
“When was the last time you saw Jeffrey?”
Dooley tried to keep his face neutral and his breathing normal. He forced himself to keep meeting Randall’s eyes even though what he really wanted was to look away. He knew that whoever was investigating
Jeffie’s murder—was it Randall and his partner, or was it some other cops?—had talked to Teresa, and he knew what Teresa had told them.
“He was supposed to meet me a few days ago to pay me back,” he said. “He never showed up.”
“When and where was this?”
Dooley told him. He added, “But like I said, he never showed up. If you don’t believe me, you can check at the restaurant.”
“Don’t worry, we will,” Randall said. “Jeffrey’s girlfriend said he seemed happy about going to see you. Why do you suppose a guy like Jeffrey would be happy about paying back the money he owed you? Does that make any sense to you?”
“Maybe he didn’t like to be in debt,” Dooley said.
“Maybe he didn’t like to be in debt to you.”
That’s when Dooley slipped just a little. He said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Jeffrey made six calls to you in the space of less than ten minutes on Monday night—three days after your mother died. He must have really wanted to talk to you. You want to tell us what that was all about?”
Dooley wasn’t sure that he did. He thought about who else the two detectives had talked to or might talk to.
“He was supposed to meet me to pay me back,” Dooley said. “He was calling because he said he needed an extra day to get the money together.”
“An extra day,” Randall said. “So he calls you six times in fifteen minutes, he tells you he needs an extra day, and then he doesn’t show up when he’s supposed to. Is that what you’re telling us, Ryan?”
Dooley didn’t say anything.
“Did you give him an extra day?”
“Yes.”
“So, what, you told him he could pay you back on Tuesday instead?”
“Yes.”
Randall leaned forward and pushed the play button on the tape recorder. Dooley heard Jeffie’s voice saying “Leave a message.” Then he heard his own voice: “It’s me. Be here, Jeffie, or else.” He heard Jeffie’s message again, again followed by his own voice: “Get your ass over here, Jeffie, if you know what’s good for you.” And again: “I told you, Jeffie. You fuck this up and you’re gonna be sorry.” Randall pressed the stop button.
“That’s Tuesday, Ryan,” Randall said. “The day Jeffrey arranged to meet you to pay you back, correct?”
Dooley said nothing.
“Correct?” Randall said, an edge of irritation in his voice now.
“Yeah,” Dooley said. “I was waiting for him.”
“You called Jeffrey a total of ten times in the space of an hour, Ryan. You left three messages. You did not sound happy.”
“I was pissed off,” Dooley said. “I thought he was ducking me. He never showed up.”
“I see.” Randall looked at Dooley but didn’t say anything, probably wanting Dooley to sweat over what the next question would be. Then: “So you’re saying you didn’t see him at all on Tuesday?”
“No.”
“When was the last time you saw Jeffrey Eccles?”
“Monday.”
“The day he made all those phone calls to you?”
“Yeah. He came to the store.”
“The video store where you work?”
“Yeah. He called my cell, but we’re not allowed to take calls at work. So he came to the store. He told me that he needed an extra day. I told him okay.”
“You told him he could pay you back on Tuesday instead. But you say he didn’t show up.”
Was he stupid? Hadn’t he just said that—twice?
“Yes,” Dooley said.
“Where were you Tuesday night, Ryan?”
“You think I killed him? Is that it?”
“Where were you Tuesday from the time you left school until the morning?”
“I was at the restaurant waiting for Jeffie until four-thirty. Then I went home and I was there for a while.”
“Until when?”
“Until maybe eight.”
“Was anyone else home?”
“My uncle.”
“You spend time with him?”
“No. He went up to his room after supper.”
“What was he doing up there?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened at eight?”
There it was again—the subject Dooley hadn’t wanted to get into before and didn’t want to get into now. But it looked like he didn’t have much choice.
“I called my girlfriend and then I went over to her place.”
“The girlfriend whose building you were at the night your mother died? Beth, right?”
Dooley didn’t want them to drag Beth into this. What would she think, especially after everything that had already happened? What would her mother think?
“Look,” he said. “She’s a nice girl. She’s never been in any trouble. I’ll answer your questions, but you don’t need to hassle her. She’s not involved.”
Randall’s partner spoke for the first time. He said, “Not involved in what?”
“Not involved in anything,” Dooley said. “She’s not like that.”
Randall surprised Dooley. He didn’t ask anything more about Beth. Instead, he said, “Was anyone else at your girlfriend’s place besides you and your girlfriend?”
“No,” Dooley said. He was annoyed at the heat he felt in his cheeks when Randall’s partner smirked at him.
“What time did you leave her place, Ryan?” Randall said.
Too soon. Always too soon.
“Eleven-thirty.” Beth had been reluctant to let him go, even as she was pulling him by the hand to the door, worried about her mother showing up. She kept kissing him. By then she had pulled on a pair of drawstring pants and a flowery little tank top. Her hair hung down in waves over her shoulders and halfway down her back. He was fully dressed, with his jacket on, but he still felt the heat of her. She kissed him, then she told him he had to go, her mother could be home at any minute, then she kissed him again until he couldn’t think straight, until he wouldn’t have cared if her mother was standing right there in front of him. At least, that’s what he thought at first. Then he imagined how it would play out if she actually did appear, and he kissed her one more time and let her go. It was the last time that things had been right between them. He hadn’t thought about Nevin even once that night. He wished Beth hadn’t come by the store the next day. He wished she hadn’t talked to Linelle. He wished he’d been straight with her from the start.
“You don’t have to talk to her about that, do you?” he said. “Her mother—” Shit. “She’d get into trouble, that’s all,” Dooley said, feeling like a pussy, begging these two cops.
“What did you do after you left your girlfriend’s place?” Randall said.
“I went home.”
“Straight home?”
“Yeah.”
“How long did it take you to get there?”
“Twenty, twenty-five minutes.”
“Was anyone home when you got there?”
“My uncle.”
“Can he verify what time you got home?”
“I don’t think so. I think he was asleep.”
“You think? You don’t know?”
“I didn’t check on him or anything. I went right to my room.”
“So you didn’t see your uncle after eight o’clock that night, is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, but—” He knew what they were thinking: If he hadn’t seen his uncle, then his uncle hadn’t seen him, which meant that there was no one who could say for sure when he got home. Which meant that no one could say for sure where he went after he left Beth’s house. Which meant …
“You didn’t talk to him?”
“No.”
“So how do you know he was home?”
What?
“If you didn’t see your uncle and you didn’t talk to him, Ryan, how do you know he was home?”
“Well—” Of course he was home, Dooley thought. Where else would he have been?
> “When was the last time you saw your mother?” Randall said.
Dooley stared at him. Randall had started out on Jeffie, but now he was back on Lorraine. What was going on?
Randall seemed to enjoy Dooley’s surprise. He repeated the question: “When was the last time you saw your mother?”
Dooley spotted the difference right away. Why was Randall asking it that way this time—not when was the last time you spoke to her, but when was the last time you saw her? Dooley thought about Beth and the newspaper clipping she had and the fact that she was mad at him.
“I may have forgotten something the last time you asked me about Lorraine,” he said slowly, trying to sound like this had been bothering him for some time, like he was happy to have the opportunity to clear it up now. “You remember you asked me when the last time was that I spoke to her.”
Randall waited. He didn’t say a word.
“I think I may have told you that I hadn’t spoken to her in years,” Dooley said.
“You may have told me that?” Randall said. “That’s exactly what you told me.”
“I thought when you asked me that it was because you wanted to know if she said anything to me, you know, about what she was up to or if she was still into drugs, things like that.” Like he would have cared one way or the other.
Randall was looking evenly at him.
“I told you the truth. I hadn’t talked to her in years. But I saw her a few days before she died. She showed up at my school.”
He couldn’t tell what either of the detectives was thinking, but he had a pretty good idea they weren’t buying in one hundred percent.
“Your mother came to your school?” Randall said.
“Yeah. She surprised me. I came out of school and she was standing right there on the sidewalk.”
“And you’re telling us you didn’t talk to her?”
“Yes,” Dooley said. It was God’s honest truth. “But she spoke to me.” Beth had seen that. Beth had seen her talking to him.
“What did she say?”
“She said she wanted to see me. She wanted to know how I was doing.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah.”
“You haven’t seen her in nearly three years, and she suddenly shows up at your school—you weren’t going to that school the last time you saw her, were you, Ryan?”
“No.”
“So how did she know where to find you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask her?”
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