Eyeshine

by Cy Wyss

  “Are you uncomfortable?”

  “I’m okay.” In actuality, PJ was feeling more than a little nervous, but since she had the blanket, she wasn’t feeling so bad physically anymore.

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to go over this a few more times until I really have it straight.”

  PJ sighed.

  * * *

  PJ felt like hours had passed when a knock came on the door. Jake got up and went to the door, leaving PJ with nothing but her blanket and the dregs of cold coffee in her mug.

  On the other side of the closed door, she thought she heard a familiar voice. She strained to listen but could only hear mumbling. The mumbling went on for quite some time. At points, the voices were raised almost enough for PJ to make out some words.

  “… sister,” she heard Jake say. She couldn’t hear the response, but after hearing that word, she recognized Robert’s baritone voice.

  After some more negotiation, the door opened and Robert entered with Jake. Robert took one of the chairs from the stack and set it up at the end of the table so he was cater-corner from both PJ and Jake. Jake sat back down. His face was flushed, and he didn’t look happy. The three of them sat there and looked at each other for several moments.

  “Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, PJ,” Robert said.

  Before PJ could say anything, Jake said, “Robert is here out of professional courtesy. I’m running the show, though, make no mistake.” He glared at PJ.

  Up until then, PJ had thought it was going fairly well. She really thought Jake had believed her about everything. When he said that and gave her his angry look, PJ suddenly wondered if she was in more trouble than she had thought. Robert didn’t look happy. PJ swallowed heavily but said nothing.

  “All right, PJ,” Jake said, “How about now that your brother’s here, you start telling the truth?”

  “What?” PJ’s mouth dropped open.

  “Your statement. It seems highly implausible.”

  “What do you mean? What part?”

  “All of it.”

  “What are you saying?” PJ started to shake under the blanket.

  “I’m saying you were never there that night.”

  “What?”

  “You were never there, and you never saw Chip Greene or Alex Tate.”

  “Yes, I did—I told you. It all happened just like I said.”

  Jake sighed. “PJ, you’re a very good liar. We all know that.”

  PJ looked at Robert. Robert was staring at the tabletop and said nothing. PJ looked at Jake. Jake stared intently back.

  “I don’t know what to say to that,” she said.

  “How about the truth?”

  “That is the truth. What you’ve been writing down. That’s the truth.”

  “PJ, honestly. You expect me to believe you happened to be out at exactly the time Alex Tate pushed Chip Greene into the water—”

  “He didn’t push him. Chip fell.”

  “So you say. You expect me to believe you could see that with your face full of light on a dark moonless night?”

  “Well, I saw shadows. I could tell who they were because I know them.”

  “Right. And then you stumbled and fell into the water before you could help or call 911.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s bull and you know it.”

  “Robert, why is he saying this?” PJ asked her brother. Robert remained silent. He lifted his wrist and looked at his watch.

  “PJ, you like to be where the action is, right?”

  “Uh, what does that mean?”

  “I mean, you like to be the center of attention. And you usually are, with your photos and videos of anything important that happens in town, right?”

  “Well, I’m not sure—”

  “So you figured, Chip Greene’s drowning was the biggest event of a lifetime, and you wanted to be involved. You cobbled together a nice little story that covered the evidence as you saw it. And you came up with this cock-and-bull about light goggles and a trip through the river.”

  “No. No, that’s not what happened. I want a lawyer.”

  “You’re not under arrest, PJ. Should you be?”

  Cold fear flooded PJ. “No. No, of course not.”

  “Then why don’t you admit you made it all up?”

  “I didn’t. You know, Bridget Huffman found me the next morning. Ask her.”

  “Ah yes, your niece’s friend, Bridget. A girl detective with an overactive imagination. She says she found you naked and washed up on the bank near her house.”

  “She did find me there. I had hit my head. I must have been out all night.”

  “We didn’t find any evidence of anyone washing up near the Huffman house. And, PJ, where did your goggles and robe go? They haven’t washed up anywhere either.”

  That was definitely a hole in PJ’s story. She hadn’t tried to plant a robe or goggles anywhere because she was afraid she’d get it wrong and just make things worse. Plus, they could plausibly have disappeared in the raging river, right?

  “I don’t know why they haven’t,” PJ said. “I’m sure if you keep looking, they’ll turn up.”

  “You mean when you plant them, right?”

  PJ shut her mouth into a tight line. She wondered if she should keep quiet now and refuse to say anything. She’d already said a lot. All there was to say, in fact.

  “I’m not answering any more questions.”

  “Oh, come on, PJ. You don’t fool me.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  PJ looked at Robert. Robert was scratching his chin. He looked at his watch again.

  “I told my brother what happened,” PJ said. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Ask your brother? Do you think I’m stupid? Of course he’ll say whatever you told him to say.”

  Robert rolled his eyes but continued to say nothing.

  “That’s not fair,” PJ said. “He wouldn’t lie for me.”

  “I think—” Jake didn’t get past those words before there was a knock and the door opened. PJ saw Vicky and with her was Liam Pfefferheim. Liam walked into the room. He was in a slick dark suit with a pastel blue tie and carried a briefcase.

  “This interrogation is over, Detective,” Liam told Jake. “I’m taking PJ home.”

  — 15 —

  Video

  Robert’s office was three rooms above a bank in the lot of a mini-mall on Jupiter Street, Mayhap’s main road to I-65. Entrance to his domain was from the back, through a nondescript door that read “Federal Bureau of Investigation, Mayhap Field Office, head Robert Taylor.” Robert had one full-time staff, a cheery woman named Jolene with blond hair and a generous frame. Jolene carried out most administration for Robert. Other than that, he used the facilities and personnel of Sheriff Denning or the local police department whenever he needed CSI or manpower.

  When PJ parked in the lot the morning after her interrogation, she saw Robert standing in the window of his office overlooking Jupiter Street. She got out of her car and waved, and he waved back. Then he flipped the blinds closed, concealing himself. Upstairs, Jolene opened the door before PJ reached it.

  “Hey, lady,” Jolene said.

  They hugged briefly. PJ liked Jolene a lot. She was a smartie with a tinge of red in her hair, bright blue eyes, and gold, thin-rimmed glasses. She was much taller than PJ, very womanly and matronly, PJ always thought. She was indeed like a mother figure to PJ and very protective of her employer’s baby sister. Today Jolene was in a flowery blouse, navy slacks, black shoes, and dangly gold earrings, which PJ immediately complimented her on.

  “Thanks! The man is back there waiting for you.”

  PJ thanked her, walked to Robert’s half-open door, and knocked softly.

  “Come on in, PJ,” he said.

  PJ closed the door, and they sat facing each other in the two chairs in front of his big desk.

  “What’s up?” Robert asked.

  “I have something for you,” PJ said. She p
ulled a thumb drive from her pocket and handed it to Robert.

  He turned it over in his hands. “What’s this? Did you finally get footage of the Greene-Tate confrontation?”

  “I wish. No, this is even better.” PJ beamed at her brother.

  He stood and went around his desk to plug the drive into his computer. After scanning it for viruses or other intrusive problems, he opened the single file on it. It was video PJ had taken in Trent’s father’s house. PJ came around the desk and watched over Robert’s shoulder. First, Trent got out of the truck and walked to the front door where his father greeted him. Then the footage cut to inside, where PJ had filmed the women in the kitchen opening the package and cooking their contraband stew. Finally, there was brief footage of the short boy firing his gun. The scene was from a weird angle and cut out suddenly, but PJ included it because she felt it was crucial to any case against Sheldon Pike.

  Robert watched the footage in silence. He clicked the file closed and rubbed his chin.

  “Well?” PJ asked. “What do you think?”

  Robert stood abruptly, nearly knocking PJ backward. “PJ,” he began, then stopped. He rounded his desk and paced back and forth in front of it. PJ watched him, becoming more and more aware that Robert was really upset about something.

  “What’s wrong?” she said. “Isn’t it obvious what’s happening? Isn’t this your domain?”

  Robert ran his fingers through his hair. “You have no idea what you’ve done, PJ.”

  “What? What does that mean?”

  “Who else has seen this footage?”

  PJ swallowed. “Uh. Well, I sent a copy to Sheriff Denning’s office.”

  “Oh no.” Robert stopped pacing briefly to stare at PJ. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

  “Actually, I did.”

  Robert waved his arms at PJ angrily. “You should always consult me first with something like this. I can’t believe it. You’ve blown the whole thing now.”

  “What? Blown what?” PJ was completely taken aback by Robert’s response. Instead of congratulating her on a case well solved, he was acting as if she were the bad guy.

  “PJ, you—”

  “I what?”

  Robert glared at her. Further conversation was stopped, however, by Jolene knocking briefly, opening the door, and poking her head around the jamb.

  “Franklin’s here,” she said.

  “Of course he is,” Robert said. “It couldn’t be worse timing. Darn it, PJ.”

  PJ was starting to feel hurt and more than a little offended by Robert’s reaction. “Who’s Franklin?” she said.

  Robert came around the desk again and turned off his monitor. He sat in his desk chair and motioned PJ to sit down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Fine. Show him in, Jolene.”

  Jolene said, “Special Agent Andy Franklin,” and opened the door wide to admit a short, husky man in his mid-forties. PJ sized him up. Whereas her brother was tall, a hair over six feet, Franklin was much shorter—she would have put him at five-seven or so. Both men were fit and muscular, but Robert had more of a triathlete’s build whereas Franklin was clearly a former body-builder, stocky and barrel-chested. Robert was in a charcoal suit with a silver tie; Franklin wore a navy suit with a maroon tie. Robert’s hair was still dark brown and luxurious, whereas Franklin’s hair consisted of gray and white bristles cropped short into a military-style crew cut. Franklin had light brown eyes in a similar shade to Robert’s, but without the golden flecks sparkling throughout.

  The three of them exchanged handshakes. Meeting Franklin, PJ felt her hackles rise. She had wanted to talk to Robert alone, of course, and grill him about his odd reaction to the video. Also, she wondered why another G-man was here. Was Franklin going to be Robert’s new partner or something? PJ hoped not. Robert seemed to work best alone, and to be honest, she didn’t want to share him. She was like an unofficial partner, she realized, and if Franklin was to be more permanent, her role would be in question.

  “PJ,” Franklin repeated, after Robert introduced her. “You have amazing eyes. They seem to be yellow in the light.”

  PJ wasn’t sure that was a compliment. “Uh, thanks.”

  Franklin smiled. “I’ve heard of you. Your reputation precedes you.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing.”

  Franklin sat in the chair opposite PJ in front of the desk. He folded his hands together in his lap. “So what do you think of the Greene-Tate business, PJ?”

  PJ’s eyes widened. Franklin was apparently the type to get right down to business without any small talk. She glanced at Robert. His face showed nothing. He was rubbing his chin and looking nowhere in particular.

  PJ refocused on Franklin. “I think it’s horrible. I think it was an accident and Alex Tate is being railroaded.”

  Franklin nodded. “Seems like that’s what your brother here thinks too.”

  “What do you think?” PJ asked.

  Andy fidgeted with his fingers. “I think it’s hard to say. We weren’t there that night, were we?”

  The way he looked at PJ when he said that sent a chill streaking down her spine. The chill turned into an icy coldness at his next words.

  “Pardon me, you were there, weren’t you?”

  PJ had a sudden flashback to being interrogated by Jake and couldn’t help herself from saying, “I was?”

  Franklin smiled. “I read that you washed up south of where Chip Greene went into the ravine waters. It was in Robert’s report.”

  This was the first PJ had heard of any report that Robert had made. But, in retrospect, it was obvious. He was FBI. They reported everything. In fact, Franklin was probably composing his report of their conversation in his head as they spoke.

  “I slipped and fell into the water,” PJ said.

  Franklin’s face was implacable. “Is it a common occurrence for you to turn up naked around the neighborhood in the morning? Common enough for you to forget it?”

  PJ’s mouth dropped open. Now she thought she knew where this was going. Special Agent Andy Franklin was another Detective Jake Tipton. This was another interrogation. Now she had to be extra careful, because in the grand scheme of law enforcement, this Franklin man was at least as rarefied as Robert. Not like Jake, a small-town cop whose word had to be balanced against the big, bad FBI brother. No, Franklin was infinitely more dangerous. PJ swallowed.

  Before PJ could say anything, Robert spoke up. “Andy, is that why you came all this way? To interrogate my sister?”

  Franklin smoothed his bristly hair with a hand. “Sorry, Robert. That came out wrong.”

  PJ wondered how it could have come out right. It was awfully contentious.

  Franklin tapped his head with a finger. “Sorry, PJ. You know us agents. Always curious, always asking stupid questions.”

  PJ felt her face redden. “I can’t help what happened.”

  Franklin seemed determined to change tack. “Did you hear the prime suspect is back home?”

  “Who?” PJ said.

  “Alex Tate.”

  “He’s back home? That’s great. So the judge let him go?”

  “His mom posted bail. But I don’t think the judge was impressed with the case because bail was awfully low. Twenty dollars.”

  “Wow. Is that usual?”

  “It is if the judge wants to send a message to the DA to seriously reconsider his case.”

  PJ couldn’t help sitting up extra straight and smiling. “That’s awesome. I knew Alex was innocent.”

  “How?”

  PJ’s shoulders drooped again. “What?”

  “You saw something that night that made you think the Tate boy was innocent?”

  PJ looked at Robert. He was studying his hands, which rested on his desk at the moment.

  “I’m sure it was in Robert’s report,” PJ said.

  “I’d love to hear it from you, PJ,” Franklin said.

  PJ crossed her arms. “I didn’t see that much. But from what I did see, A
lex fell in the water himself, trying to help Chip get out.”

  “And Alex was rescued by a big dog, apparently. Is that right?”

  “Mutt.”

  “Mutt?”

  “The big dog who rescued Alex. He’s a Saint Bernard mix.”

  “Is he yours?”

  “As much as you can say anyone ‘owns’ an animal, I guess.”

  “Oh, right. I guess we can never really own another sentient creature.”

  PJ felt herself warm significantly to Franklin when he said that. At least the man had his priorities straight when it came to animal rights.

  “What else did you see?” Franklin said.

  “Not much. I fell into the water and hit my head. I might have caught a glimpse of Chip on the bank downstream. But it’s all fuzzy.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “From what I’ve been hearing at HQ, you seem to be close to almost everything interesting that happens in Mayhap, PJ.”

  PJ’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s just that you seem to either have knowledge of prime events or actual photographic footage of them. You don’t happen to have any pictures of the Greene-Tate incident, do you? Like maybe some footage you’re keeping to yourself because you don’t think it means anything? Or because it doesn’t seem to mean what you want it to?”

  PJ’s scalp crawled. It was almost as if Franklin knew she did have some scant footage of the event, which she had decided to withhold because it could have been used against Alex as much as for him. She stared Franklin in the eyes and said, “Nope. Not this time. I know I’m known as a terrible busybody, but this time my sources failed me.”

  “Your sources?”

  “I’m not the one who takes all those photos and video, at least not all the time. Some of it gets anonymously sent to my inbox.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “You know what ‘PJ’ stands for, right?”

  “Tell me,” Franklin said.

  “Peeping Jane.”

  Franklin laughed.

  “It’s a nickname I’ve had since I was about ten.” PJ looked at Robert. “Which incident was it? The flying turkey one?”

  Robert chuckled. “No, I think it was the one about the haystack.”