And I know what you’re thinking. What about me? What did I become? Well let me set that record clear once and for all. I never touched no girl, not like that. I want that written down. Type it up, Tubby. In bold, you hear me? In bold.
So, after that day, if I was ever laughing too loud, or making too much noise, or I dropped a plate or forgot to do my homework or didn’t take the dog out for its morning walk, or if Eddie had just been drinking, out would come the key from under his shirt on the chain around his neck and I would go to that room with the red walls, straight past the kitchen and on your right, and I would pray to the man on the cross that this time I wouldn’t wet myself.
Chapter Twenty
I’m not sure why I didn’t tell Joe about my meeting with Simon Jacobs. Maybe on some level I couldn’t shake the notion that he was somehow involved. It would certainly be a convoluted way to get back my cut of the money, but for all I knew this had been his plan from the start. I kept thinking back to the foreigner from the parking lot. Kept wondering when he would show his face again.
So, regardless of the reasons, I shut my mouth about Simon. You can ask me if it was a mistake or not, but looking back I don’t think telling Joe would have made any difference. Not to what happened in the end.
Anyway, let’s keep going. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover still.
I headed to the station after my meeting with Simon. I had research to do.
First off, I ran his name through the system. Pulled his file. There wasn’t much, but what little I could find matched what he’d told me. Two stretches in Nebraska State Penitentiary for arson and petty theft. A soft spot for robbing gas stations and setting people’s cars on fire. Hardly a stand-up guy, but no evidence that he’d murdered anyone. Least not the three girls back in ’95. His second stint lasted just over seven months. Covered the killing period nicely.
I tried to look into his prison record, find out what he was like inside. A pop-up window asked me for my credentials and I clicked it away. Last thing I wanted was a paper trail.
Digging out my notepad, I fired up a new tab. There had been three cars parked outside the restaurant. I ran each of their plates. First one belonged to Suzanne the waitress. I discounted that. The second was registered to an insurance company. Their office was located across the street from Marco’s. I discounted that, too.
Scoring through each failed hit in my notepad, I tried the last one. A red Nissan Sentra. Plate number 248 UGN. Owned by a senior citizen named James Catterson. No parking violations, no speeding tickets. Lived in a small house near the edge of town. I leaned back in my chair. Couldn’t hurt to check it out.
It didn’t take me long to reach the Catterson house. I parked on the opposite side of the street. Got out and leaned against the door of my Impala.
Late afternoon and the day was beginning to darken. The snow had let up a little, but it was still in the air. Flakes drifted around me on a breeze too light to feel, swelling and falling on eddies so rhythmic it was like the very town itself was breathing. The sky was a dirty, depressing shade of grey and I counted six homes before the encroaching darkness ate them up. I imagined a great Nothing creeping closer. A massive beast hungry for dilapidated property.
The house was a mess. A rusted gate and an overgrown front yard gave way to a rundown two-story building. Gutters that hadn’t been cleared for years. Wooden shutters that hung at angles. And the red Nissan, too. Parked in the driveway. 248 UGN. I pulled my collar tighter around my neck and trudged over.
I hit the car first. Glanced around before trying the doors. Locked. Peering inside, I saw discarded candy wrappers and a half-empty bottle of soda propped up in the cup holder. Turning, I stared up at the house. Part of me said to leave. The rest said what was the point in coming if I didn’t check.
I rapped on the front door. Popped the leather clasp on my holster before I did. When there wasn’t any answer, I tried again.
“I help you with anything?”
The voice came from down the street. A neighbor, leaning over the front of his porch and staring at me with suspicion. I let my jacket fall across my revolver and hit him up with my best smile.
“Morning,” I said. “I’m just looking to speak with Mr. Catterson. Have you seen him recently?”
“You got any ID, pal?”
I reached into my pocket and—somewhat reluctantly—pulled out my badge. So much for the low profile. “Detective Carson,” I said.
The neighbor’s eyes widened slightly. “Is James in any sort of trouble?”
“Not at all. Just following up some routine investigations. Simple traffic violation, that’s all.”
The man nodded. “Well you won’t find him here.”
“That right?”
“Yessir. Lucky guy’s off on a cruise. First vacation I think he’s taken in years.”
“When did he leave?”
“Oh, ’bout a week ago or so.”
I ran that through my head. “You seen anyone else here since he left? Tall guy, blond hair? Well-built?”
“What, you think I just sit here watching this place? Like I got nothing better to do?”
I was pretty sure he didn’t. I smiled. “Thanks for your time.”
“You want me to let James know you’re looking to speak with him when he gets back?”
“I wouldn’t bother.” I closed my pad and waved my hand through the air. “I don’t even need to speak to Mr. Catterson that badly anyhow. Just dotting some Ts. I can finish up my report just fine without him.”
The neighbor shrugged and turned away. I padded down the steps toward the street. Glanced over my shoulder when I reached my car but the house was just as still as before. I wondered if Simon was inside, hidden behind the slanted shutters, staring back.
Chapter Twenty-One
I ran through it all on my way back to the station. I had a lot to consider. I drove slow.
I figured there was a decent chance Simon was staying there. The problem was what to do next.
The neighbor was an issue. I’d been sloppy—should’ve gone for the back door. And showing him my badge under a fake name might come back to haunt me. It wouldn’t take much. A phone call to the station would do the trick.
The other issue was Simon himself. I couldn’t take the chance that he hadn’t seen me. Whatever I was going to do, it would have to be fast.
I figured the best move would be to go back at night. Break in through a window, maybe. He’d had me on the back foot at the restaurant this afternoon. It’d be nice to even the score. Worst-case scenario, he wasn’t there; I could check the place for the photographs instead.
When I arrived I found Joe stretched out in his seat, flicking through a file, his legs up on his desk. He grunted when he saw me.
“I been waiting on you,” he said, climbing to his feet.
“Any particular reason?”
“We’ve got a visitor.”
“Who?”
“Gary Hadley.”
“Kelly’s ex-boyfriend?” I frowned. “I thought he didn’t check out.”
“Maybe,” Joe said. He scratched at his grey stubble. “You’re not the only detective around here.”
“You find something on him?”
Joe grinned.
Gary Hadley had worry in his eyes. It pressed against the mirrored glass. He didn’t say anything as Joe entered the room and sat down at the table.
The guy had come back with a lawyer. Just the sort you’d expect from a successful realtor. A heavyweight bruiser, all hawkeyed and hungry. Wearing a made-to-measure suit and a suntan in December.
I watched through the one-way glass from the adjoining room as Joe produced a thin folder and a little plastic cup of water. I watched as Hadley’s gaze fell to them.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Joe said. “Got you some water, they told me you were thirsty.”
“My client’s not under arrest,” the lawyer said. “He’s come in to answer some questions on a voluntar
y basis. I want that noted.”
“Sure, let me just find a pen.”
“Detective—”
Joe smiled and held up a finger. He switched on the recorder.
“This is an informal interview with Gary Hadley. Present is Detective Finch and . . . what did you say your name was?”
I saw the lawyer bristle slightly. “Christopher Moreno.”
“Moreno? What is that, German?”
“Can we please get on with this?”
“The time is ten past five on the afternoon of December second.” Joe paused. “How’s the leg, Gary?”
Hadley glanced at his lawyer before speaking. “Uh, it aches a little. You know, on account of the cold and all.”
“Bad time to break a bone, winter,” Joe said, and gave a chuckle I thought was a little forced. He leaned back and crossed his legs. “Wouldn’t you say?”
“It’s always a bad time to break a bone.”
“Yeah, but there’s bad times and then there’s bad times,” Joe said. “Although I guess it can be useful too.”
Hadley frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“Neither do I,” Moreno said, clasping his hands together.
“Well.” Joe took a thoughtful breath. “Maybe you want to get out of something, you know? Pretty good excuse to take some time off work, right?”
“I like my work.”
“Yeah, but those clients, always on the phone. All that pressure. You know I saw a billboard for some real-estate guy over on Maple. How come you don’t have a billboard, Gary?”
Moreno cleared his throat. “Is there a point to this, Detective?”
“All I’m saying is maybe your client wanted a little break. Figured now would be a good time to hurt himself. The best time, in fact.” Joe smiled thinly. “I mean, what’s better than ruling himself out of a murder charge?”
Hadley’s eyes popped. Moreno barely flinched.
“Is this all you have?” the lawyer said. “Because if it is, I’ll have to insist that we end this questioning now.”
“Easy there, counselor. I just want to run one thing past your client. You’ll make that evening pedicure.”
Joe reached down and opened the folder. A stack of photographs; he’d shown them to me already. A nightclub, grainy and shot from above. Kelly Scott was laughing.
“These are stills from CCTV the night Kelly died,” Joe said. “She looks like she’s having a good time, wouldn’t you say?”
Hadley was pale, his eyes locked on the top photo. “Yeah.”
“She looks good, too. Looks better with her clothes on, in fact. Funny how some women are just like that. Like it’s the idea of what’s underneath that gets you going.”
Joe peeled the top photograph away. Kelly was dancing now.
“When we spoke yesterday, Mr. Hadley, you told my partner and I that you’d broken your leg the day before Kelly was killed. Said you’d slipped on some ice on your way to work.” He paused to consider his notebook. “On a Saturday,” he added.
“I often work weekends,” Hadley said. “It’s real estate, you know?”
“Not really, but I’ll take your word for it.”
“Detective . . .” Moreno said, stretching the word out.
“Now I put in a call to your office landlord,” Joe said. “So imagine my surprise when he told me the place was closed last weekend. Something about a busted heating pipe. Sound familiar?”
“I . . . yeah, I didn’t find out until later.”
Something about the way he said it. Moreno must have noticed, was smart enough not to react. Kept his gaze leveled across the table.
I watched as Joe turned to the next photograph. And the one after that. And the one after that. Kelly Scott relived her final hours once more; drinking, dancing, laughing.
“Then of course we found this,” Joe said as he reached the final picture. Now Hadley was in the club, at the bar, and standing on two feet. Kelly was next to him, her face turned away, one hand up and pushing out. Her intention clear.
“I can explain,” Hadley started.
“Don’t,” Moreno warned.
“You know, I’m not sure what I find more offensive,” Joe said. “That you didn’t think we’d check the cameras from the club, or that you didn’t think we’d check your goddamn hospital records. You broke your leg three days ago, shit-for-brains.”
“Fine,” Hadley said. “I was at the club the night she died, alright?”
Moreno touched his arm. “My client has no comment.”
“Oh come on, your client was caught on CCTV. What I want to know is why he was there.”
Hadley spoke again before his lawyer could interrupt. “Because I wanted to say congratulations on her promotion is all. I was happy for her.”
“Looks to me like she wasn’t happy to see you.”
“She wasn’t,” Hadley said. He seemed miserable.
Moreno leaned in and whispered something in his ear.
Joe pushed on. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” he said. “You weren’t pleased about the breakup. She dumped your ass, and you thought your little heart was going to burst because you loved her so damn much. Am I right so far?”
“No comment,” Hadley said.
“Then you found out about her night out. Thought you’d try and convince her to take you back.”
“No comment.”
“Maybe you thought you could buy her a drink, beg a little. Maybe double-check there weren’t any other guys on the scene you’d need to teach a lesson. You know, remind her of the good times.”
“She said she never wanted to see me again,” Hadley said. His eyes shimmered with tears. “She told me I made her sick, that I was a bully and a thug and—”
“Alright that’s enough,” Moreno said. “Either charge my client or we’re leaving.”
“She make you angry, Gary?”
Hadley leaned forward. “Don’t you get it? I was there the night she died. I was right there, man, and I went home and she was killed by that monster. By Kevin Foster. I wasn’t there to protect her. Because of me, she was murdered. Because of me.”
He started crying. I stepped forward until I was inches away from the glass, until my reflection was so close it was almost in the room. Standing on the other side, staring back.
It had been a solid lead—it still was. An easy motive. But my gut wasn’t on board. A dirty feeling that Joe was playing him as well as he was playing me. Gary Hadley had been my discovery, and now I was resigned to watching it unfold behind mirrored glass in a soundproofed room. I’d never felt more uninvolved.
Joe didn’t say anything for a while. Just let the guy blubber until he’d managed to compose himself. Then, “You blame Kevin Foster for Kelly’s death?”
Hadley nodded. “Course. I mean, he did it, right? Everyone knows he did it. Just like before.”
“How’d you feel when you found out?”
Moreno must have realized where this was headed. He started to speak but his client got there first.
“How do you think I felt?”
“Pissed off? Angry?”
“You’re damn right I felt angry.”
Moreno pointed to the recorder. “Switch that off, we’re done here.”
“You glad he’s dead?” Joe asked.
Hadley pounded the table. “Yeah, I’m glad he’s dead! I only wish he’d suffered more.”
“Did you shoot him, Gary?”
Hadley suddenly stopped talking. Wisest move he’d made all day.
Moreno was on his feet, livid. “This circumstantial circle-jerk is done. You want to talk to my client again? You come to me.” He dropped his card on the table, hauled a mute Hadley out of his chair. “I’ll drive you home.”
“I understand why you did it, son,” Joe said. “Not a jury out there that won’t.”
Moreno flashed him an angry look from the doorway. Joe shrugged and turned off the recorder, closed the file. Turned to the glass and looked straight at me.<
br />
Chapter Twenty-Two
By the time I left work I was antsy. An irritation under my skin. I knew I had to deal with Simon but I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus. A feeling like I was missing something. A nagging fear that breaking into the Catterson house was just what Simon wanted me to do. I was hungry and I needed a drink.
I went to Stingray’s. I hadn’t spoken to Mary since last night. It all seemed so long ago now.
We’d ended the night on uncertain terms. Maybe that wasn’t surprising. She’d given me the opportunity to open up and I’d shut her down. Left in a panic, left things hanging and unsaid. I figured I’d ask her if we could talk. Maybe offer to buy her a drink. Non-alcoholic, of course.
But when I pushed open the door and entered the bar I knew she wasn’t working. It was the music that did it. Heavy metal, a thudding bass and a man screaming.
I turned and left.
Which isn’t to say I didn’t buy that drink. A bottle of rum with a name I didn’t recognize from the liquor store on the corner. It was cheap, which meant it was nasty, which meant I’d probably be throwing up half the night and popping painkillers half the morning.
I thought about driving over to her apartment. Having it out on her front step. Decided against it, unsure what I’d do if she told me to get lost. Besides, ambushing her at home just so I could get some peace felt wrong.
The money was playing on my mind. Had been, ever since I’d stuffed those bundles into my pocket. It wasn’t just Simon’s photographs that tied me to the heist. Every one of those hundred-dollar bills was like a finger pointing right at me. It had been stupid to spend one. I needed to start playing it smarter.
When I got back I went to the bathroom cabinet. Pulled out the plastic bag, the sight of the money making my stomach cramp. For a moment I thought about burning it. Just dropping the bag into a metal drum and setting it all ablaze.
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