Throwdown

by Doug Sutherland

  She turned and waved to Rich Comeau. He was sitting up in the warmth of the car, the heater probably turned up as high as it would go. They’d alternated for the last couple of hours, one standing outside with the recovery operation and the other warming up in the car. Comeau’s stays up there had increased in duration every time it was his turn.

  He took his time getting out, and the winch was already running by the time he’d got to her. She’d lost her chance to get warmed up a bit – they’d be outside for a while. She thought about complaining to Comeau and then changed her mind. Other than hogging the heater he’d been a welcome change from Wheelock. Kelly heard a shout and turned to see Samuels angrily wave her out of the way.

  “Get outta there–that thing could snap anytime!”

  She looked up at the cable, saw what he meant. Comeau was oblivious, and she saw Samuels shaking his head as she grabbed Comeau and steered both of them away to what she thought was a safe distance.

  There was a hard metallic thunk and the truck shuddered as the winch took up the last of the slack, then strained at the car’s weight. At first nothing seemed to happen, and she looked over to see Samuels mutter something as he worked the big levers at the control panel on the side of the truck. The whine of the straining winch increased in volume and the tow truck lurched so hard that Kelly thought it might slide back down into the water. Finally the truck rocked and the cable drum started to move. Kelly looked along the length of the cable to where it sliced into the water. She saw the cable straighten and then jerk suddenly sideways.

  “Must have gone right in from up there.”

  She looked sideways, saw one of the divers standing beside her. He was medium height, maybe in his thirties, the zipper on his wetsuit pulled down nearly to his navel. He had a heavy grey blanket thrown over his shoulders but had made sure to leave his chest hair and flat belly exposed, presumably in an attempt to turn her on. He’d been profiling for her all afternoon, hitting her with sidelong glances and one-liners every time he had a chance. It wasn’t working, but Kelly followed his gesture, looked up at the promontory that hung a good thirty feet above the surface of the bay. For the car to go in from up there meant that it would have had to drive up a steep incline and then make a right hand turn, keep going until it drove off the edge only a few yards away.

  “Somebody after insurance money,” the diver smirked knowingly.

  Well, yeah. Not something to arouse much interest at the station, which was why she and Comeau were stuck out here freezing their butts off. She turned pointedly away from the diver to watch the water again. The cable strained taut, then jerked again as it pulled the car free from whatever obstruction had held it. She glanced back to see that the winch’s drum was turning steadily now. Samuels was looking relieved. He caught her looking at him and his expression almost sheepishly turned to one of studied boredom.

  It only took a couple of minutes for the tail end of the car to break the surface close to the shoreline.

  “Camaro,” Comeau said.

  He said it as if that was some kind of arcane revelation. Everybody knows what a Camaro looks like, she thought. But she was the only one standing there who knew right away who it belonged to.

  • • •

  They let the car sit there on the muddy bank, opened the doors to let the rest of the water drain out. When most of it had Kelly went around to the passenger side, tried the glove box. It opened easily but it was empty except for a sodden mass of documents, probably an owner’s manual, maybe the registration and insurance, and the usual detritus of papers and pens found in every glove box on the planet.

  The keys still dangled from the ignition. It took some effort but she used a gloved hand to pull them clear. There were two other keys on the ring, attached with the ignition key to a faded blue plastic key fob. She backed out of the car, held the fob up to what was left of the light, tried to read the printing but couldn’t make it out. She looked around, saw that Wheelock had kept his distance, probably afraid there’d be something in there he didn’t want to see. She went around to the back of the car, picked out the oval key that should work for the trunk.

  Comeau hunkered down beside her, pen and notebook out. He scribbled something in the notebook, stood up.

  “I’ll run the plates.”

  Kelly ignored him, popped the trunk. It took her a long moment to register what she saw. Then she threw up.

  26

  Frank had decided to back off for a while. Nobody seemed to be reacting well to his interest in Nesbitt’s disappearance, and he had the vague and unpleasant impression that he was embarrassing himself. He probably looked like he was trying to get into a game he had no business playing. If he attracted any more attention it wouldn’t do his chances for reinstatement any good.

  Adrienne had made it abundantly clear that she didn’t want his concern or support, and all Frank could do now was hope Emily eventually recovered. That was why he was sprawled on the couch gazing dully at his television. Some twenty-something millionaire hockey player was explaining to an interviewer how his team had battled through the adversity of a four game losing streak. Frank was just turning it off when the phone rang. He recognized Wagner’s number, picked it up.

  “Yeah.”

  “Just a heads-up, Frank,” Wagner’s voice sounded filtered, distant, like he was outdoors somewhere, “I think we found the Nesbitt boy.”

  Frank felt his stomach drop. He didn’t have to ask. Wagner was usually phlegmatic, unflappable. Not this time. His voice was halting and low.

  “Where?”

  “The trunk of his car.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah,” Frank had to strain to hear him, “some fucking bastard cut him up, Frank.”

  Frank had questions, but Wagner cut him off.

  “I’ll tell you later. You know the parents, right?”

  Other than the time they’d shown up at his house Frank hardly knew Eldon and Jane Nesbitt at all. He had a feeling about what was coming and he was already trying to frame an answer when Wagner spoke again.

  “Listen,” Wagner’s voice sounded suddenly urgent, rushed, “don’t say anything to them yet – I have to be 100% sure. Meet me at the morgue tomorrow. If it is the boy they’re going to need somebody.”

  That was it. Wagner ended the call and left Frank staring blankly into nothing.

  27

  Frank didn’t look right. Then again, Wagner reminded himself, Frank hadn’t looked right in a long time. Wagner doubted if he looked any better himself. What had happened to the Nesbitt boy was unspeakable. Frank read it in Wagner’s face.

  “Bad?”

  “Horrible. That’s the only word for it.”

  Frank nodded slowly, didn’t press for and evidently didn’t want the details. They’d both seen far too much of what people could do to each other.

  Kelly had recovered in time to close the trunk before anyone beside Comeau could see what was in there. It was the best she could do, and she had refused to open it again until both Wagner and Brent Williams had arrived. Smart girl, Wagner had thought at the time. There’d been too many people around, too many people both official and unofficial who didn’t need to know and couldn’t necessarily be trusted to keep things quiet. Even then it wouldn’t stop the speculation. Her reaction alone would have been enough.

  Kelly had bought Wagner a little time, enough to put the hammer down and confidently make an ID. There was no way he would’ve put his worst enemy through that process, let alone the Nesbitts. Given the plates on the car he was found in, he was already pretty sure it was Jimmy Nesbitt. It took four calls before he found Hiram Plummer, the Nesbitts’ dentist. They knew each other–everyone in Strothwood’s small medical community knew each other–and once he explained to Hiram what had happened and what he wanted he heard nothing but silence for a few seconds and then in spite of the hour Hiram told him he’d go to the office and dig out the records. It took a while but Plummer had found them, even brought the
m over. The bad news was that the remains in the car were definitely those of Jimmy Nesbitt.

  There wasn’t any good news.

  “What about the parents?” Frank asked.

  Wagner took a deep breath, forced himself to look Frank in the eye.

  “That’s where you come in.”

  • • •

  Eldon Nesbitt wasn’t in his right mind. He’d never expected too much out of life, spent his own pretty much clear of unreasonable hopes or expectations or dreams. He wasn’t a stupid or dull man, but his imagination had been constrained by the place that he’d grown up in.

  Until his only son had gone missing and that limited imagination had burst all the boundaries that had ever contained it. He’d lain in bed tormented by dreams and possibilities and nightmares of what could have happened to Jimmy. He’d felt his wife trembling beside him, heard her whimper in what passed for sleep. He’d watched her age years in only weeks, knew that the same thing was happening to him, knew that all of it was nothing compared to what could have happened to their son.

  Then it all became clear in one horrible, crushing stroke delivered on their doorstep. The cop had been awkward, stone -faced but somehow ashamed, as he damn well should have been. He’d left after muttering a few stilted phrases that were meant to somehow soften the blow but came out like something rehearsed from a piece of paper.

  And they couldn’t even see Jimmy to say good-bye. It was obvious no one wanted them to see his body. Both he and his wife fought against it, had to be sure it was really Jimmy. Finally Dr. Wagner had guided him gently down the hall and out of Jane’s hearing. Wagner was older than Eldon by only a few years, but he had the authority and respect that someone of Eldon’s generation and background automatically accorded the medical profession.

  “Mr. Nesbitt, please trust me on this. I’m very sorry, but we’re already sure. I made sure. It’s Jimmy. You and I both know that if you insist on seeing him your wife will want to see him too. I don’t think you’d want her to do that.”

  Wagner had stopped there but he’d held Eldon’s eyes, like he was trying to will him into understanding. Eldon had always heard how abrupt and uncaring Doc Wagner was, but Wagner’s creased, worn face looked indescribably sad. In his own way Wagner was pleading with him. The reality of what Wagner was trying to tell him finally burst through and Eldon felt a white hot flash rush up his spine and engulf his chest. It physically staggered him and he was only dimly aware of it when Wagner stepped sideways and closer in an attempt to block him from Jane’s sight.

  Eldon was a big man, even massive, but he felt no strength in his legs, nothing to keep him upright. Wagner clamped an iron grip on his arm and somehow guided him into the tiny alcove formed by a doorway near the end of the hall. They stayed there for what could have been seconds or minutes or hours or days until Eldon’s shoulders stopped heaving and enough strength came back into his legs. He finally looked up at Wagner and something passed silently between them. Eldon nodded once, a tiny movement for such a big man, and then he stepped out of the alcove with nothing showing in his face.

  He walked slowly down the hall to where Frank Stallings stood protectively close to Jane. Eldon could feel Wagner walking slightly behind him, saw his wife look up through the mist of tears in her eyes, saw Stallings glance quickly at Wagner and see something that made him move slightly back and away from Jane and then Eldon was there, enfolding her so that she was just a tiny presence in his arms, impossibly light but the only strength he had left. He held her as tightly as he could to keep her wrapped up and safe from something he had no hope of protecting her from. They stayed like that for a long time, unaware of the others, her face buried in his chest, and finally her sobs subsided just enough for him to very gently ease himself slightly away and wait for her to look up at him and for their eyes to meet.

  “We’re going home now,” he said, his voice softer than it had ever been in their lives together.

  28

  Kenny Langdon had dodged a bullet and he knew it. It had been nearly two weeks since they’d found the car and Kenny had been expecting a knock on the door that never came.

  When he’d first heard about it Langdon had to fight an almost uncontrollable urge to run. Elway had talked him out of it, basically by reinforcing what Kenny already knew. Even if the cops did come to the door Kenny had sanitized the hell out of the farmhouse. Unless they sent a full-blown State forensic team in there they wouldn’t find anything.

  “Play your luck, man,” Elway had told him, “they found the car, so what? You said nobody saw you.”

  The first sign that he was free and clear came early and it was something he hadn’t even thought of. He’d gotten a call from a member of the Nesbitt family he didn’t know, a cousin or somebody, and they asked him to be one of the pallbearers.

  It was a bizarre experience even by Kenny’s standards, bringing him into uncomfortable proximity to Jimmy’s parents. He’d never met them before and they were in no condition to do anything more than mutely acknowledge his presence. He could see a lot of Jimmy in his mother, very little in his old man. Eldon Nesbitt was huge, older than Kenny would have expected, but he had no doubt that the big man would snap him like a twig if he ever found out what he’d done with Jimmy.

  The service seemed to take forever, a lot of standing up and sitting down, a lot of singing. There was an awkward and short eulogy by some kid Jimmy had gone to school with, and a few even more awkward words from a minister who obviously didn’t have a clue who Jimmy Nesbitt really was and would have been appalled if he did. Darryl was one of the other pallbearers and once or twice Kenny heard him snicker at something somebody said or did. Asshole.

  Kenny was uncomfortable, sitting there near the front with most of the mourners behind him. He assumed there’d be eyes on him, and when the service ended and they filed out of the church he kept his eyes straight ahead and a solemn look on his face.

  It was a miserable day outside, cold with a gunmetal sky and a biting wind that came in sideways and hard. There was a reception scheduled afterward in the church basement and some of the older people stayed inside to wait.

  Kenny was standing close to the minister and kept his head down, didn’t pay much attention to what the man was saying. The guy looked to be in his forties, had a singsong, reedy voice that matched his skinny frame and thinning brown hair, and the wind stole his words from the hearing of anyone more than fifteen feet away. Frank Stallings was closer than that, and Kenny used the prayers to keep his head down, mask anything he might be showing in his face. Jimmy Nesbitt had been long gone by the time Kenny got to him, but Kenny wasn’t oblivious to what he had done. He could hear Jimmy’s mother crying all the way through the service.

  It was taking a long time and Kenny had to force himself to remain still. The minister finally stopped talking and went over to where the Nesbitts were standing, said something to them that Kenny couldn’t hear and didn’t want to. No one else moved or spoke. Mrs. Nesbitt looked like she was going to collapse, and Kenny could see why the undertaker had told the pallbearers that after the service the coffin would stay aboveground until the Nesbitts had left. Kenny figured if she had to watch it being lowered into the ground they might as well put her in there with it.

  29

  Ed Cunningham was in full-tilt Hizzoner mode, surrounded by all his trappings of office. He’d met Brent at the door, a sure sign he wanted something. He was all smiles and handshakes, casual and friendly. His suit jacket was draped over the chair behind his desk and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to give the impression that he was a hands-on workaholic. Ed guided him to a small cluster of chairs away from the big desk, even asked Julie to bring them coffee. By now Brent knew that it was all calculated to be disarmingly informal, and when Julie left the coffee and closed the door behind her he waited for it.

  “That was hard,” Ed said, “broke my heart.”

  Brent couldn’t disagree with him. The funeral for the Nesbitt boy had bee
n the day before and the little church had been packed.

  “So where are we with this?” Cunningham asked.

  Brent had given this some thought, and he didn’t have any hesitation about answering.

  “I talked to Dr. Wagner. He examined–,” Brent hesitated for a moment, “he examined the remains and he’s pretty sure the boy was killed at around the same time as Wellner abducted the Simmonds girl.”

  “Around? What does that mean?”

  “A few days. Could even have been at the same time, but Jeff said that was as close as he could get. The condition of the body …. ”

  Cunningham grimaced, held up a hand to stop him.

  “I get it, Brent. I don’t need to hear the details again.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So we’re talking about Wellner here,” Cunningham sounded relieved.

  Brent knew that Cunningham had a vision of Strothwood that was somewhat at odds with reality. He had ambitions, both for the town and for himself, and he’d spent a great deal of time and effort presenting Strothwood as a bucolic, Norman Rockwell throwback to a kinder, gentler time. That had gone all to hell a few months ago, but other than Cunningham and a few heritage types there probably weren’t that many people who’d believed it to begin with.

  “Yeah, especially with the – ” Brent saw Cunningham’s pained expression, stopped himself, “Yeah, it had to be Wellner.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t think of anybody else that sick. And Jimmy Nesbitt was going out with the Simmonds girl – you can see how it could have happened. They must have been together. Wellner wanted Emily and the Nesbitt kid got in the way.”

  “Normally, I guess, your next step would be to question Emily Simmonds,” Cunningham said, “again.”

  There was an implication there that maybe Brent hadn’t done it right the first time, but Brent let it pass.