Dead Canaries Don't Sing (37 page)

A fog of panic was clouding my brain.
Think!
I commanded. I replayed every word I’d said on our date at Wellington’s. I’d shown him the notebook. I’d told him it contained everything I needed to figure out who killed Tommee. He’d said that solving the case was just a question of me going through all the information I’d gathered and piecing it together.

Prometheus. A few hours earlier, when I’d rushed into the house after learning that Betty had been attacked, he’d squawked, “Jesus H. Christmas.” The odd expletive that Jimmy used, especially when he was under stress.

At the time, I’d been too distracted to pay attention to my parrot’s new phrase. But thinking back, I was positive I’d never heard Jimmy use it inside the cottage.

Which meant the only way the bird could have heard the quirky expression “Jesus H. Christmas” was if it had popped out while Jimmy was prowling around inside my house, looking for the notebook.

It was all starting to add up. I pictured the chair, left at an awkward angle as if somebody had tripped over a rug—or a cat—and bumped into it. Banging into it unexpectedly would have prompted Jimmy to yell the first thing that came to mind—the same scenario that had made him blurt it out that night at Wellington’s.

And then I remembered something else Jimmy had said that evening at the bar. He told me that wherever you go, you take something with you and you leave something behind.

He’d left something behind, all right. An expression I’d never heard anyone else but him use.

The sick feeling got worse as Jimmy drove farther along Cross Country Road, bringing us closer to the quiet, out-of-the-way industrial area where he kept his beloved old cars.

Could he possibly be dangerous? I wondered, my head spinning. He certainly fits Betty’s description of her tall assailant . . . But what about Pascucci? Nick’s friend traced the car that’s been following me to
him
.

Jimmy could have borrowed it, I reasoned. After all, they were friends. Or were they both involved in the Tommee Frack homicide . . . ?

I jumped when Jimmy said, “Speaking of your notebook, you still poking around the murder?”

“Not really.” I tried to use the same casual tone. “I decided to leave it to the police, just like you said.”

Another thought struck me. I opened my notebook to the first page, pretending I was just flipping through it as a nervous gesture.

There it was, just as I remembered. Back at the beginning, Nick had given me a list of vehicles that the residents of Brewster’s Neck reported having spotted in their neighborhood in the hours just before Tommee’s murder. I’d written,
Other neighbors, UPS
truck, FedEx truck, police car...

Police car
. It could have been Jimmy. Of course, it could very well have been Pascucci.

But it
could
have been Jimmy.

“Yeah, you’re better off leaving the whole thing alone,” he said. “I read about Frack in your notebook—all about that whole payoff thing he was involved in and the fact that he was about to sing . . . The guy was really bad news. No wonder he got iced.”

“Right,” I croaked.

The air in the car was stifling.
He knows all about
Tommee—but there’s no way he read about it in my
notebook,
I thought.
I didn’t find out about the payoff scheme and Tommee’s decision to turn state’s evidence until
after
the book disappeared
.

Suddenly, all the pieces clicked together. And the picture they formed wasn’t merely clear: it was absolutely horrifying.

I glanced over at Jimmy, wondering how I could possibly have been so wrong about him. For the first time, I noticed how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel.

And then I focused on his right hand, my heart skipping a beat as I zoomed in on it.

A Band-Aid stretched across his knuckles.

I immediately experienced a sinking feeling in my stomach. I had a pretty good idea of how he’d gotten hurt—and how he’d reacted when it happened.

Struggling to hide the fact that my hands were trembling, I slipped my cell phone out of my purse.

“Who are you calling?” Jimmy asked, glancing over at me.

“Just a friend. She’s in the hospital and I promised to check up on her.”

I dialed the familiar number.

Answer,
I pleaded silently.
Please, please pick up.

When I heard the voice at the other end say, “Hello,” I repressed a shudder of relief.

“Hi, Betty. It’s me. Jessie.”

“This isn’t Betty. It’s Nick.”

“Yes, Betty, I know. It’s good to hear your voice, too. You’re sounding much better.”

“What’s going on, Jess?”

“I just wanted to tell you I found my notebook. Remember I told you I lost it?”

“I’m listening.”

“You’ll never guess where it turned up. In Jimmy Nolan’s car! Remember, the police officer I’ve been seeing? I’m with him right now.”

“Jess, are you telling me that cop is the one who broke into your house?”

“You’re absolutely right, Betty. And what you said about him before was completely true.” I chuckled, although it sounded woefully thin in the darkness of Jimmy’s car. “You’re such a good judge of character!”

“My God, Jess. Where are you?”

“Oh, yes, he’s a very interesting guy,” I babbled on. “He collects classic cars. Right now, he’s taking me to the place where he garages them.”

“Damn! Where are the cars, Jess? What’s the garage’s address?”

“It’s an industrial area, near a plumbing supply place—”

“Hey, you gonna be on that phone all night?” It was the first time I’d ever heard Jimmy sound cross. “I’m getting lonely over here.”

“Do you know anything else about the location, Jess? Think. The number on the building? The name of the street?”

“I guess that’s about it, Betty,” I said. “Talk to you soon.”

Overwhelming fear crept over me as Jimmy turned down a quiet street I recognized all too well. We would be at the garage in seconds. And even though I’d gotten through to Nick, I hadn’t known enough about where “there” was to tell him how to find me.

“So who’s your friend?” Jimmy asked. “It sounds as if she likes me.”

In the dimly lit car, surrounded by a pitch-black night, the smile that had once looked charmingly boyish now looked sinister.

“My next-door neighbor. Believe it or not, she was attacked, right in her own house.”

“Gee, that’s too bad.” He sounded sincere. His ability to act like someone other than who he really was sent a chill through me. “Do they know who did it?”

“No,” I replied. “No idea. Probably just a random thing.”

“You think so? Maybe it was something else.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was because you’ve been poking around into this murder. You know, like maybe somebody was sending you a warning.”

My mouth was dry as I said, “I doubt it.”

“If I were you, my neighbor being attacked would scare me away from having anything to do with Tommee Frack.”

“I told you I’ve already decided to leave that alone.”

“Right.”

The tone of his voice made it all too clear he didn’t believe me. Was it possible that my worst fears were correct? Was his real motive in bringing me here tonight putting a stop to my snooping, once and for all?

I was on the verge of panic by the time we pulled into the small lot beside the garage that housed Jimmy’s two classic cars. We were completely alone out here, and it was so dark I could barely see.

If I ran, there was nowhere to go.

“Come on inside,” Jimmy said, opening his car door.

I knew I had no choice.

As we walked toward the building, he took my arm—something he’d never done before. He opened the door and half-led, half-pushed me inside.

Jimmy didn’t waste any time. “Pick your poison. The T-bird or the Spyder?”

“You know, Jimmy,” I said, trying desperately to keep my voice from cracking, “I’m suddenly not feeling very well. It’s that same headache I got the other night . . . I think I should just go home.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“We can do this some other time. But tonight just isn’t—”

He grabbed me by the arm. “You must think I’m pretty stupid. Don’t you get it?
I’m on to you!
I read what you wrote in that notebook! All those people you’ve been talking to . . . You were
this close
to figuring out who Frack really was—and why he ended up dead.”

“Please let go of me, Jimmy. I don’t know anything! All I heard were rumors and—”

“That guy you talked to—what was his name, Wade?
He
knew.” He wrenched me even closer. “You went back to talk to him again, didn’t you?” he hissed. “And I bet he told you all about Frack.”

“You’re wrong! I never had any intention of trying to find out anything more! I decided to forget the whole thing. It’s just too complicated and—”

“Bullshit! You’re
lying
!” His mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “You were
never
gonna give up! Even having the people who are close to you get hurt isn’t enough to stop you. I figured maybe seeing that old lady lying in the hospital would be enough to get you to back down. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? Maybe I really
am
stupid, because it took me this long to figure out that nothing’s gonna change your mind. But your notebook spelled it all out for me. Getting hold of it was worth it—even though your stupid dog bit me while I was looking for it. Jesus H. Christmas, that little bastard is out of control!”

Max. So my hunch about the Band-Aid on Jimmy’s hand had been correct. The “Jesus H. Christmas” Prometheus had mimicked was courtesy of my terrier’s overly anxious jaws.

“You just wouldn’t let it go,” Jimmy went on in the same jeering tone. “And you were almost at the point of running off to the newspapers or the D.A.’s office or whatever it took to blow this whole thing wide open, weren’t you?”

“Jimmy, no! I—”

“You’re just like Frack. He had a big mouth, too. He was about to screw things up for everybody. And in the process, take down a lot of good people while he got off scot-free. We knew what was going on . . . the way he was suddenly best pals with the D.A.’s office. Even though the police commissioner and the rest of the department did so much for him, he still didn’t appreciate what he had. He was about to turn them all in, the bastard, every single person who helped make him who he was.

“Some people don’t know when to leave well enough alone. Which is why somebody else finally decides it’s time they were out of the picture.”

He yanked me closer to the Spyder and reached for the passenger-side door. “Get in.”

I was frozen. There was no doubt in my mind that if I got into that car, I would never get out.

“Get
in
!”

I tried to pull away, but his grip was too powerful. He pushed me down, trying to force me into the car.

“Yeow!” I screeched as my head smashed against the hard metal edge of the car roof.

For a few seconds, I saw stars. And then I fought back.

I’d never hit anyone in my life. But I curled my right hand into a tight fist and punched Jimmy Nolan in the face with all the force I could muster.

I guess I socked him pretty hard, because he reeled backward, releasing his grip on me.

“Jesus H.—!”
he yelled, covering his face with his hands. “You broke my fuckin’
nose
!”

I darted away, desperately looking for something —
anything
—to use as a weapon. My eyes lit on the tools that hung from hooks along one wall. Dashing over, I grabbed the first one that looked capable of doing some damage: a heavy wrench, over a foot long. Turning, I raised it above my head and charged toward Jimmy, energized by a dark line running down his chin that could only be blood.

Before I realized what was happening, he’d reached up and wrested the wrench away from me. “We need something better than this,” he said, his voice calm but his eyes wild. “Fortunately, I got just the right tool for the job.”

I jerked my head around, frantically searching for another weapon. But he grabbed me again, this time by the hair. I did my best to punch and kick as he dragged me back toward the car. The sound of his cold laughter increased my frustration.

I was suddenly hit with the chilling realization that he was
enjoying
this.

“Look, Jimmy, we’ve got to talk.” I tried to sound calm, but fear made my voice waver. “I promise not to say a word to anybody. Just let me go, and—”

“It’s not that simple,” he said icily. “I work for people who expect me to fulfill certain duties. And letting canaries fly away is not one of them.”

He grasped me by the neck with his free hand. From the back of my mind floated the image of the delicate yellow bird I’d found lying near Tommee Frack, his head snapped off as if whoever was responsible had no sense that it was a living being . . .

“See, with Frack, I was just taking care of business,” he went on. “Somebody hires me to do something, I do it. Especially when the order comes from Harned.”

“Lieutenant Harned?” I gasped, truly stunned. “
Harned
ordered Frack’s murder?”

“Him and a bunch of other guys in the department, all the way up to the commissioner. With Harned in charge of the investigation, we knew there was no way any of us would be implicated. And it was a cinch, since Frack knew me and trusted me. We were pals. Bringing him here, to this garage, was a piece of cake. At that point, finishing him off was easy. The whole thing was planned out smoothly, from start to finish. We were even smart enough not to use a gun, since the bullet could be traced. The canary . . . that was my own personal touch. Harned wasn’t thrilled when he first heard about it, but just like everything else, he took care of it. The dead bird disappeared before the newspapers ever got wind of it. ‘The perfect crime,’ just like I said . . . at least, until
you
starting butting in.”

He tightened his fingers, digging into my windpipe and cutting off even more air. For the second time that night, flashes of light popped in front of me.