Never Cry Mercy (11 page)

Miles jumped on Vernon's back and pulled him away. Reese placed herself between us to keep me from going after Vernon, and stopping him from lashing out again.

"Christ," she said. "The hell is wrong with you two?"

"I'm tired of being jerked around," I said. "I know you are, too. And look at this bastard. I say what he needs to hear and he jumps on me. Son of a bitch. You're lucky we're in here, Vernon, and not back in the middle of nowhere."

"We can easily go back, boy," he said.

"That's enough." Reese put her arm across my chest and pushed me back to the wall. She lowered her voice a few decibels. "Jack, come on. You're only going to make it worse acting like this. Let them do their thing. Once they question us, they'll have to let us go. They have nothing on us."

"They're wasting time," I said. "You know it. We should all be out there looking for who did this."

"All of a sudden you're invested in this town?"

"I couldn't care less about this town. But I care that an old woman tried to tell me something was wrong and I missed it. Christ, I ignored it. I could've stopped this." I pulled away from her grasp and wrapped my hands around the back of my head.

She took a step back. Her eyes wavered left and right, then focused on mine. "How?"

Chapter 24

I didn't have it figured out. Not entirely, at least. Everything pointed to Darrow and his men. But it was all a secret. People told me to hang back, not get involved. In what, though? I could speculate all day, but with no firsthand knowledge as to what these guys were into, I couldn't find the link between them and the murder. They disliked me, which would have been a solid reason to take me out. Perhaps that's why they went to the house. Herbie and Ingrid got in the way. Collateral damage. That explanation was too easy, and I had a feeling the real reason was far more insidious. They were the intended targets. Herbie and Ingrid had built the town from the dirt up. Darrow and his men threatened the foundation of the place. They weren't going to take it any longer. Maybe that's why Herbie took a chance on a guy stranded on the side of the road. Perhaps he thought I could lend a hand. In the end, they paid for their convictions with their lives.

"Jack?" Reese said.

I looked past her at the two cops standing near the far wall. Vernon's beet-red face and heavy breathing told me he hadn't settled down yet. Miles shuffled foot-to-foot and fidgeted with his holster. Looked like a kid who couldn't hold his piss any longer.
 

"Jack?" She backhanded me across the chest.

"Not now," I said. "We'll talk about it when we're out of here." I leaned in closer, whispered, "And I need you to answer my questions one hundred percent truthfully. Got it?"

She nodded, said nothing.

"Vernon," I said. "I apologize. I got upset and lashed out. It won't happen again."

So long as the bastard didn't make another move against me.

Miles attempted to take on the role of peacemaker. He stepped forward, arms outstretched. "Hey, it's OK, man. As long as we can sit down and talk about this like—"

"Jesus, Miles," Vernon said. "Shut the hell up and go pour everyone a cup of coffee."

Vernon unlocked the interrogation room and directed us inside. I'd thought he'd split us up, attempt to find holes in our story. I'd assumed wrong. We talked for an hour, going over the details four or five times. Then he asked me to recount my last conversation with Ingrid, when I'd found her crying. I managed to do so almost word for word, emphasizing that she wanted me to leave, that she felt like she was in danger. And then how she insisted I stay. Figured she felt as though she owed it to me to keep her husband's promise.

"That's the kind of people they were." Vernon wiped the stained edge of his mug, took another sip. His gaze lifted up to the wall or ceiling behind me. He stared there for a minute, smiled. "She used to watch me when I was a little boy. Man, I thought she was the best thing ever back then. Hell, I thought that for a long time, matter of fact. Wasn't until I matured and found my wife that I really appreciated Ingrid, though. She was there for us, time after time, helping out with my little ones. Helping my wife through horrible bouts of postpartum depression. You see, my wife got it bad with kids two and three. I thought she wasn't going to make it at one point."

There was a brief pause when Miles stepped into the room.

"Ingrid gave so much to everyone she met," Vernon said. "Even the assholes in this town. See, that's why this makes no damn sense, and that's why it's so easy for all of us to point the finger at you, Jack, because no one has anything to gain by killing Ingrid and Herbie. I swear, the only logical explanation is that some psychopath did it so he could get off."

The room fell silent for several minutes while Vernon presumably meandered through his memories of Ingrid. His eyes went misty, and he looked down at the table. I understood how he felt. I'd been there myself. But, damn, to think the only possible conclusion was that I was a psychopath.

"All right." Vernon slapped the table. "Let's get back to it. Start from the beginning, when you broke down outside town."

I went over everything one more time, meeting Herbie, the bar, and the encounter with Linus and his large friend. I told him again about the fight at the garage, and the older man in the pickup truck. He confirmed that was Darrow. I paused there, waiting for Vernon to add something else about the guy. He didn't. I recounted Ingrid's last conversation with me, the clues I missed. And finally, I told him how we found the bodies. He seemed deflated when I'd finished. Perhaps he expected me to slip up somewhere, get some detail wrong, something he could pin on me.

"Anything else?" I asked.

Vernon shook his head. I figured he'd take us through another round, but there was no point. I knew it, and he realized it. He led us outside, behind the station.

"I take it you can make it back to Billie's from here?"

We were already walking and didn't respond.

"Jack," he said. "Don't leave town. We'll need to talk to you again soon."

Chapter 25

"Who's Darrow?" I said. "What's his deal?"

Reese didn't lift her gaze from her cell phone. I craned my head. Looked like she had a crossword puzzle up.

I rolled the twist cap from the beer bottle in my palm, pressing the sharp points into my flesh. They left deep, dark indents in my palm. I tossed the cap over her phone. It bounced off the table and landed in her lap.

She took a deep breath, glanced up at me. "Where'd you hear that name?"

"Nowhere."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Because."

"That attitude is not going to get you far, Jack."

"Come on, Reese. If you know something, tell me."

"I thought I warned you to keep your head down. Now you're asking about Darrow. Tell me where you heard the name."

I took a long pull from the bottle, draining about a third of it. The carbonation burned a touch going down. The hoppy bitterness drowned out the sensation.

"Well," I said. "I heard it from a kid."

"A kid?"

"Yeah, a kid."

"What kid?"

"On my way back to Ingrid and Herbie's, from here. When I found their bodies. Before I got there, there was that group of kids huddled around something on the ground. Little bastards wouldn't show me. When one started talking, another said, 'Darrow don't like no one talking,' or something like that. I got the boy to confirm Darrow drives the old dually I keep seeing."

"I'll start by saying that if you continue down this line of questioning outside this room you'll be opening up a can of skunk that you can't shove back in. The smell is going to envelope you. Probably me, too. We'll be screwed."

"And we'll stink. At least it'll be together."

She rolled her eyes at me.

"We'll be in the crapper because Darrow doesn't like anyone talking, right?"

She nodded. "Precisely."

"This guy scare you?"

"What guy?"

"Darrow."

She shrugged. "Not sure what you mean."

I rose and paced the perimeter of the apartment, moving books and the few knickknacks she had placed on shelves and window sills.

"What the hell are you doing?" she asked.

"Checking to see if the place is bugged," I said.

"You're not going to give this up, are you?"

"Have you known me to give up on anything?"

"For a while I thought you'd given up on me. Hell, took you long enough to find me."

"You think this was planned?" I opened a random book to a sketch of an elephant. It was decorated like it was going on parade in India.

She nodded. "From the moment I saw you in the bar, I knew you'd been searching non-stop for me."

"Happy accident, McSweeney."

"You only call me McSweeney when you're trying to hide your feelings." She swiped my beer and finished it. "Some kind of buffer that allows you to address me as one of the guys or something."

"Now you know everything about me, huh?"

"You're not that complicated, Noble."

"You're right about that."

"So are you saying you're not happy to have found me?"

"I was."

"But now?"

"This whole double homicide and possible murder-one indictment against me changes things a bit."

She rose and crossed the room, stopping inches in front of me. She smelled like heaven even after the ride out of town, standing in the desert, and sitting in the interrogation room. Her hand wrapped around mine. She placed her other on my chest, nails digging into the muscle.

"Let it go until the morning, Jack."

I followed her to her room, and managed to forget about everything that had happened, for a little while at least.

Chapter 26

I left my watch on the pillow. It was something my father had given me the first time I returned home as a Marine. I slipped out of the apartment. Reese would be pissed at me for leaving without waking her, but at least I was coming back. She might not forgive me for taking her keys and leaving in her car.

The street was deserted. The night watch had gone, and no replacement had come to take their place. Maybe we were off the hook with Vernon. Or perhaps he knew we wouldn't leave. Either way, when we parted yesterday he seemed resigned to the fact that our story was legit and he'd have to look elsewhere to find the killer. Anger had led him down the wrong path with me. He was thinking straight now, and would run a proper investigation.

Or call in folks who could if his department was incapable.

The old muscle car roared to life with a flick of the key, loud enough that I feared it would wake Reese. I imagined her flying down the stairs at that moment, bursting through the door and blocking my escape. I eased out of the garage onto the dirt and gravel. She was nowhere to be seen.

I drove toward Herbie's cousin's shop, but turned a couple blocks early onto a residential street.

The old GMC dually was parked in the same spot I'd seen it last night, in front of the unassuming Cape Cod. It was white, with blue trim and a stained front door. I drove past the house, turned, and parked a few houses down in a spot with nothing to obstruct my view.

Bacon saturated the steady breeze that blew in through the open driver's window. My mouth watered, stomach clenched and growled. I hadn't eaten. Hadn't had a cup of coffee. The latter would have been most helpful.

Five minutes passed with no action on the street. It was barely seven a.m. Not like the people here had to brave a lot of traffic to get to work. If their shift started at eight, they could leave five or ten 'til and make it on time. If they worked out of town, they were gone by six.

My cell phone buzzed. I diverted the call to voicemail. Only one person had the number, and I wasn't ready to talk to her.

The Cape Cod's front door swung open. Out strode a thin, pretty blonde woman, probably thirty to thirty-five years old. She left the door open and crossed the yard. A yellow lab with happy-butt disorder came out, tail wagging so hard his rear moved damn near a foot in either direction. I thought he was going to flip over. The blonde turned, bent over and petted the dog, then shooed him inside. A little boy, maybe six or seven, came out a few seconds later. He had a red book bag larger than him strapped to his back. He was going to have a hell of a problem with his back later in life. What did a kid need with that much stuff on a daily basis?

The boy followed the woman to their grey minivan. She held her arm out, aiming something at the vehicle. The side door creaked, then slid open on its own. Once the boy was secure in his seat, the woman ran back to the house. She leaned inside with both hands pressed against the door frame. Her hair fell to one side and hung down over a foot. She yelled something indecipherable, then jogged back to buckle in the little boy.

And then the blond-haired boy from the day before, the apparent leader of the eleven-year-olds, appeared. He dragged his book bag across the yard, leaving behind a trail of matted down grass. He stopped mid-way and pulled a cell phone from his pocket.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered, replaying his warning about Darrow in my head.

The front door remained open. A figure walked past. I tried to make out who it was, but I could only see shadows inside. Was it the older guy? Darrow? I doubted it. Why would the kid refer to his old man like that? Maybe the guy was his stepfather. Made sense, given the age difference between Darrow and the blonde woman.

"Come on, Roy," his mom yelled.

The kid swiped the screen of the phone, shoved it in his pocket, then picked up his bag with both hands. He ran across the yard and jumped into the front seat of the minivan. The vehicle rolled backward a few feet, and came to a jarring stop. I looked toward the house. A bare arm stuck out in the sunlight. The rest of the figure remained a shadow. The woman stuck her arm out and waved it, then continued away from the house.

Reese's car heated up over the next several minutes as the sun rose above the houses and trees. The wind had faded, leaving behind the lingering aroma of breakfast. I considered going up to the house. Knocking on the door. Breaking in. Whatever. Every fiber of my being, my instincts, all told me not to do it. It would make things a hell of a lot worse if I was found breaking and entering. Hell, even knocking on the door and having the guy open it would make a mess of things. Especially if he carried the clout I thought he did.