Sweetheart (27 page)

“That him?” Henry asked.

Susan nodded.

Henry walked right over to JJ. “The lady needs to talk to you. It’s an emergency. It involves a case.”

So much for bursting into the admin office. “Thanks,” Susan said to Henry.

The kid glanced over at Susan, ducked his head, and cringed. “Oh, man,” he said. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

Susan stepped forward. “Who told you not to talk to me?” she asked.

“Read the paper,” JJ said. “Castle’s dead.” He heaved his backpack over one shoulder. “Let it go.”

Henry’s face flushed. He took a breath and set his shoulders back. “Listen, you privileged little son of a bitch,” he said to JJ, blocking his way, “you don’t want to even begin to fuck with me today. Answer the lady’s question.”

“Dude, that’s harassment.”

“You want me to search your pockets, Einstein?” Henry asked. “Because I smell weed. And when I smell weed I get to trample on a citizen’s rights to determine its origin. You answer that question about have you ever been arrested for a felony yet on all those college applications? It would be a pain in the ass to have to go back and change them all.”

JJ chewed on his lip for a minute and then shrugged. “My mom’s ex-boyfriend,” he said to Susan. “He thinks he’s still a cop because he used to be chief of police.”

Henry turned his head from JJ to Susan and back again. “The mayor?” Henry said.

“Yeah,” JJ said with another shrug. He switched his backpack to the other shoulder. “Can I go now? I have to get through eight quarters’ worth of biology this summer or they won’t let me graduate.”

He started to walk away but Susan stopped him.

“Did you know Stuart Davis and Annabelle Nixon?” she asked.

“Who?” JJ said.

“Davis worked for Castle,” Susan said. “He disappeared almost two years ago. There were stories about it in the
Herald.”

JJ lifted the other strap of the backpack so it was secured on both shoulders and started toward the school. “I haven’t seen Aidan Castle or his dad since Aidan got sent to Andover freshman year. And I don’t read the
Herald,”
he added. “We get the New
York Times.”

“Davis and Nixon?” Henry said, when JJ was out of earshot.

“The bodies in the park,” Susan said. “The ME said they’re a man and a woman. They match the ages of Davis and Nixon. Look to be about the right age.”

Henry put his hands on his hips. “When were you planning on mentioning this?”

“I just found out,” Susan said.

Henry started back for the car. “They’ll have DNA in the missing person files. I’ll have it run. If for no other reason than to close the damper on your journalistic fire.”

“Why would the mayor tell JJ not to talk to me?” Susan asked, catching up.

“Maybe he was giving him good advice,” Henry said. “Keep the family out of the story. Protect the kid from self-incrimination. If he knew about a crime and didn’t report it, it might look bad.”

Susan got in the car. The vinyl seat was already hot. “I don’t like him,” she said.

Henry started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Buddy? He’s done a lot for Archie. Protected him over the past couple of years.”

Susan rolled down her window. The air was warm and dry. It was going to be a hot day. “Yeah, he’s done a great job at protecting Archie,” she said. Then realizing the inappropriateness of her sarcasm, added, “Sorry.”

H
enry took a moment to gather himself outside Debbie’s door at the Arlington. His blood was still pumping from having to push through a dozen reporters to get through the club’s front door. Their glee at the story’s magnitude was palpable, the bloodsucking assholes. He had dropped Susan off at her car, just in time to get a phone call from Animal Control. Bill the poodle had taken a shit, and in it they had found a girl’s class ring. Benson High class of 1997. He’d made a call and confirmed Susan’s suspicions: Annabelle Nixon had graduated from Benson that year. He ran a hand over the stubble on the top of his head, and then let it settle for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. His eyes burned from lack of sleep. He needed more coffee. His stomach churned and his mouth was sour. It was shaping up to be one of the hottest days of the year. Ten
A.M.,
and his T-shirt was already stained with sweat.

If he found Archie in time, he was going to slug him.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath. Then he lowered his hand, opened and squeezed his eyes shut a few times, and tried to look awake and optimistic.

Henry knocked twice with the back of his hand. “It’s me,” he said. A patrol cop opened the door. Henry didn’t see Bennett.

Buddy was sitting on the couch, where Henry had left him. An aide sat next to him and they were staring at a laptop on the coffee table. Buddy couldn’t have gotten much sleep, but he somehow looked completely rested.

Buddy pointed to the two bedrooms. “They’re finally all asleep,” he said.

“Thanks for staying with them,” Henry said, closing the door behind him.

“Any news?” Buddy asked.

Henry looked at the patrol cop and at the aide. “Can we talk alone for a minute?” he asked Buddy.

Buddy frowned. “I’m just preparing a statement for the press. Brian Williams is coming.”

“It will just take a minute,” Henry said.

Henry thought he saw a flicker of irritation in Buddy’s eyes, but then it was gone and Buddy shrugged and said, “Sure, pal.” He smiled at his aide. “Give us a minute, huh?”

The aide stood and walked to the door with the patrol cop. “We’ll just be in the hall, sir,” the aide said.

“Thanks, Jack,” Buddy said. “Love the press release. Really.”

Jack almost blushed.

When they were gone, Henry walked to the window and looked out at the park. The AC was on, but he could feel the heat already pressing against the glass. He could see several news vans parked in a loading zone out front. He made a mental note to call and report them.

“You used to date Beverly Overlook,” Henry said, glancing back at Buddy.

Buddy interlaced his fingers behind his head and leaned back on the couch. “God,” he said. “Years ago.”

“Did you tell her son not to talk to Susan Ward about the Molly Palmer thing?” Henry asked.

“I did. I didn’t want them involved in a very messy story.”

Henry had never been close to Buddy. Archie had known him better. But they had worked with him, of course, during those early years when Buddy had run the task force. And Buddy had always liked to talk about himself. “You used to work for Castle, didn’t you?” Henry said. “Security?”

Buddy nodded. “When I was a cop, yeah. Before the task force. You’re going back a long time, pal.”

“You know those two kids who went missing? Stuart and Annabelle?”

Buddy made a dismissive motion with his hand. “That was after my time. I knew Stuart. Vaguely. Theory was he went off the deep end, killed his girlfriend, then himself. Cops never did find the bodies. I always thought he probably took her into the woods. You know, did her, did himself. Kid was always a little stressed out.”

It might not be a bad theory, Henry thought. They parked on Twenty-third. Walked into the woods. Except that his body was the one fed into a wood chipper. So maybe she did it. Killed him, disposed of his body. Then couldn’t face what she’d done; killed herself there in the bushes. Or maybe it wasn’t even them. Maybe Stuart and Annabelle had just eloped and joined the Peace Corps. Maybe they were living in a hut in Malaysia.

“Did you know about Castle’s relationship with his kids’ babysitter?” Henry asked.

“I didn’t have specific knowledge of it,” Buddy said. He said it without hesitation, unblinking, his posture firm. “Sure, I heard rumors over the years. Like everyone,” he added meaningfully. “But I swear to you, I thought she was older. An indiscretion. A lot of politicians fool around. It goes with the territory.” He rolled down a sleeve and buttoned the cuff. “Shouldn’t you be looking for Archie?” he asked.

Henry stood at the window. Another news van pulled forward and parked. “I think I am,” he said.

He looked back at Buddy, who was working on the second sleeve. “When did you find out?” Henry asked. “Just out of curiosity.”

“Senator Castle increased school spending by thirty percent, expanded health care to half a million kids, reinvented how we take care of the elderly in this state, and set aside more than a million acres’ worth of wildlife refuge areas,” Buddy said, buttoning his other cuff. He glanced up at Henry. “He was a great senator, and a great man. And that’s how I’m going to remember him.”

The two stared at each other for a moment. Castle had won two of his five terms by the smallest margin in the history of the state. But since he’d died, everyone Henry came across claimed to have always voted for him.

Henry looked back out the window. “I’ll stay for a while,” he said slowly. “You can go.”

He heard Buddy close his laptop, then the sound of his expensive shoes slapping on the carpet as he exited the suite. Buddy was an operator and a political survivor and Henry had no doubt that he’d warned the kid not to talk to Susan. He also had no doubt that Buddy wasn’t telling him the truth about what he knew and when he knew it. Henry just didn’t know what old political gossip, even prosecutable gossip, had to do with locating Archie.

The door to Archie and Debbie’s bedroom opened and Debbie walked in wearing a slip-dress nightgown, and pulling on a hotel robe over her freckled shoulders. Her short hair was flat against one side of her head; a pillow seam creased her cheek.

“Anything?” she asked.

“No,” Henry said.

She walked over and laid her head on his shoulder and he put a hand on the back of her head. She didn’t cry. Her shoulders didn’t shake. Her breathing was even.

“I’m going to get someone else to come stay with you,” Henry said. “Buddy had to go back to work.” She lifted her head. This close he could see that her eyes were red. “Can I brush my teeth?” he asked. “Borrow some deodorant?”

She nodded and gestured toward the bedroom. “In there.”

The room was cool and dark, the bedding folded down. A dent in the pillows still marked where Debbie had been lying minutes before.

“You can lie down,” Debbie said. “And rest if you want.”

Henry moved quickly into the bathroom and picked up Archie’s toothbrush and leaned over the sink. “I have to get back,” he said. When he’d finished cleaning up he went back into the bedroom. The lights were on now, and Henry noticed several suitcases still lay on the floor half unpacked, and next to them, a cardboard box filled with reporters’ notebooks and three-ring binders. Debbie had pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and was sitting on the bed.

“What’s all that?” Henry asked, pointing at the box.

“Susan Ward’s notes,” Debbie said. “About Castle.”

Henry looked at the box again. It was something. And at this point, anything might help. “Can I take them?” he asked.

“You can burn them if you like,” Debbie said. “I don’t care.”

Henry went over next to Debbie and stooped down to pick up the boxes. He felt her hand on his shoulder and looked up.

“I want to help,” she said. “If you want me to make a statement to the media. Anything. Just let me know. I could plead with him to come home.”

“I don’t think that would help,” he said.

“He’s on some sort of suicide mission,” she said, finally voicing it.

Henry turned away, unable to look at her. If he’d taken better care of Archie, he could have stopped this. If he’d forced him into rehab. Stopped the visits with Gretchen. But they had all been too greedy. It had been so long. And there were so many victims still missing. “I know,” he said.

A
rchie smoothed Gretchen’s hair with his hand. She was lying in the crook of his arm, her cheek on his chest. He felt great tenderness for her, her breaths, her breast moving against his rib cage, the curve of her hip. It was a postcoital illusion, he knew. His whole relationship with Gretchen was one long postcoital illusion. He lifted his hand from her hair. The hand was swollen again, and he made a fist a few times to get the blood flowing before settling it back on her head. Her breathing was steady and even and he wondered if she was asleep.

He could kill her now, he realized. He could take a pillow and cover her head and smother her.

She would fight it, but he could straddle her and use his weight as leverage, press the pillow hard into her face until she lost consciousness and then cover her mouth and her nose with his hand until he was sure she was dead.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “We found three bodies in Forest Park,” he said.

She turned over and looked at him. He was still startled by her beauty every time. He’d spent so long looking at her picture, imagining her in his mind, and still, he was never prepared for the fact of her.

“I think someone killed Senator Castle and they’re trying to cover it up,” he said.

She smiled sleepily. “Did I mention that liver failure often causes mental confusion?”

“He had an inappropriate relationship with a fourteen-year-old girl ten years ago. Susan Ward was about to make it public. The girl was killed a week ago. Her body dumped in the park.” Archie wondered whether or not to add the last part. “Not far from where you left Heather Gerber.”

The senator’s secret didn’t faze her. Neither did Heather’s name. “Who stands to benefit from a cover-up?” she asked.

“Castle’s publicist?” Archie said dryly.

Gretchen sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. She moved slowly. She was bruised and battered, but this was the first time she seemed actually sore. “His publicist would love it,” Gretchen said. “They bill by the hour, you know.”

“You didn’t benefit from anyone you killed,” Archie said.

Gretchen stood and walked to the dresser where Archie could see a bottle of prescription pills. “I find murder emotionally fulfilling,” she said. She came back to bed and stretched out on her side next to him. “It’s about power,” she said. She opened the bottle and tapped five pills onto his chest. “Power feels good. It’s the same reason people do drugs. You can pontificate all you want about social responsibility, but in the end people do drugs because they like it. It makes them feel good.”