The Morgue and Me (25 page)

“Bob, there’s no way I’m giving these up before you let my brother go. Throw me the camera, and I’ll show you the pictures from here.”

He fidgeted on his feet some more, looking like he needed to go to the bathroom. “Yeah, fine,” he said finally, and tossed me the camera. “Just hurry—I want to get out of here.”

“Yeah, I don’t exactly want to hang out here with you all night either, you know.” It only took a second for me to get the pictures in the camera and hold the screen for him to look at. I scrolled through as Bob squinted at the pictures. He nodded. “Those look right.”

“Okay, then,” I said, trying to keep control. “Now I’m going to toss the camera back toward the street, and you’re going to leave Daniel there and go get it.”

“Yeah, okay.”

I heard something for real then—a twig breaking in the trees.

“Who’s there?” Bob said.

This wasn’t what I needed, not when I was so close to getting Daniel back. He was standing there at Bob’s side, staring into the forest with wide-open eyes, taking in everything. When he turned back, he gave me the tiniest nod. I didn’t know what it meant, but I trusted the kid.

“It’s nothing—let’s just get this over with.”

I tossed the camera back toward the street, far enough to get some distance between us but not far enough to break the thing. I held my breath and watched Bob take his hand away from Daniel’s back, leave him at the gnarled tree, and walk toward the camera.

I ran to Daniel.
It’s over,
I thought.
It’s over and I got him back.

But it wasn’t over.

 

 

When I hugged him, Daniel whispered in my ear: “Tina’s here.”

I thought it was some kind of reaction to the shock. “What do you mean, bud?”

“In there,” he said, pointing into the forest, where the sound had come from.

And just then, a bright yellow beam split across the grass, shining hot on Bob. He had just picked up the camera, ambling back to the road.

“Hold it!” Tim barked the command as he edged out of the forest, the flashlight in his hand. Tina trailed right behind him. “Lay it down, Bob, and put your hands in the air.”

Tim was in his street clothes—I wondered if he had his gun or even his handcuffs on him—but Bob dropped the camera right away. He gave me a stung look, and in the brief second before Tim made it over to him, I actually felt sorry for the guy.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he said, as Tim and Tina advanced on him. “I never would’ve hurt the kid. I didn’t even want to do it.” He was blubbering, slightly pathetic.

Tim handed Tina the flashlight and spun Bob around. “Hands on the fence,” Tim said, preparing to pat him down.

“Yeah, okay,” Bob rambled. “I’m not going to do anything, you got the kid back.”

Tina had the light in his eyes, and you could see them freaking out. He wriggled at the fence, turning to plead his case.

“Just be quiet a second and stay still,” Tim said, and that’s when it happened.

Tim was patting his shoulders, under his arms, making his way down to the pockets of Bob’s hoodie. Before he could get there, one of Bob’s hands reached down.

“Hey,” Tina yelled, but it was too late.

Bob had been surprisingly quick about it. Before Tim could stop it, Bob’s hand had dipped into his pocket. It came out holding a thin piece of metal. I heard the
flick
, a short and sharp and sickening sound. The switchblade gleamed in the yellow light.

Tim danced back but it was over already—Bob was already plunging the blade into his side.

 

 

Tim fell to the grass, going fetal and clutching his side.

Bob staggered backward, amazed at what he had done. He looked at Tim’s pain like a drunk contemplating his own puke. The switchblade fell from his hand as Tina rushed to Tim. Daniel and I did, too, in time to see a patch of red blossoming across Tim’s shirt.

“Oh, God. S-s-sorry,” Bob said behind us, tripping backward onto the ground.

“Tim—” I said.

“Yeah . . . fine,” he said. He looked pale in the yellow light that Tina flashed against his side.

“Don’t move,” I said, and took my T-shirt off. I folded it in thirds lengthwise and slipped it around his torso, cinching it tight around him. My hands were slick with a slime of blood by the time I finished knotting it.

“That’s good, Chris,” Tina said over my shoulder. “That’ll keep it.” I don’t know if she believed it or not. “Now let’s get him to the hospital.”

Bob made a lumbering path through the trees, looking in horror over his shoulder, slipping away from us. While I watched him, Tina and Daniel got Tim standing, his arms around their shoulders.

“Daniel, you okay?” I said. He nodded eagerly as he and Tina and Tim got their steps in rhythm, trudging toward the road. I walked alongside them for a few paces before stopping. Bob was almost out of sight. It was stupid to even think of it—I had no weapon, no help, no plan.

“Hold on,” Tina said to the others as she turned back to me. “Go. Do it. I’ll take care of Daniel.”

 

 

Bob twisted through the maze of trees. He plowed forward, slump shouldered, a cloud of dust rising under his tennis shoes. He wasn’t fast but he’d gotten a long head start on me, and when he heard me chasing him down he picked it up, sides jiggling as he ran. He knew the grounds out here much better than I did and made it through the thin forest before I could catch him.

I broke a sweat getting through the trees and then into a small clearing on the other side of the forest. The dense branches, the leaves, the tree trunks gave way to a view of the lake, stretching out to the horizon, three hundred feet below us. The tide churned against the walls of the bluffs, making it hard to distinguish my own heaving breath from the crashing water. The clearing was close to the road. He’d driven his car right across the flat expanse and parked here, ready for a quick getaway.

He was putting his key in the door when I reached him. I didn’t have time to think, I just rushed up and tackled him against the car. His body was stiff and heavy and more powerful than mine, but I caught him well enough. I ducked my head and launched myself into his stomach, pinning him against the car before I heard an
oof
, and then he fell over me onto the ground. He scrambled back, crab walking to the edge of the bluff.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it!” he shouted. “I promise. I was just here to make sure you got your brother back safe.”

I pinned my knee over his chest, knowing I was out of my league—knowing he could throw me off in a second if he wanted to. But playing tough had worked so far.

“I know your car, Bob,” I said. It was an old Honda thing with a sagging bumper. It probably had more miles on it than the Escort. But there was no mistaking the silver paint job. “I know you followed me that night. I know you followed Abby Shales, too.”

“I didn’t hurt anyone.”

I pressed my knee harder into his chest. “Start at the beginning,” I said.

“I . . . don’t . . . know anything, really.” He could barely breathe.

“Why did you follow me that night? Why did you have Daniel out here?”

“I was just trying to get those pictures back.”

“Why?”

“Somebody told me to. They made me, I didn’t have a choice. Look, I don’t want to hurt you, either. . . .” He pushed my knee off him, and I spun a half circle to the ground. “Just take it easy,” he said, holding out his hands. “I’m telling you, somebody made me.”

“Do you know Mike Maske?”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Who made you do it, Bob?”

“I can’t say. I did some bad things, okay? Back before I went out with Tina. This guy, he could have had me arrested if I didn’t help him find those pictures.” His jellyroll stomach jostled as he stayed clear of me, moving to his car. “I didn’t even know you that night I followed you, or that you and Tina were . . . working together, or whatever you’re doing.”

He tapped his fingers on the roof of the car, staring out helplessly at the lake. “I’m really sorry about your brother—there’s no way I would have hurt him.”

I believed him—I believed he was a weak guy, a guy who’d been manipulated. But who was controlling him?

I walked over calmly, projecting confidence as best I could. “Bob,” I said, “someone’s been murdered, and whether you know it or not, you’ve been helping to cover it up. You just stabbed a policeman tonight. There’s no way we’re leaving here before you tell me who made you do these things. So tell me, who made you take Daniel—who are you supposed to get the pictures for?”

I could read the torment on Bob’s face. He looked out at the lake while he talked. “I can tell you this. The guy I’m giving the pictures to, you can find him tomorrow night at Duncan Woods, ten o’clock.”

“You’re not giving him the pictures. You’re giving them back to me.”

“I’m sorry for this,” he said.

“For what?”

That’s when he punched me in the face.

I didn’t even hear his car drive off.

D
aniel was sucking down a Coke, looking at Tina with the kind of interest that I thought he reserved only for chemistry textbooks. He swished his legs in one of the waiting area’s plastic chairs. I saw them through the glass as I approached the emergency entrance at the side of the hospital.

The automatic doors swooshed open. My work at the morgue never took me to the emergency room, so it was foreign territory. I marched in, probably looking a little sketchy—shirtless, bedraggled, a ripening shiner on my left eye.

Daniel ran to me, little splashes of Coke jostling loose from his bottle. “Tim’s gonna be okay,” he said. “Why’s your eye green? And purple? And yellow?”

“It’s fine,” I said, and Daniel went with it.

“The doctor says the knife didn’t go in very deep. It didn’t hit any organs or anything.”

“I thought you only drank carrot juice and stuff,” I said, pointing to his soda.

“Tina bought it for me. We’re celebrating.”

I knelt down to get a good look at Daniel. He mistook my intention and came around behind me to get on my back, the way he used to do when he was little. My arms hooked under his knees reflexively. Daniel hadn’t wanted to do this for years. Odd behavior. Perhaps a sign of post-traumatic stress disorder.

“Tina told me what you’re doing,” Daniel said in my ear.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Solving a murder.” His voice rang with strange tones—they took a moment to identify—of admiration and respect. I guess his getting kidnapped was the best thing that could have happened to our relationship. If Tina had told him even the barest details, he would have the case cracked in minutes.

“Hey there,” Tina said, inspecting my eye. “That’s pretty impressive. I guess Bob got away?”

“Yeah,” I said, saving the details. “Which way to Tim’s room?”

Daniel pointed, and we bounded down the hall. Through the narrow window looking into Tim’s room, a doctor tended to his wounds. I set the little guy down and got on his eye level. “Daniel, I’m really sorry about what happened to you. We should talk about it—it must have been scary.”

“Kinda.” Daniel shrugged. “But I can’t believe you’re solving a murder.” I decided to let it go—I suspected he was immune to attempts at therapy, and I probably wasn’t the best one to administer it.

The hall smelled of antiseptic; the walls had been slathered in white paint. Plastic fixtures were set against each door, stuffed with patient charts. In a hospital, everything is pale. Some day a feng shui master will get a crack at one of them and start a revolution.

“Let’s call Mom and Dad,” I said, and got out my cell phone. FIVE MISSED CALLS, the screen said—all of them from Mike. I pressed Ignore and dialed my parents’ cell, leaving them a rambling message that Daniel was okay. At the end, I passed him the phone so they could hear his voice.

The doctor emerged and blankly surveyed the three of us waiting in the hallway. After a moment, he pushed his glasses up on his nose and said he didn’t see any reason why Tim couldn’t see a few visitors, but that I would have to put on a shirt first. It was hardly an unreasonable request.

I sent Daniel inside and held Tina back to give her the lowdown.

“So Bob got away with the pictures?” Tina asked when the doctor turned the corner, leaving us alone in the hall.

“Yeah, but he told me some stuff. He said he was only doing it because somebody basically made him. He said the person knew about something he did that could have gotten him arrested.”

Tina nodded. “I think he sold drugs for a while, but he never really talked about it. He would have been terrible at that—he’s too nice.”

The guy had just kidnapped my brother, but I didn’t argue the point. Instead, I told her about Bob’s comment that whoever wanted the pictures back was going to show up at Duncan Woods the next night at ten o’clock.

While I told her, my mind flashed back to memories of Bob—the first time we saw him, sitting there at the tiny desk. And then again at the golf tournament.

Oh, God.

“. . . go there tomorrow night, we have to. Christopher? Christopher?”

I hadn’t heard a word she said.

“Tina, how could you?”

“What?” She was baffled. “Don’t look at me like that—what’s going on?”

“You told Lovell,” I said. “How could you?”

“I told Lovell what? Christopher, you’re not making sense.” But I saw it already. A slight hesitation. The truth just peeking out at her.

“What do Mitch Blaylock and Bob have in common, Tina? Think about it.”

An old client,
Lovell had said . . .

She looked up and down the hall. “Where are you going with this? Both of them worked at the country club, but that doesn’t make them partners.”