Winter and Night (34 page)

"Did he see them?" I said.

"How the hell do I know what he saw? He didn't know either, he should have kept his mouth shut."

"In the end he did."

Letourneau gave me the smile he probably gave, in his football days, to the player lined up against him.

"You told him to, didn't you?" I said slowly. "You told him he'd better take it back, say he didn't know what he saw. You threaten him? You beat him up?"

Letourneau shook his head. "Didn't have to."

"Meaning?"

"Russell was a benchwarmer. He was a senior."

"So?"

"He'd never started. Two years on JV, two years varsity, some games he never got in at all. Homecoming game was coming up."

It took me a minute. "And if he took back his story, he'd get to start? The Homecoming game?"

"Wouldn't have been much of a game," Letourneau said, "without Al."

Letourneau took out a pack of cigarettes, so I did, too. Like most places these days, the Warrenstown PD was officially smoke-free; like most cop houses I've ever been in, that extended no farther than the front desk, and the desk sergeants usually complained about having to wait until their break for theirs.

I said, "Al Macpherson left the party in time. He could have raped Beth Victor."

"He left in time," Letourneau said, cigarette between thick lips. "Eight other kids said that back then. But Al didn't do it, Jared Beltran did."

"Eight other kids," I said. "A lot of pressure on you and your phony alibi."

"Wrong. There was no pressure. Everyone in Warrenstown wanted to believe me. They did, until there was just too much on the other side."

"Then what?"

"Then I said gee, I must have been so drunk I couldn't tell time, sorry about that."

"And that was that?"

"Sure. Even people who knew I was lying thought I was the good guy, out to save Al's ass. And as it turned out, Al wasn't the only one with a bullshit alibi. Jared Beltran had one, too."

"From Nicky the Nerd."

Letourneau's eyebrows went up. "You have been working this, haven't you? What the hell for? It was twenty-three years ago."

"I'm looking for Gary Russell," I said. "That's all I wanted, when I started. All the rest of this keeps getting in front of me. I couldn't go around it so I'm looking for a way through." Letourneau, without an answer, pushed a paper coffee cup across the desk for me to use as an ashtray. I tapped my cigarette against it, said, "Jared Beltran had been stalking Beth Victor?"

"Yeah. When we found that out—"

"Found it out? I thought it was well known."

"Maybe. I didn't know it. Anyway, they picked him up and he denied raping her and Nicky alibied him. But then he killed himself so there you go."

There you go. "How did they find out he'd been stalking her?"

"One of the teachers tipped off the police. Said they'd heard the kids talking about it, and they'd seen Jared in the halls, sort of sneaking around after her. Said one of the kids said he'd left creepy things outside her locker. Dead flowers, shit like that."

"Which teacher?"

"They kept that a secret. Teacher wanted the kids to feel like it was safe to talk to her, or him. None of those people's names ever came out, the teacher or the kids who reported that stuff, either."

"What if they'd arrested Jared Beltran and it had gone to trial?"

"Then I guess the teacher would have had to testify, and probably the kids. But it didn't get that far."

"Do you know who any of them were, the kids?"

"The ones who said they'd noticed stuff? A couple of guys told me afterwards they'd seen him in class, kind of drooling in her direction."

"Afterwards. But you'd never heard anything like this before the rape?"

Letourneau shrugged, said nothing. He tapped his cigarette against a heavy glass ashtray.

"What happened to Nick Dalton?" I asked.

"Nicky? He was a pain in the ass. He kept saying Jared really had been with him, that the alibi was good. I mean, the kid was dead, what the hell difference did it make?" He flushed. "I think some of the guys gave him a hard time for a while."

"Some of the guys. The jocks, you mean?"

He nodded, didn't look at me. "Anyway, he left town as soon as school got out. Didn't even go to graduation."

"Any idea where he is now?"

"No. Haven't heard anything about him since."

I asked about a few more things, including why Letourneau thought Macpherson might have gone to see Bethany Victor last night. He had no answer.

Just before Sullivan came back, Letourneau told me this: "I want you to understand something, Smith. Warrenstown football, it's like a family. What I did, I was trying to help out a friend. A brother. Yeah, it was a lie, yeah, it was wrong. And it probably sounds stupid to you, but I became a cop to sort of make up for it. Do the right thing, you know? But I knew that rap on Al was bullshit. We were co-captains, I knew the guy. I knew he wouldn't do shit like that."

"Did you really know that?" I asked. "Or did you just know you couldn't win the Homecoming game without him?"

Letourneau said nothing, just looked at me.

Two quick raps on the door, and Sullivan put his head in, paused to see if he should enter. I shrugged. Letourneau nodded.

Sullivan shut the door behind himself. "It's done," he said. "Warrants'll be issued in ten minutes. I'll pick them up and roll. I already sent Chávez and Huber down to talk to any kids they could find, see if anyone knows where Paul Niebuhr might be. The state'll bring Paul's car back from Bear Mountain, take it to the lab in Newark. I have rangers looking at likely campsites there, in case he's hiding up there until whatever it is he's planning." He handed me picture out of a file folder he held. "Jared Beltran."

I fingered it, a newspaper photo of a skinny, grinning kid. I put it down on Letourneau's desk, nodded.

"That was Beltran's junior yearbook picture," Sullivan said. Letourneau, silent, stared at the photo.

Sullivan looked from his boss to me. "Your curiosity all satisfied, Smith?"

"No," I said. "But it'll do for now."

Sullivan perched on the arm of the next chair. "Okay, then, satisfy mine. What the hell were you doing in Warrenstown today?"

I dropped my cigarette into the coffee cup, listened to the sizzle. "I needed to talk to Morgan Reed."

"After I told you to keep away from my witnesses?"

"You weren't using them."

A long look; then he said, "What did you want from Morgan?"

"I wanted to know where the steroids were coming from."

Sullivan nodded slowly. "All those thick-necked football players."

"You know?"

"Know they're on them? Just look at 'em. They're not twice as big as we were because they drink more milk. But they all deny it."

"What about urine tests?"

He glanced at Letourneau, gave me the small smile. "Warrenstown won't allow them. Interferes with the boys' right to privacy."

"Or with Warrenstown's right to grow huge football players."

"Uh-huh. Why did you want to know and what made you think Morgan would tell you? And did he?"

"He said he didn't know but he's lying. I wanted to know because one of the other kids said Tory Wesley was killed because she didn't come through with ecstasy for her party. That kid didn't know where that was coming from either and I thought the source might be the same."

"Ecstasy?" Sullivan looked to his chief again, then back to me. "You didn't tell me that yesterday."

"Sullivan," I said, "I'm dealing with kids who're afraid of you, and more afraid of the other kids. I'm trying to use what they're giving me and protect them at the same time. The only reason they're talking is that, with all due respect, they feel like the situation has gotten out of hand and they can't take it anymore."

"What the hell do you mean, situation?" Letourneau demanded.

"The jocks," I said. "The jocks who run Warrenstown High. The other kids live in the shadows. They go where the jocks let them and do what they tell them. When you're that age high school is your world and here, the jocks run that world."

"This is bullshit," Letourneau growled. "This is a football town. Same as half the towns in America. So people look up to athletes. So what?"

"Yeah," I said. "Like they looked up to Al Macpherson when you were in school."

"Okay," Sullivan said, in an even, quiet way. "That's why you came to town. But it doesn't explain what made you go out to Paul Niebuhr's. His mother told you on Wednesday he was at Bear Mountain until day after tomorrow."

I looked at him. "Morgan told me he'd seen Paul in town Saturday night. Parked outside Tory Wesley's house."

"He was at that party?" Letourneau leaned toward me.

"The kids say no. Outside."

"A freak like that—"

"Uh-huh," I said. "Here it comes."

"What?"

"You'll do anything in this town to avoid making trouble for your jocks. You'd love to pin Tory Wesley's death on Paul Niebuhr. A freak like that."

"For Christ's sake, the kid went to Queens to buy guns!"

"I'm not denying he's dangerous, Letourneau, maybe even crazy. But there was a lack of enthusiasm around here for investigating any of the jocks before Paul Niebuhr's name ever came up. Warrenstown has a history of that."

"Oh, for shit's sake! That history crap, that's bullshit! That freak Jared Beltran raped Beth Victor and that's all there was to it! It has nothing to do with this!"

"Yeah," I said. I stood. "You guys have work to do. So do I. See you around."

"Smith—" said Sullivan.

"Yeah," I said, and I left.

Twenty-Two

I walked a block from the police station, took out the phone and called Lydia. "Law's a-coming," I said. "To talk to the kids. You want to buy me a cup of coffee?"

"Your case, your expense account," she said. "Are you telling me to make myself scarce?"

"I'd suggest it. Meet me at the Galaxy Diner."

"You want me to pick you up?"

"No, I'll walk. Sullivan seems to have given up on the idea of arresting me, for now."

The police station wasn't far from the Galaxy; nothing in Warrenstown was all that far from anything else. The air held a fresh fall chill; I zipped my jacket and started over. Star-shaped maple leaves lay here and there on the slate sidewalk, their wine color bringing out the blue of the stone. The scent of cinnamon drifted through the air as I passed the bakery where I had sat with Helen; I glanced at the shop window and saw, through my own reflection, one of the grandmotherly ladies behind the counter taking a tray of cookies out of the oven, for afternoon snacks. Cars drove slowly down Main Street, people stopped on corners to talk to their neighbors, and everywhere golden sunlight draped Warrenstown like a protective blanket.

I stopped on the sidewalk, took out my cell phone, called my sister.

"Hello?" Again, the tentative voice, the one that asked, Am I taking up too much room in the world? Again, the tightening in my shoulders.

"It's Bill. Is Scott there, or can we talk?"

"He's not here, but Bill, he doesn't want me talking to you anymore. He says—"

"I don't give a damn what he says. Listen to me. Things are bad. The police think Gary's with this other boy, Paul Niebuhr, and they think Paul's dangerous."

A little intake of breath. "Paul? Oh, God. Will he hurt Gary?"

"I don't think so. I'm not even sure they're together. But the police have a warrant and they're coming to search Gary's room. I think they're going to take his computer, and the one in the family room, as evidence."

"Evidence?" It was almost a wail. "Evidence of what? Scott said the police have the whole wrong idea about Gary, because you—"

"I'm calling," I cut her off, "same as before, just so you have some warning. I want you to cooperate with them, Helen. Tell them anything you know, anything they ask. No matter what Scott says. He thinks he can protect Gary his way, but he's wrong. Do you understand me?"

"I… but Gary…"

"Helen! Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she whispered, a sound like the leaves skidding across the sidewalk.

"I'll talk to you later." I snapped the phone shut, stuck it in my pocket. I turned up my collar; the wind had come up, and I was cold.

At the Galaxy I took a window booth, ordered coffee. I watched the Warrenstown traffic start and stop. When I was halfway through the cup I saw Lydia's Taurus pull into the lot, saw her get out, lock the car, head to the diner. She moved, as always, quickly, with an athlete's grace and sureness. Or maybe, I thought, sipping coffee, the grace was something she'd been born with, and the sureness had nothing to do with strength, with agility or endurance; maybe it was purely the certainty of youth, the confidence that comes from not yet knowing it's just not true that you can have whatever you want badly enough, whatever you work hard enough for.

I lost sight of her as she rounded the building to reach the door; then there she was inside, scanning the room for me, smiling when she found me. "What's up?" she asked as she kissed my cheek. She slid into the booth across from me. "You look worried."

"I'm older than you are."

"You just figured that out?"

"No, but I always saw it as a flaw in you before."

"Clearly a mistake, since for one thing I have no flaws."

"Right, now I remember," I said, and then the waiter came by, refilled my cup and took Lydia's order: tea and one of the flaky crescents with almonds on top that she'd seen in the dessert case on her way in.

"You find out anything new?" I asked her.

"Nothing at all. No one I found had anything to add, about where Paul might be, or anything else."

"That's strange."

"Why?"

"All these kids," I said. "These school shooters, Littleton, whatever. They all talked about it beforehand. It's one of the things they all have in common."

"Then maybe it means Paul's not one. That that's not what's on his mind."

"Maybe."

She brushed hair from her forehead, said, "How was your visit to Sullivan and his chief?"

"I'm not sure I learned anything. They did, though, and they're moving on it. That's why they're talking to the kids. And they've got warrants for the Niebuhrs' house, and for Helen's."