All for One (12 page)

It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know, but hearing it come from her was like having a boil lanced. A good thing that hurt like hell. “I never meant to.”

She pitied him with wondrous eyes. “Jimmy Vincent wasn’t worth it, Dooley. Is whatever you’re doing now worth it?”

His wrist where she’d touched him tingled. He rubbed it, marveling at her. She saw through him as if his being were vapor, and she feared so much that a stiff, uncertain gust might wash him away. He remembered her face first when he woke up in the hospital, and recalled her removing the arm restraints and saying,
‘If you really want to die, do it. If I have to grieve, I can do that. But I can’t handle worrying about you forever.’

It wasn’t until now that he realized her statement revealed a confidence in him, not a selfishness in her.

“It’s about kids,” Dooley told her, noticing that she braced herself with a breath. “One or more of them killed another one.”

Karen released a gulp of air, a peaked laugh trailing from it. “Even the same tune. Dooley, Jimmy Vincent deserved what he got. That bothered you, I know, but haven’t you beaten yourself up enough for just doing what you had to do?”

He had no answer. He could have said something, anything. Crafted a clever response or blamed it all on the desire to seek justice no matter what might result. But she would have known what foundation lay beneath the house of rationalizations.

“When does your penance end?” Karen asked him. She fell into the chair facing her ex. “God, I’m depressed now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you know how hard it is to get lucky on a downer like this?”

“Sorry.”

She shook her head and managed a queer little smile, part pity, part disgust. “You’re you. What am I supposed to expect?”

Dooley nodded. His foot moved and pushed the box. The files rattled inside.

Thoughts rattled in his head.

“Kare, can I bounce something of you? Some
things
, actually.”

She eyed the box suspiciously. “Things?”

“Yeah.”

Her head cocked a bit, eyes considering him sideways through the pause. “What things?”

“About them.”

“Them,” she parroted. “You mean the box.”

He nodded quickly and her eyes burned at him. Burned long and angry and worried and tired, and flickered as the fire in them withered to something between submission and indifference, like the cold glow on the stub of a dying candle wick, wanting to flare again but spent of the thing that knew how to be flame.

“Bounce away,” she said flatly. It might as well be her. At any point she could tell him he was being a fucking fool for doing this kind of thing again, and he’d know she was right.
That
trust was still there between them.

“Six kids, all of—”

“How old?”

“Sixth graders. They’re eleven.”

“Okay.”

“All of these kids started together last year in the same class, same teacher. None of them stood out at the beginning of fifth grade. Some were average, some below. One little girl was as shy as a mouse. Another liked to use her fists. The president of the class now, back then he was heading nowhere. No motivation. And the others—same kind of stories. All of them had things that were holding them back. Life situations, personal problems, etcetera. You follow me?”

“I follow you, Dooley,” Karen said tiredly.

“Okay, fast forward to the end of fifth grade. All these kids, and all the other kids in the class, have left the averages in the dust. Their grades go up,
way
up, and they start showing improvement personally. Getting involved in things, school activities. The shy girl, the little mouse, well she’s singing in the school choir by then.”

“That’s pretty remarkable. Who are these kids? Witnesses?”

He shook his head. “These are the suspects.”

“Are you shitting me?”

He related the story of the bat, and the fingerprints, and the ‘we just found him’ explanation. When he finished, Karen blinked slowly at the ceiling.

“What about the kid who died?”

“The kid who was murdered?” Dooley corrected. “Guy Edmond. He was older than them, bigger than them, and he came into their class this year like a hurricane. It was the same kids, same teacher; the school was keeping them together for two grades. Guy blows in at the beginning of this year and— I don’t know —upsets the flow.”

Karen stared doubtfully at him. “You think these kids killed this other kid because he rocked the boat?”

“He was a grade A bastard,” Dooley explained. “Trouble at school, trouble with the police. I met the kid’s family; they thought he was an angel.”

Karen shook her head. “You described a bunch of good kids to me. Kids who were making it. After
not
making it. Are those the kind of kids who would kill a troublemaker? Something doesn’t sound right there, Dooley.”

“Then why are they lying?”

“You’re sure they are?”

“Their prints are on the murder weapon, Kare; no one else’s.”

Karen’s head continued to shake slowly. “There’s got to be more to it.”

Dooley’s jaw dropped a bit, a chuckle spilling out. “Really?”

“What? You expected me to solve it? Right here and now?”

“Could you?” Dooley joked. “Please?”

Karen poked a finger thoughtfully under her chin. “Jealousy.”

“Jealousy?”

“S
uuuure
,” Karen said exaggeratedly. “The new kid showed up and got all the teacher’s attention. All troublemakers get more attention from the teacher. The squeaky wheel theory.”

Dooley seized her offhanded expose and sat back against the couch’s downy cushions. “They can’t kill him because he’s a turd, but they can because they’re jealous?”

“You’re the pro, hon.” Her expression mocked him. “The retired pro.”

“Touche.”

“Do I get one of those little plastic badges for trying?”

“I’ll get you a shiny gold one from the anti-drug guy.”

She rubbed her hands together expectantly, her toothy smile bright white against the red, red lips. Then her precocious expressions settled and she held her ex husband gently in her gaze. He was gone from this line of conversation, his thoughts dragged elsewhere. “You’re not bouncing.”

“I know.”

“You’re thinking.”

He nodded.

She’d only seen this flash of mental withdrawal a few times, but each time the spark was the same. “It’s Jimmy, isn’t it?”

He nodded again, smiling a wisp at her powers of knowing. “You know, if he’d just been any other scumbag little wannabe killer who got his kicks doing drive-bys, I’d be out buying that boat I was always talking about right now. Maybe looking at some new tackle.” The possibility drew a coarse little laugh that drowned in the silence surrounding it after a few seconds. “But he wasn’t, Kare. When I was sitting there with him all those days, talking with him, playing stupid kid games, when I was doing that he was just any other kid. He didn’t act any different than any of your brother’s kids. I was nose to nose with him and I couldn’t see the evil inside. I knew he’d killed those little boys. Mutilated them.”

Karen grimaced. “Dooley...”

“I had to get him to say it,” Dooley went on. “To say that he did it. To tell me where the last body was. I didn’t bother with why because I don’t even think he knew. How would a twelve year old know why they do that kind of thing?”

“Why are you thinking of him?”

“People that knew Jimmy all said that he was a good kid. When the detective from the town where this happened came to talk to me he said the suspects were all good, polite, smart little kids.” He snickered nervously, softly. “Later, when I was laying in bed, I remembered him saying that and my blood ran cold.”

As hers was now, Karen knew. That old fear trickled into her veins and she found herself staring at his wrists. “Why, Dooley? Why are you getting involved in this?”

He blew out a breath. “Ah, the sixty billion dollar question.”

“What’s the two dollar answer?” she pressed him sharply.

“I want to walk away from this one, Kare” Dooley said without having to mull the answer. “In one piece with no baggage. For twenty years that’s what I did. That’s how I survived. Catch the bad guy, lock him up, and leave. Let the scum rot. That worked. It worked fine until Jimmy Vincent.”

“So he was different. You did what you had to do.”

“Like I said, if he was just some scumbag killer it’d be me and my boat and an early retirement. But he wasn’t. Sure, something inside him was dark. Darker than dark. But I never saw it. I only knew a kid who let me be his friend and then told me about the dark things he did to those little boys. No reason, no rhyme. Just that he did it.” He looked into Karen’s strong, clear eyes and wondered if she understood.

“Damn, Dooley.”

Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe no one who hadn’t done what he had with Jimmy Vincent could ever understand. But he did. He knew he’d never be able to explain it, but it was still real. As real as a carnival ride whose arcs of steel cages spun and tipped and made you scream while you were on and dizzy when you got off.

“There were two Jimmy Vincents, Kare,” he said solemnly. “The one I got to know, and the one that never showed himself to me.”

“Hon...”

“It would have been easy to walk away from the one I never got to know. I could have done that.”

She watched him for a long moment as he sat motionless, wishing that he would do something. Cry, even. Anything to replace the futility that she sensed was his beacon of the moment. She feared where it might lead him, and her defense against the feeling was something approaching levity, but closer to gallows humor. “Can I take all your razor blades when I go?”

“You’re something when you worry,” Dooley observed, thinking as he stole her beauty with his eyes just how
very
red her lips were. His brain put the case away for now, because of those
very
red lips. And the
very
red dress. The very
nice
dress.

She smiled at him, and felt his presence shift without motion. He seemed now not to be across the room, his warmth sneaking up. “Dooley...”

He smiled back at her.
That
smile.

Her eyes bugged.

“No,” Karen said, standing. “No. No. No.” She hurried toward Dooley and planted a kiss on his forehead. When she eased back she moaned. “God, sometimes I just want to...” She caught herself and shook off the feeling. “Why are you so desirable now, and last year I was shredding your picture? Explain this to my hormones, will you?”

She was right. He knew that, knew it without a doubt. And still he wanted her more than oxygen right now. “Leave, before...”

She put a hand tenderly to his cheek, then scooted off into the living room. “He’s making me lamb. Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” Dooley said, then added, after the door had closed and the two inch heels tapped down the steps, “I hope he’s impotent.”

*  *  *

They met at eight, beneath the old, winking streetlamp a block from Windhaven, a fair halfway point between their houses. Michael was there first, planted on Old Man Green’s curb and rocking back and forth in the chill. When Joey appeared from around the corner he hopped to his feet and jogged across the street.

“What’d you end up telling your folks?” Joey asked.

“That I was going to your place to help you move your room around,” Michael said. “I hope they don’t call.”

From his jacket pocket Joey pulled a flip phone and snapped it open with a flick of his wrist. “My mom’s cell phone. I turned on the call forwarding on our phone so it’ll ring here.”

“Where’s your mom?”

“Some award dinner,” Joey said, shrugging. “She sold like a bunch more houses than anyone else over the summer. She’ll be gone ‘til after eleven.”

Michael nodded, impressed with his friend’s forethought. “Man, you’re going places, Travers.”

“My dad says Harvard, if I make the grades.” Joey put the phone away and they began to walk, Michael leading the way. “He says he’ll pay for it all. So Bryce said he found something? What?”

“Something about the cop in our class yesterday. I thought he told you.”

“He’s
your
best friend,” Joey remarked. “All he told me was, ‘
Call Mike and both of you come by about nine
’. He didn’t tell you what?”

“No,” Michael said. He turned just before the school’s east fence, skirting the barrier. “I wish his folks weren’t so strict.”

“Does he really have to go to bed by nine?” Joey asked.

“On school nights. Why do you think we’re going to his house?”

“You sneak in a lot?”

“Sometimes,” Michael said.

Joey zipped his jacket up a bit further and looked ahead. They were walking right into the...

I can’t...

Joey’s feet turned from skin and bone to lead blocks, and a dizzying flock of star-bright somethings fluttered in orbit around his head. He heard laughter and smelled chocolate.

The lead blocks became anchors that connected him to this spot of earth, right here, stopped, not going in there no way!
Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. Ah ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

Almost to the soft earth that marked the boundary of Galloway’s orchard, Michael noticed that he was walking alone. He looked back. “Joey?”

The gnarled gray trees shifted in the night breeze, their naked, gangly limbs reaching out like fingers into the space between the rows. Joey stared at them, each one ashen in the moonlight, a whisper passing among them. Witnesses all.

A fist balled in his chest, trying to choke him from within.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asked.

“Why...why are we going through there?”

“That’s the shortest way to Bryce’s. We could go over to Grant Street, but...” Michael did not close the distance to his friend, but very clearly he could see Joey’s eyes regarding the orchard with something he’d never seen in him before. A goulash of emotions. Fear. Hate. And something else. “Are you okay?”

Joey had the urge to spit, but his mouth had gone dry. “Let’s take Grant. Okay?”

Michael looked into the orchard and the blackness receding to its depths. What the hell could be in there that would make Joey freak out like that? he wondered.