Code of Silence: Living a Lie Comes With a Price (10 page)

Cooper’s dad lifted the top off one of the seats flanking the table. “Check this out.” A storage compartment underneath held several orange horse-collar type life vests and an old Fremd Vikings gym bag.

He tugged the bag free and unzipped it. “It’s still here. Just the way I left it.”

Cooper stepped forward for a better view as his dad pulled a black mask, fins, and snorkel out of the duffle.

“I spent as much time
under
the water as I did
on
the water.” Dad slid the mask over his head and grinned. “I loved diving.”

Gordy picked up one of the fins. “Snorkeling or scuba?”

“Both. Always looking for treasure.” He dug deeper into the duffle and pulled out an industrial-looking magnet with a nylon cord tied around it. “When I was really young we’d drag this from the boat just to see what I could pick up on the bottom.”

“Ever find anything valuable?” Gordy inspected the magnet.

“Lots of things. They were treasure to me, anyway.”

Cooper pulled a black notebook from the duffle. A red diver’s flag sticker clung to the cover, peeling up on the corners.

“That’s my diving log book,” Cooper’s dad said. “Used to write down the details of each dive.”

Cooper flipped it open. Dates, depths, and temperatures were recorded. Visibility and details of things he found on the bottom were all there. The idea of strapping a scuba tank on his back and disappearing under the surface of the lake sounded like the perfect escape. No police. No robbers. No lies.

Dad rummaged through the duffle and pulled out a black metal flashlight, unscrewed the end and shook two very corroded batteries out of the handle. “Should have never left the batteries in.” He inspected the contacts inside the handle. “I’ll get this cleaned up first thing. It should be okay.” He jammed the flashlight in his back pocket.

“What’s the coolest thing you ever found?” Gordy angled himself to look at the dive log with Cooper.

“All sorts of stuff. Old bottles. Tools. Money.”

“Money?” Gordy smiled. “How much?”

Cooper’s dad dodged the question. He loved to draw out the suspense. “The lake is full of secrets … you just have to keep
searching for them. I found parts of boat wrecks, an ice fishing shack, and bones … just to name a few.”

“Bones?” Cooper hadn’t heard this story.

Gordy looked at him wide-eyed. “Were they in the ice fisherman’s shack?”

Cooper’s dad smiled. “I’ll tell you all about them. And plenty more … another time. Right now we’ve got more exploring to do before dinner. Who’s up for a look at the engines?”

Cooper set the notebook aside. But he made a mental note to spend some serious time looking through it when things got back to normal.

Over the next hour Cooper got to know
The Getaway
as well as he knew his own bedroom—and he loved it just as much.

Dad looked at his watch. “Almost dinner time.” He swung a leg over the back rail and dropped onto the swim platform below. “I’m starved.”

Gordy followed, but Cooper hated to leave. He wished the boat was on Lake Geneva right now with a full gas tank. They could cruise the lake until things calmed down in Rolling Meadows. He stepped on the engine hatch and bounced a bit to make sure it was closed tight. From this vantage point he could see over their fence into their neighbors’ yards on either side of them.

“Cooper,” Mom called. She stood in the doorway, motioning him over. “I just heard on the news that something terrible happened at Frank ‘n Stein’s last night. The story is up next—hurry.”

Cooper’s heart dropped like an anchor—and the magic of the boat sank with it.

C
ooper dragged behind, rehearsing his part in the imagined conversation he might have with his parents. Mom sat on the couch and turned around as soon as he stepped into the family room.

“It sounds awful.” She patted her leg and motioned Mattie to climb on her lap. Fudge padded over and curled up at Mom’s feet.

Dad grabbed the wooden rocker, pulling it close and off to one side of the TV. Gordy sat on one arm of the couch, but Cooper swung a kitchen chair into the room behind everyone else. He didn’t want his face to give anything away during the news report. He wished Gordy had done the same thing.

Positioning the chair backwards, Cooper straddled the seat and rested his arms across the back of it. The story showing up on the news wasn’t something he figured on. With all the things going on in the Chicago area, why would they pick this story?

His stomach clenched the moment a live feed from Frank ‘n Stein’s flashed on the screen. A reporter stood in the foreground holding a microphone.

“I’m standing in front of Frank ‘n Stein’s Diner in Rolling Meadows, the scene of a brutal robbery shortly after closing last night,” the reporter said.

The camera zoomed in on the front of Frank’s. Yellow POLICE
LINE DO NOT CROSS tape stretched across the front of the building announcing to the world that something evil had happened there.

“Frank Mustacci,” a smiling picture of the man flashed on the screen, “was found beaten last night in his restaurant shortly after closing.”

“No!” Cooper’s Mom hugged Mattie.

Cooper felt Frank was looking right at him. Wondering why Cooper didn’t hop over the counter and help him.
How could I have let them hurt him like that?

Gordy looked back over his shoulder and caught Cooper’s eye. Cooper could read his cousin’s face as clearly as if he’d actually spoken the words.
What are we going to do now?

The camera returned to a head and shoulder view of the reporter. “There is speculation that this robbery may be gang related, although authorities are not commenting on that,” the reporter said. “A boy approximately twelve to fourteen years old was witnessed fleeing the crime scene on a bike.”

Cooper’s mother gasped. “He could be your age.”

He is my age—to the exact second.

Dad reached for the remote and turned up the volume.

The camera zoomed back to show a stocky man wearing a green Frank ‘n Stein’s polo shirt standing next to the reporter.

“I’m joined here by Joseph Stein, Frank’s partner and co-owner of Frank ‘n Stein’s.”

Mr. Stein gave a slight nod.

Cooper had seen him plenty of times working the order counter at the diner. Now he looked quiet and sad, nothing like his usual outgoing self.

“Mr. Stein,” the reporter turned from looking at the camera to directly face the man. “Does it surprise you that a teenager may have been involved in this?”

“Frank is a really, really nice guy. What shocks me is that
anybody
could have done this to him—especially a kid. Frank loved
when kids hung around.” Stein bit his lip like he was trying to keep from breaking down. “Honestly, unless it was some kind of gang initiation or something, I don’t think a kid had anything to do with this.”

Cooper wanted to scream,
“Mr. Stein
is
right. There were three of them, and none of them were kids!”

“My understanding is the boy seen fleeing the crime scene is a possible
witness
,” Stein explained, “not a suspect.”

“Do you have surveillance cameras?” the reporter asked.

“Absolutely. All the cameras feed into a single unit, which was destroyed by whoever did this. There’s an auxiliary hard drive that stores all the data, but the person who did this was smart enough to take it with him,” Stein said.

“Do you think this was done by professionals?”

“The police told me they have good prints and some other evidence left behind by whoever did this.” Mr. Stein shifted his weight. “That doesn’t sound too professional to me.”

“What type of evidence?” The reporter moved the mic closer.

Cooper’s stomach twisted. He could answer that question.

Mr. Stein put his hands up in front of his chest. “I’m not sure I should be saying anything more. I don’t want to do anything that may mess up the investigation.”

“Of course,” the reporter agreed, but Cooper sensed a bit of disappointment in her voice. “Have authorities given you any indication how long they expect the investigation to continue?”

Mr. Stein shook his head. “Specifically, no. But they seemed confident they’d have a suspect in custody within just a few days.”

Cooper tried to think. The cops have prints. That made sense. They could have picked up his prints on the door, the knife—all over. But that won’t do them any good unless they have something to match them with. Or unless the police intended to start taking fingerprints at school. He made a mental note to take a closer look at the permission slip. But Elvis and the clown wore gloves, so none of the prints were going to lead to the real robbers.

“And we’ll open for business as usual tomorrow,” Stein said. “It’s the way Frank would want it. We’ll be taking donations for Frank’s medical bills—so please …” His bottom lip quivered and he lowered his head.

The reporter put on a sympathetic face. “Thank you for taking the time for the interview. I know this must be a hard time for you.”

Mr. Stein bowed slightly, and backed away. The camera quickly cropped to a tight head and shoulder shot of the reporter.

The reporter had a gleam in her eyes. Either she really loved being in front of the camera delivering terrible news, or she had some juicy tidbit she’d been dying to reveal to her television audience.

“There is strong evidence to suggest the mystery witness attends this suburban junior high school. This tape was filmed earlier this afternoon.”

Mom sucked in her breath. “Carson! That’s Plum Grove.”

Cooper’s dad didn’t take his eyes off the screen. Leaning forward, he turned the volume up even more. Cooper’s stomach swirled. He’d have a lot more explaining to do than he’d bargained on.

The newscast cut to a video of Plum Grove at the end of the school day. Students were flowing out of the doors and cops were everywhere. “We interviewed Rolling Meadows Police Detective Hammer earlier today about the incident.”

The screen showed a clip of the same reporter standing in front of Plum Grove School as the last of the buses pulled away from the curb. Hammer stood next to her wearing the sunglasses with the mirrored lenses.

“Detective Hammer, are there any similarities to the 1993 slayings at Brown’s Chicken in nearby Palatine?”

That was it. The infamous Brown’s Chicken robbery. Seven people murdered in the walk-in freezer. No wonder they were giving this air time. Even though it happened years before Cooper was
born, the massacre at Brown’s was told and retold like a local ghost story. Cooper tried to refocus on the news report.

“… other than that, no similarities at all,” Hammer said.

“There was a lot of police activity here at Plum Grove Junior High today,” the reporter said. “Do you believe one of the students is involved?”

“I believe one of the students witnessed the crime.”

“But that witness hasn’t come forward?”

“Not yet.” Hammer gave a half-smile. “But he will. Or I’ll come to him.”

Cooper shuddered.
Even if you have to try that key in every house in town.

“Will the fact that Frank Mustacci’s brother-in-law is the Mayor of Rolling Meadows have a bearing on the efforts put into this investigation?”

Cooper held his breath. Frank was related to the Mayor? How had he never heard that? Of course it would put pressure on the police to solve the crime—
or pin it on someone.

“Absolutely not,” Hammer said. “We give 100% to every criminal investigation. This one will be no different.”

“Detective, the Brown’s Chicken robbery and murders baffled investigators for ten years and may never have been solved if an angry girlfriend hadn’t spoken to authorities.” The reporter paused. “Do you feel the Frank ‘n Stein’s investigation will run into similar problems?” She held the microphone in front of Hammer for his response.

“The Brown’s Chicken investigation had its own unique challenges and the trail got cold.”

“So you feel confident you’ll get your man—or teenager as the case may be.”

“Oh yeah. We’ll get him.” The cameraman zoomed up slowly on Hammer’s face. “This trail isn’t cooling down for us. It’s getting warmer.”

Cooper could feel the heat. Licking dry lips, he tried to swallow.

“Thank you, Detective Hammer,” the reporter said. The camera moved in tight on the reporter’s face. “Frank Mustacci remains in a coma at Northwest Community Hospital.”

The reporter signed off, and Dad muted the TV. Turning slowly, he looked directly at Cooper—or through him.

“You knew all about this, didn’t you Cooper?”

H
ow much could Dad know? Maybe parents had an instinct about their own kids, or Dad had a baloney detector of his own. But if he acted like he was holding anything back, Dad would be all over it. Cooper swallowed. “Yeah, isn’t it awful?”

“You never said a thing about it when you got home.” He glanced at Gordy. “Neither of you did.”

Gordy stood—and Fudge yipped and scrambled away. “Oh, sorry, Fudge.” He jammed his hands in his pockets.

Cooper had to say something before Gordy did. “I-I guess it was the boat.”

Mom shifted Mattie off her lap. “What?”

“Yeah,” Cooper said, relieved he had a trail to lead them down. “The whole surprise of the boat. We were talking about the robbery on the way home, then we saw part of the fence down and then there you were, Dad, driving out of the backyard with the pickup.”

The explanation just kind of gushed out. Cooper was getting some real traction now. “And once I saw the boat, I didn’t think about what happened at school today until you called us in to see the news.”

Dad moved over to the couch and sat on the arm. “I guess I
can understand that.” He nodded like he was thinking. “But still … we’re talking about Frank here.”

Taking a deep breath, Cooper forced himself to slow down. He couldn’t afford a mistake now. “Detective Hammer, the guy they showed on TV, talked to the students at an assembly today. Said Frank is in ICU at Northwest Community Hospital.” He paused. “He’s in a coma, just like the reporter said.”