Deceived (30 page)

“Do you know why you’re here, Mr. MacDonald?”

The detective was a woman. Her name was Moss. She seemed focused, intense. And working with Slezak to send him back to prison for some sham violation.

He tried to convince himself that this was one of the “all things” Pastor Jon preached about. As in, all things work for the good of those who love God. But the thought was only tickling his frontal lobes. The rest of his brain was telling him to play it close to the vest.

“Because I’m under arrest,” Mac said.

“You’re not under arrest,” Moss said. “Yet.”

“Then I’m free to go?”

“You’ve been brought in as a potential parole violator.”

“For what?”

“That’s what I want to ask you about. Some questions about a man you might know.”

“Who?”

“Theodore Gillespie.”

Mac frowned. The detective’s eyes were filled with certitude. “I don’t know any Theodore Gillespie. And you can stop playing your cop games and tell me what this is. If you don’t, I’m walking out. If you arrest me, I’m calling a lawyer. So why don’t we just cut right to it, okay?”

The detective did not seem overly worried by the idle threats of a violated parolee. She sat back in her chair and said, “You know Elizabeth Towne, isn’t that true?”

“What’s Liz got to do with this?”

“You helped her along after her husband died.”

“Yeah, of course. Arty was my good friend, she was hurting. Still is.”

“You got her involved in your church, I believe.”

Mac put his palms on the table. Like a magician getting ready to perform levitation. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“There’s a connection between Mrs. Towne and Mr. Gillespie. He was the one who found her in Pack Canyon after the incident.”

“Accident
you mean.”

“And there is a connection between you and Mrs. Towne, and also Mr. Gillespie.”

“I don’t know Mr. Gillespie. Never met the man.”

“Mr. Gillespie is dead.”

Mac shook his head. “What does that have to with Liz or me?”

“His car was found, torched, with two bodies inside.”

“So?”

Moss said, “Would you please explain why it is that Agent Slezak found Mr. Gillespie’s wallet in your house?”

A hundred lights went off in Mac’s head. Like an airstrip in the desert at night. Darkness all around, with an eerie luminescence shooting up. But nothing seen in the light. The only possibility was —

“He planted it.”

“You’re saying Agent Slezak planted the wallet?”

“He had to. I don’t know any Gillespie, and I never had his wallet. I don’t know what you and Slezak are trying to pull here, but I’m not playing.”

Mac stood up.

“I’m going to have to place you under arrest, Mr. MacDonald,” Moss said. “I’m giving you a Miranda waiver to sign. Or you can call a lawyer.”

4:32 p.m.

Pastor Jon was admitted to the lockup to see Mac.

Mac had not called his old lawyer, because he could not afford him anyway. Pastor Jon was the one who would help him most now.

“There’s a classic frame going on,” Mac explained. “You know about my PO, Slezak?”

“Sure. I even met him once, remember?”

“Right.”

“You said he was on some kind of a rampage against you.”

“Listen, there’s a dead man named Gillespie. He was the one who helped Liz when she got hurt in the canyon.”

“Yes, I know the name. You’re saying he’s dead?”

“That’s what they’re telling me. Somehow his wallet ends up in my house, and Slezak just happens to find it.”

“The dead man’s wallet was in your house?”

Mac nodded.

“How?”

“I don’t . . .”

“What’s wrong?”

Mac looked at the blank wall behind Pastor Jon. A twisted picture was forming, one he wanted to fight. But it was coming on strong. And with it, pain in his head.

“Mac, what’s going on?”

“When’s the last time you saw Liz?”

“I got a call from her today, as a matter — ”

“Where is she?”

“She said she was going to go up north, to see family in Oregon . . .”

A slow-melting anguish trickled down the inside of Mac’s ribs. “It could have been her,” Mac said.

“What could have been her?”

“Liz came to see me. She asked me about Slezak. She had me make coffee. Moss said Liz had a connection with him. If she had this guy Gillespie’s wallet, she could have been the one who planted it.”

“But why would she do that?”

“Jon, get me a lawyer. Anybody. I’ve got to get bailed out. If I don’t find her, this whole thing could come down on me.”

9:28 p.m.

Arty was looking at her. She was sure of it now. Whether he was up in space or floating through the earth, he could see her.

She would not crack. That was not going to happen. Arty wasn’t really there. But he was.

Trying to keep her eyes from closing, Liz pressed on through the desert night. Highway 15. East. Just going east. She would just drive and that would be that. Eventually, she’d have to stop and look at a map or something.

Arty, staring at her from the backseat.

She screamed.

She remembered a TV show she saw once, one of those
Twilight
Zone
s, in black and white. There was a creepy hitchhiker in it, and the girl who was driving her car kept seeing the hitchhiker. On the side of the road. In her rearview mirror.

What was that one about, anyway?

Death, wasn’t it? Death following you. Death catching up to you. Death you can’t avoid.

That’s what it was. Death. That’s what she’d been running from her whole life. When you stopped moving, they could kill you.

They will not get me
,
Mama.

Sunday

10:00 a.m.

Rocky took the call at Geena’s apartment, which was Geena-less at the moment. She was at Leonard’s. Which was why it was no surprise when Rocky heard Geena on the other end.

“Leonard wants to talk to you,” she said.

“I hope it’s just about the phone,” Rocky said.

“You’re funny. Hold on.”

A second later, Leonard’s voice came on. “Arthur Towne was the owner of the phone.”

Rocky’s skin started tingling.

“I printed out his call history,” he said. “As far as it would let me. Incoming, outgoing, missed.”

“I’m coming to get it,” Rocky said.

“What’s the dealio?” Leonard said.

“Don’t ever say
dealio
again
.
Just have it ready.”

“Shizzle,” Leonard said. Geena giggled in the background.

11:43 a.m.

The town wasn’t much to look at. Liz thought all towns pretty much looked alike now. As soon as they had over a hundred thousand people, they’d add a Jack in the Box or a McDonald’s. Two hundred thousand and both would be there, along with a Wendy’s and a KFC.

Keep going up, and you’d have an Orchard Supply Hardware, then maybe three different gas stations and a little shopping mall.

This one was at the OSH level, and she needed gas. She needed to eat.

She chose the Jack in the Box and went inside. She ordered a bacon-and-cheese ciabatta burger, curly fries, and a large Barq’s. She asked for two ranch dressings and went to a table by the window. She unwrapped her sandwich and placed it to one side, then peeled back the top of one of the dressings.

She dipped a curly fry in the ranch dressing and popped it into her mouth.

Now she started to feel good again, human. Sleeping in the back of the car like some homeless person was ridiculous. She’d never do that again. Because she deserved to be happy. Deserved it, because she’d been through enough already. She was the victim. Betrayed by her past and by Arty, who promised her things he couldn’t deliver. No, wouldn’t deliver. Broken promises, and that’s why he died. He had only himself to blame.

She realized she had taken a huge bite of her sandwich without knowing it.

Who put that bite in her mouth? Who was trying to control her thoughts?

Who knew everything she knew?

The man across the restaurant was looking at her. He had buggy eyes and no hair.

Why was he looking at her?

He was watching. He was watching to see what she’d do, a single woman at a Jack in the Box.

Voices.

Pastor Jon talking about that guy who got gripped and couldn’t control his own actions, and wasn’t that just another way of saying he went insane?

She should have a gun or something for people like the bug-eyed guy who might get too curious.

Arty
,
I’m sorry
,
but you brought it on yourself.

Curly fries are good with dressing. I need more dressing.

Sleep is what I need
,
I’m losing it here.

The whole mess was sloshing around in her stomach. She left the rest of the meal on the table and practically ran out the doors. She saw the liquor sign and made a quick purchase but did not like the way the man at the counter looked at her. Like she was some criminal on the run.

What right did he have to look at her like that?

12:11 p.m.

“I’ve advised Mr. MacDonald not to talk to you,” Tito Sanchez said. He was a lawyer and a personal friend of Pastor Jon’s, a sturdy Latino about the same age. That he was willing to come in on a Sunday said something about their friendship.

Detective Moss’s presence, too, suggested she was more than a little interested in Mac’s arrest. They were in an interview room at the sheriff’s substation, a few miles west of Pack Canyon.

Moss said, “Do you understand what your lawyer just said, Mr. MacDonald?”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “And I waive my right to silence. I want to talk.”

“All right,” Moss said. “If you’ll sign the waiver, you can go right ahead.”

Mac grabbed the pen and the Miranda waiver and scrawled his signature on the bottom. He pushed the paper and pen back to Moss.

“The person you need to be talking to is Liz Towne,” Mac said.

“I have talked to her.”

“And?”

“And what?” Moss said.

“Have you questioned her as a suspect?”

“Do you have any evidence that she is a suspect in something?”

“Yeah,” Mac said. “The fact that I’m sitting here and she’s not.”

Moss touched her chin with the clicker of her pen. “She’s free to go anywhere she wants.”

“Don’t you find it strange?”

“Mr. MacDonald, I have to work with evidence. Right now there is evidence pointing to you. If you’re trying to give me a lead, you have to do it with something I can see or hold in my hands.”

“Like a confession?” Mac said.

“A confession would be nice,” Moss said.

Tito Sanchez said, “We can stop this anytime you say.”

“I’ll keep going,” Mac said. “She was in my house a couple of hours before Slezak showed up.”

“Yes?”

“I didn’t have any wallet till after she came in. It had to be her or Slezak. And as bad as Slezak wants to bring me down, and he wants to bad, he’s had plenty of chances to plant something before this. He could have lied up and down about me. Liz must have planted the wallet, then called Slezak. And I bet it was an anonymous tip. Did Slezak tell you that’s what it was?”

“An anonymous tip is not unusual,” Moss said. “Especially with parolees.”

“Convenient, isn’t it?”

“I have to look at the evidence.”

“Have you dusted the wallet for prints?” Mac said.

“Not yet.”

“You won’t find mine,” Mac said. “You can’t link the wallet to me.”

“Except that it was found in your house,” Moss said.

Mac’s head started feeling hot. No. Not now. He closed his eyes, trying to force back the fire.

“Listen,” Moss said with an understanding tone, “Can you account for your whereabouts on Thursday afternoon? Anyone who saw you, who you were with?”

Mac thought about it. “I was in the market, the Pack Canyon Market. I talked to the owner, Hank Weinhouse.”

“What time was this?”

“I can’t remember exactly. Around five maybe.”

“Where were you after that?”

“I was driving,” he said.

“Driving where?”

“Just driving. For a while. Listening to the radio. I drove by Liz’s house, I remember that. She wasn’t home.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, the lights weren’t on.”

“You didn’t go in?”

Mac shook his head.

Moss grunted.

“What does that mean?” Mac said.

“Can you understand my skepticism?” Moss said.

“Can you understand mine?” Mac’s temples burned. His eyes started watering.

“Maybe we should take a break, huh?” Tito Sanchez said.

“No!” Mac slammed his fist on the table. “You have to go after her.”

“I can’t do that,” Moss said. “I have no probable cause. Your statement alone doesn’t provide that. And I’m afraid if that’s all you’ve got, we can’t move forward.”

Mac grabbed his head.

“Let’s call it,” Sanchez said. “We need to get — ”

“Get me bailed out,” Mac said.

Silence.

Mac looked at Sanchez. “Well?”

“This is a homicide,” Moss said. “A particularly bad one. There’s no guarantee bail will be granted.”

“She’s right,” Sanchez said. “So let’s concentrate on the hearing.”

“This is insane!” Mac said.

A knock at the door. Moss went to the door, opened it. Mac heard somebody say something. The detective turned back to Mac and Sanchez and said, “I’ll be right back.”

Mac looked at his lawyer, who shrugged. “What’s that all about?”

Sanchez said, “We’re being taped. Now is the time, if there ever was a time, for you to really and truly not say anything.”

“I thought it was going all right,” Mac said. “I think I’m getting through to her.”

“My friend, it is never good to talk to cops. All they want to do is hang you, and they will make the rope from your words.”

Mac said, “I know all that, but I’m not playing a game.”

“They’re not playing, either.”

“I’ve got to tell the truth, that’s it. And not just because I’m innocent, which I am. I don’t even know if you believe me, but I am. No, because I made a covenant with God to play it straight, and I’m just gonna trust him on that.”