House Odds (27 page)

She thought for a moment then called DeMarco.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I’m in New York.”

“What are you doing there?”

“I’m, uh, . . .”

“Oh, never mind. Who was that retired cop you spoke to in Charlottesville?”

“A guy named Dave Torey.”

“Do you have his number?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, give it to me.”

DeMarco fumbled with his cell phone, then read off the number. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“I don’t have time to talk right now,” Emma said and hung up.

What the hell was he doing in New York?

* * *

Emma explained to Torey what was going on with Campbell and McGrath, and told him about Praeter’s death. She concluded with, “I think McGrath might try to kill Campbell. So what I need to know is, do you still have any pull with the Charlottesville PD?”

“Well, I got a lot of pull with one guy. He’s my son. He’s in charge of their SWAT team.”

“Do you think you could get him to find McGrath and Campbell? Campbell’s wife told me they were going to a UVA baseball game.”

“Yeah, if you think this will really stop a murder, I can probably convince my boy to help. He’s got enough clout with the department that if he puts out a BOLO for McGrath, the folks in patrol will start looking for him. But what should he do if he finds them?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Tell him to just watch them and make sure McGrath sees him watching. He’s not going to do anything to Campbell if a cop is looking at him. But I don’t have these guys’ pictures.”

“That’s okay. He can get their photos from the Maryland and South Carolina DMVs.”

“Thanks. I’ll be down there in a couple of hours, maybe quicker if I don’t get caught for speeding.”

“Okay, I’ll call my kid. Call me when you get near town and I’ll meet you someplace.” Torey paused, then added, “You know, this sure as hell beats sitting here on my ass watching TV all day.”

* * *

Dave Torey turned out to be stocky guy in his sixties with a white mustache. What little hair he had left was also white. His son looked just like him, except he didn’t have a mustache; he was losing his hair, however. The good thing about Torey’s son, Steve, was he looked tough and strong—at least as strong as Rusty McGrath.

Emma was sitting in back of a Charlottesville PD patrol car. Steve Torey was driving and his father was riding in the passenger’s seat. Emma didn’t like being in the backseat separated by a screen from the Toreys—and she really didn’t like that there were no handles on the inside of the car to open the back doors. Emma didn’t like not being in control.

“We spotted them when they left the ball game,” Steve Torey said, “and followed them to a bar called O’Grady’s, which is where they are now. I’ve got guy inside the bar watching them—and I can tell you O’Grady isn’t too happy about that, having a uniform cop standing in his doorway. Half the people he serves in that place are underage college kids with fake IDs.”

“We need to get Campbell away from McGrath,” Emma said.

“Well, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do that,” Steve Torey said.

“How long have they been inside this bar?”

“About an hour,” Steve Torey said.

“Then Campbell’s drunk. And you can . . .”

“I don’t know that he’s drunk,” Steve Torey said.

“Listen to the lady,” Dave Torey said to his son.

“Officer Torey,” Emma said, “you’re going to arrest Campbell for public drunkenness, or whatever the correct legal term is. Later on you can apologize and let him go if he’s not really drunk, but I’m willing to bet they’ve been drinking beer all afternoon at that ballgame and now they’re drinking some more. Campbell’s drunk.”

“I like it,” Dave Torey said. “And this time these assholes aren’t going to a bowl game and the university’s not going to send some lawyer over to get them out of whatever jam they’re in.”

* * *

Steve Torey walked into the bar and nodded to the cop standing by the door. The bar was packed with college kids and between the kids and the jukebox, it was noisy in the place. But the kids all stopped talking when a second cop entered the bar.

Campbell and McGrath were at a table by themselves, about thirty feet from the door. McGrath was drinking a beer; Campbell had a colorless drink in front of him that could have been vodka or gin. When McGrath saw Emma come in behind the cop, he looked in her direction and shook his head. He wasn’t smiling now.

Steve Torey motioned to the other cop and they walked over to the table where McGrath and Campbell were seated. “Would you gentlemen please stand up,” Steve Torey said.

“What?” Campbell said, but he stood up—and almost fell. There was no doubt he was drunk.

McGrath didn’t move. “What’s this all about,” he said.

“Sir, I told you to stand up. I want to see IDs from both of you. Then I want you to go over and put your hands on that wall so I can make sure you’re not carrying weapons.”

“You’re not searching me,” McGrath said. “You don’t have probable cause.”

“Sir,” Steve Torey said, “I suspect you don’t know shit about probable cause. What I do know is that right now you’re resisting a lawful order issued by a police officer. Now, stand up, hand me your wallet, and then go grab the wall.”

McGrath sat for a moment longer, then stood up. Unlike Campbell he didn’t look or sound drunk. Steve Torey examined both men’s IDs, and while he did, Campbell swayed, having a hard time maintaining his balance. Emma thought he looked close to passing out. Then another thought occurred to her: she wondered if McGrath might have spiked his drink so he’d be easier to control.

Torey patted Campbell down first, and while he was doing this, Campbell said, “What the hell’s going on here, Rusty? Why are these guys fucking with us?” McGrath didn’t respond.

When Torey finished with Campbell, he patted down McGrath, taking his time, doing a more thorough search. He noticed a bulge in the back right-hand pocket of McGrath’s jeans. He reached inside the pocket and pulled out a bag of peanuts. The peanuts in the bag were almost pulverized, as if McGrath had sat on them.

“You squashed your peanuts,” Torey said, and tossed the peanuts on the table next to McGrath’s wallet. McGrath still didn’t respond.

“Okay,” Steve Torey said. “Mr. Campbell, you are obviously intoxicated and I’m arresting you for being drunk and disorderly in public.”

“You can’t do that! Can he do that, Rusty?”

“Cuff him,” Torey said to the other cop, and Campbell didn’t resist as handcuffs were placed on him and he was led out of the bar. He was four inches taller than the cop walking beside him.

As the cops were leaving, Emma walked over to McGrath. He was putting his wallet back into his pocket. The peanuts Torey had taken from him were still sitting on the table.

“Where were you last Monday, McGrath?” Emma said.

“Kiss my ass, you bitch.”

* * *

Campbell was sitting in the back of a patrol car, his head lolled back on top of the seat. He’d passed out.

“What am I supposed to do with him?” Steve Torey said, now wishing he’d never got sucked into Emma’s and his father’s plans.

“Just toss him into a cell until he wakes up, then let him go,” Emma said. “McGrath isn’t going to do anything now. In fact, I’m guessing McGrath will head back to Myrtle Beach right away. If he comes by the police station and tries to get you to release Campbell into his custody, tell him Campbell’s going to be held overnight, and then you’re going to personally escort him out of Charlottesville.

“Oh, and do one other thing for me. Ask Campbell to tell you where he was last Monday night at one a.m. I don’t think he’ll tell you anything, but if he does, let me know. And thank you for your help, Officer Torey. I’m convinced you just kept a man from being killed.”

Actually, Emma had no idea if that was true.

38

DeMarco found Emma in her backyard, arms folded across her chest, watching two Hispanic men aerate and reseed a portion of her lawn that apparently didn’t meet her standards. She was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt, jeans, and rubber boots that almost reached her knees. Her jeans were tucked into the boots, and absent a bullwhip, she looked like the overseer of an antebellum plantation watching the cotton being picked. DeMarco felt sorry for the Hispanics.

Emma had asked him to come to her house, saying she had a few things to tell him. Actually, she hadn’t asked him; she’d
ordered
him. That was the problem with involving Emma in his cases: she automatically assumed command and pretty much did whatever she wanted.

“What were you doing in New York?” she asked, without taking her eyes off the gardeners.

“Looking into something to get this congressman off Mahoney’s back, like I told you the other day. I also spent the night at my mom’s place since I hadn’t seen her in a while.”

Now Emma looked at him—and she looked skeptical—but she didn’t say anything.

If for no other reason than to change the subject, he asked, “Why did you want Dave Torey’s number yesterday?” and Emma proceeded to tell what she’d learned about Campbell and McGrath and the incident in Charlottesville.

“You had the guy
arrested
?” DeMarco said, amazed at what she’d done. He was also amazed that she hadn’t bothered to call and tell him —but that’s what happened when you worked with Emma.

“I had to get him away from McGrath.”

“And you seriously thought McGrath was going to kill him?”

“I don’t know. I just . . . I just had this feeling,” Emma said. “I was afraid Campbell was going to have an accident in Charlottesville. He was going to fall down a flight of steps, or get mugged, or get in a car accident where McGrath lived and he died. I think something like that was going to happen.”

“But what made you think that?”

“Because I think McGrath’s a sociopath, and I think he’s getting rid of the people who can put him in jail. I also think he wants them gone before they have to testify at Molly’s trial.”

She told DeMarco that neither Campbell nor McGrath had a solid alibi for the night of Praeter’s death but at the same time she hadn’t been able to find any evidence that they’d been in New York. Emma was silent for a moment, pondering their next step. Until now, her interest in the case had been somewhat halfhearted, but DeMarco could tell that McGrath had gotten her competitive juices flowing.

“I wonder if Neil’s back yet,” she said. “We need some facts. All we have are theories and guesses. I want to get Neil looking into this money that was deposited in Molly’s account, and . . .”

No, no, no!
That was the last thing DeMarco wanted. Fortunately, at that moment Emma saw something that derailed her train of thought.

“You!” Emma screamed at one of the Hispanics. “Yes, you! Watch the roots of that tree, for God’s sake.”

“Ruts?” one of the guys said.

And Emma began to yell at the poor man in Spanish.

When she finished instructing her helpers on the degree of care they needed to take with her plants, she turned back to look at DeMarco. He was waving one hand frantically near his face.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Bee!”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Quit swatting at it and it’ll fly away. It’s not going to kill you.”

“It might,” DeMarco said, relieved that the insect had finally abandoned its vicious attack. “I’ve never been stung by a bee before. I could be allergic to bee venom, go into analgesic shock or something.”

“It’s
anaphylactic
shock, you fool, and only about one percent . . . Shit! We need to go talk to Campbell.”

* * *

“What the hell do you want?” Campbell said when he opened his door and saw Emma and DeMarco on his porch. He was dressed in sweatpants and a white T-shirt and he appeared to be in the final stages of a terminal hangover. His thin blond hair was plastered to his scalp, he was sweating, and his complexion was ash-gray.

“We need to talk to you,” Emma said.

“Fuck you,” Campbell said. “Fuck you, and get off my property.”

“Mr. Campbell, are you allergic to peanuts?” Emma asked.

* * *

A person severely allergic to peanuts may experience respiratory distress, fainting, hypotension, urticaria, vomiting—and death. But when Emma suggested that Rusty McGrath had been planning to kill his good buddy Doug Campbell with a small, normally harmless nut, Campbell said, “You’re crazy. So the guy had a bag of peanuts on him. Big deal. That doesn’t prove anything.”

“The peanuts were
pulverized
, Mr. Campbell,” Emma said. “I saw them. And I think they were pulverized so he could mix them into your food more easily. At some point you would have gone to the restroom or been otherwise distracted, and McGrath was going to sprinkle your dinner with peanuts and kill you.”