Scar Tissue (12 page)
Then I took a shower, shaved, got dressed, made coffee.
Read the newspaper.
Did some laundry.
Ran the dishwasher.
Tied some flies.
Waited for the phone to ring.
It kept refusing.
At noon I tried Evie again. Got her machine again. Left no message.
Hmm.
I made myself a toasted cheese sandwich and ate it out on my balcony. It was a beautiful just-spring day. Not quite springlike enough to go fishing, but close. Damned if I was going to spend it sitting around my apartment waiting for the phone to ring.
I found Tory Whyte's business card where I'd stuck it in my wallet. I called her pager and left my number.
My phone rang twenty minutes later. “What's up?” said Tory.
“Can you talk?”
“No, sir.”
“If I come out there, can we meet?”
“Yes. That would be fine.”
“Where?”
“I go on patrol at two,” she said.
“In front of the bank, two o'clock?”
“Make it two-thirty. Remember how to find it?”
“I'll be there.”
I
parked in front of the bank in Reddington at two-twenty. Five minutes later a black-and-white police Explorer pulled up beside me. Tory Whyte got out, opened my passenger door, and slid in beside me. She left the door of the cruiser open and the motor running.
parked in front of the bank in Reddington at two-twenty. Five minutes later a black-and-white police Explorer pulled up beside me. Tory Whyte got out, opened my passenger door, and slid in beside me. She left the door of the cruiser open and the motor running.
The first thing she did was crank down the window beside her so she could hear her radio. Then she turned to me and smiled quickly. “We've gotta stop meeting like this,” she said. “This is a small town. People will talk.”
She wore tailored blue slacks and a short leather jacket with a fur collar over her blue uniform shirt and tie. She squirmed her hip against the car seat to adjust her revolver.
I hadn't seen her face very well in the darkness the previous night, and I'd forgotten how pretty she was.
“I just have a couple quick questions,” I said.
“Go ahead.”
“Do you know a local girl named Sandy?”
“Sandy who?”
“I don't know her last name. Heavy-set girl. Teenager. Black
hair. Looks dyed. She was a friend of Brian Gold and Jenny Rolando.”
hair. Looks dyed. She was a friend of Brian Gold and Jenny Rolando.”
“Yeah, okay. That'd be Sandy Driscoll. What about her?”
“I want to talk with her.”
“About what?”
I waved her question away with the back of my hand. “Any way I can get ahold of her?”
“I know she works at the camera store. She's probably there now.” She looked at her watch. “They're open till five-thirty on Saturdays, I believe. Know where the camera store is?”
“I pass it on the way back to town, right?”
She nodded and pointed. “Just a mile or so up that way. It's on the left.”
“One more thing,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Where did Sprague live?”
“Big old fix-me-up farmhouse on the north side. Why?”
I shrugged. “Just wondering. Tell me about it.”
“It was one of those handyman specials when he bought it, oh, ten or twelve years ago,” she said. “He did a lot of work on it. Paid the local kids to help him in the summers. He knew about things like carpentry and masonry. Ed knew about a lot of things.” Tory glanced sideways at me. “Nice big old barn, fifteen or twenty acres abutting the pond. He always had an open house around the holidays. Most of the town would show up. Used to have cookouts and swimming parties for the kids in the summer, square dances in his barn in the fall, things like that. This town doesn't have much for teenagers to do, and Ed tried to make up for it.”
“Quite a guy,” I said.
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “Quite a guy, all right.”
“So how do I find his place?”
“Look,” she said. “I'm not sureâ”
“You're not involved, Tory. But if you don't want to tell me, that's okay.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I'm just a snoopy kind of guy.”
She smiled. “Everybody knows where Ed lived.” She gave me the directions. It didn't sound complicated.
“I've been thinking I never should've stopped you last night,” she said.
“I'm glad you did.”
“Yeah, well, I think I might've opened a can of worms.”
“Who, me? That's not a very flattering metaphor.”
She smiled. “I didn't mean it that way. It's just, sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut, let things play out.”
“And sometimes keeping your mouth shut is irresponsible,” I said.
“I don't even know you.”
“I hope you trust me.”
“I hope I can,” she said. “See, the problem with opening a can of worms is, once they crawl out, you can never convince them to crawl back in again.”
I reached over and took her hand. “Look, Tory,” I said. “I'm not one of those hot-shot, fast-talking, big-money lawyers. I don't perform miracles. In fact, most people would probably say I'm a pretty average attorney. I'm only really good at one thing. Discretion. My clients trust me. I keep my word. Always. I am discreet and fair and honest, and for some reason, a lot of people seem to value that in their lawyer. All I'm saying is, I promised you I'd keep you out of it, and I will.”
“Truly?”
“Truly,” I said.
She reached over, gave my hand a quick squeeze, opened the car door and slid out. Then she bent down and peered in at me. “Happy snooping,” she said. “Be careful, okay?”
I let Tory pull out of the lot before I started up my car. Then I headed back toward town, and a mile or so down the road on the left I spotted the Reddington Camera Shop.
I pulled up in front, got out of my car, and went inside.
Sandy Driscoll was down at the end of the counter, which ran the length of one wall. No one else was in the store. She
was bent over with her back to me, and it looked like she was checking some things on the shelves. A cordless telephone rested facedown on the counter.
was bent over with her back to me, and it looked like she was checking some things on the shelves. A cordless telephone rested facedown on the counter.
I stood there for a moment, then cleared my throat.
She whirled around, then rolled her eyes and smiled. “Geez,” she said. “You scared me. Hang on a sec.” She picked up the phone and said, “I'm sorry, it's not back yet. It should come in on Monday. Check sometime after noon, okay?”
After she clicked off the phone, she put both elbows on the counter, propped her chin in her hands, and frowned at me. “I know you, don't I?” she said.
“It was a few weeks ago. You were tossing daisies into the river.”
She nodded. “Oh, right. What's up?”
“We were having a conversation. I don't think we finished it.”
“What were we talking about?”
“Brian and Jenny. You were starting to tell me why they'd packed their clothes, where they were going.”
Sandy glanced around. “Look, misterâ”
“Coyne. Brady Coyne. I'm the Golds' lawyer.”
“Right,” she said. “Well, Mr. Coyne, I don't know what great story you thought I was gonna tell you, but the answer is, I didn't have anything to say then, and I still don't.”
“Why?”
“Huh?”
“Why won't you talk to me?”
“I am talking to you.”
“So tell me about Brian and Jenny.”
“They died.” She shrugged. “Everybody's trying to deal with it.”
“There's more to it than that,” I said. “And I think you know it. I think if Chief Sprague hadn't shown up when he did, you would've told me what you know. So now that he's deadâ”
“I don't know anything,” said Sandy quickly.
“You knew that those kids had packed clothes to bring with them. How did you know that?”
She shrugged. “Heard it, that's all.”
“From whom?”
“I don't know. It's what people were saying, I guess.”
I put my own elbows on the counter so that I was looking straight into Sandy's eyes. “It's
not
what people are saying,” I said. “Those two duffel bags with clothes in them, the police didn't tell anybody about them. That day when I met you by the river, your chief of police told me they hadn't even told Brian's and Jenny's parents about those clothes. But you knew.”
not
what people are saying,” I said. “Those two duffel bags with clothes in them, the police didn't tell anybody about them. That day when I met you by the river, your chief of police told me they hadn't even told Brian's and Jenny's parents about those clothes. But you knew.”
Sandy straightened up, turned her back on me, and pretended to examine the shelves behind the counter. “So what if I did know?” she said without turning around. “What difference would it make? Brian and Jenny are dead.”
“Then why lie to me about it?”
She turned to face me. “Why shouldn't I?”
“Because your chief of police is dead now.”
“What's he got to do with it?”
“I don't know. You tell me.”
She shrugged. “Ed was our friend.”
“He was murdered. What do you think of that?”
“What kind of stupid question is that?”
I nodded. “Okay, sorry. Look. All I'm trying to do is ease the mind of a couple of grieving parents, help them get on with their lives. They still have questions about what happened. Not finding Brian's bodyâthat's been awfully hard for them. Jake and Sharon Gold are dear old friends of mine. I've known Brian from the time he was born. Do you know his parents?”
Sandy shook her head. “Not really.”
“Brian's motherâSharon is her nameâshe keeps having this dream,” I said. “In Sharon's dream, she's standing outside a big plate-glass window and Brian's on the other side. His face is pressed against the glass, and he's clawing at it as if he's struggling
to break through it, and he's calling to his mother. But she can't hear what he's saying, and when she tries to call back to him, the words stick in her throat. No matter how hard she tries to call to her boy, she can't make a sound. She wakes up crying. She's afraid to go to sleep, because she knows she's going to have that terrible dream, and she thinks she's going to have that dream for the rest of her life.”
to break through it, and he's calling to his mother. But she can't hear what he's saying, and when she tries to call back to him, the words stick in her throat. No matter how hard she tries to call to her boy, she can't make a sound. She wakes up crying. She's afraid to go to sleep, because she knows she's going to have that terrible dream, and she thinks she's going to have that dream for the rest of her life.”
Sandy was staring at me. “Like he was trapped under the ice,” she whispered.
I shrugged.
“That's an awful dream,” she said. Her eyes were glittery.
“All I want,” I said, “is to help Brian's mother get rid of that dream.”
She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. “I just can'tâ”
A bell jingled, and Sandy lifted her head quickly and looked over my shoulder.
I turned. An elderly woman had come into the shop. She was limping toward us with the aid of a cane.
“I got a customer,” Sandy said.
“I'll wait,” I said.
“Would you mind waiting outside?”
“Okay.” I turned, smiled at the old woman as I passed her, and went out. I stood there on the sidewalk by the door and lit a cigarette.
The old woman came hobbling out a few minutes later. She nodded to me, then climbed into an ancient Jeep Wagoneer and drove away.
I shaded my eyes and peered into the camera store. Sandy was pacing back and forth behind the counter talking on the telephone. She was frowning and waving her hand in the air.
I continued to wait outside. After a while, Sandy tapped on the inside of the glass door and beckoned me in.
I went in.
Sandy stood there by the door. “I can't talk with you anymore,” she said. “I got work to do.”
I nodded. “I'm sorry I bothered you. I guess I was mistaken. I thought you might want to help ease the pain of some very nice, very sad people.”
She blinked. “That's so unfair.”
“Is it?”
She shook her head. “I can't,” she whispered. “Please. Just leave me alone.”
“That day by the river,” I said. “I gave you my business card. Do you still have it?”
She shook her head.
“You lost it?”
“IâI threw it away.”
I took out another card and put it on the counter. “Don't throw this away,” I said. “You might change your mind.”
She didn't look at the card. “Please,” she said. “Just go away.”
“Promise me you'll keep my card.”
“Sure, fine,” she said. She picked it up, glanced at it, and put it into her pocket. “Okay?”
“Thank you.” I held out my hand to her.
She hesitated, then shook it quickly.
I turned and started for the front of the store.
“Hey, Mr. Coyne,” said Sandy.
I stopped and looked back at her.
She hesitated, then shook her head. “Nothing,” she said.
I
sat in the front seat of my car outside the Reddington Camera Shop and smoked a cigarette. Terrific work, Coyne. Subtle. Intimidating teenage girls. Right up your alley, Counselor.
sat in the front seat of my car outside the Reddington Camera Shop and smoked a cigarette. Terrific work, Coyne. Subtle. Intimidating teenage girls. Right up your alley, Counselor.
I couldn't figure out whether that was one step above ambulance chasing, or several steps beneath it.
It was all Evie's fault. I should have been spending this pleasant late-winter Saturday with her, minding my own business, intimidating nobody.
Except Sandy Driscoll knew something, and she was afraid to share it. It wasn't Sprague she was afraid of. He was dead.
Who, then?
Whom had she called on the telephone while I was waiting outside?
I finished my cigarette and flicked the butt out the window. It was almost three-thirty. There were still a couple of hours of daylight left.
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