The Neighbor (24 page)

“Tell me what you saw Wednesday night.”

“Seinfield was master of his domain,” Aidan said dryly. “And McCoy prosecuted some cult leader guy who thought he was God.”

D.D. saw more piles of clothes. She frowned, withdrew, then paused. She glanced again at the piles of dirty laundry on the bedroom floor, then the pile of clothing in the closet. How many pairs of blue jeans and white T-shirts could one guy own?

Plain sight, plain sight, plain sight.

She kicked her foot into the closet pile, pressing down. And sure enough, hit something hard. Metal, she thought. Rectangular. Decent-sized. Computer? Lockbox? House safe? A computer would violate the terms of the kid’s parole. Interesting.

She drew back again, chewing her lower lip, debating her options.

“Don’t be yanking my chain,” Miller was saying now. “Because I can look up what aired Wednesday night. You get this wrong, we’re gonna be calling you down to the station, and this time, we won’t be friends.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Aidan exploded.

“Woman vanishing on your block is entirely coincidental?”

“She’s a grown woman. Come on, you’ve seen my record. What the hell would I want with a mom?”

“Ah, but she’s a young, pretty mom. Same age as yourself. Lonely, too. Husband that works nights. Maybe she just wanted to talk. Maybe it started out with you two as friends. Did she learn what you had done, Aidan? Find out about your first love and freak out?”

“I never spoke to her! Ask anyone. If that woman was outside, she was with her kid. And I stay clear of kids!”

“You lost your job, Aidan. Must make you mad.”

“Hell yeah!”

“Everyone thinks you’re good for this. Got a garage full of guys who want to make an example of you. I don’t blame you for being agitated.”

“Hell yeah!”

“Wrist hurt?” Miller asked abruptly.

“What?”

“Wrist hurt? You’ve been snapping away for ten minutes now. Tell me about the elastic, Aidan. Is that part of your program? Snap the elastic every time you’re thinking impure thoughts involving little kids? My, my, you’re having an impure day.”

“Hey, knock it off! You don’t know nothin’ about nothin’. I’m not into kids. I was never into kids.”

“So a twenty-three-year-old mom isn’t out of the question?”

“Stop it! You’re putting words into my mouth. I fell in love with the wrong girl, okay? That’s all I did wrong. I fell in love with the wrong girl, and now my life’s shit. Nothing more, nothing less.”

D.D. came out of the bedroom. Her sudden reappearance startled Aidan, and she could tell that for the first time he realized she’d left the room and where she must have gone. His gaze dropped immediately to the floor. She liked it when liars were predictable.

“Hey, Aidan. How ’bout giving me a tour of your room?”

He gave her a bitter smile. “Looks to me like you already got one.”

“Yeah, but I’m curious about something. How ’bout we look together?”

“No.”

“No?” She feigned surprise. “Now, Aidan, you were doing such a
nice job of cooperating. Like Miller said, sooner we clear you on this, sooner we can pass the word along in the community. I’m sure Vito’d love to hear his favorite mechanic can return to work.”

Aidan didn’t reply. He’d stopped snapping the band. His gaze was zipping around the room instead, around and around and around. He was looking for the out. Not physically. But the lie, the excuse. The magic words that would make his problem go away.

He couldn’t come up with any, and she watched his shoulders hunch as if steeling for the blow.

“I want you to go now,” he said.

“Aidan—” Miller began.

“You’re not going to help me,” the kid interjected bluntly. “We all know you won’t, so cut the bullshit. I’m a pervert to you, too. And it doesn’t really matter that I’ve served my time or that I’ve stuck with the program and the terms of my parole. Once a pervert, always a pervert, isn’t that how it goes? I didn’t touch the woman. I told Vito that, I told the husband that—”

“You told the husband that?” D.D. interjected.

“Yeah.” Aidan raised his head belligerently. “I had a little chat with the husband. He seemed mighty interested that a registered sex offender lived down the street. In fact,” now the kid’s gaze was calculating, “I bet he told you all about me.”

D.D. didn’t answer.

“It’s pretty convenient for him, don’t you think? Why, you being
here
, questioning me, means you can’t be
there
, questioning him. Yeah, I’d say my presence is the best thing that ever happened to Mr. Jones. Wonder how long before he tells the press about me, hmmm? That’ll get them good and excited.”

“So, come to think about it, it’s not just in
my
best interest to be cleared of these ugly accusations, it’s in
your
best interest as well, isn’t it? ’Cause as long as you’re looking at me, you can never move against him. And I bet he knows that. Cool cat, Mr. Jones. I bet he knows an awful lot of things.”

D.D. didn’t say a word. She kept her features smooth, composed. Just her hand fisted behind her back.

“Show me your closet, Aidan.”

“No thank you.”

“Help me now, or be arrested by me later.”

The trapped look was gone. Now the kid was downright cocky. “I’ll take my chances.”

“You know Aidan, I’m not partial to my predators. You, Mr. Jones, hell, the Boogey Man in the closet. I’ll arrest you all, let the court sort it out. That works for me.”

“Can’t. Multiple suspects would lead to reasonable doubt.”

“Yeah, but it can take months to go to trial. Months of you sitting in jail, unable to make bail, while word travels round that a known sex offender lives in cell eleven.”

He blanched. Sex offenders didn’t do well in prison. Inmates had their own code of ethics, and according to the jailhouse value system, shanking a pervert was a great way to move up in the world. Build a rep and add a teardrop to your cheek, while making the world a better place.

Aidan had been right the first time—his life was shit, and so were his options.

But the kid surprised her. Showed some of the backbone he’d been missing earlier.

“I didn’t hurt the woman,” he said stiffly. “But I did see something.”

That caught D.D.’s attention. Miller jolted as well. Seemed a little late for such a disclosure, which made them both automatically suspicious.

“I heard a noise Wednesday night. Something woke me up. I had to pee. So I got out of bed. I was looking out the window—”

“Which window?” D.D. interrupted.

“Kitchen window. Above the sink.” Aidan gestured, and she crossed to the kitchenette. Most houses in Southie were stacked side by side. The house next to Aidan’s, however, was set way back, allowing him a decent enough view of the street.

“Saw a car go by, moving slow, as if it had just pulled out of a driveway. Wouldn’t normally think much of such a thing, but one
A.M.
is a crazy time for someone to be coming or going on this block.”

D.D. didn’t say anything, though, in fact, Aidan’s neighbor Jason Jones routinely came and went in the small hours of the morning.

“Car looked peculiar,” Aidan offered. “Lots of antennas sticking up from the top. Like a limo, one of those car service vehicles.”

“What color?” Miller asked.

Kid shrugged. “Dark.”

“License plate?”

“At one
A.M.
? Hell, I don’t have X-ray vision.”

“Where did the car come from?”

“Same direction as Sandy Jones’s house.”

“You know her name,” D.D. spoke up sharply.

Aidan shot her a look. “Everyone knows her name. You announced it on the freaking news.”

“You playing us, Aidan? Seems convenient, suddenly offering an eyewitness account.”

“I was saving it up. Can’t give something for nothing, right? Well, you want to arrest me, so consider this the consolation prize. I didn’t hurt the woman, but maybe, you find that car, you’ll find the guy who did. I think I’ve already mentioned that would be in our mutual best interests.”

D.D. had to hand it to the kid. She did want to deck him, and he’d totally shut her down from searching his closet.

She glanced at Miller, saw the same assessment in his eyes. Interview was done. Real or not, a vague description of a mystery vehicle was as good as they were gonna get.

“We’ll be in touch with your PO,” she informed Aidan.

Kid nodded.

“Of course you’ll let us know if you have any change of address.”

“Of course you’ll provide police protection once I’m beaten to a pulp,” he countered.

“Then we agree.”

She and Miller headed for the door. Aidan followed in their wake, pointedly locking the door behind them.

“Well, that was a barrel of laughs,” Miller said as they headed down the walk.

“He totally has something stashed in his closet. A computer, safe, something.”

“So many search warrants, so little probable cause.” Miller sighed.

“No shit.”

They hit the car, D.D. turning around for a last look at the house. She took in the long narrow lot, the trees in the back that offered some privacy between the modest little home and its sprawling neighbor. “Wait a sec,” she called out. “Gotta check something.”

She jogged around the house, leaving Miller to stare after her in confusion. It only took her a minute or two. She’d always been a champ tree climber as a girl, and the old oak offered the perfect ladder of limbs. She went up, looked out, then scrambled back down and around before anyone could be the wiser.

“Get this,” she called out, huffing it back to the car. She opened the door, slid in as Miller started the engine. “From the tree in the back yard—perfect view into Sandy and Jason’s bedroom.”

“Lying sack of shit,” Miller muttered.

“Yeah. But is he our lying sack of shit?”

“I’m not getting warm fuzzies.”

D.D. nodded thoughtfully as Miller pulled away from the curb. They’d no sooner hit the bridge, when Miller’s radio fired to life. He took the call, then hit the switch for his lights and swung into a crazy U-turn that had them roaring back into South Boston.

D.D. grabbed the dash. “What the hell—”

“You’re gonna love this,” Miller reported excitedly. “Report of an incident—at Sandra Jones’s middle school.”

| CHAPTER NINETEEN |

Jason and Elizabeth Reyes had just exited her classroom when something hard hit Jason from behind. Jason stumbled, almost caught himself, then got nailed a second time behind his left knee.

He went down flat on his face, feeling the breath swoosh out of his chest. Then a small, furious form was upon him, pummeling the back of his neck, the side of his face, the top of his head. Jason’s hands were trapped beneath his stomach, hard knots against his kidneys. He struggled to get his arms beneath him, to heave himself up and over, while a sharp-cornered textbook connected with the side of his face.

“You killed her, you killed her, you killed her! You bastard, you big stupid son of a bitch. She warned me about you. She warned me!”

“Ethan! For heaven’s sake, Ethan Hastings, stop it!”

Ethan Hastings was not interested in Mrs. Lizbet’s command. From what Jason could tell in his shocked state, the computer nerd had a schoolbook and knew how to use it. The corner of the primer had cut his eye; Jason could feel the blood trickling down his temple even as the kid walloped him again.

Running footsteps now. Other people drawn by the commotion.

“Ethan, Ethan,” a male voice was shouting down the hall. “You get off him. Right now!”

Get up, get up, get up, get up
, Jason was thinking.
For heaven’s sake, get your hands beneath you and GET UP.

“I loved her. I loved her, I loved her. How dare you? How dare you?”

The third blow caught Jason beneath the ear and he saw stars. His vision blurred. He could tell his eyes wanted to roll up inside his head. His chest was too tight, he couldn’t draw a breath, making his lungs burn. He was going to pass out. He couldn’t afford to pass out.

“I fucking hate you!”

Then as quickly as it had started, it was done. Footsteps arrived, strong male arms grabbing the eighth-grader’s furious body and dragging him, kicking, off of Jason’s back. Jason seized the opportunity to flip over, struggling like a beached whale to draw breath. His chest hurt. His head, his back, behind his knee, where apparently he’d been slugged with the complete set of
Encyclopedia Britannica.
Holy crap.

Mrs. Lizbet was looking down at him, worry creasing her brow. “Are you okay? Don’t move. We’ll call an ambulance.”

No
, he tried to say, but the word didn’t come out. He finally managed to inhale, his chest expanding with a grateful rush. He managed the word better on the exhale, low and pitiful as it sounded: “No.”

“Don’t be stupid—”

“No!” He rolled back over onto his hands and knees, his head hanging down, his skull still ringing. Leg hurt. Face hurt. Chest was better. See, real progress.

He got himself to his feet and became aware of approximately eight dozen wide-eyed teenagers and half a dozen very concerned adults standing around him. Ethan Hastings was being pinned in place by a man who appeared to be the gym teacher. The kid, all hundred and thirty pounds of him, was still struggling furiously, his carrot-topped, freckle-covered face staring at Jason with unadulterated hatred.

Jason put a hand to his face and wiped away the first streak of blood. Then the second. Kid had cut him pretty good, next to his left eye, but it was nothing that wouldn’t heal.

“What in the world …” The principal finally arrived at the scene. Phil Stewart took one look at Jason’s bruised and bleeding face, then Ethan’s rage-filled features, and started snapping commands. “You,” finger at Ethan, “in my office. And the rest of you,” finger at gawking kids, “back to class.”

The principal had spoken. Kids dispersed as swiftly as they had gathered, and Jason found himself following Ethan Hastings down the hallway, Mrs. Lizbet’s concerned hand on his elbow. He was trying to understand what had just happened to him, and doing a lousy job of it.