“Nice town,” Reynolds says.
“It is, yeah.” I don’t know how to tell this. It makes no sense, so I just keep rambling. “So our senior year, my brother, Leo, is dating Diana. One night, they go out. I’m not around. I have a hockey game in another town. We were playing Parsippany Hills. Funny what you remember. I had two goals and two assists.”
“Impressive.”
I half smile at my old life. If I close my eyes, I can still recall every moment of that game. My second goal was the game winner. Shorthanded. I stole the puck right before the blue line, flew down the left side, juked the goalie, lifted the backhander over his shoulder. Life before, life after.
An airport shuttle van marked with the words “Sal’s Rent-A-Vehicle” pulls up to the front of the little hut. Weary travelers—everyone looks weary when they’re renting a car—fall out and get in line.
“So you had a hockey game in another town,” Reynolds prompted.
“And that night, Leo and Diana were hit by a train. They died instantly.”
Reynolds’s hand goes to her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
I say nothing.
“Was it an accident? Suicide?”
I shrug. “No one knows. Or at least I don’t.”
The last guy off the shuttle is an overweight businessman dragging an oversized suitcase with a broken wheel. His face is neon red from exertion.
“Was there an official finding?” Reynolds asks.
“Accidental deaths,” I say. “Two high school kids, plenty of booze in their system, some drugs too. People used to walk on those railroad tracks, sometimes doing stupid dares. Another kid died up there in the seventies trying to jump the track. Anyway, the entire school freaked out, went into mourning. The deaths got plenty of sanctimonious media coverage as a warning to others: young, attractive, drugs, drinking, what is wrong with our society, you know the deal.”
“I do,” Reynolds says. Then: “You said senior year.”
I nod.
“That was when you were dating Maura Wells.”
She’s good.
“So when exactly did Maura run off?”
I nod again. Reynolds gets it.
“Shit,” she says. “How soon after?”
“A few days later. Her mother claimed I was a bad influence. She wanted her daughter out of this terrible town with teens who got stoned and drunk and walked in front of trains. Maura supposedly transferred to a boarding school.”
“Happens,” Reynolds says.
“Yep.”
“But you didn’t buy it?”
“Nope.”
“Where was Maura the night your brother and his girlfriend died?”
“I don’t know.”
Reynolds sees it now. “That’s why you’re still searching for her. It’s not just her spellbinding cleavage.”
“Though we shouldn’t just discount that.”
“Men,” Reynolds says. She moves toward me. “You think—what?—Maura knows something about your brother’s death?”
I say nothing.
“Why do you think that, Nap?”
I make quote marks with my fingers. “‘Hunch,’” I say. “‘Intuition.’”
Chapter Seven
I have a life and a job, so I get a car service to drive me home.
Ellie calls me and asks for an update, but I tell her it can wait. We plan a breakfast at the Armstrong Diner for the morning. I turn off my phone, close my eyes, and sleep the rest of the ride. I pay the driver and offer to add more so he can find a motel for the night.
“Nah, I gotta get back,” the driver tells me.
I overtip. For a cop, I’m fairly rich. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m Dad’s sole heir. Some people claim that money is the root of all evil. Could be. Others say that money can’t buy you happiness. That may be true. But if you handle it right, money buys you freedom and time, and those are a lot more tangible than happiness.
It’s past midnight, but I still get in my car and head to Clara Maass Medical Center in Belleville. I flash my ID and find Trey’s floor. I peek in his room. Trey is asleep, his leg in the air wrapped in an enormous cast. No visitors. I flash my ID at a nurse and tell her I’m investigating his assault. She tells me that Trey won’t be walking on his own for at least six months. I thank her and leave.
I go home to the empty house, get in bed, stare at the ceiling. Sometimes I forget how odd it is for a single guy to be living in a house in this kind of neighborhood, but I’m used to it by now. I think about how that night started with such promise. I’d come home from that win against Parsippany Hills so fired up. Ivy League scouts were there that night. Two made me offers on the spot. I couldn’t wait to tell you about it, Leo. I sat in the kitchen with Dad and waited for you to get home. Good news was never yet good news until I shared it with you. So Dad and I talked and waited, but we were both listening with half an ear for your car to pull into the driveway. Most kids in town had a curfew, but Dad never gave us one. Some parents in town saw that as lazy parenting, but Dad shrugged and said he trusted us.
So you didn’t come home at ten, Leo, or eleven or midnight. And when a car finally did pull into the driveway at nearly 2:00 A.M., I ran to the door.
Only it wasn’t you, of course. It was Augie in a squad car.
—
I wake up the next morning and take a long, hot shower. I try to keep my mind clear for now. No new facts had come in overnight on Rex, and I don’t want to waste more time on speculation. I get in the car and head to the Armstrong Diner. If you want to know the best diners in town, always ask a cop. The Armstrong is a hybrid of sorts. The physical is pure New Jersey diner retro—a chrome-and-neon exterior, big red letters spelling out DINER on the roof, a soda-fountain bar with handwritten specials on a board, faux leather booths. The cuisine, however, is hip and socially conscious. The coffee is referred to as “fair trade.” The food is “farm to table,” though when you order eggs, I’m not sure what other route they’d go.
Ellie is waiting for me at the corner table. No matter what time I tell her, she is always there first. I slide in across from her.
“Good morning!” Ellie says with her customary over-the-top cheer.
I wince. She loves that.
Ellie slides one foot under her butt to sit up a little higher. She is coiled energy. Ellie looks like she’s moving even when she’s sitting still. I’ve never taken her pulse, but I bet her resting heart rate is over a hundred.
“Who should we start with?” Ellie asks. “Rex or Trey?”
“Who?”
Ellie frowns at me. “Trey.”
My face is blank.
“Trey is Brenda’s abusive boyfriend.”
“Oh, right. What about him?”
“Someone attacked him with a baseball bat. He won’t be able to walk for a long time.”
“Ah, that’s a shame,” I say.
“Yeah, I can see you’re crushed.”
I almost say, Crushed like Trey’s leg, but I hold back.
“On the positive side,” Ellie continues, “Brenda was able to go back to his place. She got her stuff and the kids’ stuff and she was finally able to sleep. So we are all grateful for that.”
Ellie looks at me a second too long.
I nod. Then I say, “Rex.”
“What?”
“You asked if I wanted to start with Rex or Trey.”
“We covered Trey,” she says.
Now I look at her. “So we’re done talking about him?”
“We are.”
“Good,” I say.
Bunny, the old-school server with a pencil in her overbleached hair, comes over and pours the fair-trade coffee.
“Usuals, hons?” Bunny asks.
I nod. So does Ellie. We come here a lot. Most of the time, we get the broken-yolk sandwiches. Ellie prefers the “simple”—two runny eggs on sourdough with white cheddar and avocado. I go for the same but also with bacon.
“So tell me about Rex,” Ellie says.
“They found fingerprints at the murder scene,” I say. “They belong to Maura.”