‘What happened?’
‘Sheila says a woman might have tried to break into the house earlier.’
‘She was gone by the time Henry got here,’ Sheila continued. ‘He didn’t think she’d managed to get inside, but we have a key so he checked, just in case. He did the same for your place, Owen. I hope you don’t mind.’
Owen had gone to the bank that afternoon, which was the only reason he hadn’t been around.
‘No,’ said Owen, ‘not at all.’
‘We’re grateful to you both for your care,’ said Holly.
‘We thought we’d leave it up to you if you wanted to report it to the police. We’re always around anyway. You know Henry: he don’t like to leave the house much, except to go to church.’
‘I don’t think we’ll bother the police with it,’ said Holly, carefully avoiding her father’s eye. ‘We’ll make sure the alarms are set, and the doors and windows are locked. Don’t mention it to Daniel, though. I wouldn’t want to worry him.’
Sheila agreed that keeping it between themselves would probably be for the best. They thanked her again, and she went on her way.
‘Odd, huh?’ said Holly.
‘No police?’ said Owen. ‘You sure?’
‘You want me to get it tattooed on my forehead? We’re not talking to the police, not about anything.’
‘I think I can remember that.’ Owen took his coat from the rack, and a flashlight from the drawer beneath. ‘Maybe I’ll take a look outside, just for the fresh air.’
He made circuits of the two houses. The only signs of any attempted intrusion were by Daniel’s window, where the flashlight picked up muddy streaks on the wood and glass, the kind dirty fingers might have left in an effort to open it. Owen used the sleeve of his coat to wipe them away.
Like Holly said, no point in frightening the boy.
81
The call came through to Billy Ocean’s cell phone as he was cleaning up trash from outside the twelve-unit Sunlight Haven apartments in South Portland. The complex was the highest earner in the Stonehurst residential property portfolio, with a mature sheltered garden to the rear and bright, high-ceilinged rooms. It rented to Caucasians only, didn’t matter what kind of bank references any nonwhites might be able to conjure up. A top-floor unit was currently vacant, and Billy had a viewing scheduled in an hour, but someone had thrown a couple of garbage bags over by the dumpsters and they’d burst on landing, scattering crap all over the yard. Now Billy was chasing after windblown food wrappers, and picking up pieces of rotten fruit, and thinking that life really did seem determined to shit in his shoes.
He looked at the screen of his phone, but the number was withheld. He hated it when people did that, and usually let those calls go to voice mail. On this occasion he picked up, just in case it was the couple coming to view the apartment, and they’d had to borrow a phone.
The voice on the other end of the line sounded as though it should be announcing that dinner was served on one of those dull British Masterpiece shows that his mother loved to watch.
‘Am I speaking to Mr Stonehurst?’ the voice asked.
‘You are.’
‘Mr William Stonehurst?’
Billy couldn’t remember the last time anyone other than his mother had called him ‘William,’ and she only used his full name when she was pissed at him.
‘Yeah. Who is this?’
‘My name is Quayle. I believe I may know who was responsible for setting fire to your truck.’
82
Daniel Weaver woke to the sound of scratching at his window. The drapes were closed, and the house was otherwise quiet. His mom had gone to bed shortly after Daniel returned from his playdate, and Grandpa Owen was already back at his own place by then, so Daniel didn’t get to see him at all. Daniel thought his mom seemed more relaxed than she had in a while. She sat Daniel down when he got home, and asked him to tell her all about his day, and after that she just held him for a while, and Daniel had liked that. He’d liked it a lot.
The scratching came again. Daniel sat up.
He told himself that it was just an animal: a raccoon, or the Barhams’ cat, Solomon, which sometimes wandered over looking for food.
The noise stopped, and he relaxed. He knew it. Stupid— The scratching was replaced by a soft tap-tap-tap on the glass, and the voice of the woman named Karis called his name.
daniel
Daniel started to tremble.
daniel
His stomach tightened, and he tasted something bad at the back of his throat.
open the window
He let out a little moan, and immediately covered his mouth. But it was too late.
i can hear you
‘No,’ he whispered.
don’t make mommy mad And Daniel started screaming.
83
Parker’s Delta flight got into Cincinnati at eight P.M. He could have spent the night at an airport hotel and headed to Cadillac in the morning, but airport hotels depressed him – everybody staying in an airport hotel wanted to be someplace else, so they were essentially existential dilemmas with poor bar service – so he picked up a rental car and headed west.
Cadillac, according to the Internet, boasted a grand total of two motels: a family-owned, cabin-style place that looked like the set of a horror movie, with Internet reviews to match, and a Holiday Inn. Parker opted for the Holiday Inn. He arrived shortly before midnight and went straight to bed without closing the drapes, so he was woken by sunlight. He put on a casual black jacket over a white shirt and dark jeans, set off nicely by a pair of black OluKai Mauna Kea boots he’d been saving. He wanted to project a certain degree of formality when he found Leila Patton: not intimidating, just intimidating enough.
He skipped breakfast at the hotel in favor of the Sunnyside Dine-In on the town’s main street. He scored a booth by the window, where he ate toast, drank coffee, read the Indianapolis Star, and watched a tall, willowy brunette with LEILA stitched on the left breast of her shirt working the seats at the counter.
Leila Patton hadn’t been difficult to find: there was only one Patton family on the Cadillac property register, and her Social Security number had recently been added to the payroll record of the Sunnyside. Parker had no intention of confronting Patton while she was at work. It had just been his good fortune to find her present when he went for breakfast. As a licensed private investigator, he had also obtained details of her vehicle from the state DMV, so he was aware that she drove the 2005 VW New Beetle parked in the employee section of the diner’s lot. While making conversation, he asked his waitress, Tamira, how long shifts lasted on the floor. Based on her answer, he figured that Patton was likely to be working until two. Even if she left early, he had her home address, but it would be better if he first approached her in a public place. She could easily close the door in his face if he called at her house, and she would be entirely within her rights to notify the police if he hung around.
Cadillac was busy in the way certain small towns could be, especially those that weren’t large enough to have attracted significant malls to their outskirts. God only knew what the Holiday Inn people were thinking when they opened their Cadillac outpost. Parker had only counted ten cars in the parking lot that morning, and at least a couple of those must have belonged to staff.