He seemed a little confused by my line of questioning, but answered me. “I’m manager at the Banana Republic over in Kittery. Do I know you?”
“No,” I said. “I was just curious. Have a nice night, Chris.” I continued on my way out of the bar.
Outside, the gusting rain from earlier had tapered to a steady drizzle. The wind direction had changed, and even though the ocean was just over the road the air smelled of pine trees and fresh dirt. Straddling two parking spots, a pickup truck idled, its driver-side window rolled down. Walking past it, I caught the smell of cigarette smoke in the damp air. I got to my car and fiddled for a while with my purse, hoping that the driver of the truck would finish his cigarette and get out so I could get a look at him. Just as I pulled the keys out of my purse, the truck’s engine cut out, and I turned and watched the graceful arc of the cigarette butt as it traversed the parking lot, landing in a puddle with an audible fizz. A tall man got out of the truck. He was illuminated by an exterior mounted light on the edge of Cooley’s. He had dark hair, and wide shoulders, and when he turned to shut the truck’s door I could clearly see his dark goatee. It had to be Brad.
I had no intention of following him back into Cooley’s. “Brad,” I said, and he raised his head to look at me. Even in the dim parking lot lighting, I could see that his eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, and that he had the jittery, ghostly look of a man who had done something very bad.
“Me?” he said.
“You’re Brad, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Brad Daggett?”
“Yeah.” He took a quick covert glance around the parking lot, maybe looking for the SWAT team poised to take him down if he made a sudden movement.
“Can we talk for a moment? Out here? It’s important.”
“Okay, sure. Do I know you?”
“No,” I said. “But we have friends in common. I know Ted and Miranda Severson very well. Look, it’s wet and cold out here. Can we sit in my car and talk, or else we can sit in your truck, if you’d feel more comfortable.”
Again, he looked around the parking lot. I knew his mind must be working on overtime, wondering who I could possibly be and what I could possibly want. “There’s nothing to worry about,” I said, making my voice sound as soothing as possible. “Why don’t we sit in your truck?”
“Okay, sure,” he said, and opened his door. I took the three steps across the wet parking lot and opened the passenger-side door. Before getting in, I unzipped my purse. Resting near the top was a six-inch stun gun designed to look like a flashlight. I didn’t think I would need to use it, but I wanted to be careful. I had no idea how Brad was reacting to the fact that he’d murdered a man in cold blood less than a week ago, but I had to assume he was jumpy and paranoid, and possibly dangerous.
“So you know the Seversons?” Brad said, after we were both in the truck, with what sounded like forced casualness. The truck’s interior was spotlessly neat, smelling of cigarette smoke and Armor All.
“Yes,” I said. “Well, I knew Ted Severson, and I know Miranda.”
“It was horrible what . . .”
“What happened to Ted, I know it was. That’s actually why I’m here. Let me talk for a moment, okay, Brad? You’re not going to like what I’m going to say, but I need you to listen. Do you think you can do that?”
I looked right at him. His eyes were rimmed in red, and his skin, despite a deep, leathery tan, had the distended look of a man who was unwell. His breath smelled like wet grain, and I wondered how much he’d already had to drink. He nodded. “Sure, sure.”
“Brad, I need you to do me a favor. A big favor. And if you do me that favor, then I won’t tell anyone that you drove down to Boston last Friday night and murdered Ted Severson.”
I braced myself, one hand resting on the stun gun in my open purse. I thought he might lunge at me, or at least violently tell me that he had no idea what I was talking about. Instead, his heavy lower lip drooped a little, and his jaw tightened, and for a moment I thought he was going to burst into tears. Instead, he said, in a voice that sounded dry and desperate, “Who are you? What do you want from me?”
“Right now,” I responded, “I’m your best friend in the world.”
CHAPTER 21
MIRANDA