“A scrap of paper. Part of a take-out menu, maybe. Probably means nothing, but I want to take a good close look at it. Pretty sure it was checked into evidence.” He threw what remained of his coffee into the grass and stood up. “What I want more is a look at the Sheraton security footage for last Tuesday and Wednesday. Also any footage from the restaurant where he says that bunch of teachers went to dinner.”
“If you get a good look at his face in any of the footage, send me a screen-grab.” And when he raised his eyebrows: “I’ve known Terry as long as you have, and if that wasn’t him in Cap City, I’ll know.” She smiled. “After all, women are more observant than men. You said so yourself.”
9
Sarah and Grace Maitland ate almost no breakfast, which didn’t disturb Marcy so much as the unaccustomed absence of phones and mini-tablets from their immediate vicinity. The police had let them keep their electronics, but after a few quick looks, Sarah and Grace left their gadgets in their bedrooms. Whatever news or social chatter they had found was nothing either girl wanted to pursue. And after her own quick look out the living room window, where she saw two news vans and a Flint City PD cruiser parked at the curb, Marcy pulled the curtains. How long was this day going to be? And what in God’s name was she going to do with it?
Howie Gold answered that for her. He called at quarter past eight, sounding remarkably upbeat.
“We’re going to see Terry this afternoon. Together. Ordinarily, visitors have to be requested by the inmate twenty-four hours in advance and pre-approved, but I was able to cut through that. The one thing I couldn’t get past was the non-contact thing. He’s on a maximum security hold. It means talking to him through glass, but it’s better than the way it looks in the movies. You’ll see.”
“Okay.” Feeling breathless. “What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at one thirty. You should have his best suit, plus a nice dark tie. For the arraignment. And you can bring him something nice to eat. Nuts, fruit, candy. Put it in a see-through bag, okay?”
“Okay. What about the girls? Should I—”
“No, the girls stay home. County is no place for them. Find someone to sit with them, in case the press guys get pushy. And tell them all is well.”
She didn’t know if she could find anyone—she hated to impose on Jamie after last night. Surely if she spoke to the cop in the cruiser out front, he would keep the press off the lawn. Wouldn’t he?
“Is all well? Is it really?”
“I think it is. Alec Pelley just busted a jumbo-sized pi?ata in Cap City, and all the prizes fell into our laps. I’m going to send you a link to something. Up to you whether or not you share it with your chickadees, but I know I would, if they were mine.”
Five minutes later, Marcy was seated on the couch, with Sarah on one side and Grace on the other. They were looking at Sarah’s mini-tablet. Terry’s desktop or one of the laptops would have been better, but the police had taken those. The tablet was good enough, as it turned out. Soon all three of them were laughing and screaming with joy and giving each other high fives.
This isn’t just light at the end of the tunnel, Marcy thought, it’s a whole damn rainbow.
10
Thuck-thuck-thuck.
At first Merl Cassidy thought he was hearing it in a dream, one of the bad ones where his stepfather was getting ready to tune up on him. The bald bastard had a way of rapping on the kitchen table, first with his knuckles, then with his whole fist, as he asked the preparatory questions that led up to that evening’s beating: Where were you? Why do you bother wearing that watch if you’re always going to be late for supper? Why don’t you ever help your mother? Why do you bother bringing those books home if you’re never going to do any fucking homework? His mother might try to protest, but she was ignored. If she tried to intervene, she was pushed away. Then the fist that had been hitting the table with ever increasing force would start hitting him.
Thuck-thuck-thuck.
Merl opened his eyes to get away from the dream, and had just a moment to savor the irony: he was fifteen hundred miles away from that bullying asshole, fifteen hundred at least . . . and still as close as any night’s sleep. Not that he’d gotten a full night; he rarely had since running away from home.
Thuck-thuck-thuck.
It was a cop, tapping with his nightstick. Patient. Now making a cranking gesture with his free hand: roll it down.
For a moment Merl had no idea where he was, but when he looked through the windshield at the big-box store looming across what seemed like a mile of mostly empty parking lot, it snapped into place. El Paso. This was El Paso. The Buick he was driving was almost out of gas, and he was almost out of money. He had pulled into the Walmart Supercenter lot to catch a few hours’ sleep. Maybe in the morning he would have an idea of what to do next. Only now there probably was no next.
Thuck-thuck-thuck.
He rolled down the window. “Good morning, Officer. I was driving late, and I pulled in to get a little sleep. I thought it would be all right to coop a little here. If I was wrong, I’m sorry.”
“Uh-huh, that’s actually admirable,” said the cop, and when he smiled, Merl had a moment of hope. It was a friendly smile. “Lots of people do it. Only most of them don’t look fourteen years old.”
“I’m eighteen, just small for my age.” But he felt an immense weariness that had nothing to do with the short sleep he’d had over the last weeks.
“Uh-huh, and people are always mistaking me for Tom Hanks. Some even ask for my autograph. Let’s see your license and registration.”
One more effort, as weak as the final twitch of a dying man’s foot. “They were in my coat. Someone stole it while I was in the restroom. At McDonald’s, this was.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh, okay. And where are you from?”
“Phoenix,” Merl said without conviction.
“Uh-huh, so how come that’s an Oklahoma plate on this beauty?”
Merl was silent, out of answers.
“Step out of the car, son, and even though you look about as dangerous as a little yellow dog shitting in a rainstorm, keep your hands where I can see them.”
Merl got out of the car without too much regret. It had been a good run. More, really; when you thought of it, it had been a miraculous run. He should have been collared a dozen times since leaving home in late April, but he hadn’t been. Now that he had been, so what? Where had he been going, anyway? Nowhere. Anywhere. Away from the bald bastard.
“What’s your name, kiddo?”
“Merl Cassidy. Merl, short for Merlin.”
A few early shoppers looked at them, then went on their way into the round-the-clock wonders of Walmart.
“Just like the wizard, uh-huh, okay. You got any ID, Merl?”
He reached into his back pocket and brought out a cheap wallet with frayed buckskin stitching, a birthday present given to him by his mother when he was eight. Back then it had just been the two of them, and the world had made some sense. Inside the billfold was a five and two ones. From the compartment where he kept a few pictures of his mom, he brought out a laminated card with his photo on it.
“Poughkeepsie Youth Ministry,” the cop mused. “You from New York?”
“Yes, sir.” The sir was a thing his stepfather had beaten into him early.
“You from there?”
“No, sir, but close by. A little town called Spuytenkill. That means ‘a lake that spouts.’ At least that’s what my mother told me.”
“Uh-huh, okay, interesting, you learn a new thing every day. How long have you been on the run, Merl?”
“Going on three months, I guess.”
“And who taught you to drive?”
“My uncle Dave. In the fields, mostly. I’m a good driver. Standard or automatic, makes no difference. My uncle Dave, he had a heart attack and died.”
The cop considered this, tapping the laminated card against one thumbnail, not thuck-thuck-thuck now but tick-tick-tick. On the whole, Merl liked him. At least so far.
“Good driver, uh-huh, you must be to get all the way from New York to this dusty puckered asshole of a border town. How many cars have you stolen, Merl?”
“Three. No, four. This one’s the fourth. Only the first one was a van. From my neighbor down the road.”
“Four,” the cop said, considering the dirty child standing in front of him. “And how did you finance your southward safari, Merl?”