Shadow tossed Sam his car keys. She caught them, one-handed. He walked through the bar and stepped outside, followed by Chad Mulligan. A gentle snow had begun to fall, the flakes spinning down into the light of the neon bar sign. “You want to talk about this?” asked Chad.
Audrey had followed them out onto the sidewalk. She looked as if she were ready to start screaming again. She said, “He killed two men, Chad. The FBI came to my door. He’s a psycho. I’ll come down to the station with you, if you want.”
“You’ve caused enough trouble, ma’am,” said Shadow. He sounded tired, even to himself. “Please go away.”
“Chad? Did you hear that? He threatened me!” said Audrey.
“Get back inside, Audrey,” said Chad Mulligan. She looked as if she were about to argue, then she pressed her lips together so hard they went white, and went back into the bar.
“Would you like to comment on anything she said?” asked Chad Mulligan.
“I’ve never killed anyone,” said Shadow.
Chad nodded. “I believe you,” he said. “I’m sure we can deal with these allegations easily enough. You won’t give me any trouble, will you, Mike?”
“No trouble,” said Shadow. “This is all a mistake.”
“Exactly,” said Chad. “So I figure we ought to head down to my office and sort it all out there?”
“Am I under arrest?” asked Shadow.
“Nope,” said Chad. “Not unless you want to be. I figure, you come with me out of a sense of civic duty, and we’ll straighten all this out.”
Chad patted Shadow down, found no weapons. They got into Mulligan’s car. Again Shadow sat in the back, looking out through the metal cage. He thought, SOS. Mayday. Help. He tried to push Mulligan with his mind, as he’d once pushed a cop in Chicago—This is your old friend Mike Ain-sel. You saved his life. Don’t you know how silly this is? Why don’t you just drop the whole thing ?
“I figure it was good to get you out of there,” said Chad. “All you needed was some loudmouth deciding that you were Alison McGovern’s killer and we’d’ve had a lynch mob on our hands.”
“Point.”
They were silent for the rest of the drive to the?Lakeside police building, which, Chad said as they pulled up outside it, actually belonged to the county sheriff’s department. The local police made do with a few rooms in there. Pretty soon the county would build something modern. For now they had to make do with what they had.
They walked inside.
“Should I call a lawyer?” asked Shadow.
“You aren’t accused of anything,” said Mulligan. “Up to you.” They pushed through some swing doors. “Take a seat over there.”
Shadow took a seat on the wooden chair with cigarette burns on the side. He felt stupid and numb. There was a small poster on the notice board, beside a large NO SMOKING sign: ENDANGERED MISSING it said. The photograph was Alison McGovern’s.
There was a wooden table with old copies of Sports Illustrated and Newsweek on it. The light was bad. The paint on the wall was yellow, but it might once have been white.
After ten minutes Chad brought him a watery cup of vending machine hot chocolate. “What’s in the bag?” he asked. And it was only then that Shadow realized he was still holding the plastic bag containing the Minutes of the Lakeside City Council.
“Old book,” said Shadow. “Your grandfather’s picture’s in here. Or great-grandfather maybe.”
“Yeah?”
Shadow flipped through the book until he found the portrait of the town council, and he pointed to the man called Mulligan. Chad chuckled. “If that don’t beat all,” he said.
Minutes passed, and hours, in that room. Shadow read two of the Sports Illustrateds and he started in on the Newsweek. From time to time Chad would come through, once checking to see if Shadow needed to use the rest room, once to offer him a ham roll and a small packet of potato chips.
“Thanks,” said Shadow, taking them. “Am I under arrest yet?”
Chad sucked the air between his teeth. “Well,” he said, “not yet. It doesn’t look like you came by the name Mike Ainsel legally. On the other hand, you can call yourself whatever you want in this state, if it’s not for fraudulent purposes. You just hang loose.”
“Can I make a phone call?”
“Is it a local call?”
“Long distance.”
“It’ll save money if I put it on my calling card, otherwise you’ll just be feeding ten bucks worth of quarters into that thing in the hall.”
Sure, thought Shadow. And this way you’ll know the number I dialed, and you’ll probably be listening in on an extension.
‘That would be great,” said Shadow. They wait into an empty office. The number Shadow gave Cha4”tD dial for him was that of a funeral home in Cairo, Illinois. Chad dialed it, handed Shadow the receiver. “I’ll leave you in here,” he said, and went out.
The telephone rang several times, then it was picked up.
“Jacquel and Ibis? Can I help you?”
“Hi. Mister Ibis, this is Mike Ainsel. I helped out there for a few days over Christmas.”
A moment’s hesitation, then, “Of course. Mike. How are you?”