Archie shook his head. “No time.” He grabbed his coffee and his jacket and let Henry walk out of the office first, so he could slip three pills in his mouth. He didn’t like to take the Vicodin on an empty stomach, but he didn’t see any breakfast in his immediate future.
Martin, Josh, and Claire were already at their desks in the squad room. There were tips to track down, patrols to coordinate, alibis to check and double-check. School would be starting in a few hours, and their killer was still out there. A clock hung on the wall, left over from the bank. A slogan printed on its face read TIME TO BANK WITH FRIENDS. Next to it someone had posted a sign scrawled on a piece of copy paper. REMEMBER: TIME IS OUR ENEMY.
“How did you know I’d be here?” Archie asked Henry as they exited the bank and walked into the parking lot. Dawn was just breaking and the air was cold and gray.
“Went by your place,” Henry said. “Where else would you be?” He got in the driver’s side of the car and Archie walked around and got in the passenger side. Henry hadn’t started the car yet. He was just sitting there.
“How many are you taking?” Henry asked. His hands were on the steering wheel and his eyes were on the windshield.
“Not as many as I’d like.”
“I thought you were going to cut back,” Henry said softly.
Archie laughed, remembering his worst days, a haze of codeine so thick, he’d thought he might drown in it. “I have.”
Henry tightened his fists on the wheel until they went white. Archie could see the scarlet rising on his neck. Henry worked his jaw for a moment, his blue eyes hard. “Don’t assume that our friendship will prevent me from getting you back on medical leave if I start to think that you’re too high to work.” He turned and looked, for the first time, at Archie. “I’ve already done way more than I’m comfortable with for you.”
Archie nodded at his friend. “I know,” he said.
Henry raised his eyebrows.
“I know,” Archie said again.
“This thing with Gretchen,” Henry said between gritted teeth. “These weekly meetings. It’s fucked up, my friend. I don’t give a shit how many corpses she unearths for us. At some point”—he looked Archie right in the eye—“you have got to let it go.”
Archie froze, afraid to show any reaction; afraid that Henry might see how much he cared. Henry was worried enough about Archie. Archie couldn’t let Henry see how important those weekly meetings had become to him. Archie needed Gretchen. At least until he figured out what she wanted from him. “I need more time,” he said carefully. “I’ve got it under control.”
Henry pulled his sunglasses out of the pocket of his leather jacket, snapped them on, and started the car. He sighed and shook his head. “You better fucking well have.”
The custodian was named Evan Kent. Archie and Henry found him painting over graffiti on the north wall of the main building at Jefferson. The paint was a bad match and the fire engine red rectangle stood out on the faded bricks. The wall had been painted over many times through the years and was covered with dozens of uneven blocks of varying shades that formed a sort of ad hoc abstract painting. Kent looked to be in his mid-thirties, and he was fit, with dark hair and an attentively trimmed goatee. His blue coveralls were spotless.
It was still an hour before classes started, and the campus was quiet. An impromptu memorial had formed at the chain-link fence at the front of the school. Bouquets were twisted into the fence, ribbons hung limp, stuffed animals sat abandoned. Photographs of Kristy were glued onto cardboard signs and decorated with glittery stickers and puffy paint. WE LOVE YOU. U R ALWAYS R ANGEL. GOD BLESS. The eastern skyline was bubblegum pink and the first birds of spring sat dark and plump on the telephone lines, their chattering a distant music. A patrol car was parked on each side of the school, and private security guards stood at each entrance. The lights on the patrol cars were on, to increase their presence, making the school look even more like a crime scene. Just another day of public education.
“I was taking a piss,” Kent said as Archie and Henry approached.
“Excuse me?” Henry said.
Kent continued to paint. The paint-heavy brush made a slapping sound against the bricks. Archie noticed a tattoo of the Virgin Mary on Kent’s forearm. It was new, the color brilliant. “The indecent exposure rap? I was taking a piss after a show got out downtown,” Kent explained. “Maybe not my brightest moment. But I had to pee. I paid the fine.”
“You left it off the job application,” Archie said.
“I needed the job,” Kent said. He stepped back and examined the job he’d done. There was no trace of what had been written, only the smell of fresh paint and a new glistening bloodred rectangle. “I’ve got a philosophy degree, so employment opportunities are not exactly plentiful. And I’m diabetic. Without insurance, I’m spending eighty bucks a week on insulin and needles.”
“Boo-hoo,” said Henry.