CHAPTER 49
I went over to Ruby, who was sitting on the futon with Ginger on her lap. My pulse fluttered. I didn’t know how she’d react to Clegg’s offer. I looked out the window at the gathering darkness, wondering if the adrenaline rush would last up until ten o’clock, or if I’d pass out from nerves beforehand. I thought about it—all the crimes I’d already committed—and realized it wasn’t my nerves that had me jacked to the nines, but rather a feeling of unbridled excitement. I was honestly looking forward to breaking into Swain’s house.
What the heck was I becoming?
“I’m going out with Clegg in a couple of hours,” I said.
Ruby gave me a curious look. “Where are you going?”
“We’re going to take a little drive over to Carl Swain’s house.”
“No!” Ruby said.
“You don’t even know what we’re going to do.”
“Nothing good, I can tell.”
“Ruby, we’ve got to get the police some real evidence, and Swain is the guy. Clegg is willing to help us, so I hope you’ll get over thinking of him as somehow involved. Forget the purse snatcher, too. It’s got to be Swain. He’s a sicko who was watching Tanya Uretsky like a hawk. Now, I’m going back to that house, and I’m leaving there with evidence that’s going to give the police probable cause to execute a proper search warrant and make an arrest.”
Ruby snarled in disgust. “Don’t get all self-righteous on me, John,” she said. “You’re not in charge of capturing this killer. That’s what the police are for. Have Clegg break in and get what they need if that’s what it takes.”
“Clegg won’t go if I won’t go,” I said. “He needs a lookout.”
“So, what? You’re going to go all Rambo on me now?”
“I’m not just doing this for us,” I said. “I’m doing it for Rhonda, for Jenna, your mom, and everyone else this Fiend has terrorized, including us.”
“Then I’m going with you.” Ruby got up, to Ginger’s great displeasure.
“No,” I said—and a firm no at that. “I’ll be fine. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. Please—”
“What about me? You’re going to leave your cancer-stricken wife a widow?”
“Look, I’m not going to take any unnecessary chances. I swear. I’m going to be with Clegg the entire time.”
“Oh, like that’s supposed to make me feel better,” Ruby said, her eyes downcast and her voice sharp with disappointment.
“You’ve got to trust him,” I said. “And we’ve got to do something to get out from under this Fiend. There’s no other way. I’m going, Ruby, and I need your support here.”
Ruby folded her arms and shot me a disapproving scowl that eventually softened into something less hostile. She sighed and fell into my arms, and we swayed a bit with our bodies entwined. “I trust you, John. I really do. If you think this is the only way out from under him, then it’s what we have to do, but,” she said, holding up a finger, “but you’re checking in every fifteen minutes. Text. Call. Whatever. Every fifteen minutes, no exceptions.”
“No exceptions,” I said, kissing her forehead, pulling her closer, and holding on tighter. “Just stay in the apartment while I’m gone. The police are out front, so you’ll be safe.”
I kissed Ruby on the lips and we sat awhile on the futon, draped in each other’s arms. Eventually Ruby fell asleep with her head on my shoulder. When she awoke, I already had on my darkest clothes. Ruby stood up sleepily and greeted me at the front door, holding Ginger in her arms.
“Any last requests?” I asked her, zipping my black Windbreaker.
“Yeah, baby. Come back,” Ruby said.
I smiled, a bit shamefaced, and held up a finger—one point for me, the gesture conveyed—and sang, “Any kind of fool could see, there was something in everything about you.”
Ruby’s worried expression didn’t budge. Not surprisingly, she didn’t smile back.
Clegg was waiting for me outside Chaps when I pulled up to the curb. Like me, he was dressed head to toe in black.
The first question he asked right after he climbed into Ziggy was, “How’s Winnie?” That wasn’t the sort of thing a killer would want to know. It made me feel even more foolish for having had a fleeting suspicion that my friend and former climbing companion could somehow be embroiled in all this.
“She’s stable, but still unresponsive,” I said. “Ruby and I are going to the hospital tomorrow to see her.”
“If she dies,” Clegg said, his eyes fixed forward, “the DA is going to charge you with second-degree murder.”
I swallowed hard. “Thanks for being such a cheery conversationalist,” I said.
“Just reporting the facts,” Clegg said. “I don’t think you fully understand the trouble you’re in, John. Why do you think I’m going to break into this guy’s house?”
“Um . . . because I saved your life once,” I said.
Clegg chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose that has something to do with it. Let’s go.”
I drove away.
It wasn’t a good feeling being back in this Medford neighborhood again, but for some reason—ill-advised, probably—I believed that we were in the right place and about to do the right thing.
We drove past the Uretskys’ house, which had crime-scene tape splayed across the front door but no police detail keeping watch. Clegg had me park Ziggy a bit down the road from Swain’s house, but with good enough sight lines to conduct some sort of surveillance. I texted Ruby, told her we’d arrived and that all was well. She texted back that she was fine, too, but worried to death and wanted me to know how much she loved me, simple as that.
Clegg and I spent a few minutes sitting in his car, watching Swain’s dark house, looking for lights to come on or other signs that somebody might be at home.
“They could have gone out,” I said. “Mom and son enjoying an ice cream.”
“At ten thirty at night? I don’t think so on the ice cream, but they could be out,” Clegg said, agreeing.
“I was kidding about the ice cream,” I said.
Clegg gave me a stern look. “We’re about the break into somebody’s house,” he said. “Now is not the right time for levity.”
Outside the car the hum of nighttime insects provided the soothing soundtrack to suburbia. Clegg glanced at his watch and used binoculars to make a closer inspection. The house was deceptive in its construction. It was built on a sloping hill, so even though from the outside it appeared to be a two-story structure, there was actually a basement accessible from that patio area out back. We couldn’t see if the basement lights were on without checking behind the house. My eyes were again drawn to that odd, windowless structure slapped on top of the garage. It could have been a room—an extension of the attic, perhaps. Maybe someone was hanging out upstairs right now, but there was no way we could tell without going inside.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked.
“The plan is for you stay put and for me to go check around back.”
“I’m going with you,” I said.
“Hey, we’re not Starsky and Hutch,” Clegg said, removing a gun from his ankle holster. He did that thing cops do in the movies, when they make sure their weapon is ready for action—pulling back on something, hearing a click, looking for ammo, whatever. I didn’t know shit about guns. He put on dark gloves and gave me a pair to wear as well. That got my adrenaline flowing again.
“I need you to watch the house and honk the horn if you see any lights come on. If the house is clear, I’ll come back and get you. I want you to be there with me and see this for yourself.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because if the search comes up empty, I’m going to need you to drop Carl Swain from your memory banks and spend the rest of your energy looking out for Ruby while we do our job and catch this nut bag. Sound like a plan?”
“Anything you say, Hutch,” I said.
“Screw you,” Clegg said, getting out of the car. “And if anything, I’m Starsky.”
I watched Clegg slide like a shadow across the street, then saw him work his way along the side of the house until eventually he vanished from my view around back. During my watch, the Swain home, lovely as it ever was, remained dark and uninviting. Using the binoculars Clegg brought, I tried to see if the curtains were moving, a flutter or a part, but these weren’t the night-vision variety, so I had a hard time seeing anything. I don’t know how much time had passed while I kept watch over the house, a while, anyway, when somebody knocked hard on the driver’s side window and I jumped in my seat—okay, maybe I screamed a little, too.
I swiveled my head and saw Clegg standing there.
“The back door is open, and nobody is at home,” he said. “Let’s go have ourselves a little look-see.”
I followed Clegg around back, seeing the same stuff I had seen before : the rusted, lopsided trampoline—who ever jumped on it?—the toolboxes, and of course, that ugly birdbath. The back door was shut, but Clegg turned the knob and pulled it right open.
“How’d you get it unlocked?” I asked.
Clegg flashed me a compact kit that contained a gleaming set of silver tools, the likes of which I’d never seen before. “Brought a lock-pick kit with me,” he said, sporting a pleased-with-himself smile. “You should know the closest thing to a criminal, John, is a cop.”
I flashed again on Ruby and her usually spot-on instincts.
Clegg removed two small flashlights from his back pocket and handed one to me. I followed Clegg inside, shining my light around to get a good look at the wood-paneled basement into which we had entered. It smelled musty, and I could almost feel the mold growing underneath the nappy carpeting. If ever there was a place to hang a velvet painting of a leopard in a tree or a sad clown holding a balloon, well, this was it. A patchwork couch with toy blocks for legs stood in front of a thirty-two-inch television that had a milk crate for a TV stand. A tall bookshelf on one wall, covered by a dark varnish and scratched like a well-loved Beach Boys record, was stocked with paperback novels that added to the moldy smell. An upright piano stood against another wall—a flea market purchase at best—which surely would have been out of tune had I dared tickle the ivories. There wasn’t much in the way of evidence down here. Smelly piles of clothes, empty food containers, and stacks of yellowing newspapers, but nothing that said, “Hey. I’m the Fiend.”
I heard a sound, a click of some sort, and quickly shone my light in that direction.
“Easy, John,” Clegg said, gripping my arm. “I checked the house from top to bottom. Nobody is home. Houses make noises, so don’t get freaked every time you hear one.”
“Where could they be?” I asked, whispering.
“Who knows?” Clegg said, not whispering. “Maybe our little police visit spooked ’em. Maybe Mommy and sonny boy split town for a while, until the Uretsky heat dies down. Anyway, we’ve got the run of the joint for now, so let’s have a good look around.”
Four rooms comprised the entire lower level—the basement family room, into which we had entered, usable only by a family that didn’t mind mold and filth in equal measure; a nasty bathroom that had a fetid stench all its own; a paneled bedroom with two twin beds set atop a different nappy carpet; and a utility room with linoleum flooring and plasterboard walls. Clegg and I searched the family room and bedroom thoroughly but came up empty. Nasty clothes, unclean rooms, and mold might get unsanitary marks from Good Housekeeping, but it wasn’t going to inspire a judge to sign a search warrant order.
Clegg went upstairs, while I explored the utility room some more. My flashlight beam gleamed off the yellowing linoleum floor as I scanned the baseboard perimeter, looking for whatever, something useful, all the while surprised that my heart rate kept to a steady and even rhythm. Here I was, breaking into somebody’s house, calm as if the owners had given me the key. The Fiend’s game had trained me for this moment—transformed me into a pro’s pro of the criminal variety.
I found a box of electronics, old cell phones, wires, speaker cables, and such, and was rummaging through that when Clegg called, “John! Come here! Come quick!”
I found Clegg in a carpeted hallway, standing beside an unfolded stairwell, which I presumed led up to an attic space. He had a grin on his face that made me think of the clichéd cat having eaten a certain yellow bird.
“You’ve got to see what’s up here to believe what’s up here, amigo,” he said.