I asked Kenny if he had the latest issue of Sci-Fi & Fantasy Models, which he didn't, so I said I'd see him later and got back in the car.
Driving home, my thoughts turned to Angie. Our problems with shoddy house construction were minor compared to hers. Her world was falling apart. Paul had adapted to our move out here much better. He made friends more easily, didn't place a lot of demands on them. As long as they were interested in playing video games and didn't have any moral qualms about sneaking into movies that they weren't supposed to see, that was good enough for him. He'd even struck up that semi-friendship with Earl, developed an interest in gardening and landscaping. Not that things were perfect with Paul. His marks were lousy. School bored him. There was that upcoming appointment with his science teacher. And now, there was this new development about Paul wanting to get a tattoo.
He and I would have to talk.
Maybe, I thought as I drove through the streets of Valley Forest Estates, I'd made a terrible mistake. I'd dragged us out here out of fear and delivered us into mediocrity. And then I shook my head and decided that my initial instincts had been right - the recent corner store robbery downtown reinforced my decision. Just because the suburban architecture was bland didn't mean our lives had to be. We still had our interests and our passions no matter where we lived. We didn't have to give those up just because we no longer lived downtown.
The evidence that we were safer here than downtown was still overwhelming, and I had that thought in mind when our house came into view and I spotted the unmarked police car parked at the curb out front.
o o o
"Did you see anyone else near the creek before you found Mr. Spender's body?"
His name was Flint. Detective Flint. Short, squat, in an ill-fitting suit, wearing a hat like you'd expect to see on Lee Marvin back in the 1960s. He was sitting across from me at the kitchen table, and he'd turned down my offer of coffee. His hands were busy making notes in a small reporter's pad.
"Uh, no, I didn't see anyone," I said.
"Not coming out of the woods as you were going in, headed for the creek?"
"No, I didn't see anyone at all. You think he was down there with someone?"
"Well, there was someone else down there with him at some point," Detective Flint said, pushing his hat back further on his head. "Mr. Spender didn't bash his own head in."
I stared at him for a moment. "So you're thinking now that it wasn't an accident?"
"Mr. Walker, we've never thought it was an accident. Mr. Spender was a victim of homicide."
"I'd been thinking it was an accident," I said. Okay, maybe I'd been hoping it was an accident. I'd been telling myself it was probably an accident. That he'd tripped, bashed his head on a rock, then rolled over into the water. "You're sure?" I said.
Detective Flint poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. His cheek bubbled out like he was Kojak eating a Tootsie Pop. "We have some experience with this kind of thing," he said.
"No, I wasn't suggesting you didn't, it's just, this isn't exactly downtown, you know? You don't expect this sort of thing around here."
"Yeah, well, sometimes we're a bit behind, but we do our best to catch up," Detective Flint said with sarcasm. "Mr. Spender was struck on the back of his skull with a blunt object with considerable force. There wasn't even any water in his lungs. He was dead before he fell into the water."
"I see."
"So you didn't see anyone at all."
"No."
"I understand from Officer Greslow that you knew the deceased."
"Not personally. But I knew who he was. That he was a naturalist, environmentalist-type person."
"You know anyone who might want to do Mr. Spender any harm?"
I half-laughed. "Of course not. Like I say, I hardly knew him, and ..." And I thought back to that day when our paths had crossed at the Valley Forest Estates offices, and I'd had to hold Don Greenway back from lunging at him.
"What?"
"It's nothing. I'm sure it's nothing."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"
"Well, I don't want to go around accusing people of murder, I mean, that's pretty serious."
"Yes. It is."
"Well, you must know that he didn't have a very good relationship with the people at Valley Forest Estates. It was in the paper, letters and articles."
"Yes, we were aware of that. Do you know anything about that beyond what's been in the papers?"
I hesitated. Sure, Don Greenway was angry that day. But it's one thing to get a little hot under the collar, and another thing altogether to whack a guy in the head so hard his brains leak out. And not only that, if I sent homicide cops after Greenway, would I ever get my leaky shower fixed?
"One day," I said slowly, waving my hand in the air like it wasn't that big a deal, "when I was over at the Valley Forest Estates offices, I saw Spender and Don Greenway get into quite an argument."
"Greenway."
"He's the head of the company, I think. We bought this house from him. Our street's even named after him."