“Oh, I think you do.”
“Look, I don’t know what kind of crazy shakedown you’re trying to pull, but it’s not going to work. I don’t know who you are, so fuck you. Something horrible happens to someone, and every nut comes out of the woodwork. Jesus, what the hell’s wrong with people? For God’s sake, I’ve just lost my wife. Have you no sense of decency?”
Marshall pressed on. “I’m trying to do the decent thing here, Mr. Gaynor, if you’d only shut up and listen. And yeah, I know about your wife. And I’m betting you know a lot more than you’re letting on. Am I right? I’m guessing there’s a whole lot you haven’t mentioned to the cops about your perfect little family. The sort of thing I could mention if I wanted to.”
The other end of the line went quiet. Marshall figured Gaynor was thinking it through. Finally the man said, “What is it you want?”
“Fifty thousand.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Fifty thousand dollars. You get that to me, and I won’t breathe a word about what I know.”
“I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Give me a break. Guy like you? Nice house? Flashy car?” The truth was, Marshall had no idea what kind of car Bill Gaynor drove, but he was betting it was a nice one. A whole lot nicer than his shitbox van, that was for sure.
“I’m telling you, I don’t have fifty thousand just lying around,” Gaynor insisted. “You think I keep that kind of money under my mattress?”
“What if I gave you till noon to get it? Would that help?”
“Goddamn it, who are you?”
“You already asked me that.”
“Does this have something to do with Sarita?” Gaynor asked. “Did she put you up to this? Are you working with her?”
Marshall found that more than a little troubling, that the man put it together that fast. But it made sense. How many people other than Sarita could know what was really going on in the Gaynor household?
Marshall told himself to stay cool. He could do this. He could squeeze enough money out of this guy to give Sarita a fresh start somewhere else. In fact, if he could really get fifty thou out of the guy, it would be enough for both of them. They could run off together. They could both kiss their shit-ass jobs good-bye. Fifty grand, that would be more than enough to set themselves up somewhere else. More than enough to stay off society’s radar for months.
“I don’t know who this Sarita person is and I don’t care,” Marshall said. “You pay up, or you’re fucked. I make an anonymous call to the cops. If that’s what you want, I can do it.”
“Okay, okay, let me think,” Gaynor said. “I can probably raise most of it. I’d have to cash in some investments, go to the bank when they open.”
“You do what you have to do,” Marshall said. “Bank opens at what? Ten? So you should have the money by eleven?”
“I’m going to have to call you back.”
Marshall was about to say, Yeah, right, like I’m going to give you my number, then realized Gaynor would already have it on his phone now. “Okay,” he agreed. “If I don’t hear from you by ten thirty, I call the cops.”
“I get it. I’ll be in touch.”
Gaynor ended the call. Marshall smiled to himself. This was going to work. He was sure this was going to work.
Sarita, she’d be upset with him at first when she found out what he’d done. But when she realized it was enough for them to have a life together, she’d come around. He knew it.
Love would conquer all.
THIRTY-EIGHT
David
I decided Davidson Place would be my first stop.
The nursing home was on the west side of Promise Falls. A low-rise building in that netherworld between the suburbs and industrial land. I remembered from when I was a reporter how neighbors banded together to fight just about anything they believed would impact the quality of their domesticity. Group homes for mentally challenged kids. Halfway houses. Shopping malls. Homes too big for the lot.
But for the life of me, I had a hard time getting my head around why someone would object to a nursing home in their community. Were they worried about being kept awake at night by the sounds of shuffling feet?
I parked in the visitors’ lot and looked for reception. That took me to the lobby, where I saw several old souls sitting in wheelchairs, fast asleep. A woman behind the counter asked whether she could help me, and I said I was looking for Sarita.
“Sarita Gomez?” she asked.
I didn’t know, but I said, “Yes.”
“I haven’t seen her today, but I can check whether she’s in. Can I ask what it’s concerning?”