“Hey, Mick, help me out with this asshole!” the black guy said.
If it mattered to Mick that he had no idea what this dispute was about, he showed no sign. He was too busy looking, immediately, for something to use to hit Kirk, and he found it up against the wall. A discarded two-foot length of lead pipe. He raised it like a club, looked at Kirk, and smiled.
Kirk bolted.
He jumped back into the car, slammed the door, did a fast three-point turn, narrowly missing Mick as the front end swung past him in reverse, then floored it, racing back up the side of the building and onto the street.
He was two blocks away before he realized he’d left the bag sitting there next to the Dumpster.
Twenty-one
The crime scene people had arrived at the Garfield house. Rona Wedmore stepped back so they could do their job. Eight uniformed officers had also shown up, and Wedmore had them fanned out across the neighborhood, knocking on doors, trying to find anyone who might have seen anything. The last thing she did before leaving was ask Joy Bennings, the lead crime scene investigator, to let her know what was on the card she’d noticed tucked into Wendell Garfield’s shirt. Wedmore had been able to make out a couple of digits—the beginning of a phone number—in one corner, but that was it. She’d left it in the shirt. Smeared with blood that might not be the victim’s own, she didn’t want to interfere with it. She asked Joy to call her the moment she was able to make out what the card said.
Then she got in her car and drove back to the station so that she could have a further conversation with Melissa.
But on her way to see Melissa, she was told a Mrs. Beaudry was waiting to see her. She’d identified herself at the front desk as Melissa’s aunt, said that she had come to the station looking for Melissa or her father.
Wedmore found the woman pacing in the station lobby. Mid-forties, not much more than five feet, with a tiny frame and a long, hooked nose. She looked, Wedmore thought, bird-like. If you squeezed her too tight, she’d break in your arms.
“Excuse me,” Wedmore said. “You’re Mrs. Beaudry? Are you Melissa Garfield’s aunt?”
The woman’s eyes went wide with expectation. “Yes! I’ve been waiting to talk to someone about—”
“You’re Ellie Garfield’s sister?”
“No, I’m Wendell’s sister. I’m Gail. I tried to reach Wendell at the house and when there was no answer—he doesn’t own a cell phone—I figured they were both down here. And all they’ll tell me is that Melissa is here but not her father and they won’t let me talk to her. What’s going on?”
“Would you like to sit down, Mrs. Beaudry?”
“No, I would not like to sit down! Where’s Melissa? Is she okay? Her father’s not with her?”
“Melissa’s perfectly safe. I need to ask you some questions, Mrs. Beaudry.”
“About what?”
“About Melissa, and your brother, and Ellie.”
The woman, baffled, awaited the first question.
“When did you last talk to your brother?” Wedmore asked.
She looked at the detective, puzzled. “Why?”
“Mrs. Beaudry, please. When’s the last time you spoke?”
“Last night. I called him before I went to bed to see whether he’d heard anything.”
“You didn’t speak to him at all today?”
“No.”
“What about Melissa? Have you had any conversations with her in the last twenty-four hours?”
“I saw both of them at the press conference. For moral support. But I haven’t talked to her since then.”
“What can you tell me about her state of mind?” Wedmore asked.
“She’s distraught, of course! Who wouldn’t be?”
“Did she say anything to you?”
“No, not really. I just told her, and Wendell, we’d do anything we could to help. Like them, we just want Ellie to come home safe and sound.”
Wedmore nodded. “I see. And about Wendell . . .”
“Yes?”
“Do you know whether your brother was involved in any business deals, any personal relationships, where he might have made enemies?”
“No, no, of course not.”
“You’re unaware of anyone who might be angry with your brother for any reason?” Even as she asked the question, Wedmore thought about Laci Harmon’s husband. She’d said he didn’t know about the affair. But what if he did? What if he went to Garfield’s house to confront him?
But wait. Laci Harmon had told Wedmore that morning that her husband was driving back from Schenectady. With the kids. Wedmore would want to double-check that, but it made her think the husband probably wasn’t a suspect.
“What on earth are you getting at? Why are you asking these questions? Shouldn’t you people be looking for Ellie? Shouldn’t you be finding out what’s happened to her?”
Wedmore took a long breath. “Mrs. Beaudry, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your brother’s dead.”