20
Quarter past two.
Hodges, Holly, and Jerome are on the move, headed for their positions around Northfield High: Hodges out front, Jerome on the corner of Westfield Street, Holly beyond the high school’s auditorium, on Garner Street. When they are in position, they’ll let Hodges know.
In the bookshop on Lacemaker Lane, Morris adjusts his tie, turns the hanging sign from CLOSED to OPEN, and unlocks the door. He goes back to the desk and sits down. If a customer should come in to browse—not terribly likely at such a slack time of the day, but possible—he will be happy to help. If there’s a customer here when the kid arrives, he’ll think of something. Improvise. His heart is beating hard, but his hands are steady. The shakes are gone. I am a wolf, he tells himself. I’ll bite if I have to.
Pete is in his creative writing class. The text is Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style, and today they are discussing the famous Rule 13: Omit needless words. They have been assigned Hemingway’s short story “The Killers,” and it has provoked a lively class discussion. Many words are spoken on the subject of how Hemingway omits needless words. Pete barely hears any of them. He keeps looking at the clock, where the hands march steadily toward his appointment with Andrew Halliday. And he keeps going over his script.
At twenty-five past two, his phone vibrates against his leg. He slips it out and looks at the screen.
Mom: Come right home after school, we need to talk.
His stomach cramps and his heart kicks into a higher gear. It might be no more than some chore that needs doing, but Pete doesn’t believe it. We need to talk is Momspeak for Houston, we have a problem. It could be the money, and in fact that seems likely to him, because problems come in bunches. If it is, then Tina let the cat out of the bag.
All right. If that’s how it is, all right. He will go home, and they will talk, but he needs to resolve the Halliday business first. His parents aren’t responsible for the jam he’s in, and he won’t make them responsible. He won’t blame himself, either. He did what he had to do. If Halliday refuses to cut a deal, if he calls the police in spite of the reasons Pete can give him not to, then the less his parents know, the better. He doesn’t want them charged as accessories, or something.
He thinks about switching his phone off and decides not to. If she texts him again—or if Tina does—it’s better to know. He looks up at the clock and sees it’s twenty to three. Soon the bell will ring, and he’ll leave school.
Pete wonders if he’ll ever be back.
21
Hodges parks his Prius fifty feet or so down from the high school’s main entrance. He’s on a yellow curb, but he has an old POLICE CALL card in his glove compartment, which he saves for just such parking problems. He places it on the dashboard. When the bell rings, he gets out of the car and leans against the hood with his arms folded, watching the bank of doors. Engraved above the entrance is the school’s motto: EDUCATION IS THE LAMP OF LIFE. Hodges has his phone in one hand, ready to either make or receive a call, depending on who comes out or doesn’t.
The wait isn’t long, because Pete Saubers is among the first group of students to burst into the June day and come hurrying down the wide granite steps. Most of the kids are with friends. The Saubers boy is alone. Not the only one flying solo, of course, but there’s a set look to his face, as if he’s living in the future instead of the here and now. Hodges’s eyes are as good as they ever were, and he thinks that could be the face of a soldier going into battle.
Or maybe he’s just worried about finals.
Instead of heading toward the yellow buses parked beside the school on the left, he turns right, toward where Hodges is parked. Hodges ambles to meet him, speed-dialing Holly as he goes. “I’ve got him. Tell Jerome.” He cuts the call without waiting for her to answer.
The boy angles to go around Hodges on the street side. Hodges steps in front of him. “Hey, Pete, got a minute?”
The kid’s eyes snap front and center. He’s good-looking, but his face is too thin and his forehead is spotted with acne. His lips are pressed so tightly together that his mouth is almost gone. “Who are you?” he asks. Not Yes sir or Can I help you. Just Who are you. The voice as tight-wired as the face.
“My name is Bill Hodges. I’d like to talk to you.”
Kids are passing them, chattering, elbowing, laughing, shooting the shit, adjusting backpacks. A few glance at Pete and the man with the thinning white hair, but none show any interest. They have places to go and things to do.
“About what?”
“In my car would be better. So we can have some privacy.” He points at the Prius.
The boy repeats, “About what?” He doesn’t move.
“Here’s the deal, Pete. Your sister Tina is friends with Barbara Robinson. I’ve known the Robinson family for years, and Barb persuaded Tina to come and talk to me. She’s very worried about you.”
“Why?”
“If you’re asking why Barb suggested me, it’s because I used to be a police detective.”
Alarm flashes in the boy’s eyes.
“If you’re asking why Tina’s worried, that’s something we’d really be better off not discussing on the street.”
Just like that the look of alarm is gone and the boy’s face is expressionless again. It’s the face of a good poker player. Hodges has questioned suspects who are able to wipe their faces like that, and they are usually the ones who are toughest to crack. If they crack at all.
“I don’t know what Tina said to you, but she’s got nothing to worry about.”
“If what she told me is true, she might.” Hodges gives Pete his best smile. “Come on, Pete. I’m not going to kidnap you. Swear to God.”
Pete nods reluctantly. When they reach the Prius, the kid stops dead. He’s reading the yellow card on the dashboard. “Used to be a police detective, or still are?”
“Used to be,” Hodges says. “That card . . . call it a souvenir. Comes in handy sometimes. I’ve been off the force and collecting my pension for five years. Please get in so we can talk. I’m here as a friend. If we stand out here much longer, I’m going to melt.”
“And if I don’t?”
Hodges shrugs. “Then you’re off.”
“Okay, but only for a minute,” Pete says. “I have to walk home today so I can stop at the drugstore for my father. He takes this stuff, Vioxx. Because he got hurt a few years ago.”
Hodges nods. “I know. City Center. That was my case.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”