“Twelve. Twelve fifteen at the latest.” As he said this, he could hear the soft click of detonation, almost feel it under his feet like a trip wire.
“So the problem I have, Winters. Nate,” Harper started and scratched the back of his head. “Is someone called your car in. On the side of the road, off Route Six, right where you called it in, flashers on. Your license plate, he was alert enough to write that down considering it was one thirty in the morning.”
Boom. Nate felt the bomb go off in his heart, down his legs. There it was. His lie exposed. He’d been waiting for it, really. He’d been a shitty liar his whole life. A decent bullshitter, sure. There was a thread of truth in bullshit. But the second he told a straight-up lie, he started sweating and counting down the minutes until he was outed.
“Also, see, we found your hat.” Mackey tossed a plastic bag onto the table and there was Nate’s white coach hat, smeared with mud, the one he’d lost down the embankment and all but forgotten about since he hadn’t been coaching. “A bit far into the woods. More than it would have blown off, say, if you’d just leaned over the embankment like you said.”
A one-two punch. Nate swallowed, a thick ball of fear in his throat, his eyes burning.
“So we’ve caught you in at least one lie. We actually have a few more, but we gotta keep some of it to ourselves. That’s how they do it on the tee-vee right now, Barney?” Mackey smirked as he looked over at Harper.
Barney Fife. They were mocking him, his thoughts, his attitude, the way he’d assumed they were bumbling cops from Mayberry. Kept him off his guard, easy and buddylike. They were not his pals.
They knew more about investigating than he did about being investigated, which should have been obvious, but for some reason, it wasn’t.
Nate sat up, pressed his back against the chair, and crossed his ankle over his knee. “I think I want a lawyer.”
Harper rubbed at his eyes, the skin around them thin and pink. “Aw, Nate. C’mon now. Don’t get sour on Mack here and lawyer up. We can handle this here, like grown-ups.” He shot Mackey a look and Mackey gave him a grin.
“No, I’m serious. I should have asked for a lawyer a long time ago. You guys aren’t interested in the truth. You just want to close this case so you can get back to chasing heroin dealers and whatever. I’m not saying another word. I want to call a lawyer.” Nate didn’t even know who he’d call. Probably start with Bridget. When this was over, he owed her a case of wine. Dozens of roses. Both.
The conference room door opened and a woman scuttled in, her hands flying. Short, helmutlike brown bob, large glasses.
“Detective Harper, Detective Mackey, can you come here a second?” Her voice was breathless and her gaze shot from Harper to Mackey to Nate in a frenzied circle.
“Sure, Stacey. What’s the problem?”
“The EMTs were just called out to Oanoke Paper. They found Lucia, sir.” Her voice wobbled, tinny and high. “She’s dead.”
CHAPTER 38
Alecia, Thursday, May 14, 2015
Usually the evenings were Alecia’s favorite time of day—after Gabe’s bath, when he was clean, smelling like strawberry shampoo, all the moist boyness washed away, the only time his hands were ever clean, his mouth unsticky. Sometimes, but not always, Gabe would curl up, tucked into the U of her body, his back against her belly and if she angled a little bit sideways, he fit just right like they were jigsaw pieces; it seemed that no matter how much he grew, he always fit there perfectly, his knees to his chest, the two of them hip-to-hip. She could push her whole face into his scalp, past the commercial soap, and smell his real Gabeness, the smell of his skin, a little bit like almonds with a sour touch of onions, but in the most delicious way.
And sometimes during these moments, but not always, she thought about how much she loved her son. He’d hold her face in his hands and kiss her nose, because he saw Nate do that once, and Gabe’s mind latched onto certain things never to be forgotten. She’d giggle softly and do it back, his thinning cheeks between her palms reminding her of his changing body—growing steadily from chubby, tumbling toddler to strong, lean kid. But his movements were still jerky, like a baby or a toddler. Or the tag on his pajamas suddenly, for no reason at all, itched his skin and he’d cry out, his hand slapping at his neck, his back rubbing against the sofa like a cat in heat, and Alecia instantly would be overcome with exhaustion all over again.
Except tonight he did not do these things. Tonight he sat calmly, his heart a slow thump through his back under Alecia’s palm, his head tucked under her chin and when she suggested they watch something else, something besides Mighty Machines—because even now, she couldn’t resist trying to “stretch him”—he nodded carefully, like he knew she needed it. It sort of broke her heart that he did that sometimes, gave in to his mother’s needs, because Alecia knew she should be strong enough to not have needs for Gabe to meet. But if she thought about it too long, her brain swirled around and around, funneling into darkness. She tamped it down, the feeling of inadequacy, and turned on Golden Girls, and Gabe laughed in all the right places—only because of the laugh track, he loved the laugh track—but he kept his hand on her cheek the whole time and she wondered if this was how peaceful heaven was.
Still. With her right hand, she kept checking her phone. Clicking the volume up button, to make sure it was on. Checking the missed calls—she could have missed a notification, of course. She felt like one of Nate’s students with a boy.
How weird that all of this would bring about a renewal. All this heartache, this uncertainty, the past few months, erased as easily as a hand wiped across a fogged window and suddenly, the picture was clear. Last night had done that. For her. For them. That’s what Alecia was thinking about when she first heard something. It could have been a shout, or even a car. The sound was sort of indiscriminate, the kind of sound that later, during an interview, a bystander might say, “Well it could have been a gun,” and everyone watching television would think, how could she not know? It was that kind of sound. Whatever it was must have been alarming, triggering some basic mama-bear instinct, a little buzz in Alecia’s belly that said get up, something is wrong, because otherwise nothing would have disturbed the perfect Alecia-Gabe jigsaw puzzle on the sofa.