I don’t want to have to hurt him. But I would. If I had to, I knew I could.
I fought the urge to turn and look back. If I did, he would surely read the worry in my eyes. Father taught me to hide such things, but I wasn’t sure I could. Not well enough to fool a police officer, not even this one with the beady eyes and pudgy belly.
I plucked a glass from the drying rack, filled it with cold tap water, and walked back toward the front door, doing my best to hide the relief I felt when I found him still standing on the porch, writing in a small notebook.
“Here you go, sir,” I said, handing him the glass.
“So well-mannered,” he replied, taking the glass. He pressed it against his forehead, rolling it gently against his rumpled skin. Then he lowered it to his mouth, took the slightest of drinks, and smacked his lips. “Ah, just what I needed,” he said, handing the glass back to me.
Did he really need a drink, or had he taken the opportunity to get a better look at the inside of our house?
“Did they say where they were going?”
I frowned. “I told you, Father is at work and Mother went to the store.”
“No, your neighbors. You said they went on a vacation. Did they say where?”
“I said they went on a trip. I don’t know if they went on a vacation. I guess they might be on vacation.”
He nodded slightly. “Right you are. I suppose I shouldn’t jump to conclusions like that.”
That is right. I read a lot of Dick Tracy comics, and I knew a good investigator never jumps to conclusions. He follows the evidence. The evidence leads to facts, and facts lead to the truth.
“You see, we got a call from Mr. Carter’s employer. He didn’t make it to work and didn’t call, and he’s not answering his phone . . . They’re worried about him, so I told them I’d come out here to check things out, make sure everyone was okay. Doesn’t seem to be anyone home, though. I took a quick peek in a few of the windows and didn’t see anything worthy of sounding the alarm, nothing out of the ordinary, really.”
“They went on a trip.”
He nodded. “They went on a trip. Yeah, you said that.” He peeled off the coat and folded it over his arm. There were large sweat stains under his arms. No gun, though. “Thing is, seems a little odd to me they would ask you to water their plants but not pick up their mail or their newspapers. I couldn’t help but notice their mailbox is overflowing, and there are two papers in their driveway. When people go away, that’s usually one of the first things they take care of—find someone to pick up the mail and the paper. Nothing tips off thieves to an empty house faster than correspondence piling up.”
“Their car is gone,” I blurted out, not sure why. “They left in their car.”
He glanced back at their empty driveway. “Did they now.”
This was not going well. This was not going well at all. I slipped my hand into the pocket of my jeans searching for the familiar hilt of my buck knife, but it was not there. If I had it, I could slash this man across the neck. I’d cut right through all his chins and let his blood loose as if from a faucet. I was fast. I knew I was fast. But was I fast enough? Surely I could kill him before this overweight waste of a man could react, right? Father would want me to kill him. Mother too. They would. I knew they would. But I didn’t have my knife.
He leaned in close. “Do you have a key?”
“To what?”
“The Carter place. You need to get inside, right? To water the plants?”
I felt my stomach roll. “Yes, sir.”
“Think you can let me in? Just for a second, to poke around?”
I supposed I could. Wasn’t that what Father wanted? Wasn’t that the reason we’d staged the place? Only one problem—I told him I had a key, and I didn’t. I was putting the cart before the horse, as Father would say. Talkin’ without thinkin’ is a surefire way to dig a hole waist-deep.
“People are worried about them. What if something happened?”
“They went on a trip.”
He nodded. “As you said.”
“You’re a cop. Why don’t you bust the door down and go on in?” I asked him.
The man tilted his head. “Did I say I was a cop?”
Had he? Now that I thought about it, I didn’t think he had. “You look like a cop.”
He reached up and rubbed his chin. “Do I now.”
“And you said someone called because Mr. Carter hadn’t been to work. Who would somebody call, if not the police?”
“Looks like you’re a budding botanist and detective.”
“So why don’t you bust the door down?”
He shrugged. “We cops, we need probable cause. Can’t go in without probable cause. That is, of course, unless you let me in. If you let me in through your own volition, we’re all covered and nobody gets in trouble. I take a quick peek, and I’m on my way.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” He winked. The sweat had stopped, though his face was all blotchy red.
I thought about it for a second. It was a sound offer. A prudent offer.
If he was a cop, why wasn’t he carrying a gun?
“Can you show me your badge again?” Now that I reflected on it, the thing he’d produced looked like a badge, the right color and shape, but how could I know it was real? I had never seen a real-life police badge before, only the ones they used on television. Usually they’re in a spiffy wallet with an identification card. His badge had not been in a wallet. His badge might have been real, or it might have been one of those toy badges you can pick up at the five-and-dime.
He cocked his head, his lip curling up at the corner. He reached for his back pocket, hesitated, then dropped his arm to his side. “You know, I think I’m gonna come back a little later, when your parents are home, and have a little talk with them. Find out where the Carters went on their . . . trip.”
Something changed in his expression. His face hardened, his eyes went a little darker. I fought the urge to step back. “That may be for the best.”
He gave me a quick nod and started back toward his car. An old Plymouth Duster. Emerald green. Not a cop’s car, my mind pointed out. A classic car though, for sure, one of Detroit’s finest.
Halfway across the Carters’ lawn, he stopped and called back over his shoulder, “Best you pick up these newspapers and check their mailbox. Wouldn’t want the wrong element to stumble upon this place and realize they’re not home. Worse yet, they might realize you’re home alone right next door. There’re some nasty people out there, my little friend.”
I closed the door and locked it tight.
52
Clair
Day 2 ? 9:23 a.m.