I returned it. “Augie,” I said quietly. “Evenin’.”
Perry took his eyes off me and turned them back on Sanders, who said, “You’re out of order, Chief.”
The way the two faced one another across the room, the only ones standing, it was like we were at the OK Corral. But I guessed that only the chief was armed — I knew he kept a weapon attached to his belt, just under the jacket — and it struck me as unlikely that shooting the mayor would be the best way to confront accusations of police brutality.
“I’d say you’re the one out of order,” Perry said. “You preach about the Constitution, yet here you are making unsubstantiated charges based on rumor and hearsay and innuendo. This individual you say was assaulted by a member of my force — is he here? Am I able to confront the accuser on behalf of my officers?”
Perry paused, his last word echoing in the hall.
The mayor took a moment to respond. “No, he is not.”
“Have you a sworn statement from this person? Has he filed a complaint? Launched any kind of action against the town?”
Another moment of silence. “No,” Sanders said again. He looked, briefly, as though he’d been slapped, but he raised his chin defiantly. “In a town where simply failing to sign a pro-cop petition gets your name on a list” — he gestured to the torn pages before him — “who’d dare take the police on with an assault charge?”
“Doreen might have been taking down names,” Perry said, “but she was not asked to by anyone under my command, and I’d have torn that list up same as you.” He pointed a finger. “You’re a showboater, Sanders. A bleeding heart, an opportunist, and a slanderer. If you’ve got evidence that my people are breaking the law, bring it to me, and I’ll weed out the bastards. But in the meantime, you’d be well advised to keep your powder dry.”
Before Sanders could respond to that, Perry turned to walk out, and caught my eye a second time.
I smiled and said, in a voice loud enough just for Perry, “Leaving when you’re on a roll, Augie? Your horse double-parked?”
He gave me a sly grin. “Bet you’re relieved the mayor tore up Doreen’s list.”
I shook my head. “You know I’m always in your corner.”
Augustus Perry snorted and left the building.
Fifteen
When Perry departed, the room erupted. People in the audience were yelling at the mayor and each other, while Sanders banged a gavel on the table to try to bring things to order.
When he saw he wasn’t getting anywhere, he said, “I move that we bring this meeting to a close. Do I have a seconder?”
A woman seated to his left raised a weary hand. “All in favor?” Sanders asked, and every hand shot up. “Fine!” he said, attempting to be heard above the ruckus.
I made my way down the center aisle to the front of the room. “Mayor Sanders!” I shouted, fighting my way upstream as others, grumbling among themselves, began filing out.
He barely glanced up, then went back to stuffing some papers into a briefcase, eager to get the hell out of here. I got up close and said, “Mr. Sanders, I need to talk to you.” He didn’t even look up. “My name’s Cal Weaver and—”
Sanders instantly stopped shuffling papers and looked at me, like I’d startled him. “Who did you say you are?”
“Cal Weaver.”
“What— I’m sorry, but I have to run.” His voice was agitated. “I–I’ve nothing else to say about this whole business.”
“I’m not here about your dispute with Chief Perry. I’m here about another matter.”
He eyed me warily. “What would that be?”
“I’m a private investigator, Mr. Sanders. I need to ask you some questions about your daughter.”
The eyebrows — sitting on his forehead like a couple of furry black caterpillars — went up. Almost, I thought, in relief. “Claire? What about her?”
“I’m trying to locate her,” I said.
“Why on earth would you be trying to do that?”
“Because — isn’t she missing?”
“Missing? Claire’s not missing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I was probably the one who looked startled now. “Is there someplace we could go to talk?”
Sanders stuffed the last of his papers into his briefcase, snapped it shut, and cast his gaze tiredly across the room as the last of the people straggled out. “My office,” he said.
I followed him out of the courtroom and up a flight of broad wooden steps that creaked underfoot. We entered a room with a twelve-foot tin ceiling and tall windows that looked as though they’d been painted shut since the Eisenhower administration. Behind his expansive desk hung a picture of him with the current president, overlooking Niagara Falls, taken when the commander in chief took a swing through this part of the state about a year back. Sanders managed to look not like some small-town mayor, but like the head of a multibillion-dollar corporation, with his perfect hair and suit that looked like it was worth more than that modest house of his I’d been to earlier.
Sanders closed the door behind us and said, “What’s this about, Mr. Weaver?”
“Is Claire home? Has she already turned up?”
“You really have me at a loss here.”
“The police came to see me,” I said. “Earlier this evening. They’re trying to find Claire. She hasn’t been seen since last night. Are you telling me you didn’t report her missing?”
“Of course I didn’t.” But he did look concerned.
“Then where is she?”
“She’s gone away. I don’t see any reason to disclose her whereabouts to you. And what’s your connection to this, anyway?”
“I saw your daughter last night,” I told him. “She used me to give someone the slip, to get away from someone she must have believed was following her.”
“Used you? How?”
“I gave her a ride. She—”
“Whoa, stop right there,” he said. “Claire was in your car?”
“She asked for a lift, out in front of Patchett’s. She recognized me. She knew my son. If she hadn’t mentioned that, I probably wouldn’t have given her a ride. She said she was worried about someone watching her. I didn’t see how I could say no.”
Sanders seemed to be sizing me up as a possible predator. “Go on.”
“She asked me to stop at Iggy’s. Said she wasn’t feeling well. She went in, but it was a different girl that got back into my car. Dressed to look like Claire, with a wig. Hanna Rodomski. The two of them pulled a fast one on someone who may have been watching them.”
He did a slow walk to the other side of the desk, rested his hands on the back of the cushioned high-back chair. “Really.”
“Really,” I said.
“That’s quite a little stunt they pulled.” He forced a smile. “You sure they weren’t just having a little fun? Playing a trick on you?”
“Whoever they were trying to fool, it wasn’t me,” I said. “There’s no way Claire could have known I was going to be coming along at that time.”
Sanders shrugged. “Maybe it didn’t have to be you. It could have been whoever they got to pick Claire up. A practical joke.”
“I don’t think so. If it’s all a joke, then why are the police involved?”
Sanders’ tongue moved around the inside of his cheek like a lollipop. “It must just be some kind of misunderstanding.”
I placed my hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Here’s what I’m having a hard time getting my head around. The police seem to think your daughter is missing. They want to find her. They’re either worried about her or think she’s mixed up in something they want to ask her about. But you, you don’t seem to be that worried at all. About your own daughter. Maybe you could clarify that for me.”