I owe her at least that much.
At about four o’clock a squad car pulls up, and Lieutenant Parsons gets out. He comes inside and gets right to the point. “Chief Collins wanted me to report back to you on what we learned.”
It takes me a moment to mentally process that Chief Collins is Laurie, so Kevin jumps in. “And what is that?”
“Well, we interviewed six people familiar with Edmond Carson. All said basically the same thing: that they had not seen him in at least six weeks.”
“Did you check his house?” I ask.
He nods. “His apartment. He abandoned it at about the same time that people last saw him. He appears to have left quickly; some of his belongings are still in the apartment. He left without paying the rent that he owed, which was apparently uncharacteristic.”
“So no idea where he is?”
Parsons shakes his head. “No idea at all.”
“Are Stephen Drummond and Keeper Wallace aware that you are looking for Eddie?” I ask.
He looks at me for a few moments before answering, as if making sure I realize I just asked the dumbest question imaginable. Then, “I believe that is a safe assumption. There is little that goes on in that town that they are not privy to.”
Parsons leaves, after claiming that the search for Eddie will remain an open investigation. I certainly respect any police department that Laurie is a member of, but his statement doesn’t exactly fill me with optimism. Findlay is a small town with limited resources; we are not talking about the FBI here.
Kevin and I are about to go to the diner when Janet Carlson calls, having gone over the faxed copies of the Findlay coroner’s report.
“What did you come up with?” I ask.
“The victim is definitely dead,” she says.
“Wow, you big-city coroners are incredible. Anything else you can tell me?”
“The report seems mostly correct. Cause of death is a broken neck… the head was twisted clockwise, and death would have been instantaneous.”
“Could the impact of the car have been the cause?” I ask.
“Definitely not.”
“The report says ‘probably not,’ ” I point out.
“That’s because the local ME had to sign his name to it. I don’t have to sign, so I say definitely not.”
“Keep talking,” I say.
“Okay. Falling forward into the steering wheel on impact, even at a tremendous speed and even allowing for the head to be slightly angled when contact is made, could certainly cause a broken neck. But the head would twist at a maximum ninety-degree angle. This head was virtually screwed off, at least two hundred seventy degrees.”
“Linda Blair,” I say, referring to the head-revolving star of The Exorcist.
“Linda Blair,” she agrees. “Except her head turned on its own. This one had help.”
“What kind of help?”
“A pair of hands. Large, powerful hands.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Almost positive. There are certain indentations on the skin, which the local doctor thought might be consistent with the impact of the car. I don’t think so; I think they were made by large fingers pressing down very hard. But I would have had to examine the body to be sure.”
“Thanks, Janet, I really appreciate it.”
“Andy, I understand the victim was an attorney and he was working with you. Just be careful, okay? The person who did this is very strong. And there was no hesitation; the neck was snapped instantly, like a twig.”
“How did you know it was an attorney that was killed?”
“I spoke to Laurie. We talk all the time.”
It’s amazing. For the last four and a half months I thought Laurie had completely cut off from her life and friends in Jersey. It turns out that I seem to be the only one she wasn’t speaking to on a regular basis.
• • • • •
DINNER TONIGHT IS more than a little weird.
Laurie comes over and cooks my favorite, pasta amatriciana. We sit at the table, Laurie across from me and Kevin across from Marcus. Quite the little family. I half expect Kevin to say to Marcus, “And how was your day today, honey?”
Laurie and I have always tried not to talk about our work during dinner, but we rarely succeed. Tonight, since the entire team is present, we have no chance at all. Laurie is the guilty party this time, when she tells us that “I got Calvin’s phone records from the night he died.”
“Anything interesting?”
She nods. “And upsetting. He called me at the office.”
“Any idea why?”
“Even before I called you and told you about this case, I had spoken to Calvin and expressed my doubts about Jeremy’s guilt. I told him that he should call me at any time if he needed my help.”
“Did anyone at the precinct speak to him that night?” Kevin asks. He is apparently going to be the designated speaker for him and Marcus, since Marcus’s mouth is processing pasta at an unprecedented rate.
“Apparently not,” Laurie says. “I have to assume that when he found out I wasn’t in, he hung up. The call only lasted about thirty seconds.”
I know Laurie is feeling guilt over not having been there for Calvin that night, and I am as well, even though our feelings are irrational. We had no way of knowing he would call that night, and obviously no reason to have waited around for that call. But the fact that Calvin died while we were enjoying a relaxing dinner is locked in our minds, so we can still feel the pain.
After dinner Laurie goes off to answer a duty call, probably a cheese overdose, and Marcus goes wherever it is that Marcus goes. It leaves Kevin and me to kick around our strategy for finding the elusive Eddie Carson.
“Why don’t you call Sam Willis?” Kevin asks.
“What for?”
“Maybe he can track the kid down on the Internet. Maybe through credit card usage, or something like that.”
It’s a very good idea, made even better by the fact that we have no other ideas, so I call Sam.
“So how did it go?” asks Sam when he hears it’s me. “Was the stuff I got helpful?”
“Very helpful,” I say. “It identified our guy for us, but he’s missing. Any chance you could find him online?”
Sam is uncharacteristically dubious about the prospects for doing so. “Theoretically, I could do it, but it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. I wouldn’t know where to look; I would have to stumble onto it.”
It’s while I’m talking to Sam that I get an idea that could work. I try to get him off the phone quickly, but he asks me about Laurie and how things are going between us.
“They’re fine, Sam, but I’ve-”
“Watch out for yourself, Andy, I mean it. I’ve been there myself.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“Sometimes you have to be the one to end things no matter how tough it seems.”
My fear is that he’s going to start song-talking and maybe tell me that “breaking up is hard to do.” I don’t want to be rude, since Sam has been such a big help, but I really want to get off this call.
“Sam… ,” I start, to no avail.
“I thought I told you about her,” he says. “Her name was Margaret… we were both twenty, and I was leaving school to run away with her. She drove me crazy.”
“Sam, can we talk about this some other time?”
Apparently, we can’t, because he continues as if I hadn’t said anything. “Things started going sour, my parents were freaking out that I wouldn’t graduate, and I wanted to break it off, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Then one night I couldn’t sleep, and about four o’clock in the morning I got up the nerve.”
I give up. “What did you say?”
“I leaned over and said, ‘Wake up, Maggie, I think I got something to say to you. It’s late September and I really should be back at school.’ ”