Now she turned to face me. “What happened to Jack’s grave?”
I told her about the package at the office, about the Sunday call from Mary, and my trip to Dayton.
“Fuck you, Moe. You’re doing it all over again,” she said, a tear in the corner of her eye. “You and your goddamned secrets. Just take me home.”
When we got there, I expected her to run out of the car and flip me the bird, but she was full of surprises.
“Come in.”
It was an order not an option. When I stepped through the front door, she called me into the bedroom. Shit! I hesitated to go in. There was already enough going on. But when I entered, Katy was standing by her night table, her face serene.
“When I called you, when I called the police, I used my cell.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s the hang-up number I got.”
“Do you know why?”
“Umm… look, Vandervoort told me. When the deputy got here, you wouldn’t let go of the phone.”
“That’s right. I wouldn’t.”
“So.”
“It was early when the phone rang and I was still asleep.”
“And…”
“You call here sometimes, right?”
“You know I do, Katy. Just look at the red light on the phone machine. At least two of those flashes are my messages, but what’s that-”
“Ssshhhh! How many rings before my machine picks up?”
“Four.”
“Very good,” she said. “You always were observant.”
“Thanks, but-”
Before I could get the question out, she pressed the PLAY button on the machine.
You have seven new messages. You have one saved message. Playing new messages.
First message. Without hesitating, Katy hit ERASE.
Message erased.
Second message. Again.
Message erased.
Third message. And again.
Message erased.
Fourth message. And again and again and again until all the new messages were gone.
To play saved messages, press three. She flicked her right index finger.
First saved message. Six forty-three a.m. From outside caller:
“Hi.”
“Hello… Hello, who’s there?” Katy’s voice was full of sleep.
“I miss you, sis.”
“Patrick! Patrick!”
“Gotta go now. I love you.”
“Oh, my God! Patrick don’t hang-”
Click.
End of saved messages.
We both stood there across the bedroom from each other, as far apart as we had ever been. Even at the few low points of our marriage, even in the depths of her anger when the truth of Patrick’s disappearance first surfaced, she had never looked at me so coldly. We were strangers.
“Now,” she said, “I’m tired, please get out of my parents’ house.”
I turned and left without a word.
How, I wondered, had Katy and I grown this far apart? We had once loved each other beyond all reason. From the first, our bodies had fit together as if carved to do just so. Did we fight? Of course we fought, all couples fight, but we could always see the love behind the anger. Now, and over the course of the last few years, there was only anger. Even during the inevitable dead spots in our marriage, when every day was like a long drive through Nebraska, we had rediscovered the passion. We had come through everything. I think for the very first time, when I walked out of her bedroom, I accepted that we would not come through this. That cold look on her face, not a judge’s signature on a piece of paper, was our divorce decree.
Still a little stunned, I drove around aimlessly for a while. It was pretty country up here, though not as pretty as it once had been. Farms that I used to pass on my way up had been sold and turned into gated communities of McMansions with nine-hole golf courses and artificial lakes. Some of the farms had been cut up into bigger lots. Those parcels were for super-sized homes, ones with garages the size of aircraft hangars. Sarah had a friend who called them Garage Mahals. To me, no matter how lavish the homes might be, no matter how tasteful, they were ugly. They just didn’t belong.
I loved New York City, but it could be cruel to its neighbors. I once heard it said that being in close proximity to New York was like sleeping in bed next to an elephant. Everything was great until the elephant rolled over. It was what ruined Long Island and what was slowly happening here. To its neighbors, the city was a contrary beast. As its influence spread to surrounding areas, it sucked the local flavor out of the landscape. It’s funny how people try to get away from the city, but never quite escape its gravity.
As the light faded, I rode back into Janus. The sheriff’s office was at the end of Main Street. Robby, the young deputy, was at the desk. I hoped he got paid a lot of money given the hours Vandervoort was working him. He recognized me and flashed a smile that still had a lot of little kid in it. It was nice to see. I wasn’t sure there was a lot of that left in me.
“Robby, right?”
“That’s right, Mr. Prager.”
I thanked him for helping with Katy.
“Sheriff Vandervoort’s not around. I’m sorry. You want to leave him a note or something.”
“No, thanks, that’s okay. Any results from the crime scene?” I asked just to make small talk.
He hesitated. “No.”
He smiled like a kid and lied like a kid. The job would beat that out of him soon enough.
“Look, deputy, you saw my ex-wife this morning. You saw for yourself what this is doing to her. Just let me know so I can be prepared when the shit hits the fan. And it’s our secret. Sheriff Vandervoort will never know we even spoke about it.”
“I shouldn’t. I’m on probation and this is the only job I’ve ever-”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Listen, kid, it’s up to you.”
That did the trick.
“There were some shoe impressions that didn’t match any of the elimination impressions,” he whispered as if Vandervoort was lurking. “They were men’s size nine running shoes that led away from the Maloney plot, across three adjoining plots, down into the stream.”
“No big deal in that, right? Shit, in Janus alone, how many guys are out there with size nine running shoes?”
“You don’t understand, Mr. Prager. These weren’t just any men’s size nine running shoes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“These were Shinjo Olympians.”
“Shinjos? I’ve never heard of-”
“-Shinjos. That’s right.” He cut me off. “No one has. Not no one, very few people have. That’s because they stopped making the Olympians model in 1976 and the company went out of business is 1987.”
“Thank you, deputy.”
I about-faced. Robby said something to me, but the blood pounding in my ears was too loud for me to hear him. I sat in my front seat for what seemed like hours. The next thing I was fully conscious of was unlocking the door to my condo.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sun filled my rearview as I drove along the Belt Parkway to the Gowanus. This part of the Belt could be beautiful, especially in early morning. From Bay Parkway west, the roadway swooped along the shoreline and you could race with container or cruise ships sailing beneath the Verrazano and into the hungry mouth of New York Harbor. The deep blue of the water could seem almost structural and not a trick of light. In the orange of the sun the patches of rust on the skin of the gray bridge came alive. Not today. Today I was blind to beauty, to nearly everything, but I had made this drive so often I could do it in a coma.
Aaron and I owned four stores. City On The Vine near the American Museum of Natural History was our first. Two years ago we ventured into the wilds of New Jersey and opened Que Shiraz in Marlboro. Red, White and You was our big volume location on Long Island. But our second store, Bordeaux In Brooklyn on Montague Street in the Heights, was closest to my house and to my heart. I’d run the store for years and even after I turned it over to a new manager, it was my base of operations. It was also less than three blocks away from the offices of Prager amp; Melendez Investigations, Inc. That was no accident. I had to go into the store, but I had other business first.