“I see. So you drank too much, then got in Mr. Broadhurst’s car, drove off in it and ran down that girl, and they’ve all got to take the heat for that.”
He glared at me. “I thought you said it wasn’t your place to judge.”
“You’re making me want to reassess my position.”
“God, you’re just like all of them,” he said sulkily.
My cell rang. I grabbed it from my pocket and put it to my ear.
“Hello.”
“Bob Butler here.”
“Hey, Bob.”
Jeremy glanced my way.
“Is Jeremy with you?” Bob asked.
“Yeah, we’re almost back to the house.”
“Shit. I was thinking, if you could go the long way, that might help. You know I mentioned Galen Broadhurst might drop by?”
“I remember.”
“Well, he did. But there’s a bit of a wrinkle, and it might be better all round if Jeremy didn’t get here until Galen’s gone.”
The problem was, we were already back. I’d just made the turn onto Madeline Plimpton’s street. The house wasn’t half a block away. There was a car parked at the curb that hadn’t been there when I’d left to find Jeremy, which must have been Broadhurst’s. Nice set of wheels, too.
“Oh, Jesus, I don’t believe it!” Jeremy said, sitting up in his seat. “What the hell is that doing there? Why would he do that? Why would someone do that to me?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, taking the phone away from my ear.
Jeremy was looking at the car. It was a red seventies-vintage Porsche 911.
“That,” he said.
“What about it?”
“That’s the car... that’s the car I was driving when it happened.”
Thirteen
Trevor Duckworth glanced down at his phone.
“Shit, my dad sent me a text like an hour ago,” he told the woman sitting across from him at the round table just out front of a Promise Falls Starbucks. She was mid-twenties, green eyes, dark hair to her shoulders. She wore a black sweater, black jeans, and tan leather boots that came up to her knees.
“What’s he want?”
“Says he needs to talk to me.”
“What about?”
Trevor shrugged. He tapped I’m at Starbucks and hit Send. He saw the dots appear, and then his father’s reply: Stay there. See you in 5.
Trevor typed K, then rested his phone on the small table. “I should have told him something else.”
“Why?”
“He’ll be thinking, I’m out of work, and I can still afford to pay five bucks for a cup of coffee.”
“Would he say that?”
“No, but he’ll be thinking it. He’s coming here in a couple of minutes.”
“Should I go?” the woman asked. She glanced down at her latte. She’d barely started it.
Trevor hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? How about, ‘Please stay, I’d love him to meet you.’ How about that?”
“You know it’s not a good idea.” Trevor thumbed his phone to check the time. “Fine, you might as well hang in and meet him.”
“He is kind of a hero,” she said.
“Yeah, I know, so everyone says,” Trevor said. “He’s the big star.”
“You two don’t get along?”
Trevor sighed. “Sometimes. Sometimes not. He can be a bit of a hardass at times. Whaddya expect? He’s a cop.” He glanced out at the parking lot. “Shit, he was even closer than he said.”
The woman followed his gaze. A heavyset man was getting out of a black four-door sedan and walking toward them.
Trevor got to his feet as his father approached. The woman smiled awkwardly. Barry Duckworth nodded briefly to his son before turning his attention to her.
“Well, hello,” he said, extending a hand.
“Hi,” she said.
“Dad, uh, this is Carol,” Trevor said uneasily. “Carol Beakman.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Duckworth grinned and tipped his head toward his son. “Whatever he told you, you should take it with a grain of salt.”
“Is everything okay?” Trevor asked.
“Yeah, everything is fine,” Duckworth said. “Just needed to talk to you.”
“I’ll be on my way,” Carol said, reaching for her purse and putting the lid back onto her latte.
“No, please,” Duckworth said quickly. “I’d like you to stay.”
“I don’t want to intrude, and I do have some things I have—”
“No, this may actually involve you.”
Carol’s eyes flashed. “I’m sorry?”
“Dad, what’s this about?”
“Can we grab another chair?” Duckworth said. Trevor went to the closest table, where a woman was sitting alone. He stole the chair across from her and brought it over to their table. Duckworth took a seat.
“You want something?” Carol asked. “A cappuccino maybe?”
“No, no, that’s okay. And if I go up to the counter, I won’t be able to stop myself from getting a slice of that lemon cake, with the icing.” He felt his mouth starting to water. “The slices aren’t all that big, are they? How many calories could they be?”
“Dad,” Trevor said. He said to Carol, “Dad’s been trying to lose some weight.”
“What do you mean, trying? I have lost some weight.”
Carol smiled. “Congrats. It’s never easy.”
“Tell me about it,” Duckworth said. “Okay, so...” He extended his arms and placed his palms flat on the small table. “I have to admit, this is slightly awkward. This sort of thing hasn’t happened before.”
“What sort of thing?” his son asked.
“I’ll start at the beginning,” Duckworth said. He told them about the police picking up Brian Gaffney, bringing him into the station. How Gaffney couldn’t account for the last two days.
“What’s that got to do with us?” Trevor asked.
“Well, the last thing Mr. Gaffney remembers is being at a bar.”
“What bar?” Carol asked.
“Knight’s,” he said.
Trevor and Carol exchanged a quick look.
“When was this?” Trevor asked.
“Two nights ago. After he left the bar, he says someone called to him from the alley, and he doesn’t remember anything after that.”
“Wow,” said Trevor.
Duckworth brought out his phone, tapped on the photo app. “Here’s a picture of him. He look familiar?”
They both looked at the photo and shook their heads in unison.
“What did they do to him exactly?” Carol asked.
Duckworth hesitated. “I can show you, but it’s not an easy thing to look at, I’m warning you.” With that, he swiped the screen to bring up the previous photo.
“Oh my God, what is that?” Carol asked. “Someone wrote all over his back?”
“It’s a tattoo. It’s permanent.”
“Wait, you mean, like, someone did that to him without his permission?” Carol asked.
“That’s right.”
“How could they do that?” she asked.
“By keeping him knocked out or sedated, it would seem,” Duckworth said, and at that moment his head jerked, as though he’d just remembered something.
“What?” Trevor said.
“Craig Pierce,” the detective said.
“I know that name,” Carol said. “The guy who was attacked? About three months ago.”
Duckworth nodded slowly, and said, more to himself than to his son and Carol, “He was sedated too. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that until now.”
“Dad,” Trevor said.
Duckworth didn’t respond. He was recalling the earlier case.
“Earth to Dad, come in, please.”