Mixed feelings flickered in her eyes; insecurity turned to a determination to counterattack. “Well, I just thought it was interesting,” Ghislaine said, her voice rising in imitation of harmless surmise, “that I never heard anything about him getting arrested. I was like, ‘I told Sarah about him, I wonder what happened.’ So I thought maybe I should tell someone else.” Ghislaine smiled, all innocence. “I mean, what better place for an agoraphobic guy than prison? He wouldn’t have to go outside for years.”
“ Cicero ’s not agoraphobic,” I said.
“ Cicero?” Ghislaine repeated, and there was a world of speculation in the one word. Oh, hell, I thought. I hadn’t meant to use his real name.
“What is this guy,” she went on, her tone brightly insinuating, “your new best friend?”
Ghislaine had seen me around the neighborhood; I knew that from our encounter on the bus. And she heard things, which was what made her a good informant. I wondered how much she really knew about my repeated visits to the towers. Obviously she knew enough. She’d guessed that threatening Cicero would get her what she wanted, and I’d unwillingly confirmed it by fixing her shoplifting bust.
I pulled to the curb.
“What are you doing?” she asked, looking around at the side street we were on, brown brick apartment buildings on each side.
“This is where you get out,” I said.
“But we’re a mile from where I live!” Ghislaine protested.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. I turned in my seat, one elbow resting on the steering wheel. “You could use the walk, Ghislaine. You need some time alone to get your head straight and think about how smart it is for you to try to jerk me around.”
Her coral lips opened slightly, in shock.
“I’m going to say this real loud and clear for the cheap seats: I don’t explain to you how I do my job, and you don’t ask,” I said. “You don’t drop my name to get out of petty-theft busts, and you’re never going to mention Cicero Ruiz again, not even to a meter reader. You forget that, and I’m going to make sure you end up in an agoraphobe’s paradise.” I put my hand on the gearshift. “Now get out.”
Ghislaine’s lips tightened, but she climbed out of the car, her plastic bag rustling. She didn’t close the door right away.
“I didn’t know you were so hard up, Detective Pribek,” she said bitterly.
I reached over and pulled the door shut, put the car in gear. She yelled after me.
“If you dig crippled guys, Sarah, the Cities are full of white ones! Why don’t you just go down to the VA Hospital and pick yourself one out!”
29
Several days passed. Comfortable now with Aidan’s presence in the Hennessy home, I spent less time there, and my nights at home.
There, late at night, I found myself restless, surfing late-night TV. Occasionally, pausing on one of the educational channels, I’d see a show on forensics: techs observing the glow of Leuco Crystal Violet stains or peering at fibers under a microscope. I’d switch away quickly. Other than that, I kept my mind off Gray Diaz. Likewise Cicero Ruiz. My aborted letter to Shiloh remained buried under newspapers and unpaid bills. Work, in general, was uneventful.
One such workday ended with an errand out toward the lake country, reinterviewing a witness in an old case with leads sputtering out. On my way back, I passed a bus stop and a very familiar figure waiting there: Aidan Hennessy. I pulled over; he recognized my car and came to meet me.
“What’s up?” He shielded his face against the setting sun.
In that moment, I was surprised to realize how much I liked him. Somehow, I’d gotten more comfortable with Aidan Hennessy than with anyone else in his family, which was remarkable, given how we’d started out. I’d spent much more time with Marlinchen, and I did like her, but I could never quite get comfortable around her. Her shifts in mood, her endless caution, always weighing her own words and those of people around her… Sometimes she made me tired. Aidan Hennessy was laconic, uncomplicated. More than anyone else in his family, he reminded me of myself.
“Thought you might need a ride,” I said, and Aidan climbed in.
“I’m not going home,” he told me. “I’m going to the store. I promised to make dinner tonight, but I need a few things.”
“Okay,” I said. “I can drop you off there, but I could also probably give you a ride to the store and then home, if you’ll go downtown with me first. I’ve got to check in before I leave for the day.”
“Okay with me,” Aidan said. “I’m not in a hurry.”
I accelerated, trying to slide onto the 394 in advance of a moving van traveling at a good clip. When I had, Aidan spoke again. “I just got a job,” he said.
“No kidding?” I said. “That’s great. Where?”
“At a nursery. Of plants, not kids. It doesn’t pay that great, but it’ll help out at home.” He lifted his ponytail and shifted it to the other side of his neck, cooling the skin underneath.
We drove a few miles in silence. The rays of the lowering sun hit the windshield, which turned its new purplish color. “You’ve got a weird haze on your windows,” Aidan said, rubbing it with his finger.
“I know,” I said.
“It’s not coming off.” He was still worrying it.
“Don’t bother,” I said. “It’s permanent.”
“You must really like this car,” he said.
I didn’t say anything.
Downtown, Aidan went up in the elevator with me to the detective division. He didn’t say anything while we were up there, but I saw him craning slightly to look around, perhaps surprised at how much it looked like any other office setting. I switched my voice mail over to forward to my pager and spoke briefly to Vang, then Aidan and I left.
At the store, he found what he needed: a cheap whole chicken, several potatoes, an onion. He also bought us each a Coke, and paid with money from the Hennessy household fund. Then we walked back outside, into the early-evening heat, and stopped in our tracks, looking around.
The Nova was nowhere to be seen. Out of laziness, not wanting to cruise the aisles for the nearest possible parking space, I’d simply parked at the edge of the lot. Now the car seemed to be gone.
“What the hell?” I said.
“There it is,” Aidan said.
He was pointing at a truck and horse trailer at the edge of the parking lot. I’d simply assumed that it was parked along the edge of the lot, with no other cars behind it. Now I saw, through the windows of the big Ram truck, a slice of the Nova’s roof was visible.
“I think that guy’s illegally parked,” I said. “I don’t think he’s supposed to have a vehicle this long parked over two spaces. Maybe I should cite him.” We were headed across the parking lot, toward the trailer.
“You have a citation book with you?” Aidan said skeptically.
“I’m an officer of the law,” I said as we circled around the rear of the horse trailer. “Anything I write on will hold up in court. I think.”
“You think?” Aidan said, and snorted with laughter.
“Sure,” I said. “Where’s your receipt for the groceries? I’ll-Jesus!”
I jumped, and a thin brown waterspout of Coke leapt from the can. A dog had sprung up from the bench seat of the pickup truck, barking and snarling, safely behind the closed window, but only inches from our faces.
“Holy shit,” I said. The Doberman continued to bark at us, its sharp-snouted face mashed up against the saliva-smeared glass, teeth bared. Then I got a good look at Aidan. He had dropped his bag of groceries and was half bent at the waist, his hands on his thighs as if for support.
“Are you okay?” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding, his face pale. “I’m all right.” He tried to laugh. “I’m a real tough guy, eh? Scared of a dog locked in a truck.”