Then somebody rapped his head. The jolt rang bells but got his blood humming. He waited for another smack and when it came he started to feel a little better. The copper taste flooded his mouth. It got him thinking straight again.
Reb said, "Don't hurt him anymore."
"Shut up, let me handle this."
"You can handle it, I just don't want you-"
"I said to shut up."
"Don't talk to me that way."
It was Edwards so up close, sitting in another dining room chair. Staring into Crease's face like he was trying to figure out the best way to break a nose in as many pieces as it would go. Ten years later, Crease was beginning to have some second thoughts about punching Edwards out back then.
But the sheriff didn't do anything else. Just sat there studying Crease, really looking at him hard. Hoping to find some answers of his own. Crease realized the guy was thinking about his own duality. Where he'd be if not for that shot in the nose ruining his looks. If only the old man hadn't disheartened him so badly. If only he'd busted the 'nappers all those years ago and bought his way into heroism.
Edwards' features were rigid and he was smiling just a touch and his eyes were eddying with the force of his own fantasies.
You've got a guy here climbing over the hill of middle age, too wide in the belt, a house filled with photos of women who didn't love him. Crease knew the expression well. It was pure, distilled disappointment.
Good, Crease could work with that. The ones who just wanted to chop you to pieces you couldn't out-talk, couldn't really wrangle with. But the ones who wanted the stash, the goods, the talk, those you could keep on the hook at least for a while.
Still, Crease wasn't thinking too clearly. He might have it all jumbled up.
The women around Edwards' house, he thought he remembered that Reb was one of them. Maybe they still had a thing going. That would explain the current situation.
"Where's the money?" Reb said. "Ask about the money. Get him to tell you-"
"If I have to tell you to shut up one more time I'm gonna knock your front teeth out."
"They're already fake," she said.
Edwards turned back to Crease and once more examined him closely. He would see Crease's father in there, see some of the same weaknesses and a few similar strengths.
But the bigtime bend, Edwards wouldn't have any way to recognize that. It would keep him puzzled, a little off-balance.
"I ran your plates," the sheriff said. "You've got a whole new identity. There's a rap sheet on you. You're a pretty bad boy."
"Undercover," he said.
"That's what he told me," Reb said. "Like I was saying to you."
Edwards ignored her, talking to Crease like they were the only two people in the world right now, which they were.
"Undercover narc? You guys are the dirtiest ones on the job."
"Yeah," Crease admitted.
"You were seen in a Bentley owned by a known felon yesterday."
A known felon. Edwards was about forty years out of date with his rap. Tucco had never even been arrested, had never had a felony charge hung on him. Never spent a night in lock-up. Crease had done spurts from a weekend to four months. A known felon, oh yeah.
"You going to ask me a question?" Crease asked.
Edwards couldn't quite make the decision to get tough. He'd been shamed in his own home. Not just getting punched out, but not using the gun when he could've. Crease had seen him too scared to even make a move. That threw you off your stride. It was the kind of thing that blew your gasket after a couple of hours, made you question every action. Crease owned his heart.
"You smuggling drugs into my county?" Edwards asked. He didn't wait for an answer. "Over the Canadian border? What are you bringing down? Untaxed cigarettes? Whiskey?"
"Would you want me to?"
"Depends on my cut."
Crease let out a laugh.
"I want to know what you've got stewing. I want to know why you're here."
"I already told you."
"You didn't tell me anything."
"You weren't listening."
"The hell I wasn't."
You could go around like this all day long. "Okay, you got me. We're not bringing drugs in but we are thinking of knocking over some llama farms. They go for top dollar in Jersey."
"Still being wise."
The chair wasn't that sturdy. Without the spike in his brain Crease could've busted free of it pretty easily, but his hands just weren't doing what they were supposed to be right now. Edwards drew his fist back and slugged Crease squarely in the mouth. It was a pretty nice shot. Crease spit blood on the floor and Reb went, "Ugh, disgusting!"
Edwards said, "You'd better start telling me what I want to know."
Crease knew he could ride it out in the chair for a while longer, long enough to get his hands back, but he really wanted to know why the sheriff's department, including his father, had botched the Burke investigation.
Edwards got him by his front hair and tugged his chin back, ready to take another poke. Crease asked, "Didn't you check into the sister?"
"What?"
"The sister."
"What sister?"
"Burke's sister. Sarah. The girl's aunt. Living with the family at the time."
"Who's going to clean up my floor?" Reb wailed. "He stained my grandmother's throw rug. Goddamn it!"
Edwards let Crease go and turned to glare at Reb, like he might sock her too. His mind was taking him back. It took him a minute to remember. "The spinster? We ran a check on her."
"And didn't turn up anything?"
"No."
"Nothing suspicious at all?" Crease swallowed a mouthful of blood. He didn't want to lose Edwards' attention. The hot splash down his throat got his heart rate stepped up a notch. "No boyfriend with a gambling problem?"
"No."
"How about later, after they put Sarah Burke away? That tell you anything?"
"She broke down. If you're really a cop then you've seen it before. They were a close family."
"You ever listen to yourself talk or do you just hear a loud hum?"
Edwards slapped him with an open hand. It didn't even make Crease's head move. You slap a guy cuffed to a chair like that in front of your boys and you'd never live it down.
"She's in an outpatient home in Langdaff," he said. "The Sinclair Mayridge Home for the Needful. I visited her last night. She's crazy, but not as crazy as she wants to be. She's just got nothing to live for."
"You're lying," Edwards said. It was almost a question. "Her gambler boyfriend, guy named Daniel Purvis. He's got to be dead, but check on him anyway." Crease's gaze locked with the sheriffs. They were down to it now. "You had so much on your plate at the time, with my father and the department investigation, and you being pissed off at him, that you let the case slip."
"No, that's not how it happened."
"You're an idiot. You should come to New York, you'd be running my department in no time."
Edwards slapped him again, harder. That was better. Crease started to feel the heat working through him. He let out another laugh. His scalp tightened and began to crawl. His upper lip began to bead. The dried blood on his face loosened.
"Stop hitting him!" Reb shouted.
Funny since she was the one who nearly caved in his head, but you took sympathy wherever you could find it. "Where's the money? Crease, tell him!"
"He doesn't have it," Edwards shouted. "His old man stole it years ago."
"That's not what he said! He said his father tried to take it and-"
"Shut up, Rebecca!"
"Well, get him to talk!"
"A minute ago you didn't want me to hit him, and now-"
"I want that money. Do what you have to do! Or I will!"
"So help me I'll break your head, Reb!"
Edwards was getting twitchy, but really it was Reb you had to worry about. She was the one who wanted it more, and thought Crease was the way to get it.