“They’ll see you right,” I said. “Amanda wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I’ll look better dead than I ever did alive, she has her way. Better dressed too.”
I brought us back to my father. “You have no idea why my father might have killed those kids?”
“None, but like I said, it took a lot to make Will see red. They must have turned it on real bad.”
He sipped some more water, keeping his left hand beneath his chin to stop it from spilling. When he lowered the glass he was breathing heavily, and I knew that my time with him was growing short.
“What was he like, in the days before it happened? I mean, did he seem unhappy, distracted?”
“No, he was the way he always was. There was nothing. But then, I didn’t see him much that week. He was eight-four, I was four-twelve. We said hello when we passed each other, but that was about it. No, he was with Jimmy Gallagher that week. You should talk to him. He was with your old man on the day of the shooting.”
“What?”
“Jimmy and your old man, they always hooked up for Jimmy’s birthday. Never missed it.”
“He told me that they didn’t see each other that day. Jimmy was off. He’d made a good collar, he said, some drug thing.”
A day off was a reward for a solid arrest. You filled out a “28,” then submitted it to the precinct’s clerical guy, the captain’s man. Most cops would slip him a couple of dollars, or maybe a bottle of Chivas earned from escorting a liquor store owner to the bank, in order to ensure a prime day. It was one of the benefits of handling paperwork for the precinct.
“Maybe,” said Eddie, “but they were together on the day that your father shot those two kids. I remember. Jimmy came in to meet Will when he came off duty.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure I’m sure. He came down to the precinct to hook up with your old man. I even covered for Will so that he could leave early. They were going to start drinking in Cal’s, I think, then finish up at the Anglers’ Club.”
“The what?”
“The Greenwich Village Anglers’ Club. It was kind of a private members’ place on Horatio Street. A quarter for a can.”
I sat back. Jimm Biv>agey had assured me that he wasn’t with my father on the day of the shooting. Now Eddie Grace was directly contradicting him.
“You saw Jimmy at the precinct house?”
“You deaf? That’s what I said. I saw him meet your old man, saw the two of them leave together. He tell you something different?”
“Yes.”
“Huh,” said Grace again. “Maybe he’s misremembering.”
A thought struck me. “Eddie, do you and Jimmy stay in touch?”
“No, not so much.” His mouth twitched, an expression of distaste. It gave me pause. There was something here, something between Jimmy and Eddie.
“So does he know that you’re back in Pearl River?”
“If someone told him, maybe. He hasn’t been to visit, if that’s what you mean.”
I realized that I was tensed, sitting forward in my chair. Eddie saw it too.
“I’m old and I’m dying,” he said. “I got nothing to hide. I loved your father. He was a good cop. Jimmy was a good cop too. I don’t know what reason he’d have to lie to you about your old man, but you can tell him that you talked to me. Tell him that I said he should tell the truth, if that’s what you want.”
I waited. There was more coming.
“I don’t know what you expect to get out of this,” said Eddie. “Your father did what they accused him of doing. He shot those two young people, and then he shot himself.”
“I want to know why.”
“Maybe there isn’t a why. Can you deal with that?”
“As long as I tried.”
I debated telling him more, but instead asked, “You’d have known if my father was…screwing around, right?”
Eddie reeled slightly, then laughed. It brought on another fit of coughing, and I had to get him some more water.
“Your old man didn’t ‘screw around,’” he said when he’d recovered. “That wasn’t his style.”
He took some deep breaths, and I caught a gleam in his eye. It wasn’t pleasant, as though I’d seen him eyeing a young girl up and down on the street and had watched as the sexual fantasy played out in his eyes.
“But he was human,” he continued. “We all make mistakes. Who knows? Someone say something to you?”
He looked at me closely, and that gleam remained.
“No,” I replied. “Nobody said anything.”
He held my gaze for a while longer, then nodded. “You’re a good son. Help me up, will you? I think I’ll watch some TV. I’ve got an hour in me yet before those damn drugs send me to sleep again.”
I assisted him in getting out of the chair, and helped him into the living room where he settled hi Bd hugsmself on the sofa with the remotes and turned on a game show. The sound drew Amanda from upstairs.
“You two all done?” she asked.
“I believe so,” I said. “I’ll be going now. Thanks for your time, Eddie.”
The old man raised the remote control in farewell, but he didn’t look away from the TV. Amanda was escorting me to the door when Eddie spoke again.
“Charlie!”
I went back to him. His eyes were fixed on the television.
“About Jimmy.”
I waited.
“We were friendly but, you know, we were never really close.” He tapped the remote on the armrest of his chair. “You can’t trust a man who spends his whole life living a lie. That’s all I wanted to say to you.”
He hit a button, changing the channel to an afternoon soap. I returned to where Amanda was waiting.
“Well, was he helpful?”
“Yes,” I said. “You both were.”
She smiled and kissed me on the cheek. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Charlie.”
“You have my number,” I said. “Let me know how things go with your father.”
“I will,” she said. Then she took a piece of paper from the telephone table and scribbled a number on it. “My cell phone,” she said. “Just in case.”
“If I’d known it was that easy to get your number, I’d have asked a long time ago.”
“You had my number,” she said. “You just never used it.”
With that, she closed the door, and I walked back down the hill to the Muddy Brook Café, where Walter was waiting to take me to the airport.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I WAS FRUSTRATED TO be forced to leave New York with questions unanswered about Jimmy Gallagher’s whereabouts on the day my father became a killer, but I had no choice: I owed Dave Evans, and he had made it clear that he needed me at the Bear for most of the coming week. I also had only Eddie’s word that Jimmy and my father had met that day. It was possible that he could have been mistaken, and I wanted to be sure of the facts before I called Jimmy Gallagher a liar to his face.
I picked up my car at the Portland Jetport, and got back to my house in time to shower and change my clothes. For a moment, I found myself walking in the direction of the Johnson house to pick up Walter, but then I remembered where Walter was and it put me in a black mood that I knew wouldn’t lift for the rest of the night.
I spent most of the evening behind the bar with Gary. Business was steady, but there was still time for me to talk with customers and even get a little paperwork done in the back office. The only moment Che „[1]0%" of excitement came when a steroid jockey, who had stripped down his winter layers to only a wife beater and a pair of stained gym pants, came on to a woman named Hillary Herman who was five two, blond, and looked as if a soft breeze would carry her away like a leaf. When Hillary turned her back on him and his advances, he was dumb enough to lay a hand on her shoulder in an effort to regain her attention, at which point Hillary, who was the Portland PD’s resident judo expert, spun and twisted her would-be suitor’s arm so far behind his back that his forehead and his knees hit the ground simultaneously. She then escorted him to the door, dumped him in the snow, and threw his clothes out after him. His buddies seemed tempted to make their displeasure known, but the intervention of the other Portland cops with whom Hillary was drinking saved her from having to kick their asses as well.