Once bitten, p.25
Once Bitten, page 25
‘Do you know why he’s there?’
‘No idea. Why? Do you know him?’
Kent wanted to say, no. Except that wouldn’t sit well with his obvious interest. If Prosky had said it was someone called Smith, he wouldn’t have asked how he knew his name or what he was doing there.
‘Not know him. But I’ve met him. He’s okay.’ Praying that Prosky left it at that. Seemed he hadn’t got the hang of how praying worked, Prosky’s nosiness kicking in.
‘Does he have anything to do with this hush-hush thing you’re working on?’
Kent was wishing he hadn’t said anything, had kept his worries and curiosity in check. Now he was getting drawn further in. He tried being vague.
‘In a way, yeah.’
It got a totally unexpected response, and for once unexpected was good.
‘I’ll try to find out what it’s about, let you know when I see you. Where do you want to meet?’
‘You know Newbury Beach?’
A confused pause came from Prosky’s end, then, ‘You’re not in Rockport?’
‘No. I cruised up the coast in the boat to Newburyport. I’ve only got my mountain bike with me to get around.’
He felt Prosky grow wary on him. He imagined him thinking what he’d be thinking himself if the roles were reversed.
Then why don’t you motor your ass back down again instead of making me drive all the way to you?
Maybe it was his guilty conscience, but he couldn’t stop himself from making the connection in Prosky’s mind, that he hadn’t simply cruised up the coast, he’d run away because it was indeed dangerous, despite his denial of a moment ago.
He worked an apologetic note into his voice, some embarrassment too.
‘I know it’s a pain in the butt, but this is the first time I’ve taken the boat out since I can’t remember when. And it’s not like I’m Mr. Maintenance. The engine was making a strange noise as I motored up here. I probably should’ve turned back, but I didn’t. Now it won’t start—’
‘Did you put any fuel in it?’
‘Ha, ha. Do I look like a lady yachtsman? Anyway, I’ve got somebody coming to look at it, but they can’t fit me in until tomorrow. And even that’s a big favor, blah, blah, blah. So I’m stuck. And I don’t want to wait until I get back. I get the feeling this whole thing might slip away. Maybe it’s just me because I’m so wired about it . . .’
Thinking to himself, take the bait for Christ’s sake.
Prosky bit.
‘No problem. I’ll have to wait until I get off work tonight. It’ll take me about an hour. I’ll see you there about seven-ish. At Newbury Beach.’
Kent closed his eyes, thinking, why don’t you stand on your desk and ask for everybody’s attention, say you’ve got an announcement to make?
‘That’d be great, thanks. See you later. And it’ll be worth it, I promise.’
39
Lang met Evan at the Rockport PD front desk at a couple minutes before twelve. A few moments later, another, older woman followed her out. Lang introduced her.
‘This is Misty, Chief Dupree’s secretary.’
Six words in and suspicion flared in Evan’s mind. Why wasn’t Lang taking him through? He didn’t get a chance to say anything. Misty was talking to him.
‘And you must be Mr. Buckley.’ The smile that accompanied the words suggested that Lang had primed her, no doubt shared some of what Guillory had told her. Her next remark as good as proved it. ‘Rachel tells me you’re a private detective, Mr. Buckley. Maybe you can detect where my name came from.’
‘Even us amateurs can figure that one out. The movie, Play Misty For Me.’
She beamed at him as if he was the first person ever to get it right.
‘My mom was a huge Clint Eastwood fan.’ She put her hand on his arm, a strangely intimate gesture. ‘And thank you for not saying I’m about the right age, Mr. Buckley. It came out in 1971.’ Making it sound like 1871, if not 1771.
‘Your mom must have missed it the first time around, didn’t see it for twenty years after it came out.’
She squeezed his arm.
‘What a nice man.’
Lang looked like she wanted to be sick, another trait she shared with Guillory.
‘Don’t listen to him, Misty. He’s only being nice because he hopes you’ll tell Dupree and he’ll go easier on him.’
They shared a look—not a chance. Then Lang confirmed his suspicions, said she had to run. Evan went for some unnecessary clarification.
‘You’re not going to be in the meeting as well?’
She frowned, as if she didn’t recognize the word meeting, or that its use was so inappropriate that it threw her.
‘No, I’ve got things to do.’
He nodded like he understood.
‘Guillory hides in the ladies’ restroom, but if you prefer to get out and about . . .’
That earned him a tight smile.
‘We can swap jobs if you like. I’ll talk to Dupree, tell him what I’ve already told him all over again, and you can do what I’ve got to do.’
He made an easy guess.
‘Talk to J.J. Hughes?’
She nodded. For my sins.
‘Bring her in?’
‘Not unless she makes a run for it.’
‘I’ll take that as a no.’
‘Good to see that you’re sharp this morning for your meeting’—she put a lot of emphasis on it, got a smile out of Misty—‘with the chief. That sharpness has probably already alerted you to the fact that this is a very delicate situation. That’s why I’m not going to be barging in and slapping the cuffs on right away. You might want to bear that in mind when you’re talking to Chief Dupree.’
‘I didn’t know slapping the cuffs on him was an option open to me.’
She sighed, shared another look with Dupree’s secretary hovering on the periphery—these things are sent to try us.
‘You don’t think going to see her is going to warn her that you’re onto her?’ he said.
She looked to the ceiling for strength before adopting the stance of a person about to explain a very simple concept to a very stupid man.
‘I realize you’ll have a problem getting your head around this, but when my commanding officer gives me a direct order, what I think doesn’t enter into it. I get on and do it to the best of my abilities. After Laurence Kent’s sensationalist headline, and your own interest in the cases, the Chief wants to avoid a situation where Judge Hughes picks up the morning paper and sees another surprise headline. Judge J.J. Hughes exposed as the dyslexic killer! I think he feels some of the fallout from that might land on him.’
‘He seriously thinks that I’m working with Kent to put something like that together?’
‘You can ask him that yourself when you see him.’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘I’ll catch up with you later. In the meantime, I’ll leave you in Misty’s capable hands.’
‘Bye, Kate.’
Lang either didn’t hear or ignored the remark as she walked away. But Misty heard it, her brow creasing.
‘Her name’s Rachel, Mr. Buckley.’
‘I know. But every now and again she turns into my partner. I get confused sometimes which one of them I’m talking to.’
‘Is your partner a police officer, too?’
‘A detective, like Lang.’
‘That must make for a very interesting relationship.’
‘It has its moments.’
Misty smiled with all the sincerity of a pretty woman in a TV commercial selling lies, a gesture Guillory would’ve said indicated she didn’t appreciate the scope of the word moments.
‘I can believe it, Mr. Buckley. I’ve had some interesting relationships myself, but that’s another story. Chief Dupree is waiting for you.’
He followed her rolling hams through the office wondering how many more times she’d be able to use his name. And what her record was for the short trip from reception lobby to Dupree’s office. Double figures? As it turned out, there was no further conversation between them, so no opportunity arose. She did get in, Mr. Buckley for you, Chief, as she held open his office door, but that didn’t really count as it wasn’t directed at him.
Dupree came around from behind his desk as Misty closed the door on them, his hand outstretched. Evan was immediately on his guard. Not because of the hand, as if it was a ploy to put him at his ease before surprising him with an aggressive grilling, but because of Dupree’s comb-over. It’s very hard to trust a man with a comb-over.
He shook Dupree’s hand nonetheless. The chief had the firm handshake of a man who meets people for a living, although Evan’s status as budding pariah meant he didn’t get the full both-hands-cupped-around-his treatment. Then Dupree led him over to a pair of matching leather sofas arranged in an L-shape. They were about to discuss a personal friend of Dupree’s, after all.
Things started to go downhill as soon as they sat down, Dupree’s opening salvo setting the tone.
‘That’s quite an accusation you’ve made, Mr. Buckley.’
Evan didn’t miss the same Misty-style Mr. Buckley appended to the statement. He decided to employ the irritating habit himself.
‘Well, Chief, Judge Hughes fits the profile of the woman Detective Lang has been looking for, Chief.’
Twice in one sentence. Not bad for a beginner.
‘A profile based on information also supplied by you, Mr. Buckley.’
‘That’s correct, Chief.’
‘And was that information based on fact or supposition, Mr. Buckley?’
Evan had to admit the chief had him there. He had jumped to the conclusion that the expensive education Jodie Lister’s father paid for included law school. He’d asked Crow to look into it, but so far it hadn’t been confirmed. He took a flyer, based on his assessment of Detective Lang.
‘It was my understanding that Detective Lang had confirmed that the woman previously known as Jodie Lister attended law school, Chief.’
Dupree grudgingly admitted that was the case. Evan plowed, or flew, on.
‘And that Jodie Lister married her gay partner at some point after 2004 when gay marriage was legalized, changing her name in the process.’
He’d grown tired of the chief game. He didn’t know how people like Dupree and Misty kept it up without irritating themselves as much as the person they were talking to.
Dupree was shaking his head now, and looking very happy about it.
‘I don’t know where you got that idea from. There is no record of any such marriage, certainly not in Massachusetts. And if you think we’re going to search the records of every state in the country based on a half-assed conclusion you’ve jumped to, you have a higher opinion of yourself than is warranted.’
Inwardly, he conceded the point. Not that it mattered. Everything else pointed to the fact that Jodie Lister was going by the name of Hughes, whether she got married or simply liked the sound of it or didn’t care one way or the other so long as it wasn’t Lister.
‘She could have legally changed her name without getting married.’
‘She could. And to do that a person needs to petition the court in the county where they live. The county.’ Tapping his finger on the arm of the sofa as he said it. ‘So now we’re talking about every county in every state. Clearly your understanding of the resources available to this department is as far off-base as your accusation.’
Dupree was right. If Jodie Lister had wanted to cover her tracks she could’ve moved to Texas with two hundred and fifty-four counties or Georgia with a hundred and fifty-nine, before coming to Massachusetts.
What he ought to do now was ask Dupree a straight question.
Do you know what the J.J. stands for?
And by the way, if you say no, I don’t believe you. You were in business with her, for Christ’s sake.
Too late. Dupree was talking again.
‘And what about this Rodriguez?’ He did a great job of making it sound like lying piece of shit. ‘A gangbanger who says he saw Judge Hughes stalking a man she’d recently acquitted.’ His tone suggested he’d never heard anything so outrageous.
Evan would’ve liked to know who had taken Iggy Rodriguez’ brush with the law and turned him into a fully-fledged gangbanger. He guessed it was Dupree himself, not Lang.
‘Which is why he didn’t come forward in the first place. He knew he’d be ridiculed.’
Dupree bristled, his face welded in distaste. He ran his hand over the comb-over, as if it was in the habit of coming loose whenever the integrity of his men was questioned.
‘I don’t know what you’re suggesting. It sounds to me like he made up the story in order to cover the fact that he was stalking the man who’d been acquitted of killing his girlfriend. That suggests to me that he’s a man who doesn’t trust this country’s legal system and believes he knows better. He must have been high on drugs when he thought of accusing a judge.’ He jabbed his breastbone with his finger a couple times. ‘Why not accuse me?’
Evan sat forward on the sofa, took hold of the little finger on his left hand with his right hand, as if he was about to count the reasons out.
‘Well . . .’
Dupree huffed noisily, straightening the cuffs on his immaculately-pressed white shirt.
‘It was a rhetorical question. Of course he’s not going to accuse me. Just like he shouldn’t have accused a judge.’
Evan was tempted to ask him if he’d played an active role in the counseling business he’d run with Judge Hughes. He’d grown rusty over the years since it folded if he had, counseling presumably being more than one man forcefully telling another how things worked in the world. The implication being that the sooner they got onboard with that, the better off they’d be. That’ll be two hundred and fifty bucks, thank you very much.
He was also wondering what the hell he was doing there. Then it came to him. It was all about Dupree. The chief had made up his mind that his friend and ex-business partner was not guilty. Now he wanted to hear the spurious reasons behind the unfounded allegation from the horse’s mouth in order for him to knock them down one-by-one, justifying his position and making him feel better about himself.
As such, it was a pointless waste of everybody’s time. Evan brought it to a close, but in a very uncharacteristic way.
‘I’m not sure what more I can tell you. Detective Lang has obviously passed on everything I’ve told her. There isn’t anything else. It’s out of my hands now.’ Showing him his empty hands as he said it.
He was expecting Dupree to agree with him. Tell him he was damn right about that, let the professionals sort out his mess. And he was thinking of asking Lang to help him choose his medal for tactfulness and diplomacy.
Except Dupree gave him a look of withering disgust.
And Evan knew what was coming.
He’d been wrong about the purpose of the meeting. It wasn’t about Dupree justifying his own blinkered view. It was a warning. And here it came, Dupree rising from the sofa to deliver it. Evan stood to receive it, putting him a couple inches taller than Dupree, looking down on the comb-over.
‘I’ve been talking to Deputy Chief Albrecht. He told me some things about you. There’s no need for me to go into them now. Suffice to say that things will go very badly for you if it comes to light that you have not been one hundred percent truthful with me or Detective Lang, that you have further information that you are withholding. Have I made myself sufficiently clear, Mr. Buckley?’
Evan nodded solemnly.
‘Absolutely clear, Chief, thank you. May I ask a question?’
Dupree gave a dismissive be-my-guest wave of the hand.
‘Did you get the irritating habit of saying people’s names every other word from your secretary, or did she get it from you?’
Maybe he wouldn’t be asking for Lang’s help choosing that medal, after all.
Misty stood up behind her desk immediately outside Dupree’s office as he came out. She saw the look on his face, concern clouding her eyes.
‘Everything okay, Mr. Buckley?’
He was tempted to ask her the same question he’d asked Dupree. Except it wasn’t fair to take his irritation at being called in just to be threatened out on her. He leaned in, about to confide in her that Dupree probably didn’t think so, when he knocked a stack of papers off the edge of her desk, taking her name plate and a framed photograph with it.
‘Sorry.’
They both squatted down to gather it all up, looking as if they were having a clandestine meeting under her desk. He dropped his voice to a whisper as if that was indeed the case.
‘I wouldn’t ask the chief how it went. Not just yet.’
She opened her eyes wide at him as she swept up the scattered papers.
‘That bad, huh?’
He rocked his hand, trying to see what the papers were. It seemed to him that she was deliberately turning them face down. He stretched to pick up the name plate and the photo frame, taking him closer. He still couldn’t see anything, but noticed her full name—Misty Garver—a feeling that it was somehow familiar coming over him. He gave up trying to see what the papers were, continued with their conversation.
‘He’ll get over it.’
‘I meant for you.’ The words rode out on the back of an easy laugh as she patted the last of the papers together. He handed her the name plate and the photo of a teenage girl smiling self-consciously. She reminded him of a younger Detective Lang. He made the expected polite comment.
‘Good-looking girl.’ Then turned an obvious guess into a compliment to the sound of Guillory and Lang retching in his head. ‘Must get her looks from her mother.’
She raised an eyebrow at him as they straightened up together, mock disapproval in her voice hiding the pleasure behind.
