Bad Games 2 - Vengeful Games (26 page)

“Fucking bullshit,” Patrick said. He paced throughout the den. “The son of a bitch is in jail and he’s
still
getting to us. This is a goddamned nightmare.”

“Is it possible?” Amy asked. “Is it possible my father was murdered?”

“Why not?” Patrick said. “Whoever the hell it is out there, they could have made it look like an accident.” He turned to Dr. Bogan. “Right?”

“I suppose,” Dr. Bogan said. “Though it’s likely that what the police said is true: the fan read about the death of Amy’s father and took the initiative to inform Arthur Fannelli in some cryptic way.” Dr. Bogan scratched his bald head then asked: “The police did a thorough investigation of the accident?”

Amy said, “Yes.”

Dr. Bogan nodded slowly, silently digesting her response.

“What about Oscar?” Patrick said. “Maybe this fan messed with my car—cut the hose so the antifreeze would leak all over the driveway.”

“But then comes the daunting task of ensuring the dog consumes the antifreeze,” Dr. Bogan said.

“Except the poor little guy
did
consume it,” Patrick said. “So whatever trick he had up his sleeve sure as hell worked.”

Dr. Bogan turned to Amy. “At your father’s funeral—did anyone stick out? Was there anyone there you didn’t recognize?”

“There were lots of people there we didn’t recognize,” Amy said. “My dad had a million friends.”

“Did anyone say anything to either of you? Anything out of the ordinary?”

Both Amy and Patrick said no.

The doorbell rang. Patrick left the den to answer. He returned with an officer from the Upper Merion Police Department by his side. The officer stood as Patrick took his spot back on the sofa.

“I’m Detective Knauer,” the detective said. “I’m going to be asking you a few questions, okay?” He took out a small notebook and pen.

*

Amy and Patrick recounted everything for Detective Knauer. Dr. Bogan remained silent. The detective asked what Patrick felt were rudimentary, and therefore useless questions:

People following you?

No.

Approached by strangers?

No.

Damage to your property?

No.

Anything at all that may seem out of the ordinary?

It was then that Patrick blurted: “You mean aside from having our dog die, my wife’s father die, and someone slipping porn into my presentation?”

The detective appeared unfazed by Patrick’s frustrated outburst and continued questioning. “How close of a daily routine do you keep?” he asked.

Amy asked him to elaborate.

“What I mean is—is your daily routine clockwork? Do you take scheduled walks on specific routes? Visit certain places regularly? Leave for work at precisely the same time each day? Things like that.”

“This is suburbia,” Amy said with a whiff of contempt. “Everyone has a routine.”

Again the detective ignored any passive-aggressive remarks and continued jotting in his notebook. “Neighbors,” he then said. “Have any neighbors mentioned anything to you? Suburbia tends to have an eye out every window. Have any neighbors reported any suspicious characters in the neighborhood?”

“If they did, no one mentioned anything to us,” Patrick said.

“I assume you have a community watch?”

Amy said, “Yes.” She then looked at Patrick and said, “Margaret Connors would call 911 if she saw a deer roaming the neighborhood.”

Patrick nodded at his wife then looked at the detective. “A neighbor of ours,” he said. “A retired woman who, like you said, always keeps one eye out the window.”

The detective jotted it down then put his notebook away. “Okay, folks—I’ve got everything I need for now. I’ll be in regular touch with the Allegheny County Police Department, and we’ll be doing periodic checks on your home. Meanwhile I suggest you try and deviate from your regular routine as much as possible.”

“Won’t be a problem,” Patrick scoffed. “I don’t have a job anymore.”

Amy rubbed his leg and whispered, “Yes you do.”

“In the meantime, if you spot any suspicious-looking men or women, please call. Nothing is insignificant.”

Women?
Patrick thought. It never occurred to him that the fan could be a woman, that a woman could be capable of such things.
Wouldn’t that be perfect though?
Who would suspect? Who would—
“
Wait.
” Patrick stood. “Wait, wait, wait.” He thought of the woman on Lucas’ phone. The woman at the funeral. Their likeness. Her beauty. What was it Amy’s brother Eric had said at the funeral after they’d met the woman?

If I was straight … ?

No, not that. It was
Amy
who’d said what he was digging for:

No way a girl like that goes to Gilley’s. She’d stick out like a Victoria’s Secret model at a sci-fi convention.

His wife was right. He’d been to Gilley’s—the best looking woman he’d seen all night was a five, tops.

“The woman at the funeral,” Patrick said to Amy. He thought, fuck it, and added, “The hot one. You said it yourself: no way would she go to Gilley’s; she’d stick out like a model at a sci-fi convention, remember?”

Amy nodded. “Yeah. So?”

“I might have seen her again.”

“
What?
”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s—” Patrick rushed into the kitchen and grabbed his cell phone. He dialed Steve Lucas’ number as everyone from the den looked on.

“Hello?”

“Steve! It’s Patrick.”

“Hey, man, what’s—”

“The girl. The bad news girl. You say you met her locally, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What else can you tell me about her?”

“Why?”

“Please, Steve. What else?”

“I don’t know. What do you mean?”

“Anything strange about her? Anything unusual?”

There was a pause.

“Steve?”

“I’m thinking … I don’t know, she was kind of aggressive I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she slept with me the first night we met. And she was the one who instigated it. I thought it was a one night stand thing or whatever, but we went out again the next night. She seemed like she wanted to pursue something.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well she dropped by work a few times. Brought me lunch. I figure a girl just looking for a good time wouldn’t—”

“
She what?
She was at the office? Where was I? Why didn’t
I
see her?”

“I don’t know. You were always out I think.”

“Son of a bitch. What else?”

“She’s got a monster for a big brother. But I already told you that.”

He
had
told Patrick that. And Patrick had forgotten.
There’s two of them,
he thought.
Christ, there’s two of them.

“He looked older though,” Steve added.

“What?”

“The guy said he was her big brother, but he looked too old. I mean, not real old, just too old to be her brother. But who knows?”

“Father maybe?”

“I guess.”

“Do you still have that photo of her on your phone?”

“No, I erased it.”

“Fuck.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nevermind. Thanks.” Patrick hung up and returned to the den. He dove right in as though everyone had been listening to his conversation and didn’t need any briefing. Fortunately, he was right.

“This woman was aggressive with Lucas—courted him and slept with him on the first night.
She
was the one who instigated it. You’ve seen this woman, baby, she’s a knockout. What would you rate Lucas?”

Amy shrugged. “Average at best.”

“Exactly. Why would a knockout like her express such dire interest in someone like Lucas? Immediately seduce him?” The room remained quiet. The detective listened on with the anxious look of a civilian now. “Lucas claims she came by the office several times during that week they were dating.”

“She did?” Amy said. “You didn’t see her?”

Patrick felt an odd surge of delight in relaying the details of the mystery, forgetting for a moment that the whole debacle cost him his account. “No—I was never there. She always showed up when I wasn’t in the office. That means she was watching me.” He looked at the detective with what felt like a kindred stare and added: “
Studying my routine.
”

Detective Knauer nodded back, eyes affirmative and intense.

“Let’s face it,” Patrick said, bringing his attention back to the group. “She already
had
Lucas. She had him the first night she slept with him. So why bother coming by to drop off lunch or say hello?” He paused a tick, looked at everyone. When no one spoke up, he said: “She was getting the layout of the office.”

“But how would she get in after hours?” Amy asked.

“Lucas blacked out the night of their incident. Says he can’t remember anything. My guess? She drugged him and took his key card.”

“But you told me Lucas still
had
his key card; it wasn’t missing,” Amy said.

“Then she probably took it and made a quick copy,” Patrick said. “Placed the key back into Lucas’ wallet before he woke up.”

“Can you copy those things?” Amy asked. “It’s not a turn-key.”

“Why not?” Patrick said. “With today’s technology … ?”

The room fell silent for a tick, taking it all in.

Detective Knauer started scribbling in his notebook again. “Can you give me a description of the woman? A name maybe?”

“Lucas said her name was Samantha. I doubt that’s her real name though.”

“Description?” the detective asked again.

Amy and Patrick looked at one another. “I don’t know,” Patrick said. “At the funeral she had dark hair and dark eyes.”

Amy said, “About five-six, I guess. A hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

Patrick nodded in agreement.

“Anything else? Anything distinguishing?” Knauer asked.

“She was beautiful,” Amy said. “
Really
beautiful. And she had a way about her—like some sultry model or actress or something.”

Patrick chose not to nod on that one.

Knauer jotted more in his notebook.

“However,” Patrick said, “the picture I saw of her on Lucas’ cell phone was different. She had
blonde
hair and
green
eyes.”

Dr. Bogan finally spoke. “A disguise?”

“Probably,” Patrick said.

Knauer looked suddenly disappointed. “Those are two very different descriptions, Mr. Lambert.”

“It was her,” Patrick said. “I’m sure of it.”

“Does this Steve Lucas still have the picture?” Knauer asked.

Now it was Patrick who looked disappointed. “No—he erased it.”

“So in essence, we don’t really know
what
she looks like,” Detective Knauer said.

“I’d know her if I saw her,” Patrick said.

“That’s not too helpful,” Knauer said. “We need to get an exact description out for the general public if there’s any merit to this.”

Patrick felt a jab of annoyance at the detective’s sudden skepticism; for a brief moment he believed Detective Knauer was hanging on his every word. “Merit? How else can you explain this? It makes perfect sense to me.”

Knauer nodded. “It does seem plausible, but without a description …”

Amy said, “We gave you a description.”

“A woman that looks like a sultry movie star, who could have either dark hair and dark eyes, or blonde hair and green eyes?” Knauer splayed his hands.

The detective was right. It annoyed Patrick to no end, but the man was right. He then suddenly remembered Lucas’ comment about the big man who punched a hole in his wall.

“There’s something else,” Patrick said. “I think there are two of them. A man is involved too—a big guy, older. Lucas said the guy claimed to be this woman’s big brother, but looked more like her father.”

Knauer flipped back pages in his notes. “The man who confronted Steve Lucas the next morning after he blacked out.”

“Right,” Patrick said. “That could explain Bob’s accident. A slight woman would have trouble staging such a thing alone. But with the help of a big guy?”

“I was reliably informed that your father-in-law’s death was an accident. His blood alcohol level was .29. That’s very drunk.”

Amy said, “Yes—we’re well aware. But my father’s been driving home drunk from that bar for years.”

The logic in Amy’s statement was as empty as the night she’d said the same to Sergeant Bennett in Harrisburg. Detective Knauer’s judgmental expression reflected that empty logic. “It only takes one time, ma’am.”

Patrick spoke up. “You’re right. We’re not condoning anything. But what my wife is alluding to, what our gut is telling us, is that somehow—” He stopped, took a long, necessary breath. “
Somehow
…”

Detective Knauer put his notebook away. “We can start with the description of the woman. I’ll have some men ask around your office, see if they can add anything to it. It’s doubtful we can pursue anything about Mr. Corcoran. He was cremated, yes?”

Amy looked at her feet and said, “Yes.”

Knauer nodded. “That rules out an autopsy.”

“So basically there’s nothing we can do,” Patrick said.

“I didn’t say that,” Knauer said. “Like I mentioned earlier, we’ll check in on you periodically, have a cruiser patrol the area. And we’ll try for more testimony at your place of work—try and get a better description of the woman.”

Patrick wanted to laugh in the detective’s face. From the moment his family encountered the bastards back in Crescent Lake they were already two sizeable steps behind, playing their twisted little game without an invite. Why would it be any different now?

No more doubt.

No more chalking it all up to bad luck.

Call him the most paranoid man on earth, but from now on Patrick’s gut was better than any possible evidence the police could unearth. His gut was everything.

“Fine,” Patrick said. He shook the detective’s hand and thanked him but meant none of it. Let them ask questions at the office. Let them patrol the area and pop in from time to time. He knew it would amount to nothing—Arty was pulling the strings, and his puppets seemed exceptionally capable. Initially, Patrick almost insisted they go right to the source and sweat Arty until he bled the truth. But he knew that would be futile—Arty would assuredly deny everything, feign ignorance. And most importantly, the son of a bitch would love it. He would love being so intimately involved, to know the Lamberts were suffering still. Patrick would
not
give the prick the satisfaction.