No Safe House (18 page)

Grace, teary eyed, was unconvinced. “I know I’m going to go to jail. I’m going to go to jail and I won’t get out until I’m, like, fifty or something.”

Jane took Grace’s hand and squeezed it. “No way. That’s not going to happen. I know it’s, like, impossible to tell you to stop worrying, but everything’ll work out. You wait. Vince wouldn’t have lasted as long as he has if he didn’t know how to get out of these situations.”

Grace sniffed. “Doesn’t it bug you?”

“What?”

“That he’s, you know, like, the Mafia or something.”

Jane shook her head. “He’s not Mafia.”

“But he’s a criminal, right? And he has a gang? And Stuart’s dad is one of the people in his gang?”

Jane sighed. “Look, I’m not proud of any of this, okay? But calling Vince and Eldon and Bert and Gordie a gang, it makes
them sound like a bunch of teenagers on motorcycles going around terrorizing the neighborhood. What they are is a business. That’s all. A different kind of business, but that’s what it is.”

“But he’s a criminal.”

Jane shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”

“So, like, how do you deal with that? I mean, there are days I’m totally ashamed of my dad, and he’s just a teacher.”

“Just because he does bad things doesn’t mean he’s a totally bad person. Look, this is who he is, and this is what his father did. He’s got good in him, even if, lately, he and I are kind of …”

“Kind of what?”

“I don’t know. Since my mom died, it hasn’t been the same with him, and that’s okay, you know? I’m not a kid anymore, and I don’t need a father figure in my life every day. But right now, the guy’s in a bind, and he needs your dad’s help, and your help, too.”

“Help to find out what happened, or help to cover everything up?”

Jane looked at her straight on. “Both.”

“If I did something wrong, I have to pay the price for it,” Grace said. “I have to do the right thing.”

“Sometimes doing the right thing is complicated.”

“A few weeks ago,” Grace said slowly, “my mom and I had a fight.” She wiped her eyes. “I didn’t tell you about this.”

“What kind of fight?”

“You remember you asked about this mark on my hand?” Grace showed her.

“Yeah. You said you accidentally burned it.”

“My mom pushed me and my hand hit a pot on the stove. It was kind of both our faults, but if she hadn’t pushed me, it wouldn’t have happened. I had to go to the hospital and my mom told me to tell them the truth, that it was her fault, and if that meant they had to call the police, then that’s the way it would have to be.”

Jane took Grace’s hand and gently squeezed it. “Wow. So what did you do?”

“I told them I was just goofing around, that I was dancing, and my arm hit the pot.”

“You covered for her.”

Grace nodded. “Yeah, but she was willing to pay for her mistake. She was willing to do the right thing.”

“But you didn’t let her, because you love her too much to let that happen. That’s kind of what’s happening now. I care about you, and Vince, well, he cares about the people he’s got around him, and we’d all rather go with a story that’s not exactly what happened if it means you’re going to be okay in the long run.”

“I don’t know,” Grace said.

Jane took a breath. “Okay, the first thing we have to do is figure out what really went down. You need to remember everything you can about what happened in the house. You heard a shot. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was somebody else. But you need to remember. Did you see anybody, other than Stuart?”

“No. I mean, I think someone ran past me. But I didn’t see anybody.”

“You’re sure?”

Grace nodded.

“Okay, but even if you didn’t see anyone, maybe you heard something or, I don’t know,
smelled
something. Maybe there’s something you noticed without even realizing it. Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Just close them,” Jane said. “Put yourself back in that house, after the shot.”

“I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to think about it.”

“Grace, here’s the thing. You’re going to be thinking about this and thinking about this for a long time, whether you want to or not, so you might as well do it now and try to learn something. Okay?”

“I guess.” Grace closed her eyes.

“After the shot, what do you hear?”

“I’m screaming.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m going, ‘Stuart! Stuart!’ Like that.”

“And what does he say?”

“He’s not saying anything.”

“But you hear something?”

Grace tried to close her eyes more tightly. “I hear steps.”

“Okay, that’s good. Fast steps, slow steps?”

“Kind of—running? It’s not hard steps, like if someone was wearing dress shoes. It’s kind of soft and squeaky. Like maybe running shoes.”

Jane smiled encouragingly, even though Grace couldn’t see her. “That’s good. So someone was running, getting away. You think it was Stuart? You think he ran off and just decided to leave you there? Maybe you accidentally pulled the trigger, or there was someone else there with a gun, and he got scared and ran?”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Grace said, opening her eyes. “Would he?”

Jane gave her a pitying look. “Gracie, honey, please. I know these characters. Vince is solid, but the rest, and their kids—I mean, I thought I was just an idiot in school when I was there, but I was a Rhodes scholar by comparison.”

“A what?”

“Never mind. Close your eyes again.”

Grace complied.

“So you heard steps. Running. Are you saying it couldn’t have been Stuart?”

“I don’t know. I’m, like, trying to hear them again.”

Jane thought a moment. “After the shot went off, that must have been really loud. Did you kinda lose your hearing for a second?”

“Maybe.”

“So if you were able to hear footsteps, even if the person was wearing running shoes, the person would have to be pretty heavy, you think?”

Grace slowly said, “I guess so.”

“And did you say someone bumped you running by in the dark?”

“Yeah.”

“Hard?”

Grace concentrated. “I think I kind of lost my balance. I think maybe I got hit by a bag, like, something the person was carrying.”

“What I’m thinking is, if you heard these steps even after you might have gone partially deaf, and you got bumped hard, it could have been a pretty big guy.”

Grace opened her eyes and looked at Jane. “Maybe. But that’s not exactly very much to go on, is it?”

“Well, it’s something,” Jane said. “But you’re right, it doesn’t really narrow down the field of suspects.”

Grace twigged to that. “Suspect in what?”

“You know. Like, whoever else might have been there.”

Grace felt tears trickling down her cheeks and wiped them away. “Stuart’s dead, isn’t he, Jane?”

“I got a pretty good idea what Vince is telling your dad right now. He’s telling him to take you home and forget any of this ever happened. And that’s real good advice. Vince has got this. And he’s going to be real grateful when I tell him how you helped me.”

Grace heard footsteps on gravel. She turned and saw her father standing by her door. Grace fumbled around, looking for the handle, and opened it.

“See ya,” Jane said as Grace was led back to her father’s car.

“THIS
is an unexpected pleasure,” Heywood Duggan said, slipping into the all-night coffee shop booth across from Detective Rona Wedmore. He had to squeeze himself in. He wasn’t a fat man, but he was big, and there wasn’t any room between his stomach and the edge of the table.

“Sorry to call you so late,” Wedmore said. “And to be so mysterious.”

Heywood grinned, flashing his pearl white teeth. He still had that gap between the two top ones. Back when they were seeing each other, he’d talked about getting that fixed, but Rona had told him it gave him character.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, placing his meaty palms flat down on the table. “I don’t get called out to midnight meetings with beautiful women all that often.”

“Oh, shut up,” Wedmore said, slipping her own hands down to her lap, not wanting to give him the opportunity to reach out and hold hers, which she figured he might do at some point. Not that there wasn’t some part of her that didn’t long for his touch after all this time. “It’s good to see you, Heywood.”

He grinned. “You always used to call me Woody.”

She smiled. “I did.” She cocked her head. “And I wasn’t the only one.”

He flicked his hand, as if shooing away a fly, dismissing the comment. “You’re looking good.”

“I’ve put on a few since you saw me last,” she said.

“More to love,” he said.

She brought up her left hand not only to wave a finger at him, but to let him see her ring. “I’m spoken for,” she said.

“That was not a pass, just an observation.” He smiled warmly. “How are things with Lamont? I heard he had a rough go of it in Iraq.”

Rona nodded. “He’s good. It was hard for him over there. He saw things no one should have to see.”

“I heard he didn’t say a word for months.”

“Well, he’s talking now,” Wedmore said with a forced laugh. “And he’s got a job, with Costco. They’re good to him there.”

“I’m glad to hear that—I really am.” Heywood Duggan’s face fell. “I wondered, when you called, if, you know, maybe something had happened. Maybe the two of you were going through a rough patch. That maybe you needed someone to talk to.”

Wedmore’s eyes narrowed. “Or fall into the sack with.”

He raised his palms. “I did not say that.” Heywood shook his head. “You hurt me, Rona.”

“Oh, bullshit,” she said.

A waitress came by and they both ordered coffee.

He grinned. “You and I, we had a good run there, you have to admit.”

She tried to hide her smile. “When’d you quit being a trooper?”

“Eight, nine years ago,” he said.

“Why?”

He turned a simple shrug into a ten-second shoulder exercise. “You know. Different opportunities. Didn’t want to be with state police forever.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“And what’d you hear?”

“I heard some evidence—cash—went missing after a drug bust and not long after that you decided to take an early retirement rather than face an internal affairs investigation.”

Another wave of the hand. “You can’t believe everything you hear.”

“Is that when you started to go freelance?”

“I’ve done a bunch of things, private security—you know the drill. So why the hell did you ask me to meet you tonight? I’m starting to think this isn’t as personal as I was hoping it might be.”

“Eli Goemann,” Rona said.

“Eli what?”

“I hope, for your sake, that your hearing is the only thing you’ve lost since I saw you last.”

“I just didn’t catch the name.”

“Eli Goemann. Don’t be cute.”

“Eli Goemann, Eli Goemann.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know the name.”

“Then why did you go ask his former roommates where you could find him?” Wedmore asked.

He pushed himself back against the seat. The space was so tight, he suddenly looked trapped to Rona. The waitress put two mugs of coffee on the table in front of them and walked away.

“What do you want from me?” he asked.

“I want you to tell me why you’ve been looking for Eli Goemann. I’m guessing someone hired you. Who wants you to find Eli and why?”

“Rona, come on, you know how this works. Clients expect confidentiality, and I can’t be bought for a cup of coffee.” He smiled slyly. “If you were offering something more substantial …”

“Stop acting like you’re twelve,” Rona said. “So you admit you’re looking for him.”

“Okay, yeah, I am. But it’s a private matter.”

“Not when there’s a homicide.”

His eyebrows went up. “Say again?”

“Goemann’s dead. His body was found at Silver Sands.”

Duggan grimaced. “Son of a bitch.”

“Help me out here.”

He put a hand over his mouth, rubbed his chin. “Shit.”

“I’d like to know who killed him, Heywood. And you’ve been asking around about him. Right now, you’re my best lead to finding out what happened.”

“They figure out how long he’s been dead?”

“So now you want me to answer
your
questions?” Wedmore said.

“Okay, look, I’ll have to talk to my client, clear it with him before I talk to you.”

“It’s not his call,” Wedmore said.

“Here’s what I can tell you. Goemann called my client, said he had something he believed my client would like to have returned to him.”

“Goemann stole something from him and was trying to get your client to buy it back?”

“Half right. He didn’t
steal
this item—at least that’s what he told my client—but had come into
possession
of it. And yes, he was willing to sell it back.”

“What’s the item?”

Heywood Duggan moved his head left and right half an inch. “Why don’t you tell me if he was found with anything of interest. If what you found is what he was flogging, I’ll tell you.”

“He wasn’t found with anything. And we haven’t figured out where he was residing.”

“Then all I can tell you is, it was a personal item. Not the sort of thing you’d assign a commercial value to. Well, only partly.”

“But it’s worth a lot to your client. How much was Eli asking?”

“He threw out a crazy number. A hundred thousand. I told him that wasn’t possible. My client is not a rich man.”

“Rich enough to hire you.”

He shrugged. “I come for a lot less than a hundred g’s.”

“So this Goemann character approaches your client, asks for a hundred grand to get this
thing
back, and then what happens?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“My client doesn’t hear from him again. He didn’t even know who it was who called him. He hires me, I get the number off his phone, find out it belongs to Goemann, then trace him through DMV to that house where he once lived with the other students, but he hasn’t lived there in a year or so. Sounds like he was bouncing around, sleeping on couches, working odd jobs the last twelve months or so, no fixed address. When he never called back with a counteroffer, to try and set something up, started to wonder whether he ever had anything to sell.”