A Blood Thing Page 19

  Egan said nothing.

  “Listen,” Henry said, “just watch this guy for a few hours, okay? Someone will take over later, and you won’t have to do it again. You can go back to police work and keeping me informed on developments in my brother’s case.”

  Egan was quiet for a moment; then he sighed into the phone. “Man, it’s beautiful outside. Would have been such a great day for fly-fishing.”

  “It’s never a good day for fly-fishing,” Henry replied. “When we hang up, I’ll text you a picture and details on the guy you’re watching. If he leaves and you have to tail him, don’t get made.”

  “He won’t spot me. And thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “You’ll need to hurry because I had to leave a few minutes ago.”

  “It’ll take me a while to get there. What if he’s already gone when I do?”

  “The guy just got out of prison. I’m betting he’ll take a little while to relax on a nice hotel bed.”

  “But how will I know he’s still there?”

  “For God’s sake, Egan, use your head. Show your badge at the desk. Tell ’em all you need to know is whether the guy’s still in the hotel. Get tough. Or be their best friend. Whatever works. You seriously need me to walk you through this? How long have you been a cop?”

  “All right, Kane. Shut up. I’ll figure it out.”

  “And I know what you’re thinking.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re thinking that you can head out to the river with your fishing rod and call me on the way, tell me he was already gone. Don’t do that, Egan.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I won’t.”

  It took Henry fifty-three minutes to get to the address the caller had provided in Rutland. If the blackmailing prick was true to his word, Henry had seven minutes to find whatever evidence had been planted before local police would be called, and then, depending on how credible they believed the tip to be, anywhere from three to fifteen additional minutes before the cops actually rolled up. Should be enough time, if only barely.

  He reached the address, a nail salon called Elegant Nails. To the right was a strip of asphalt running between the salon and the Chinese restaurant next to it, leading to a shared parking lot in back. According to the caller, that was where Henry needed to look.

  He drove past the salon and pulled in to a spot on the street a block away. He checked his watch; fifty-six minutes had elapsed since his call with the blackmailer had ended. He was cutting it close. He’d thought it all through on the drive here from Springfield. How would the police or a jury view evidence found here in Rutland? Tyler never ventured anywhere close to this far on his electric bike. Then again, he knew how to take a taxi. In the end, jewelry covered with Sally Graham’s blood and wrapped in Tyler’s T-shirt would be damning no matter where it was found.

  He walked down the block—as quickly as he could while still appearing casual—past the nail salon and turned into the lot. To his left, against the back wall of the salon, he saw a loose pile of wooden pallets. He scanned the backs of both buildings abutting the lot and saw no security cameras, so he knelt down next to the pallets, reached into the space behind them, and felt around, hoping he wouldn’t encounter something with fur or, worse, teeth. He also hoped that the local cops wouldn’t show up right then and find him digging around where a bag of evidence tied to his brother’s murder case was supposed to be stashed. That wouldn’t have looked good at all. A moment later, his fingers found a plastic bag, which he lifted out. Peering inside, he saw a blue T-shirt balled up. He didn’t bother taking it out of the bag to see what was wrapped inside it.

  He left the lot and walked back to the Jeep, employing his semicasual speed walk again, which wasn’t easy with his heart racing as it was. He wondered what to do with the bag. His first inclination was to dump the jewelry in the nearby reservoir and burn Tyler’s shirt, but destroying evidence was serious business. It was irreversible. He’d have to give it some thought.

  As he pulled away from the curb, he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw a police cruiser turn into the lot.

  That had been close.

  Snacking on popcorn, Pickman had watched the whole thing on his computer monitor. Just a few hours ago, he had hidden a battery-powered video camera among a pile of milk crates behind the Chinese restaurant and streamed the video over the nail salon’s Wi-Fi. He’d had to get a pedicure a few weeks ago to obtain the password, but his toes still looked pretty good and the calf massage had felt great. He’d tested the system at that time but didn’t leave the camera, of course. Instead, he’d taken it with him to keep until it was time to hide it again this morning.

  He played the recording he had made of the video. He watched Henry Kane enter the lot, head slightly down, and Pickman worried that he wouldn’t be easily recognizable. But then he had been kind enough to raise his head and look up at the buildings, presumably searching for security cameras, making his face plainly visible. Pickman fast-forwarded to the part where Kane lifted the bag out from behind the pallets, looked inside, and left the parking lot with it. Just over two minutes later, two uniformed Rutland police officers entered the lot. One searched behind the stack of pallets. The other moved over to a row of three withered plants in large black pots along the back of the Chinese restaurant. Of course, the one looking around the pallets came up empty while the one by the plants waved his partner over. He’d found something, which came as no surprise to Pickman, because he’d hidden it there and told them where to look.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Tyler looked around the dinner table at Molly, Henry, Andy, and his sister-in-law, Rebecca, and was happy they were having dinner together again—second time in two weeks. They used to do it almost every Sunday, but that was a long time ago. Then Molly went away to the army for a bunch of years, and they did it less. And when she got back, Andy became governor, which was a really important job, and they did it even less. But here they were, together again after not too long, which he liked. He knew it was probably only happening because he’d gotten into trouble, but still, it was nice to have everybody eating together. The only person missing was Julie, who hadn’t been around as much as usual lately. When Tyler asked Molly why, she said Julie was really busy with college stuff, which made Tyler glad he wasn’t in college.

  Even though it was great to have the whole family together, Tyler could tell that Andy wasn’t in a very good mood. It sounded like he was worried that he’d done the wrong thing at work, which surprised Tyler because Andy never did anything wrong. But they were talking about some reporter named Angela asking him questions about a guy Andy let out of prison. Andy said she was a dog with a bone, which made Tyler smile.

  “I don’t know why she’s focusing on this,” Rebecca said. “No one else is paying attention to this story. Governors pardon people all the time. A few years back, one of your predecessors pardoned almost two hundred people at once.”

  Andrew said, “They’d been convicted of marijuana-related offenses that are no longer even criminal in many states. And none of them had been convicted of felonies. Gabriel Torrance is different. He’s a felon. His crime is still on the books in this state, and every other, I assume. His pardon has the appearance of being arbitrary on my part without much to support my decision.”

  “I’ll tell you why Baskin is focusing on this,” Molly said, looking at Andy. “Because she hates you and has had it in for you from the start.”

  Tyler didn’t believe that. Everybody liked Andy. That was why they made him the governor, which was the biggest job in Vermont.

  Molly added, “This is barely news. Like Rebecca said, no one else seems to care. You pardoned one guy near the end of his sentence. What’s the big deal?”

  They talked about boring stuff for a while, and Tyler found himself drifting in and out, listening at times, and thinking about other things at times—things like video games and TV shows and how
much he missed riding his motorcycle and how weird it was not to be able to leave their property, not even for five seconds. He couldn’t wait to go to trial and prove that he would never, ever kill anyone no matter what, so that everything could go back to normal, and his family wouldn’t worry, and he could get this stupid, uncomfortable bracelet off his ankle, and he’d be free again to ride around town and volunteer at the shelter and see the animals.

  Thinking about Sally Graham made him remember the thing she had done to him and the way it had felt. He knew his cheeks were getting red, and he hoped no one would notice. No one did, though, because they were focused on their long and boring conversation. They spoke to him now and then—they weren’t the kind of people who left him out of conversations for long, like a lot of people did—but most of the time, he didn’t care what they were saying.

  When he heard his name, though, he listened more closely, but he still didn’t follow along very well. Henry said something about DNA, which Tyler had heard about on TV but wasn’t sure what it was. Whatever it was, though, it made everyone look worried. They talked about Sally Graham’s blood, too, which kept them looking worried.

  “When is he going to give us the recording and whatever else he has in the way of evidence?” Molly asked.

  “Soon, I guess,” Andy said. “He said he’d do it once Torrance is out.”

  Henry cleared his throat and looked like he didn’t feel well. “I screwed up,” he said.

  “How?” Andy asked.

  “He caught me following Torrance from Southern State. I don’t know how, but he did.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Henry told a story that Tyler didn’t listen closely to, something about a shirt and some jewelry. “He says he’s punishing us for breaking the rules. He’s not giving us anything yet, not until we stop following Torrance around.”

  “Are you kidding?” Andy asked. He sounded both surprised and upset. “You took the bag? Do you know how serious that is? That’s obstruction. If you got caught, your career could be over.”

  Tyler almost asked what obstruction was, but he didn’t really care.

  “I know what it is,” Henry replied. He looked angry but not as angry as Andy looked. “I know what I did. But I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t let the cops find it.”

  Andy sighed really loudly and shook his head.

  “What did you do with it?” Molly asked, looking at Henry.

  “Nothing. Yet.”

  Tyler asked Rebecca to pass him the crescent rolls and the butter.

  “So he’s screwing us over?” Molly asked. Now she sounded angry, too.

  “For now, I guess,” Henry said.

  “He’ll call again,” Rebecca said. She hadn’t said much so far, Tyler noticed. “We’ll find out then when we’ll get it all. He keeps calling, so I’m sure he’ll call again.”

  “When he does,” Molly said, “he’d better be ready to hold up his end.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Andy asked.

  They sat silent a moment, and Tyler, who hadn’t been listening closely, wondered what had happened to make everyone look so weird all of a sudden.

  “I gotta find this guy,” Henry said.

  “When you do, I’d like a shot at him,” Molly said, and Tyler was glad they were talking again because that silence had been uncomfortable.

  “If Rebecca’s right and that son of a bitch calls back,” Henry said, turning toward Andy, “you tell him that if he doesn’t hold up his end of the bargain, we’ll find Torrance and put him away for another five years.”

  “For what?” Andy asked.

  “For whatever I decide to pin on him. I’ll figure something out, and I’ll make it stick.”

  “Henry, you can’t talk like that.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Henry,” Molly said. “You go ahead and cowboy up if you need to.”

  Andrew shook his head. “Damn it, Molly.”

  Tyler sighed. Everyone was getting mad again.

  “I think Rebecca’s right,” Molly said. “He’ll call back.”

  “I think you’re both right,” Andy said. “At least, I hope you are. And when he calls, I’ll deal with him.”

  “I hope I’m right, too,” Rebecca said.

  “Me, too,” Molly said.

  “Me, too,” Tyler added because he wanted everyone to think he’d been listening, and it seemed like the right thing to say.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Andrew sat with Molly and Henry on the front porch, drinks in their hands—merlot for Molly and Andrew, a bottle of Corona for Henry. Tyler was inside, down the hall, watching TV, something with a laugh track they could hear through the open windows. Rebecca was watching whatever it was with him. She always enjoyed spending time with Tyler, but Andrew suspected that she was doing so now because she felt the three older Kane siblings could use a few minutes alone. And, Andrew had to admit, despite the circumstances, it was almost nice. He hadn’t sat like this with Molly and Henry . . . just sat and relaxed . . . in a long time.

  “Who’s watching Torrance right now?” he asked.

  They had all agreed that there was no way they could let Torrance out of their sight, despite the caller’s orders. They just had to be careful. But he was their only real link to the blackmailer, and therefore their best chance of proving Tyler’s innocence and, hopefully, catching Sally Graham’s killer.

  “I had a buddy on the force do it earlier,” Henry said, “when I had to leave quickly to . . .” He trailed off. They didn’t need to discuss Henry’s decision to conceal evidence again. “Anyway, don’t worry; he doesn’t know anything. And now I’ve got private detectives keeping an eye on him around the clock.”

  None of them mentioned how much that might be costing. None of them even gave it a thought.

  “They can’t let themselves be discovered,” Andrew said. “If he catches them surveilling him—”

  “Don’t worry about it. These guys are good. Better than I am. I hired Dave’s old firm. His son, Dave Junior, is giving us a discount . . . even though I told him we didn’t want one.”

  Andrew nodded. He understood why Henry would have tried to refuse a discount. Dave was Dave Bingham, a Vermont state police detective who had become something of a mentor to Henry when he’d made detective. When he could retire with a full pension, Dave pulled the pin and spent a year lying in a hammock and watching the grass in his yard grow until he couldn’t take it any longer and got himself a private investigator’s license. Business was solid enough that he brought in his son—Dave Junior, as everyone always knew him—and later hired a few other ex-cops. According to what Henry had told him, the elder Dave was good at what he did, really good, and he was respected enough that guys still on the job, both state and local, helped him out now and then with access and information. Everything was going well for him—right up until he got himself killed one night eight years ago in Rutland, in the projects there. Bled out after being shot in the neck. Henry, whom Bingham had asked to meet him there, had been the one to find the body. He’d also tracked down and arrested the killer before the man could leave the area. It had been a dark time for Henry, who understandably never wanted to talk about the night he lost his friend.

  To Andrew, something seemed to have changed in his brother that night. Maybe it was a loss of idealism, or a too-close glimpse of mortality, or maybe he thought he somehow could have saved Dave. Whatever it was, not long after, saying he needed a change, he put in for a transfer out of the Bureau of Criminal Investigations and into Internal Affairs, which came through a few months later when the detective in the position retired. And after Dave’s death, Dave Junior took over the PI firm. After all that the elder Dave had meant to Henry, Andrew figured his brother probably felt an obligation to hire them. And if Henry said they were good, Andrew believed him.

  “They’ll keep tabs on Torrance,” Henry said. “Report in regularly.”

  Andrew nodded. Henry suddenly looked tired to him. They pro
bably all did, he thought as he took a sip of merlot.

  “What the hell is Torrance up to?” Molly wondered aloud. “Him and the jerk on the phone?”

  No one had an answer for that, so they all took another sip. Henry pointed with his beer bottle toward the state police cruiser parked on the street in front of the house, the silhouette of a trooper visible behind the wheel. “You ever get tired of those guys following you around everywhere?”

  “I’m used to it. I barely notice anymore. If I ever need them, though, I’ll be glad they’re close by.”

  “It would annoy me.”

  “Everything annoys you,” Molly said.

  “Did you talk to the driver who picked Torrance up at the prison?” Andrew asked.

  “Yeah, a few hours ago. Not helpful. Said he showed up to pick up a fare and found a bag waiting for him with five hundred dollars in cash and a note with instructions to pick up a guy at Southern State and give him the bag.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Whoever left the bag texted him, and he gave me the number, which I’ll run, of course, but it’s probably a dead end. Our guy’s too careful for that.”

  “So we’re nowhere then?”

  “At the moment.”

  “Until he calls again,” Molly said.

  Henry let out a low growl of frustration and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “How’s Tyler handling all this, Molly? He seems okay, but how’s he really doing?”

  She shrugged. “Honestly, he seems fine. If he were still in jail, I don’t think that would be the case, but here at home, he seems all right. He doesn’t really talk about any of it. Believes that everything will come out okay. He says he didn’t hurt Sally Graham, and when he tells everyone that in court, they’ll believe him and this will all be over.”

  “If only it worked like that,” Andrew said.

  “I’m gonna go in and talk to him for a bit,” Henry said. “Just chat a little. Haven’t really done that for a while, at least not about . . . normal stuff.”

  “Good luck with that,” Molly said. “He and Rebecca are watching TV together, remember?”