A Blood Thing Read online

  Great job, Henry.

  “I don’t suppose you did any reading today?” she asked loudly so he could hear her above the sounds of battle.

  “Ummm . . .”

  “How about that book we got you on ancient Egypt? You said it looked good in the store.”

  “I tried. The pictures were cool, and I looked at all of them. But the words were boring.”

  Molly knew what that meant. Perhaps the vocabulary was too advanced. Maybe the ideas were too difficult to grasp. Whatever the case, the book, targeted toward eighth graders, was too difficult for twenty-nine-year-old Tyler. The nasty fall he had taken when he was seven years old had permanently damaged his brain. He hadn’t been formally tested in years—no one saw the point any longer—but earlier tests had placed his IQ in the low seventies. His mental age was that of an eleven-year-old boy, a fact that would likely be true for the rest of his life. So unless books were filled with pictures and easy reading, he had no interest in them.

  “Well, we can try to find a better book this weekend, okay?”

  He shrugged. A huge explosion, far louder than all the preceding ones, filled the room from the surround-sound speakers in the corners, startling Molly. She turned to the TV and saw the following words appear: Mission Complete. Way to go, Smilin’ Jack! Dramatic music played for a moment, followed by blissful silence.

  Tyler turned to her, looking at her for the first time, and beamed a terrific smile.

  “Mission complete,” he said.

  “I see that. How long have you been playing?”

  “Today?”

  “Today.”

  He shrugged.

  “Tyler?”

  “A few hours.”

  “Did you do anything else today? Did you get out of the house at all?”

  “Not really.”

  “You didn’t have to work?”

  “I don’t work on Fridays.”

  His “work” was volunteering at the local animal shelter two days a week, four hours each day.

  “I forgot,” she said. “So you just played video games all day?”

  “Not all day.”

  She waited.

  “I went to the bathroom a few times. I ate lunch.”

  She sighed. “Don’t you get tired of only playing war games, though? You have sports games, racing games—”

  “I wanna be a war hero. Like Jack Smiley.”

  “I’ve watched you play those Smilin’ Jack games a little. They’re pretty violent, buddy.”

  “Jack Smiley’s a good guy. A hero. Same as you, Molly.”

  “Oh.” What could she say to that? She couldn’t contradict him. She believed that everyone who served in the military was a hero. Besides, he had seen her Bronze Star. She’d even let him wear it around the house one day. But she didn’t like him romanticizing war. “Well, how about calling it quits for a while, okay, Sarge? Maybe give that book another try?”

  “Hmmm. Maybe I’ll take my motorcycle out for a ride.”

  His “motorcycle” was a black electric bicycle with a 750-watt motor that limited the machine to a top speed of twenty miles per hour. In Vermont, he didn’t need a license to ride it.

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. “You have an hour or two before it gets dark.”

  “I also have a light on my motorcycle,” he reminded her.

  “Well, be careful anyway, okay?”

  “You always say that.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know. And I’ll wear my helmet, so you don’t have to tell me to, because you always do that.”

  “I tell you that because I love you.”

  “I know you do.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “You know what.”

  He sighed dramatically. “And I love you, too, but you’re not gonna get me to say it. You always try, but I’m not gonna do it.”

  She smiled and headed back down the hall, then started up a grand wooden staircase to the second floor. Ten minutes later, she stood in a claw-foot bathtub beneath a rainfall showerhead that issued little more than a light sprinkle because of inadequate water pressure in the 150-year-old pipes. At one point, she thought she might have heard the ring of the doorbell through the drizzle and poked her head around the curtain to listen. She didn’t hear a repeat of the sound, though—and Tyler rarely answered the door—so she dismissed it and returned to her carefree daydream of a better shower.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The working office of the governor of Vermont was located on the fifth floor of a contemporary steel-and-glass wing that had been added to the Pavilion in the 1980s. Its modernist design stood in contrast to the French Second Empire style of the main structure, which was decked out in brick facade, topped by a mansard roof, and wrapped on two sides by an impressive two-story veranda. Henry preferred the more elegant look of the older part of the building, though he couldn’t deny that the location of the office in the newer wing offered his brother a dramatic view of the gold-domed State House. Backed by tree-topped hills, it sat just to the northwest, but Henry couldn’t see it just then because it was dark outside, and his back was to the window anyway. His attention was on the simple black cell phone inside a plastic sandwich bag on the governor’s surprisingly utilitarian desk, which looked like it had come from IKEA. Henry figured it was part of his brother’s effort to maintain an “everyman” persona, though every man certainly hadn’t grown up as privileged as Andrew had. Maybe his desk was a small display of frugality following the stunning lack of that quality his predecessor had displayed. Former governor John Barker had an eye for nice things and wasn’t above letting the people of Vermont foot the bill for them. Sometimes the legality of such expenses was questionable, and though nothing had ever been proven—in fact, no official investigation had ever been launched—the widespread rumors of corruption, rumors that folks didn’t even bother to limit to whispers, contributed in large part to Barker’s political upset at the hands of the younger and reputedly more honest Andrew Kane.

  Henry picked the plastic bag up off the desk and looked at the phone inside. “Glad you had the sense to put it in a bag. You did touch it with your bare hands, though, right?”

  “I thought I was just shaking his hand, like I did with everyone else.”

  “I’m not blaming you. Just clarifying.”

  “Yes, I touched it.”

  “Anyone else touch it?”

  “Just the guy.”

  “Not that big trooper who follows you everywhere?”

  Andrew shook his head. “I didn’t even tell Mike about it.”

  “Why not?”

  Andrew took a moment to answer. “Not sure. It was just . . . odd. I wasn’t sure what it was about—I’m still not—but it seemed personal, you understand? I felt like I should keep it quiet.”

  “Good. I’d have done the same thing. We don’t know what the hell this is about, who that guy was, but it seems like we should keep it between us for now. And you’re sure the guy wasn’t wearing gloves?”

  “I’d have noticed that.”

  Henry nodded. Should be fingerprints on it then. He put the bag back on the desk. “Remind me again what he said.”

  “That I should hold on to the phone. Because I’d need it after the arrest. And that was it. He was gone.”

  What arrest? Henry wondered for the hundredth time since Andrew had called him. Whose arrest?

  “And you didn’t get a good look at him?”

  “Sure I did. Looked him right in the eye. Just like I did dozens of other people there. And a hundred people after my remarks at the high school yesterday. And a thousand last week. They tend to blur after a while.”

  “Yeah, but this guy handed you a phone and gave you a creepy message. Seems like you’d remember that.”

  “By the time I realized something strange was going on, he was already gone.”

  “So you don’t know what he looked like?”

  “Sure I do. He
looked like everybody else.”

  Henry nodded, thinking that the current governor of Vermont could be an idiot sometimes.

  “Can you narrow it down at least a little?”

  Andrew took a moment to think. “White, medium height and weight, middle-aged. Average-looking as hell.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Might have been wearing a blue jacket. Could have been black, though. Possibly green. That’s all I’ve got.”

  “Very helpful. That narrows it down to half the population. Andy, we need to—”

  He was interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Neither he nor Andrew glanced at the landline on the desk; the distinctive chiming clearly came from a cell phone. They looked down at the black phone in the plastic bag. The ring sounded again, and Henry exhaled, realizing it was the phone in his pocket ringing. He shook his head as he pulled it out and saw Molly’s name on the screen.

  “Hey, Molly. I’m here with—”

  “Did Tyler call you?”

  “Tyler? No, why?”

  “Just wondering if you heard from him in the last hour or two. I’ll call Andy.”

  “I’m with him right now. What’s going on?”

  “Ask him if—”

  He looked at his brother. “Has Tyler called you in the last few hours?”

  “Why?”

  To Molly, he said, “What’s going on, Molly?”

  “Probably nothing. He said he was going to take a bike ride. That was almost three hours ago. It’s dark out now.”

  “His bike has a headlight. He’s ridden at night before. You need to give him a little more—”

  “Henry, I just went out to the garage to get something from my car, and his bike is there.”

  “He probably went for a walk then. Did you call his cell?”

  “I dialed, then heard it ringing somewhere in the house. I found it in the music room. But you know Tyler. He never goes anywhere without it.”

  That gave him pause. “Did you ask Julie?”

  “She’s not home, but I called her. She had no idea.”

  “What’s going on?” Andrew asked.

  “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,” Henry said to both siblings. “Call the animal shelter, Molly. See if he came in for some reason.”

  “They’re closed now. I’m going to drive around the neighborhood and look for him.”

  “Want me to head over there and do the same?”

  “You busy?”

  “Nah. See you in a bit. Give me a buzz if you find him before I get there.”

  He hung up and explained the situation to Andrew.

  “I’ll come, too.”

  “I thought you have a business dinner tonight with some visiting bigwig.”

  “The lieutenant governor of New Jersey and his wife.”

  “Whatever. Don’t worry about it. We’ll find him. He’s probably at a friend’s house.”

  “I don’t think he has any friends, Henry.”

  Henry thought a moment. “I don’t think so, either. But you have your dinner. I’ll text when we find him.”

  He glanced down at the black phone in the plastic bag on his brother’s desk. For a brief, irrational moment, he was certain it was about to ring. But it stayed silent, and he turned and left.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tyler was tired of answering questions. He was especially tired of answering the same questions over and over. It made it harder for him to pretend he didn’t know the answers to some of them.

  “I should probably go home now,” he said.

  “Now?” the smaller cop said. He seemed short for a policeman, Tyler thought. He was definitely shorter than the cops on TV. “Are you sure? Because if you insist on leaving, we’ll take you right home, like we promised. But you said you wanted to help us out, and I don’t think you’ve helped us as much as you can.”

  It was true. When they’d come to his house a while ago and asked for his help on a case, he thought it would be cool to assist the police on a real investigation. He’d been excited. The car they’d driven him in was a regular car, though, not a black and white with lights on top, which was disappointing, but they’d bought him McDonald’s food on the way to the station, which was good. But the food was gone now, and the questions just kept coming. And they were getting harder to answer without talking about things that Tyler didn’t want to talk about.

  At first, they’d been easy: about what he did most days, where he worked, what he had done three days ago in particular, and later that same night . . .

  He’d begun to seriously wonder how all the questions about him were supposed to help them on one of their cases. So he told them that he was starting to get tired of talking.

  “Look,” the taller cop said. He had hair on his face, though not a full beard. Tyler thought he should either shave or let it grow; one or the other. “We told you before: anytime you want to go home, we’ll take you home. You’re here voluntarily, aren’t you?”

  When Tyler didn’t answer right away, the cop added, “That means we didn’t force you to come. We invited you, and you agreed to come with us.”

  “I know what voluntarily means,” Tyler replied. He realized then that they thought he was stupid. He didn’t want that, so he decided to stick around a little longer and answer questions in ways that showed he wasn’t dumb. A bit later, when they started asking him about someone named Sally, he told them he didn’t know anyone named Sally and said that his sister was probably out of the shower now and was going to wonder where he was. Then the shorter one said, “You told us nobody was home when we came to your house. Did you lie to us, Tyler? You’re not supposed to lie to the police. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I know that,” he said. “I forgot, that’s all.” But that wasn’t true. Once they’d told him that they wanted him to come to the station and help on a case, he didn’t want them to know that Molly was home because she might have said that he couldn’t go. He could tell, though, that they thought he might be lying. So after that, he not only wanted to avoid seeming stupid, he wanted to appear honest because he definitely didn’t want them to think he was a liar. And to do that, he’d have to answer more questions.

  But then they did something that surprised him. They showed him a photograph of a woman and asked if Tyler recognized her. If he’d ever met her. Her name was Sally, which Tyler hadn’t known. At first, he lied and said that he hadn’t ever met her, but he was positive they could tell he was lying, so he finally admitted it, that she’d come into the animal shelter just before closing the other day.

  “That was Tuesday?” the short cop asked.

  Tyler told them that, yeah, it was Tuesday, and said that even though he’d met the woman, he didn’t actually know her. He promised himself that even though he’d admitted that he’d met her, he definitely, definitely wouldn’t ever tell them anything about what he did with her. No one could ever know about that. It was wrong. His life would be ruined.

  “I know you want to go home soon, Tyler, and I get that. But if you can help us out just a little more, I think maybe we can wrap this up soon. With your help, we can get this over with. Okay?”

  He liked the sound of that. If they could be done with this conversation before he said anything stupid, before he let on that he had done anything wrong, then maybe he could go home and pretend none of this had happened. No one would have to know about any of it.

  So they asked more questions, and he answered very carefully. Finally, the shorter cop said, “Look, Tyler, it’s time to be honest. We know what you did. We’ve known all along.”

  Oh, no. That was bad. That was terrible. That changed everything. They would tell Molly. And Molly would tell Henry and Andy. He dropped his eyes. How could he look his sister and brothers in their faces again? He couldn’t even look the officers in the face. His cheeks felt hot. How could they know what he’d done?

  “Why don’t you admit it to us now?” the stubble-faced cop said. “I think you want to. I t
hink you’re feeling guilty about it. Who wouldn’t? I know I sure would. So why don’t you tell us all about it? You’ll feel a lot better. I promise.”

  But he wouldn’t feel better. He knew that.

  “Tyler,” the cop said, “your coworkers at the animal shelter saw you get into her car after you left the other day. They saw you drive off with her.”

  Tyler said nothing. His heart was beating harder than it ever had. And he had to pee worse than he ever had to in his whole life.

  “We already know what you did, Tyler. So what harm could it do for you to admit it?”

  He felt like crying. He hadn’t cried in years. Not since Mrs. Gallagher died.

  “Tyler? Are you ready to talk about it?”

  He was really tired of answering questions.

  The cops had seemed really nice at first, but he didn’t like them anymore.

  “Look, Tyler, I’m sure you had your reasons, right? If it makes you feel any better, you’re not the first person who ever did what you did. You understand that, right? Other people have done the same thing. That doesn’t make it right, but it’s not unusual.”

  For some reason, that actually did make him feel a little better. Not much, but a little.

  “Just say you did it, Tyler. Tell us all about it, and we’ll take you home.”

  “If you’re already so sure I did something,” Tyler said, “why do I have to admit anything?”

  “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” the short cop said, and Tyler felt a tiny flush of pride. “You’re not going to let us get you to admit anything more than that you got into her car with her, are you? You’re too smart for that, aren’t you?”

  “If you say so.” He almost smiled when he said it. He was feeling pretty clever now.

  “So that’s all you’ll admit then? That you did know Sally Graham, the woman in this picture?”

  “Yup,” Tyler said.

  “And that you met her at the animal shelter on Tuesday?”

  “You got it.”

  “And that after your volunteer shift ended on Tuesday, you got into her car and left with her? That’s really all you’re going to admit? That’s it?”