Forgive Me, Alex (26 page)

Last night had been extremely difficult. I'd hated having to work—too anxious to get back to the shop and determine how to handle Diana. That situation had gone terribly wrong. Besides, washing dishes for a living struck me as remarkably pedestrian and dull. How in the world had I put up with it for ten years? How long would the
new
Mitchell be able to put up with it?

Yet last night, for all its anxieties, might have been a walk in the park compared to today.

I received an unpleasant visit from the Chief of Police.

How in the world had he connected
me
to anything? What mistakes had I made? I'd been careful to leave no fingerprints, and was sure nobody had seen me. I'd disposed of the bodies neatly, having learned from my mistake with Alex Hooper. Chop them into bite-sized pieces—only then would they vanish into the mouth of the Beast. My new friend had eaten well recently.

Yet somehow, the chief had managed to get onto me. His questions were relatively innocent. He even acted like we were pals.

I played it cool as I smiled and cooperated at every turn, shook my head in wonder, and tried to
imagine
anyone committing such horrible crimes.

I did have one potential problem, however. If he looked inside the dryer, how would I explain those girl's clothes? I would improvise, of course. Fortunately, he didn't look.

Mom might also have been surprised, but since it was typical for me to do my own laundry, she hadn't looked inside either. She did act nervous throughout the whole ordeal, however, as I'd been out of the house during the days in question.

No worries. She played the good Mom and said nothing, then left for work, leaving the chief in my hands.

He searched the house and asked me a few more questions. The subject of Flora Park came up, specifically the day all those damn high school kids were there. It was the day I'd discovered my angel.

How the fuck does he know about that?
"Flora Park? Sure, I remember. Geez, there must have been a hundred or more of them. That was unusual, the sort of thing I'd remember."

"I see, and do you remember seeing Diana Gregario there?" he asked.

He watched me closely, but I kept my wits. I wouldn't give anything away. "Diana who?"

"Gregario?"

"I have no idea. I don't even know who she is. I mean, I see plenty of girls there and admire them, you know. A lot of them are damn cute. Hey, I'm a normal, red-blooded American boy, right?" I gave him my biggest, best,
awe shucks
smile.

"And were you
admiring
a girl that day?"

"Let me think about that." I paused and gave it real reflection, all part of the show. "Now that you mention it, there was this one girl wearing yellow. Tommy and I both checked her out. She was a hot little number, you know, but way too young for me. I thought Tommy might like her, but he's not too into girls. He's a little... uh... a bit slow."

"And that's it?"

"What? About the girl?"

He glared at me.

I threw my hands up. "Yeah, we watched her for a couple minutes or so, and that was that. Are you telling me that someone saw me there and remembered me? How do they know me? I don't know any of those kids." I shrugged. "At least I don't think I do."

He hesitated, but said, "Someone spotted you there and heard your brother call your name."

What the fuck? That ain't right.
"To tell you the truth, Tommy and I were quite a ways from those kids. I don't know how anyone could have heard my name, and I don't know anything about a Diana Gregario."

"She was the girl in yellow."

"Oh, I didn't know that. And now she's missing?"

"That's right."

"That's a shame, but what does that have to do with the poor boy who was murdered? I read about it—such a tragic story."

He hesitated again.

I was anxious, and curious about who might'a seen me.

"I didn't say they were related," he said.

"Oh. I must have misunderstood."

He continued the search, and I thought about that day at the park. I'd pointed out Diana to Tommy. She'd been walking with Hooper and—

Holy shit! They looked at us!

Could he have recognized me? How? He didn't know me, and there sure as hell was no way he'd heard my name. Could it have been someone else? There was something damn strange about this.

"You know, Chief, I've been thinking about that day at Flora Park. Besides the girl in yellow—uh, Diana—the only other person I saw—up close, anyway—was her boyfriend. Is he the one that remembered me? I'm pretty sure I don't know... uh.... What's his name?"

His eyes flared—some suspicion there. I might have pushed it too far.

Whatever. Had to be Hooper. Nobody else there paid any attention to us.

We headed out to the shed in the back yard, and he broke his silence, this time with a smile and a polite tone of voice. "Do you ever go to the bowling alley in Carpentersville?"

"Umm... sometimes."
Fuck a rubber duck! Are you kidding me?
"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Were you there the night of May 27?"

"Four days ago?" I put a hand on my chin and scrunched up my eyes, to look like I was trying real hard to remember. "Let me think about that."

Hooper saw me again? And he remembered me? How the fuck is that possible? Does the bastard have a photographic memory or
what
?

"Geez, I might'a been, Chief. Think I was, actually. I go there occasionally to bowl two or three lines and have a few beers."

"And were you admiring the girls there too? Perhaps Diana Gregario?"

"What, the same girl as at the park? Hell, I don't know. There are kids there all the time, and if this Diana was among them, I didn't notice. Maybe she wore something different. I don't know. I was just minding my own business."
Son of a whore, this is bad!
"What the hell is this about, anyway? Has someone accused me of something?"

He hesitated.

"Come on, Chief, if some guy is accusing me of something, I have a right to know who he is."

"Some guy?"

"Well...
someone's
trying to pin something on me! Was it that guy she was with at the park? Her boyfriend?"

"I'm merely following up on some open questions, Mr. Norton."

Bullshit! We'll have to see about that.
"This is all crap, Chief. And what does any of it have to do with that kid who was killed? What was his name? Let's see... I read about it in the paper. Harper? Hopper?"

"His name was Alex Hooper."

"That's it! Hooper. Okay, so what does any of this crap about—What's her name? Diana?—what's she have to do with this Hooper kid? And what does any of it have to do with me?"

His jaw muscles were pumping on the sides of his head. "I'm here to obtain a few answers regarding your whereabouts on the days in question. If you'll help me out with that, we can move on."

"Whatever. I already told you, and I'm tired of this bullshit."

I showed the proper amount of indignation and impatience, making clear that this was too much to put up with for a voting, tax-paying, law-abiding citizen—well, two out of three weren't bad.

He must have gotten the picture; he apologized for the intrusion and the inconvenience, and then left. He'd found nothing, and unless I missed my guess, he weren't gonna be botherin' me no more.

That fuckin' Hooper was a different matter.

How in the world had he gotten onto me? How did he know I'd been the one, the same man, at the park
and
the bowling alley?

I needed time to think about this, but I mustn't be too hasty—didn't want to raise any more suspicion. I'd need to be especially careful and watchful from here on in.

A word from the Reaper would have been nice.

Where has he been?

Diana, my Diana, what would I do without you? I am but a drop of rain in the storm of your existence, yet I long to fill the oceans of your soul. I am but a wave upon the sea of your imagination, yet I long to roll gently upon your mind. I am but a footprint upon the beach of your desire, yet I long to walk forever in your heart. You are my living world, my paradise on Earth. Without you, I am but a glimmering mirage in the distant, endless desert.

~~~~~

Back in school Wednesday, I daydreamed and doodled my way through the hours. I hoped Diana would read my latest mind-burst at some point. I thought only of her.

Schoolwork was out.

I shouldn't let it go this close to graduation, or so I told myself. I didn't much give a damn—couldn't fight the guilt of being here while Diana was somewhere in the clutches of Norton... assuming she was still alive. My heart told me that if she were already dead, I'd have known it. Illogical, but it was my lifeline, kept me from drowning.

If Diana came through safely—she
must
come through this—surely the school would make allowances for her, given the circumstances, and permit her to make up the work she'd missed. One more reason for me to worry.

My few close friends had been a small comfort, approaching me to lend their moral support and offer assistance. Tom Coronado had offered to take up arms and help me "hunt down the bastard and shoot his fucking eyes out." I'd assured him that the police were making progress. I hoped that was an accurate statement.

Most of the kids looked at me strangely, unsure what to say, and therefore saying nothing at all. Everyone knew about Alex, and now they knew about Diana too.

Life in a small town.

The Dean, Mr. Kozlowski, who was also my Calculus teacher, called me into his office to "check on me." He wanted to ensure that I'd suffer no more lost time, given that I'd missed the two previous days, and three days last week during the ordeal with Alex.

I told him I'd do my best, but that a little more lost time was still a possibility.

He said he'd speak to my other teachers about it, and that they'd make accommodations, but that there was a limit. Currently third in the class, I'd finish between second and fifth, and he wanted me to finish my best, whatever the circumstances.

I thanked him and reassured him of my best efforts.

The seven-hour school day lasted about twelve days. Classes finally ended, and I kept my head down, avoided eye contact, and spoke to nobody as I walked to my car. I had neither the time nor patience to deal with more condolences.

I remained hopeful that the police would be onto Norton by now. I intended to stop in and see Chief Radlon on my way home. My boss had agreed to give me some time off from work, which I couldn't afford, but Frank had slipped me a hundred dollars last night without my asking or even hinting at it. That would keep my old Bonnie in gas. Good old Frank.

Just hang in there, Diana. Please, Sweetie, we'll be coming for you soon.

Cops zipped around the station in a frenzied state, wound tighter than usual. Kidnapping and murder occurred once every generation in Algonquin, if that. The chief was speaking with one man and one woman, who appeared official despite their plain clothes.

"Hello there, Mr. Hooper," the desk sergeant said.

"Hello, Sergeant Harker. Please, call me Tony."

"That will be fine, Tony. I suppose you're here to speak with the chief."

"Yes ma'am."

"If you don't mind having a seat and waiting, I'll let him know you're here. I know he'll want to speak with you, but he's a little busy dealing with those big shots from D.C."

"Washington, D.C.?"

"They're from Virginia, but close enough. Those are our
friends
from the FBI."

The way she emphasized the word
friends
, I got the distinct impression that if they'd asked her for the time, she'd have told them to go spit.

"What brings the FBI to little old Algonquin?"

"I'll let the chief handle that one. Why don't you have a seat for the time being?" She returned to her work, clearly signaling the end of the conversation.

The chief spotted me, gave me a nod, and held up his index finger as if to say,
one minute
. He was probably accustomed to a lot less activity around here, though he struck me as someone who knew his business. He was young for his position, perhaps in his early forties. I'd always thought a Chief of Police should be in his late fifties or early sixties, perhaps because TV always portrayed them that way.

The minutes dragged on and my anxiety grew exponentially.

The chief walked out of an office and marched in my direction. I glanced at my watch to see that I'd been waiting for....
Good heavens, it's only been ten minutes.

I stood as he approached.

"Hello, Tony, I wasn't expecting you today, was I? Or have I forgotten?" He shook his head, more to himself than to me. "That wouldn't surprise me at this point."

Remember, Tony, be careful not to let slip any secrets.
"No, sir, I didn't have an appointment or anything. Sorry about that. I can see you're busy, but I was wondering if there's been any progress with the investigation, especially about that guy in the van, Mitchell. I'm going crazy not knowing about Diana."

"Tony, I'm afraid I can't discuss an ongoing investigation. The only thing I can tell you, I suppose, is that we have no word of Diana yet. You'll have to be patient."

I was sick and damned tired of hearing that.

"Excuse me a moment, Tony."

He walked to a man in plain clothes, one of the FBI agents, who'd motioned him over. The agent held our high school yearbook and pointed at something inside, and then looked at me. The chief nodded and they exchanged a few words.

A minute later, Chief Radlon returned as the agent headed in the other direction. "Well, Tony, as long as you're here, we'd like to talk to you about a few things. Maybe you'll even learn a little more about what's going on. Please come with me."

He extended a hand and guided me down a hallway toward the back of the building, into a room with a small conference table and four chairs. A mirror covered much of one wall, with small speakers, possibly microphones, to the left and right.

My skin crawled a bit. I knew they'd considered me a suspect from the beginning of this mess.

He slid out a chair and motioned for me to sit, and headed back to the door. "I'll be right back, Tony. Would you like some coffee or a Pepsi?"

"Pepsi sounds good, thank you."

Five minutes later, he returned with the two FBI agents. Sergeant Harker came in with refreshments and immediately left again. The chief handed me a Pepsi and made introductions all around. Special Agent-in-Charge Arnie Jackson was black, fiftyish, balding and wearing glasses, thick but not fat, with a friendly smile and pronounced southern accent. Agent Linda Monroe was white, late twenties, with exceptional green eyes and a pleasant smile.

It was a good thing I hadn't yet tried to take down Norton. I'd planned to do something tonight, but things were definitely more complicated with the FBI here. Perhaps I'd hear, at any rate, that my efforts would be unnecessary. With the information I'd provided, they must have already latched onto Norton.

"Tony," the chief began, "let me start by saying that there's been more activity recently. Three more kids have gone missing: a boy named Dan Helton, another named Bobby Keller, and a girl named Jacque Fuller."

I knew Bobby and Jacque.

"In the case of the last two, they missed school on Monday, and there's no sign of Bobby's vehicle. Dan Helton was last seen leaving work on Sunday night, but his car remained abandoned in the parking lot where he works. That's what everyone knows at this point."

He paused and glanced at the FBI agents. Special Agent Jackson blinked in a kind of eye-nod, and the chief continued. "Since kidnappings and disappearances are the FBI's bailiwick, and since this case has grown considerably in scope, we've asked for their assistance. Before I turn it over to Special Agent Jackson, there's one more thing we need to do. Tony, because you're in a police station, and because an officer is questioning you regarding direct involvement in an open case, the law says I must advise you of your rights. Okay?"

"Okay." I tried not to let on, but this brought my nerves back into action.

He went on to explain my Miranda rights, remaining friendly and informal about it, though that did little to comfort me.

I sat through it and agreed to each part as he went along—about as enjoyable as having a tooth pulled. Despite my innocence, and the chief's nonchalant tone, my hands were sweating as if I'd just shot the president.

"Thanks for bearing with me through that, Tony. Now I'll turn it over to Special Agent Jackson."

"Thank you, Chief." He threaded his fingers together and placed his hands under his chin. "Tony, I'd like to walk through a couple things to get us started. First, do you know Dan Helton, eighteen years old, who works at the Eagle Foods of Crystal Lake?"

"No, I don't think so."

"How about Bobby Keller, seventeen, who goes to your high school?"

"Sure, I know Bobby, but not well. We were both on the basketball team, but I was varsity and he was JV—junior varsity. I didn't play with him much, just some practices, and I don't hang out with him away from the court."

"And Jacque Fuller, sixteen, also from your school?"

"Sure, she's Bobby's girlfriend, but I don't know her well."

"I see. Of course, your girlfriend, Diana, has been missing since Saturday night. That makes four missing persons in a short time, all kids, in a town where such matters are rare indeed. And your brother was killed the Saturday before, isn't that right?"

It still made my gut tremor every time I thought of it. "Yes."

"And you can think of no connection to this Dan Helton boy?"

"No sir."

"Is it possible that your girlfriend, Diana, knows any of those three other kids?"

I nodded. "Bobby and Jacque are in her grade, so I imagine she's had some classes with them and that she knows them a little better. As for the other guy, I doubt it."

"All right, let's talk about your whereabouts on Sunday night, and again on Monday night."

"Come on, are we going down this road again?"

"Which road is that, Mr. Hooper?"

All three of them watched me closely, as if waiting for some earth-shattering revelation.

"The road where everyone thinks I'm involved," I said too loudly. "Do you have any idea what Alex's death has done to me? Do have any idea how much I love Diana? I would have killed or died for Alex, given the opportunity, and I would do the same for Diana. I would never—
could
never—hurt them."

"That's most admirable, but you still haven't answered my original question. Where were you on Sunday and Monday nights?"

I sighed loudly. "I was home both nights. My dad can confirm that."

"And I understand you weren't in school Monday or Tuesday."

Not a question; it was more an accusation.

"My brother was buried Saturday afternoon, and then I found out Sunday that my girlfriend was missing. I was too upset to go to school. I spent most of those two days with Frank Willow. You can check that with him."

"Frank Willow?"

"He's an old man, kind of like a grandfather to us, who lives a short ways behind me."

"I see. We'll do that, and we'll check with your father as well."

"My dad doesn't know about me skipping school. Frank called in for me, playing my grandfather."

"Is that right?" Jackson looked at the chief, who tightened up his lips and subtly shook his head, as if to say,
Don't ask, I'll tell you later
.

"All right," Jackson said, "let's talk about this Mitchell character. Chief Radlon mentioned him briefly, but I believe we could all use an update. I think you should hear this too." He turned to the chief and nodded.

Chief Radlon sighed and returned the nod. "Right" he said, seeming none too happy about it. "First, his last name is Norton and he lives right here in Algonquin. I stopped by his house late this morning and spoke to him, and briefly to his mother. She appeared... I don't know... out of sorts. Mitchell remained steady throughout most of my questioning. He even offered—without my asking—to allow me to search the house. He was angry at the end, but that wouldn't be inconsistent with innocence."

He paused.

Across the table, both FBI agents zoomed in on me, as if waiting for me to react.

The chief continued. "I must admit, I found his offer unusual, but I took advantage of it and searched his home and the shed in his back yard. I wasn't as thorough as if I'd taken a team in there with a warrant, but I got a good look around. Despite Mr. Norton's odd behavior, and the fact that he became more resentful at the end, I found no evidence to suggest his involvement."