Authors: Donna Ball
“No,” he replied, “the judge never discussed his cases with the family. Besides, that
was twenty years ago. She was just a kid. What would she know? Maude might remember
something though,” he added. “Maybe I’ll give her a call tomorrow.”
Wyn reached across the table and snagged his pinky finger with her own. “You know,”
she reminded him gently, “it
was
twenty years ago. The person who put in the notification request is dead. I wonder
if…”
She let the sentence trail off and started to look away, but Buck held her gaze. “If
I’m making a bigger deal out of this than it needs to be. And if maybe the reason
I’m doing it is because of Raine?”
Wyn pulled her hand away. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Maybe.”
He was silent for a moment, his eyes clear and thoughtful. “I’ve thought about that.
If it had been anybody besides Judge Stockton, I might’ve let it go. Maybe I should
let it go.”
Wyn said, “But?”
He took another sip of coffee, glanced at his cup, and set it on the table. “But,”
he said simply, “my gut tells me that would be a big mistake.”
She looked at him for a time, saying nothing. Then she nodded once, slowly, and opened
the file again. “Okay,” she said. “So let’s start at the beginning.
9
:15 p.m., some guy bearing a striking resemblance to Berman robs the Cash-n-Carry
on Highway 11 of
two thousand
sixty-four dollars, in the process shooting one Gerald Sailor, night clerk, who later
died of his injuries. Witnesses claimed that in the
act
of making his escape, the perpetrator scraped his vehicle—a reddish-brown Chevy pickup
truck—against the pylon next to the pumps. No security tape, huh?”
Buck shook his head. “It was just a mom-and-pop place. Still is, I guess, but now
they have cameras at the pumps and behind the register. Too many people driving off
without paying, with the price of gas so high. I get a call two or three times a week.”
“Do you ever catch them?”
He shrugged. “If they’re local. If not, I turn it over to the state patrol. But I
guess the cameras are worth it for the small business owner now. Back then, not so
much.”
Wyn looked back down at the file. “T
wo
hours later, Berman is stopped for DUI with two thousand fourteen dollars in cash
in his glove box and a pistol matching the description of the one used in the robbery,
along with a receipt from the Cash-n-Carry. Too bad the machine didn’t time stamp
it. His vehicle, a primer-painted 1989 Chevy pickup, showed damage on the right front
fender with streaks of green or blue paint.” She glanced up at him. “So the only thing
I’m wondering is why a guy would pay for twenty dollars worth of gas, save the receipt,
and then rob the cash register at gunpoint.”
Buck frowned a little. “He was stoned. Who knows why they do the crazy things they
do?” But the way he said it made her think he’d asked the same question.
“Who was his lawyer?”
“Court appointed. Don Kramer.”
“Senior?”
“Junior. He would’ve been just starting out then. Naturally his old man would give
him all the grunt work.”
“Still, he must have done an interview.”
Buck’s lips tightened with a dry smile. “I need you back on the force.”
“You just let me know when you make up your mind.”
He reached for the folder with a small shake of his head. “Who am I kidding? I don’t
have time to go chasing down clues on a twenty-year-old crime. If there was anything
there to see, Roe would’ve seen it. And I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”
“What you’re looking for,” Wyn reminded him simply, “is answers. Why Judge Stockton
thought it was important to keep tabs on this guy for twenty years. Why he hasn’t
checked in with his parole officer in two weeks. What one thing has to do with the
other.”
“Which is probably nothing.” Buck picked up the check. “Come on, let’s get out of
here. Long drive home.”
“So,” Wyn said as they stood at the register and waited for the clerk to swipe Buck’s
credit card, “what’s the verdict?”
“About what?”
“You know about what. The one thing you haven’t brought up all night.”
He draped an arm around her shoulders as they walked out into the night. There were
only a handful of cars in the parking lot, scattered like islands in a misty sea of
mercury vapor lights. He said, “I talked to a guy in Asheville. He said they were
going to have some openings in the police department next month.”
She stopped walking and looked up at him. “You? Leave Hanover County?”
He said, “We talked about it. Maybe picking up and starting over some place new.”
“Yeah, but… I thought you meant Fiji or Belize or some deserted Pacific island somewhere.”
He laughed softly. “Yeah, well, baby steps. Your folks are up that way,” he added,
watching her, “and it would be good to work together again. That is, if you’d be interested…”
She bumped his arm gently with her shoulder. “Dope. I’m making twelve fifty an hour
walking patrol around the hospital parking lot and living in a furnished studio apartment.
Anything is a step up from that. But you’ve lived in Hansonville all your life. All
your friends are there. Everybody knows you… You’d win the election, you know. Who
would run against you? And more importantly, who would be better at the job?”
He replied simply, “I’ll never be another Roe Bleckley. Maybe it’s time I made my
own place in the world.”
He walked her to her car and waited while she unlocked the door. She had parked next
to a streetlight, its base protected by a florescent yellow concrete bumper. Buck
stared at the bumper, frowning a little. “Say, Wyn,” he said, “you’ve been to the
Cash-n-Carry, right?”
She glanced up at him as she slid into the driver’s seat of her car, her face illuminated
by the glow of the courtesy lights. “Sure. I stop there to fill up every time I leave
your place.”
“You remember what color the pylons are at the pumps?”
She was thoughtful for a minute. “I want to say yellow. Maybe that’s just because
most of them are. Safety yellow.”
“Yeah,” said Buck. “Most of them are. I wonder if there was ever a time when they
were painted green?”
“And if not,” said Wyn, catching on immediately, “how did green paint get on Berman’s
truck
?”
“And why didn’t his lawyer follow up on that?”
Wyn smiled at him, recognizing the signs of a mind that had already left her, worrying
at the knots of a tangled problem. “Let me know what you find out, okay?”
“Sure thing.” He bent to kiss her, but his tone was absent, his caress routine. “You
drive carefully now.”
She laughed as she put the car in gear. “You, too, officer.”
~*~
NINE
Nineteen hours before the shooting
M
iles and I had had issues before over my habit of forgetting to turn on my phone and
refusing to return texts when I was annoyed with him, and I had almost paid the price
for it last winter when Cisco and I had been stranded in a blizzard and one lucky
phone call had saved our lives. Since then he’d made me promise not to be out of touch,
which, given that my lifestyle occasionally—and through no fault of my own—had put
me in harm’s way, was not an unreasonable request. Because I always keep my promises,
even when I don’t want to, I texted Miles as soon as I returned to the room.
On my way to dinner. Turning off phone.
But before I could do that, the incoming message chime sounded.
Call me.
Going to bed early. Long day
.
How early?
Don’t be needy
.
The message came back with the speed of light:
Excuse me?
I turned off my phone and pretended I didn’t receive it.
I took a quick shower, changed into clean jeans and a tee shirt without a slogan on
it (which is dress-up in the world of dogs) and patted makeup over the red-blue bruise
across the bridge of my nose. I always travel with sheets from home to cover the hotel
furniture, and I spread one of them over the small sofa in the sitting area and another
across the bed, although Cisco really, really knew better than
to
get on the bed while I was away. I left him with a chew bone and the television tuned
to Animal Planet, along with a promise to bring him back a treat from dinner. When
dogs win blue ribbons, they get treats from dinner, no matter how many subsequent
courses they blow. That’s the rule.
The dining room smelled of fried chicken, broccoli, and steam tables and was already
beginning to fill up, even though it wasn’t quite six o’clock. Ginny and Aggie waved
to me from a big booth, and I’d barely gotten settled before Sarah joined us.
“You won’t believe what happened to me when I was taking Brinkley back in after our
walk,” she said. She was a red-haired woman with troubled brown eyes and a pale face
that now seemed a little drawn. “I opened the outside door with my key card, you know,
and it’s always a little awkward trying to get the dog in because the door swings
out.”
We all murmured agreement. It was hard to manage the key card, the leash, and the
heavy door without tripping or stepping on your dog’s toes while trying to edge inside
the door.
“Well, I was holding the door open with my shoulder and trying to get Brinkley untangled
from his leash when I noticed this guy jogging toward me. He yelled at me to hold
the door for him because he’d forgotten his key. Well, let me tell you, I lived in
New York City for twelve years and you
never
fall for that line. I pulled Brinkley in as fast as I could and let the door slam,
and when he reached it he actually pounded on the glass and cursed me like a sailor.
So you girls be careful.”
“Did you report it to the front desk?” I asked.
“I most certainly did. They even got someone from security down to take a description.
That’s why I was a little late.”
“Maybe somebody really did forget his key,” offered Ginny.
“Then he should have gone to the front desk and gotten another one,” returned Aggie.
“Sarah’s right. You never let somebody into the building with your key.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Well, I
know
that, Mother. I’m just saying, we don’t always have to think the worst.”
“And I’m just saying we all should walk our dogs in the courtyard tonight,” said Sarah.
I raised my water glass. “I’ll drink to that. I’ve had about all the drama I can take
today.”
At their questioning looks, I explained about how Bryte had gotten loose and Neil
had made such a scene with Marcie. Aggie, of course, had heard about the incident
but hadn’t realized I’d been the one to catch Bryte.
“Doesn’t surprise me a bit,” she confided. “That Neil always had a temper, especially
when it comes to his dogs. I wonder if she did it on purpose. Marcie, that is.”
“Well, it seems to have worked out okay.” I shrugged. “I saw Marcie with her boyfriend
this afternoon, and they had both dogs.”
Aggie looked at me alertly. “Her boyfriend?”
I groaned inwardly. I don’t mind listening to gossip now and then, but I really
hate
to instigate it. I tried for a quick change of subject. “I think I saw prime rib
on the buffet, and I promised Cisco I’d bring him back a treat. Does anyone want to
check it out with me?”
Sarah took me up on it immediately. “Congratulations on your win!” she said as we
slid out of the squeaky vinyl seat. “I can’t believe Brinkley almost ruined your run.
Next time I’ll make sure we’re on the other side of the fairgrounds.”
We laughed about the incident, and the conversation was successfully diverted to our
individual runs as we all went to survey the buffet. We relived our triumphs and our
training trials all through dinner and didn’t think about Marcie again until she actually
walked into the dining room.
She’d changed from her muddy shorts into jeans, but she still wore my sweatshirt.
Her eyes looked puffy and her face looked shadowed, and I hesitated about waving to
her, particularly considering the way she’d snubbed me earlier. Aggie, however, had
no such reservations.
“Marcie,” she called, waving her over. I remembered they were both members of the
sponsoring agility club. “Come sit with us.”
Marcie had a trapped expression on her face as she hesitated, glancing at the exit,
but in the end she really had no choice but to come over and join us. I scooted over
to make room for her.
“Hi,” she said. She smiled, but her eyes looked haunted. The incident with Neil that
afternoon must have upset her more than she’d indicated at the time. “I didn’t know
I’d see you here, or I would’ve returned your sweatshirt.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I assured her. “I’ll be at the site tomorrow.”