Authors: Faye Kellerman
She stared at him. “Your parents wouldn’t mind?”
“Actually, my parents are out of town.” He squirmed in his seat. “I’ll make some popcorn. Turn on the Monster Cable Station. It ain’t much, but at least you won’t have to worry about me feeding you sorry lines. I’m completely innocuous.”
Cindy waited a moment. “You’re gay?”
“Oh, no…” Again, he became scarlet. “No, that’s not what I meant at all. It’s just nice to talk to someone. That’s all.”
Cindy’s
brain went into overdrive.
What an opportunity. But what a dumb thing to do
. She shocked herself when she heard her lips utter, “Sure. Why not?”
The boy’s face lit up. “Great. You can follow me home.”
“Sure. But I’ve got to make a phone call first.”
“Make it from my house. I live a couple of blocks away.”
They both rose. Joachim left a twenty on the table. Cindy’s eyes went to the bill. “That’s a very generous tip.”
“I’ve got a good racket going.”
“Racket?”
“Uh…tutoring…thirty bucks an hour.” He grinned. “Sometimes it actually pays to be smart.”
She had a
strange feeling. But the .22 in her purse made Cindy feel bold. Reflecting upon the situation: A poor boy who could suddenly afford to leave a twenty on a six-dollar tab. A boy with a good racket? He said it was tutoring. But where did he
really
get his money?
Asking herself more questions. What did she hope to discover?
Information, she guessed. Some event that would link Joachim to the nefarious Sean Amos. Either that or an alibi that would prove his innocence. She thought about this as she followed him home.
He drove a ten-year-old Saab, did a series of quick turns, pulled into the driveway of a one-story wood-sided ranch house. A scrub lawn, a few bushes in front. She pulled her Camaro in back of his car. They both got out at the same time. He fiddled with his keys, opened the front door, allowing her to enter first.
“Thanks.”
She gave the room a quick once-over. Basic living-room furniture—a couch, a couple of easy chairs. Old gray carpeting. Wood shutters on the windows. Framed posters on the wall—Maxfield Parrish and Peter Maxx.
Joachim threw his jacket on the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Cindy asked, “Were your parents hippies?”
“Hippies?”
“The artwork.”
“Ah…” Joachim looked at the walls. “Actually, they’re sci-fi buffs, although they’re not averse to a good fantasy novel, either.” He paused. “Better taste in novels than in artwork.”
“Parrish is okay.”
“If you like kitsch. You can take off your jacket, you know.”
“I need to use the phone.”
“Oh…right.” Joachim pointed to the clear plastic phone on one of the sofa’s end tables. “Help yourself.”
Cindy picked up the phone. “Welcome to space age—”
“Actually, my father fitted it with this chip. You tell it the number and it’ll dial automatically.”
Cindy looked at him, at the phone. “I think I’ll pass. Why don’t you go nuke some popcorn? I suddenly have the munchies.”
“Sure. Be right back.”
She punched the numbers quickly, pressed two and pound. As soon as Sam picked up, she whispered, “I’m here, I’m fine, I’ll call in later.”
Sammy felt his heart go into his throat. “You can’t be serious—”
“I gotta go—”
Sammy whispered, “You’re insane. Get out of there
now
.”
In the background, Cindy heard Rina’s voice. “Sammy, get
off
the phone and go to bed now!”
Cindy said, “Looks like
you’ve
gotta go—”
“Cindy, get out of there—”
“Later.” She hung up, heart doing the steeplechase. This
was
insane. All this intrigue, and for what purpose? What did she think she’d find? She felt her handbag, felt instantly relieved when her fingers pressed hard steel.
Calming herself. What could possibly happen?
She regained her composure, found the kitchen. Popping sounds were coming from the microwave. He said, “You want anything else?”
Keep him occupied
.
“Got any veggies?” she said.
“I can cut some up if you want.”
“If it’s no problem.”
“It’s no problem.”
Cindy stalled. “How about some nachos?”
Joachim turned around. “You want a banquet hall for this, King Henry?”
“Look, if it’s too much work—”
“No.” Joachim turned serious. “No, I’ll rustle something up.”
“That would be great.”
“Anything else?”
“A Coke.”
“You want some wine? You’re over twenty-one.”
“A Coke is sufficient, Mr. Innocuous.”
He said, “I’m not trying to get you drunk. It was an earnest offer. My mom drinks wine all the time.”
“A Coke is fine. You spike it with a roofie, I’ll kill you—”
“Not a chance.” He went to the refrigerator, took out a can of Coke. Opened it and guzzled. Then offered it to Cindy. “I’m a card-carrying member of drug-free America.”
Cindy took the can. “You got a TV in your bedroom?”
He blushed instantly. “Yeah. Wanna watch in there?”
“Why not be comfortable?” Cindy said.
“Why not indeed?” Joachim whispered. But his tone was tight. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Cindy hesitated. “Are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah.” He saluted her with a carrot. “I’m fine.”
Hesitating a moment. Then she left the room, hooking her purse over her shoulder. As soon as she shut the door to his room, she threw the purse on his bed and went to work.
His lair resembled her stepbrothers’ bedroom. A huge desk upon which rested a computer, fax, phone, answering machine, something that looked like a digital sound board, other gadgets she couldn’t identify. A couple of movie
posters on the wall. Weird stuff…distorted images of faces and mouths.
She attacked the desk drawers first. Rummaging through them, looking for a gun, looking for phone bills, recent purchases, even a stash of heroin that could have been the junk used to murder David Garrison.
Anything
that might link him to Sean or Jeanine. She worked quickly and quietly.
And found nothing. Which was to be expected.
She opened the bedroom door, listened for a couple of seconds. He was still in the kitchen.
She tiptoed inside his closet, started going through the pockets of his jackets. A few receipts from bookstores, another from a computer store. She searched the upper shelf of the closet. Came up dry.
Next in line was the bedding—mattress and pillows. Looked under them, inside the covers. Gave them a few pushes. Nothing in there but foam. She dropped onto her stomach and looked under the bed. Nothing.
Then she heard his voice.
“What are you doing?”
On her knees, she peered over the mattress. He stared at her, holding a plate of veggies and another plate of nachos. She smiled benignly. “I dropped my earring—”
“You’re not wearing earrings.”
“Did I say earring?” Again, she smiled. “I meant my ring.”
His face darkened. He placed the food on top of his bed, licked his lips. She got to her feet. “You look upset. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Here’s your food.”
“Thanks.”
Again, she felt her heart beat. Made a move for her purse, but he got there first. Lifted her handbag in the air out of her reach and stuck his hand inside.
Pulled out her gun.
Cindy froze.
Fingers around the trigger. A two-handed grip as he sighted down the wall. Showing her he knew how to use
firearms. Then he lowered the barrel toward the ground, checked the safety clip. “Why are you carrying a twenty-two?”
“That’s my business.”
“With all due respect, I disagree.” His voice had become gelid. “You carry a gun into my house, it’s my business, too.”
Think of something!
Quietly Cindy said, “I went to school in New York. I got used to packing.”
“You could get arrested for this, you know. Carrying without a license.”
“Are you planning on calling the cops?”
He shrugged, hefted the firearm. “Not much weight to it.”
“It can do damage—”
“That it can.” He spoke more to himself than to her, examining the gun as he talked. “Bullets go in but don’t always come out. Especially when you’re talking about head shots, the ammo entering dense, solid bone like the cranium. Mostly…they bounce around, turning the brain to hamburger with each pass.”
Cindy said, “You’re making me nervous.”
Joachim looked at her as if he had suddenly become aware of her presence. He lowered the gun, stuffed it back into her purse, and threw the purse on the bed.
It took all of Cindy’s strength not to make a quick grab for her bag. But she managed to resist the urge.
Joachim said, “You like guns, let me show you some real weapons.”
He removed a movie poster. Behind it was a safe. A few quick spins of the dial and the door popped open. He pulled out a revolver.
“You want real protection, you should be carrying something like this. Know what it is?”
“A Smith and Wesson thirty-two caliber Saturday night special. Snub-nosed front. Easy to pack, easy to carry—”
“I’m impressed—”
“Put it away, Joachim—”
“My parents…” He cleared his throat, stared at the
gun. “Like I said, they’re
weird
people. They’re not white. supremacists, but they do subscribe to a certain…pioneer mentality. The each-man-for-himself kind of thing. Their idea of fun is playing survivalist. I spent many a summer in arid, isolated mountains, hundred-degree heat, munching on roadkill and squeezing water from cacti with cracked hands.”
“That’s awful.”
“Yeah, it was pretty bad. Still, I preferred the summers to the freezing winters in the Great Divide. While my classmates went skiing, I pitched a tent on snowpacked ground in twenty below.” He paused. “Oh, we had heat…little sterno things that prevented frostbite. But as far as being like…warm…or even just cold…”
His face was expressionless.
“I don’t know. Made me strong, I guess. Sure as hell made me a crack shot.” Joachim stared at the revolver. “One thing I like about these suckers…they never jam.” He put it back in the safe, then pulled out another weapon.
“Unlike this. Bet you know what this is.”
“A Beretta semi-automatic. Eleven rounds.”
His eyes locked with hers. “Preferred weapon of policemen…people like Peter Decker.”
Cindy felt her stomach drop. She said nothing.
“Suppose you’re wondering why I brought that up.”
“I’m a bit curious.”
Joachim said, “Our phones are hooked up to a central computer. Any one of our ten terminals can give me an instant list of outgoing calls made from this number. When you made your phone call, I checked it against the computer’s backward directory. I suppose you know what that is.”
“How’d you get hold of one?”
“Survivalists have their ways.” Joachim paused. “Of course, the directory only told me the name. Peter Decker. It didn’t tell me he was a cop. But I read papers, Cindy. Mass murders in this area aren’t everyday occurrences. Lieutenant Decker was quoted a lot. I’m a top-ranked
Scrabble player. Remembering words, even proper names, is something I do naturally.”
Cindy’s eyes traveled to her bag. Joachim caught it. “Go ahead. Pick up your purse. Pick up your gun. I won’t stop you.”
“You have a Beretta in your hands. That stops me.”
Joachim put the gun back in storage. Eyes boring into her face. He said, “You’ve been after me since the beginning of the tournament. From the moment you looked at me, I knew something was up. Because girls don’t look at me that way. Especially older…attractive girls who are college graduates. You think you were being subtle, but you weren’t. Still, I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Because I enjoyed talking to you—”
“Joachim—”
“Just save it, okay?”
Cindy became quiet.
The teen said, “You’re using a floppy bag purse. You hook it over your shoulder. I can’t quite make out the outline, but I can see it’s weighted down by something heavy and inflexible. That, combined with the phone call to Lieutenant Decker…I just knew it was a gun.”
He sat down on the bed, averted his eyes.
“You’re obviously a cop. What I can’t figure out is why you’re
spying
on me. This can’t be a police matter ’cause I haven’t done anything.” He stared at her. “Maybe you’re moonlighting. Did Krieg send you? Is he
paying
you to do this to me?”
Cindy tapped her foot while stalling for time. Trying to come up with something. “Paying me to do what, Joachim?”
“To
torture
me! Because I refused to take the SAT for him. Idiot doesn’t realize they have
proctors
checking out things. I should screw up my entire future to get the asshole into the Ivies?”
Think of something
quick,
you jerk!
She blurted out, “But you’ve taken the SAT for other people—”
“That’s an outright lie!” Joachim’s face had turned beet red. “Who
told
you that? Where are you getting your in
formation? I’ve never taken any standardized tests for anyone. Think I’m crazy?”
And then the lightbulb went on.
Sometimes it pays to be smart
.
His
racket
! Sam had told her about an envelope passed through the open window of his car. Cindy said, “How about for Sean Amos? You took the SAT for him—”
“Never—”
Cindy fired out, “But you’ve been writing essays for him, haven’t you? For him and Krieg and all the others. We know this for a fact, Joachim. So there’s no sense denying it!”
The boy had turned ashen. He whispered, “Who’s…
we
?”
Cindy balled her hands in fists, eyes glued on the boy’s face. She lied, “Joachim, I’ve been hired by your school to root out cheaters—”
“Oh, God!” Joachim moaned out.
“They’ve hired me to get to the bottom of all this deception. It’s been a black mark on the school—”
“I’m gonna be sick!” He beelined for the bathroom.
Cindy felt her own stomach rock. It was now obvious how Joachim had kept the rich boys off his back and earned bread. Money for tutoring, money for homework. And money for term papers and essays. The big question was…did he do other more heinous things for cash as well? Cindy wasn’t ready to write him off as completely innocent. Not just yet.
The boy came out a moment later, his complexion gray, eyes and nose leaking water. “Sorry about that.” He smiled weakly. “Not too good for a survivalist, huh?”
Cindy handed him a can of Coke. “Drink.”
“I’m not—”
“Drink!”
Joachim took a tiny sip. “Did the school hire you as part of a general crackdown? Or was this specifically against me—”
“Let me ask the questions.” Cindy tried to appear offi
cial. “If you hope to get out of this, I’d better have some cooperation—”
“Whatever you want.”
“Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me about Sean Amos.”
“What about him…specifically?”
“How long have you been doing his work?”
Joachim’s voice was a whisper. “Maybe four years ago.”