The Innocent: The New Ryan Lock Novel (9 page)

‘Ask your mother.’

He hauled open the front door and went to his car. He grabbed the driver’s door handle before he clicked off the alarm. It began to squall loudly. He jabbed at the button, and finally managed to stop the damn thing. Kim was at the front door, still in her robe. ‘Malik, where are you going?’

He ignored her, got in, slammed the door and reversed fast out of the driveway. As he put the car into drive and hit the gas, he saw the old lady who lived next door, Mrs Henshall, staring at him from a gap in her drapes.

‘The hell with you too,’ he muttered.

Malik turned the Dodge pick-up onto Wolf Road and pulled into the stadium parking lot. It was still before six in the morning. There was a low mist on the ground, and a damp chill in the air. He was still wearing the clothes he’d put on yesterday morning, and he had yet to sleep. He was facing an impossible choice. He had to do something, but he wasn’t sure what. He was hoping the court, a hoop and a basketball could give him an answer, as it had done before.

The janitor, an elderly guy who had worked the job forever, had just opened the place up. He greeted Malik with a grunt as he pushed through the side door, then went back to his coffee and newspaper. Malik thought of asking him about Becker, how often he’d seen him here, but decided against it.

He grabbed a couple of balls from a rack, and headed out onto the court. He stood at the free throw line and bounced the ball three times. He took his shot. It sailed in a perfect arc. He closed his eyes as it whooshed though the net. He retrieved the ball, and did it again, finding a rhythm, losing himself in the simple series of actions.

Slowly, his mind cleared. He tried to put some distance between himself and the events of the past few days. He did his best to imagine what advice he would give someone who came to him and told him what he had told Kim.

A door at the other end of the court creaked open. Malik didn’t look around. He assumed it was the janitor doing his rounds. He heard footsteps. He took his next shot. It hit the back board and bounced off the rim. As he went to get the ball, he saw the fair-haired security guard from Becker’s place, standing on the half court line.

Malik’s eyes went to the gun holstered at the man’s right side. The guy smiled at him. Fuck you, thought Malik, and turned away. Let him shoot me in the back if he wants, he thought. He’d always joked that he wanted to die on a basketball court.

He concentrated hard, lined up his throw. This time he made it. A perfect throw from three-point land. He picked up the ball and only then did he turn back to the guard.

Malik didn’t use bad language. He fined players who cussed. But this situation took him back to his old life as a kid.

‘What the hell you want?’ he said, throwing the ball hard toward the guy.

He caught it. As long as he held it with both hands, he couldn’t go for his gun. Malik advanced on him. ‘I asked you a question.’

‘I’m not here to give you a hard time, Coach Shaw,’ he said.

‘That so?’ said Malik.

‘The boy’s not going to say anything,’ he said, ‘because there’s nothing to say. You got the wrong idea. That’s all.’

Malik was up close and in his face. ‘Lots of people telling me that.’

‘Then maybe they have a point. Look, Coach, you have a sweet deal here.’ The guy looked around. ‘Big fish in a small pond. Plenty of cash. Security. Nice place to raise a family. You got two kids, right?’

‘Leave my family out of this.’

As soon as Malik said it, he knew he had made a mistake. Something registered on the other’s face. He smirked, like he’d been probing for a chink in Malik’s armor and had just located it.

‘You keep pushing, and someone’s going to get hurt, Coach. Take my advice. Forget about Jack Barnes and Mr Becker.’

Malik’s hand shot up and grabbed the guy’s throat. Malik had a strong grip and long fingers. He started to squeeze. ‘Listen to me, motherfucker. This here, this court, this is my turf. You don’t tell me what to do.’

The guard stared at him. He wasn’t as certain as he’d been a few seconds before. Cutting off someone’s oxygen would do that.

‘You get me?’ Malik said.

He relaxed his grip enough that the guy could speak. ‘I get you.’

Malik let go. The man coughed and rubbed at his throat. He stepped back. ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned, Coach.’

‘I got my press conference in the morning. How about we let the good citizens decide if there’s anything that should concern them about what I saw? How about that, huh?’

The guy’s eyes widened a fraction.

‘Oh, I got your attention now, do I?’ said Malik.

‘Don’t say you weren’t warned,’ the security guard said. He turned and walked back to the doors.

The man behind the counter greeted Malik with a grin. ‘Hey, Coach, didn’t know you were much of a hunting man.’ Malik’s gaze wandered around the firearms section of the sporting-goods store on Harrisburg’s main street. He had already checked the appropriate laws. To buy a handgun, which was what he wanted, he’d need to apply for a permit. That would take a little time, and he’d have to go through the cops, which he didn’t want. But there was nothing to stop him buying a shotgun and taking it home today.

Malik glanced back at the guy behind the counter. He’d always hated guns. He’d seen, up close, too many times what they could do to human beings. ‘Figured I’d try to blend in around here.’

The guy chuckled. ‘Good enough. So, what you looking for?’

‘Something for home security,’ said Malik. He caught the look in the guy’s eyes. ‘I was thinking maybe a shotgun. Pump-action.’

‘Good choice. Nothing cools someone trying to break in like the sound of one of those. Here.’ He grabbed a shotgun from the wall behind him. ‘See how this feels.’

A little later Malik walked out of the store with the gun, and enough ammunition to hold a small siege. He placed it all in the trunk of his car. He’d thought that owning the gun would make him feel better. It didn’t. If anything it left him more unsettled.
How the hell had he got from a man who hated guns to a guy who was loading up on ammo?

On the drive home, his cell phone rang. It was Kim. When he answered, she didn’t say anything. ‘We should stay,’ he said.

He heard something approaching a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘But I can’t let this — this thing with the boy go. I just can’t.’

‘I don’t understand.’

He told her what he planned to say at the press conference. ‘At least then it’ll be out in the open. I won’t mention names. The media will do the rest.’

‘That’s as good as quitting.’

‘They can fire me, but I won’t quit.’

He heard his wife sigh again, a familiar sound to a man who’d been married as long as he had. ‘It’s the same thing,’ she said.

‘Maybe it is. But I have to do what’s right.’

‘You’re tired. Listen, why don’t you take some more time to think this through? If you want to do it, I’ll stand by you. But this isn’t something you should rush into, Malik.’ There was a pause. ‘And what are you even going to say?’

Malik could feel himself starting to get angry. ‘Not you too, Kim. If there was nothing going on with that kid and Becker, why is everyone so desperate to shut me up? I even had some private security guy of his try to scare me off earlier.’

‘Wait. What?’

‘I went to shoot some hoops. He showed up and tried to warn me off.’

There was a worrying silence. ‘What did he look like?’

‘Why?’ said Malik, pressing down on the gas pedal.

‘Just tell me what he looked like.’

The way she said it really had him worried now. ‘Kim?’

‘Just tell me!’ she snapped.

‘Uh, about six feet even. White. Blue eyes. Fair hair. Collar-length, kinda scruffy. Now why are you asking?’

‘Because there was someone who looked just like that here about a half-hour ago.’

A car pulled out in front of Malik. He braked and swerved hard to avoid it as it blared its horn. He pressed down harder on the gas pedal, desperate to get home, the shotgun in the trunk feeling more like a good decision with every second that passed.

‘What did he want?’ he asked his wife.

‘Just asked if you were home. He was real casual. Friendly. Asked about me and the kids. I assumed you knew him.’

‘Never seen him until last night. Listen, I’m five minutes away. Don’t answer the door. Not to anyone. He comes back, call nine-one-one.’

Six minutes later, Malik roared into the driveway. Kim’s car was there. He got out, ignored the elderly neighbor’s curtain twitching — let her look — and popped the trunk. He grabbed the shotgun, with a couple of boxes of shells, and headed to the front door. He unlocked it, and walked into the hallway.

Kim came out of the kitchen carrying a red mug. She froze and let out a shriek when she saw the gun, coffee sloshing over the side of the mug. She stopped, patting her chest with one hand. ‘I’m sorry. I saw the gun before I realized it was you and …’

He’d expected her to go crazy at his having brought a firearm into their home. She hated them too — she hadn’t even let Landon play with toy guns when he’d been small.

‘Dad?’

Katy was standing at the top of the stairs. She was still in her pajamas, with a robe over them.

‘She wasn’t feeling well so I let her skip camp,’ Kim told him.

‘Why do you have a gun?’ Katy asked.

Malik had been planning to have this talk at dinner, once he’d had a shower and a few hours’ sleep. When his head was clear.

‘We’re gonna talk about that later, sweetie. Okay?’

Her frown said it was far from okay.

Kim was wearing the same expression as she said quietly, ‘We should have talked about this first.’

Malik held up his hand. ‘Not now, Kim.’

It was a stupid gesture to make under the circumstances. Kim did not respond well to being blown off, or being told what to do. She never had. She was a strong woman who didn’t tolerate crap, which was partly why Malik had fallen for her.

Her hands went to her hips, as sure a sign of danger as a cobra rearing. ‘Katy, go to your room.’

‘But I—’

‘Now!’

Katy retreated. The slam of her bedroom door registered her protest at her parents excluding her.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you off like that,’ Malik said.

‘So why do you have a gun?’ she asked.

‘It’s a precaution, Kim. That’s all.’

‘You know I won’t have one in my house. What if Landon decides to start messing around with it?’

‘He won’t. I’ll speak to them both. Get a gun safe, or a lock, or something.’

She took a step back. ‘So you’re going to go through with it? At the press conference.’

He felt despair fold over him. Of all people, he was hoping that Kim would understand. He couldn’t pretend that none of this had happened. He just couldn’t. It would go against everything he believed in, and would be a betrayal of everything he had taught his players and the young people he came into contact with every day.

Tell the truth. Stand up for what you believe in. Set an example to others by standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves.
He had always told himself they weren’t just words. But if he stayed silent, that was exactly what they would be.

‘Yes,’ he said to his wife. ‘I’m going to go through with it.’

Eleanor Henshall was woken by Flint scratching about on her front lawn. It was early, a little after six. Like a lot of retirees, she was cursed by early waking. She was usually alert by five thirty. She had just made coffee and wandered into her living room when she saw the dog through the window. She walked into her hallway, opened the front door and looked around for Mr Shaw or one of the kids. The Shaws never let the dog roam freely. Although it was a quiet street, there was still too much traffic and the dog had no road sense.

In her robe and slippers, Eleanor stepped out and called Flint to her. Like most golden retrievers it was usually very friendly. She had always thought of them as the canine equivalent of dolphins. This morning was the exception. The dog hunched its shoulders, lowered its head and let out a low growl.

Eleanor went inside, closed the door, grabbed her phone from the cradle and rang the Shaw home. It diverted to voicemail. She debated calling the local police but felt ridiculous. What was she going to tell them? That the neighbor’s dog was outside, acting strangely?

She went into her bedroom, dressed quickly and went back outside. The dog was gone. She walked toward her neighbors’ house. Surely there would be some rational explanation.

Eleanor had already been a fixture by the time Malik and his family had moved in. They had been good neighbors, kind, polite and helpful, without being over-friendly. Kim, the wife, always invited her over during the holidays, if she wasn’t visiting her daughter in North Carolina, and Malik mowed her lawn, or sent his son, Landon, to do the job. The daughter, Katy, was a darling, always smiling, just the sweetest girl.

To Eleanor, they were the picture-perfect American family. That said, over the past few days she had noticed Malik was a little bit off. Where he would always give her a wave or offer her a ride if he passed her in his car, there had been a couple of occasions recently when he had driven straight past her without even a wave. She had also heard at least one loud argument between him and Kim. It had ended with Kim slamming out of the house, getting into the little sports car Malik had bought her for her last birthday, and speeding away. Eleanor had dismissed it all. Every family had its rough patches.

As she approached the front of the Shaws’ house, nothing seemed out of place. She rang the bell and waited, starting to feel foolish. The dog had probably slipped out of the backyard and back in by now. She doubted they were even awake. She waited a full minute. No one came. She couldn’t see if the family’s cars were in the double garage because the doors were closed.

She rang the bell one more time. This time she held it for a few seconds longer. Still no one appeared. She stepped back onto the lawn and looked up. The blinds were still closed. She looked to her right. The side gate was open. That explained the dog’s escape.