The Witness (52 page)

“A kennel isn’t a jail.” Now she had two sets of hazel eyes staring at her. “He did enjoy being over there this afternoon, but it seems like a lot to ask of your parents.”

“They’ll love it. Plus, that’s what family does. Get used to it. Go on and check out the hotel. I’ll give her a call.”

“All right.”

Brooks pulled out his cell phone as Abigail left the kitchen. “You owe me,” he said to Bert.

E
VERYTHING IN PLACE
, Abigail told herself. She stood in her safe room, carefully selecting what she’d need to take this next step.

She booked the hotel rooms under two different names, at two different times, from two different computers. Brooks would check in as Lucas Boman—the name of his first Little League coach. She’d create his ID the next day. Hers, which she’d give Anson to pass to the feds once she and Brooks were checked in, set up, would be Catherine Kingston, an ID she already had in her supply. She considered her collection of wigs, her supply of hair color.

“Going as a redhead?” Brooks commented, when she lifted a short, straight bob in golden red.

“My natural color tends toward auburn. I don’t have a wig that matches my natural color.”

“Hold on.” Head angled, he studied her. “You’re a redhead?”

“Brown’s more accurate, but with reddish tones.”

“Just want to mention I’ve seen the other area on you, and it’s not brown with reddish tones.”

“It would be, but I’m thorough when I change appearance.”

“Interesting. Really interesting. Maybe you should’ve aimed for the CIA.”

“It didn’t capture my interest. I think they’ll expect me to alter my appearance somewhat for the meeting. This should be just enough, along with some slight changes with makeup, and some padding. Larger breasts.”

“You can hardly ever go wrong with larger breasts.”

“I believe my natural breasts are more than adequate.”

“Let’s see.” He cupped them, considered. “More than.”

“Obsession with breast size is as foolish as obsession with penis size.”

“I believe my natural penis is more than adequate.”

She laughed, turned toward the mirror.

“I guess you’re not going to check to make sure.”

“Perhaps later.”

She put the wig on with such quick, skillful moves he knew she’d worn one often. “It’s a change.”

He preferred her longer hair, he thought, and the less studied style.

“Yes. I can work with this. I’ll need to buy one closer to my natural color, a longer length I can style in several ways. I’ll want to look like the photos they’d have of Elizabeth, even though they’re dated. I can use contacts, change my eye color—just the tone of it—subtly. Fuller hips, larger breasts. A few shades deeper in skin tone with some self-tanner. Yes, I can work with this,” she repeated.

She took the wig off, replaced it on its stand. “Operatives in the CIA have to lie and deceive. It’s necessary, I imagine, for the tasks they perform. I’ve done a lot of lying and deceiving for the last twelve years. I’d like to have a life where lying and deception aren’t part of my every day. I can’t put all the lies away, but …”

She turned to him. “I’ll have one person who knows the truth, who knows everything, whom I’ll never lie to. That’s a gift. You’re a gift.”

“I’ve got one person who believes in me enough to tell me the truth, to trust me with everything. That’s a gift, too.”

“Then we’re both very lucky.” She crossed to him, took his hand. “I think we should go to bed. I need to run a few tests to verify your penis is adequate.”

“Lucky for both of us I’ve always tested well.”

H
IS CELL PHONE RANG
at a quarter to two in the morning. Brooks did a half-roll to the side of the bed as he reached for it.

“Chief Gleason.”

“Hey there, Brooks, it’s Lindy.”

“What’s the problem, Lindy?”

“Well, that’s what I need to talk about. I got Tybal here with me.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah, it’s some shit, but not the kind you’re thinking. You’re going to want to hear what Ty has to say.”

Brooks shoved himself up to sit. “Where are you?”

“Right now, we’re in my truck about a half-mile from the Lowery place. Since your car isn’t in town, I figured you’re there.”

“That’s like police work, Lindy. Why don’t I meet both of you at your place?”

“Rather not do that under the shit we’re talking about. It’s going to be best if we come on over there, talk this out in private. People tend to see things in town, even at an hour like this. Maybe especially.”

“That’s a point. Hold on.” He put his hand over the phone. “I’ve got Lindy—from the diner?”

“Yes, I know who he is.”

“He’s telling me he’s with Tybal Crew, and they need to talk to me in private.”

“Here?”

“If it wasn’t important, and didn’t need to be private, Lindy wouldn’t be calling me at two in the morning.”

“I’ll get dressed.”

“I’ll keep them downstairs, out of your way.”

“I think if someone needs to come here at this hour to talk to you, I should hear what they have to say.”

“All right, then.” He put the phone back to his ear. “Is Ty sober?”

“He is now, or near enough.”

“Come on ahead.”

Shoving one hand through his hair, Brooks set the phone aside. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Even days ago, I wouldn’t have let anyone come here like this. But I don’t feel nervous, not really. I feel more curious. Should I make coffee?”

“It wouldn’t hurt my feelings.”

It pleased her to do it, to think that in her future with Brooks, late-night calls, making coffee for people in trouble, would be part of the routine.

She hoped she’d make a good cop’s wife.

Still, she was just as pleased to know that Bert, with orders to relax, lay in the corner of the kitchen. And she also took the precaution of turning her computer monitors to screen savers.

She wasn’t quite sure how to address two men who visited in the middle of the night, but when she took coffee out to the living room, Brooks let them in the front door.

And Lindy, long gray braid dangling down the back of a faded Grateful Dead T-shirt, led the way.

“Ma’am.” He bobbed his head. “I sure do apologize for disturbing you this time of night.” Then slapped a backfist into Tybal’s gut.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tybal responded. “Sorry to put you out.”

“I’m sure you have good reasons.”

“Damn well better,” Brooks muttered. “Jesus, Ty, you’re sweating Rebel Yell.”

“I’m sorry about that.” The tips of his ears went pink as he dipped his head. “There’s extenuating circumstances. I got my sixty-day chip, and now I gotta start over.”

“Everybody takes a slide, Ty,” Lindy told him. “Your first day starts now.”

“I’ve been going to meetings.” Ty shuffled his feet and looked to Abigail like a scruffy, shamefaced bear. “Lindy’s my sponsor. I called him. I know how I shoulda called him before I took the drink, but I called him.”

“Okay. Okay, sit down, the pair of you,” Brooks ordered. “And tell me what the hell you’re doing here at two in the damn morning.”

“The thing about it is, Brooks, I’m supposed to kill you.” Ty wrung his ham-sized hands. “I ain’t gonna.”

“I’m relieved to hear it. Sit the hell down.”

“I didn’t know what to do.” Ty sat on the couch, hung his head. “Once I started thinking past the whiskey, I still didn’t know. So I called Lindy, and he got me sobered up some, talked it all through with me. And he said how we needed to come tell you. Maybe Lindy could tell you some. I don’t know how to start.”

“Drink some coffee, Ty, and I’ll get it rolling for you. Seems like Lincoln Blake’s wife left him.”

“When?” Brooks frowned as he picked up his own coffee. “I just saw her this morning.”

“At the church, yeah. I heard about that, expect most everybody has by now. That’s what did it, to my way of thinking. What I hear is after they got home, she just packed up a couple suitcases and walked out. Ms. Harris’s granddaughter Carly was out and about, saw her putting the suitcases in the car and asked if she was going on a trip. Ms. Blake says, just as calm as you please, how she’s leaving her husband and never coming back. Just got into the car and drove off. Seems like he holed up in his study the rest of the day.”

“That can’t have set well,” Brooks commented. “Blake’s pride already took a hard hit this morning.”

“Earned it, didn’t he? Anyways, Birdie Spitzer does some for them, and isn’t one for gossip, be why she’s hung on to the job, you ask me. She told me herself. I guess this was too juicy a grape not to squeeze some. Said there was some hollering, but there’s some hollering per usual in that house, from him, anyhow. Then the missus left, and he shut himself up. Birdie knocked on the door sometime later, to see if he wanted his supper, and he yelled out for her to get the hell out of his house and not come back.”

“Blake fired Birdie?” Surprised, Brooks raised his eyebrows. “She’s worked in that house for twenty years.”

“Twenty-four, she says, come August. Guess that’s another reason she carried the tale to the diner. She doesn’t know if she’s got a job or not, doesn’t know as she wants it, should he expect her back, even so.”

“Now he’s alone,” Abigail said quietly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t interrupt.”

“That’s all right, and you got the truth of it. He’s alone in that big house with his son in a cell and his wife gone. Speculating, I’d say he sat and brooded some on that, and came to the conclusion the reason for his situation rested right here on Brooks.”

“That’s an inaccurate conclusion based on faulty criteria,” she began. “Mr. Blake’s conclusion, I mean, not yours.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lindy grinned. “That’s a pretty way of saying he’s full of shit, if you don’t mind plain speaking.”

“No, I don’t. Yes, he’s full of shit.”

Brooks took a sip of coffee, shifted his attention to Ty. “How much did he pay you to kill me, Ty?”

“Oh, well, God,” Abigail managed, and surged to her feet.

“Relax, honey, Ty isn’t going to hurt anybody. Are you, Ty?”

“No, sir. No, ma’am. I come to tell you. Lindy said that was best, so here I am.”

“Tell me what happened with Blake.”

“Okay. See, he called me out there, to the house. I ain’t never been in there, and it’s sure something. Like out of a movie. I thought maybe he had some work for me, and I could sure use it. He had me come right into that study of his, and sit right down in this big leather chair. Offered me a drink. I said no, thanks. But he just poured it, set it there beside me. My brand, too. I got a weakness, Brooks.”

“I know it.”

“But I haven’t had one drop since you arrested me, God’s truth, not till tonight. I was kinda nervous, sitting there in that fancy house. He
kept saying how one drink wouldn’t hurt me. I was a man, wasn’t I? I didn’t take it.”

“All right, Ty.”

“But he kept saying it, and saying how he had some work, but he didn’t hire pussies, and what was that word I told you, Lindy?”

“Eunuchs. Fucker—sorry, more plain speaking.”

“I agree with your opinion,” Abigail told him, then looked at Ty. “He tied your weakness to your manhood, and tied both to your desire for work. It was cruel and manipulative.”

“It made me mad, but it felt true when he said it. How you tried to make me feel less of a man, Brooks, and how you humiliated me, and castrated—he said you’d castrated me, and it made me feel bad. Mad, too. And that glass of Rebel Yell was right there. I only meant to have the one, just to prove I could. But I had another, and I guess another after that.”

Ty’s eyes filled, and when he lowered his head, his shoulders shook.

Abigail rose, left the room.

“I just kept drinking, ’cause the glass was right there, and it never seemed empty. I’m an alcoholic, and I know I can’t have one drink and not take another.”

Carrying a tray of cookies, Abigail came back in. She set the plate on the table.

As he watched her take one, pass it to a teary Tybal, Brooks thought he loved her more than breath.

“He was cruel to you,” she said. “He should be ashamed of what he did to you.”

“I kept drinking, and getting mad. He kept talking about what Brooks’d done, making me look weak and gutless in front of my own wife, how he was trying to run this town into the ground. Look how Brooks’d framed his son. Something had to be done about it.

“He kept talking, and I kept drinking. He said what was needed was somebody with guts and balls. He asked if I had guts, if I had
balls. Goddamn right I do, that’s what I said. Maybe I’d just go kick your ass, Brooks.”

Ty shook his head, hung it again. “I’ve been going to meetings, and I’ve been going to group. I’m getting to understand when I’ve been drinking I just want to go beat hell out of something. I hurt Missy ’cause of it. And between what he said and the drink, I was wound up good and proper. It seemed like a good thing when he said how ass kicking wasn’t enough. It had to be permanent. You’d killed my manhood, that’s what you’d done. The only way to get it back was to kill you. Since he’d be grateful, he’d give me five thousand dollars. Like a reward, he said. He gave me half of it there and then.”

“He gave you money?” Brooks asked him.

“I took it, too. I’m ashamed to say, it was cash money and I took it. But I didn’t keep it. Lindy’s got it. What he said—Mr. Blake said—to do was go on home, get my gun. How I oughta wait till after dark, sit on out here, on the road. Then I oughta call you up, tell you there was trouble. And when you drove out, I’d just shoot you. I went home to get my gun. Missy wasn’t there, as she’s over to her sister’s. I got my rifle, loaded it up, too, and I started thinking why the hell wasn’t Missy home. Started thinking she’d earned herself a couple good smacks. I don’t know how to explain, but I heard myself thinking those things, and it made me sick. It made me scared. I called Lindy, and he came over.”

“You did the right thing, Ty.”

“No, I didn’t. I took the drink. I took the money.”

“And you called Lindy.”

“You have an illness, Mr. Crew,” Abigail said. “He exploited your illness, used it against you.”

“Lindy said the same, thank you, ma’am. I’m ashamed to tell Missy. She’s still some pissed at you, Brooks, but she’s glad I’m not drinking. Things are better with us, and she knows it. She’ll be more pissed if you put me in jail. Lindy said you wouldn’t.”