Lancaster opened the bag, pulled out a wad of newspaper cut to seem like bills. He dumped the whole bag onto the floor of the pickup at his feet. It was all newspaper.
“Oh, no,” Lancaster said. “We were almost killed. Almost shot for shredded newspaper. I can’t believe I let you two talk me into this.”
Jenks wasn’t listening. He was already trying to figure what his next move would be.
“Cheer up.” DelPrego grinned big at Lancaster. “If it makes you feel any better, you can have my share.”
Moses Duncan unbuttoned his jacket with trembling hands. His ribs blazed. He felt warm and wet under his shirt. He peeled the jacket off, explored his side with tentative fingers. It stung. He wiped the blood away, made himself look.
One of the shotgun pellets had only scraped him, a deep gash, plenty of blood.
Nervous laughter spilled out of him. He thought the shotgun had ended him, the hot stab of pain when the guy in the truck had squeezed one off. He ripped off his T-shirt, bunched it against the wound.
He looked outside, saw Big John flat on his back.
“Hell.”
He took two halting steps toward the house, saw the shattered glass of the front window. He tried to shout “Eddie” but it came out hoarse and choked. He was shivering now, breath coming in short, aching gasps. He gathered his voice. “Eddie!”
Nothing.
twenty
Deke Stubbs sat across from the bored police sergeant, trying not to look as impatient as he felt. The sergeant was on the phone and didn’t seem in any kind of hurry to get back to the P.I.
Stubbs craned his neck, looked around the station. It was a pretty rinky-dink, tinstar operation. They probably handled minor crime, drunk college kids, traffic tickets, the usual. The sergeant wore his khaki shirt with the top two buttons open. A big straw hat pushed back on his head, and a police revolver slung low on his hip like a gunfighter’s. He probably had a lasso in his pickup.
Stubbs didn’t think he was going to get much from the local law, but he thought he might as well work the case by the numbers. The Walshes had called the cops when they hadn’t heard from their daughter in four days. According to Eileen Walsh the cops were “impotent yahoos.” Probably true. In any case, he was obligated to stop in and see if there’d been any developments.
The sergeant hung up the phone. His eyes focused on Stubbs again, and he frowned. “Oh, yeah. Now what can we do you for, Mr. Stunk?” His voice had a deep twang.
“It’s Stubbs.” He stuck a cigarette between his lips. “I told you already, Sarge. I’m following up on a missing college kid. Annie Walsh. Her parents called you and made a report.”
“Don’t light that. No smoking in county buildings.”
Stubbs stuck the cigarette behind his ear. He looked at the cop’s name tag. “Listen, Sergeant Hightower, maybe this is a bother for you, but the parents are really worried. How about you just check the files?”
Hightower nodded, smacked his teeth, and ran a thumb over the stubble on his chin. “Well, let me tell you something, Stubbs. Better yet, let me
“That’s just this last eighteen months or so,” Hightower said. “All parents who’ve called about missing kids. Nearly four hundred on file. Half these parents phone all panicked if the kids miss responding to one e-mail. And the kids, hell, they get a taste of freedom and that’s all she wrote. You think they always tell their folks when they run off with a boyfriend or a girlfriend or join some cult or even just load up a van full of beer with some fraternity buddies and head to Mexico? Shit no. Most of them turn up a week or a month later and can’t believe anybody was looking for them. And one more thing. Once the little spoiled brats leave the county, it ain’t
“What about the ones dead or kidnapped?”
Hightower sighed. “It happens, but not often and not recently.”
“Annie Walsh has been missing two weeks.”
“Hell, she could be in Colorado skiing.”
“Or she could be dead.”
“True enough,” Hightower said. “But until we get a body or some other kind of evidence it just ain’t a priority.”
Stubbs grinned and stood. “Thanks, Sarge. It’s cops like you that keep guys like me in business.”
Hightower frowned, watched the private investigator shake his head as he left the police station.
Stubbs drove in ever-widening circles around the little college town. He wasn’t sight-seeing or getting the lay of the land although maybe that was a good idea. He simply thought better while driving. He hung one arm out the open window of the Dodge, let the cold blast him sharp in the face. It felt good.
He wasn’t thinking about how to go about his investigation. That was no problem. He just needed to find a thread, some kind of trail, then he’d keep following it until it led to Annie Walsh. Someone had seen or talked to the girl. Stubbs just needed to find out who.
How far could he string the Walshes along? Stubbs got paid by the day, and this wouldn’t be the first time he took a more or less straightforward case and stretched it out like he was searching for the Lindbergh baby. He figured he could feed the Walshes little tidbits of information every two or three days, who he’d interviewed, where he’d been. From their end it would look like he was doing a lot of work.
Okay, so what was the first stop? He checked his notepad, read the address for Annie’s apartment. Maybe the roommate would be home. A good place to start.
The girl was a stick figure, sickly pale, glasses thick. Lips fat and dark red. She looked at Stubbs through the door crack and over the chain. “Yeah?”
“I’m Deke Stubbs. Sorry to bother you. I’m a private investigator. Annie’s parents hired me to look for her. Can we talk?”
She unchained the door and opened it a bit wider, leaned against the door frame, looking up at Stubbs without any particular expectations.
Stubbs checked his notepad. “You’re Tiffany?”
“Just Tiff.”
“Sure. You mind if I come in?”
She thought about it a little too long, but then stepped aside. Stubbs walked in, looked the place over. Secondhand furniture, a futon couch, prints of classic paintings cheaply framed. The living room turned into the dining room with a small kitchen on the side.
“When was the last time you saw Annie?” he asked.
“I’ve already been through this with Annie’s mom,” she said. “All I know is she’s not here and rent’s due in a week.”
“Yeah, that’s a drag, but it would help. Really.”
“It was right after the start of school, about two weeks ago. Maybe a bit more, but I didn’t think much about it when I didn’t see her for a while.”
“Why’s that?”
“I didn’t say this to Annie’s mom, but in my opinion the girl was pretty much a slut. I’m sorry if that’s offensive.”
“I’m not offended.”
