“I did,” he said. “You should be thanking me too.”
“I know, but I won’t.”
He laughed.
The friendship grew from there.
Considering the magnitude of that fight, he urged me not to go out drinking anymore. Up until that point, I hadn’t considered staying any longer than I already had. Before moving into that house on King Street, I had lived in a trailer that I carried around on the back of my truck. There was an army cot back there, and a hot plate. Previous to having come upon that trailer, I had lived in motel rooms and train stations for the better part of a dozen years.
It surprised me that my short reign of mayhem hadn’t caused this cop to run me out of town like a dozen other lawmen had done before him. Pearce was a deeply religious man, and I guess it was the inherent kindness that can come from that that allowed him to view me as an actual human being as opposed to a burnt-out vet with an ugly truck. That kind of kindness had never been my experience in all the towns I’d ever been.
I liked Evelyn. I liked the way the wind smelled. It carried on it a dozen different natural perfumes—earth smells. I liked that it was quiet (except for me), and I guess it was because of this kind of camaraderie that had blossomed almost out of nowhere that I promised him I wouldn’t raise hell anymore.
What amazed me then was that the promise actually meant something. I stopped going out, and before long, I stopped drinking altogether. I wouldn’t have done that if I hadn’t earned that man’s camaraderie.
Once I cleaned myself up, he vouched for me and helped me get my job at Long John’s. It wasn’t just that I was a good cook—no one makes a burger the way I do—it’s just that without his personal okay, Frank wouldn’t have hired a bum like me.
I hadn’t had a real job since high school, but when I was taken on at Long John’s I had to use my true name. It had been a very long time since I had last used it, but since I had flown under the radar for so many years with many an alias, my record was virtually spotless. That’s why the people in town knew who I actually was.
I’m sure my gleaming record surprised Pearce. To look at me, you’d have to presume there was a slew of felonies behind me, but on paper, there wasn’t. Pearce knew I wasn’t a stranger to the wrong side of the tracks, but I seemed to be reformed. That, coupled with my inherited urge to read every single newspaper I could get my hands on, eventually made him feel comfortable talking over his cases with me, figuring I’d have some genius insight into the minds of criminals. For him, he got a hooligan’s perspective on crime and an excuse to check up on me every so often. For me, I got information I would not have otherwise had, and any cases it seemed the Evelyn PD couldn’t solve became my problem—though neither he nor anyone else would ever know that.
Danny Pearce slammed the door to the cop car. He was wearing a pair of jeans, a button-down shirt, and a sports jacket. His shield hung on his belt. He was clean-shaven, but his blond hair was getting longer than you would think would be appropriate for a guy with his kind of job. But he had a kid on the way, and I guess his hair was the last thing on his mind.
He hopped up the stairs outside and entered the restaurant. The bell jangled. I could make out the silhouette of another human being back in the unmarked car. It was his partner, Clancy Van Buren. Van Buren and I didn’t get along. I guess you could say he hated my guts for some reason.
Danny was smiling, exposing a perfect row of glowing white teeth. He was excited about something, I didn’t know what. We exchanged nods as he came up to the counter and took a seat. I poured Pearce a cup of coffee, put the mandatory two packets of Equal in there, and set it in front of him.
“Mr. Trouble,” he said softly.
“How are you this lovely morning?” I asked.
“Why did he call you Mr. Trouble?” Anthony asked from across the room.
“Shut up,” I said.
“I got news,” Danny said, then shot a curious glance at the kid.
“He’s a photographer,” I said. “I thought he was a fruit too, but he takes pictures instead.”
Pearce snorted. The kid turned red in the cheeks.
“Yeah,” I continued, “I think he said his name was Ansel Adams.”
“Anthony,” he said to Pearce’s back as he lit another cigarette. “The name’s Anthony.”
Pearce grimaced at the sound of the match being struck, fished around in his jacket pocket, and came up with a piece of nicotine gum. He tore at the wrapping with a knife he picked up off the counter and popped the tan- colored lump into his mouth. He chewed on the gum like it was a tough piece of steak, or a rubber band wrapped tight around a human testicle.
“How’s that going?” I asked, pointing at his mouth.
“Jesus Christ, Marley, I’m dying over here,” said Pearce as he banged his fist on the counter three times.
“It’s for the best, man. You got a kid now.”
“I know, but Jesus,” said Pearce, and he shot the kid another look.
I shot the kid a look too, and to this he put out the cigarette and put the pack back in his pocket.
Pearce said, “Thanks. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be,” said the kid, going back to work on the hangnail.
“So what’s the word? You look wound up, Danny.”
“We found Bill Parker,” he said. “At least what was left of him. Out in the woods.”
“What does that mean? Like, he was all chopped up, or animals got to him?”
“I don’t know,” said Pearce. “I mean, yeah, the animals had to have gotten to him. He’s been missing for two fucking weeks. Of course they got to him. But this is all … very interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” I asked. “I mean, obviously the circumstances of his disappearance were very peculiar, you know, considering the abandoned car out on Old Sherman and all …”
“See, that’s the thing right there,” Pearce said. “ ‘Abandoned’ ain’t a good word. That car was full of blood, Marley, and not just one kind. Our lab guy can’t figure out where the blood came from, though he thinks it might be from a dog. But the lab has no clue, and we don’t have the kind of resources to send a sample out …”
“That’s strange.”
“Very,” Pearce said, flashing those teeth.
He’d gotten them cleaned when he stopped smoking.
“Maybe it was a yeti,” I said.
“Don’t joke about that,” Pearce said. “And not only that, we got shell casings. Shots fired. We got blood in the car, on the car, and out on the road. We got a trail of blood going into the woods, but for weeks we’ve had guys scouring those woods, and they didn’t find anything.”
“Was Bill in the same vicinity as the gun you found last week?”
“No. I mean, who knows, man? The thing with bodies in nature is …” Pearce stopped and looked at the kid, then asked, “You got a sensitive stomach at all?”
“Me? No, no, no …” Anthony stuttered. “Please, continue.”
Anthony got up and came back to the counter.
“Okay,” said Pearce, “the thing with bodies in nature is that as a body gets ripped apart, gets lighter, the parts get scattered. Some animals will carry body parts to where they’re comfortable eating, and because of that it gets hard to figure out where a person actually, well, dropped down. A good dog could help with that, or …”
Pearce trailed off, thinking. No one said anything. After maybe a full minute, he continued.
“These two kids found his skull out there in the woods. They had gone out to mess around without their parents finding out. What luck, huh?”
“I guess it killed the mood,” I said. “But that’s all they found? Just a skull?”
“Yup. Well, a couple hairs. That’s how we know it’s Bill. We got claw marks, maybe bite marks, all over the fucking thing. They don’t look like any kind of marks I’ve ever seen….”
“You know, Danny, I don’t know if you’re looking at a murder here,” I said.
“I know, but this ain’t right.”
“Could have been a bear for all we know.”
“I know, but …
“Let me get this straight,” said the kid, interjecting himself, “and stop me if I’m wrong about anything. From what it sounds like, some guy got in a shoot-out with a wild animal, got dragged into the woods and chewed up. Is
