that, then through the second cordon where Turkey Neck met Sour Cherry. There was plenty of daylight left. Men were still out there combing the brush for the murder weapon.
“Thought I’d swing by to see how the little girl’s doing,” Des explained to the troopers on the barricades.
Which was fine by them. They didn’t question what the resident trooper was doing there. As for Grisky and crew, well, they might wonder. Maybe go cellular about this unscheduled visit of hers. But by the time everyone had talked to everyone else she would have made her play.
Jen was dutifully shooting jumpers in the driveway, her face scrunched even tighter than usual. Hector was sitting out on the porch watching the trim young blonde dribble and shoot, dribble and shoot. Des had no doubt whatsoever that he was picturing Jen doing these things entirely naked.
Des pulled into Jen’s driveway and got out, her unholstered Sig tucked into the rear waistband of her jeans, shirt untucked so as to conceal it. She waved hello to Hector, who raised a hand ever so slightly in response. Then she called out, “Hey, Jen, where’s my girl?” Keeping her manner relaxed and casual. She was off duty. Not someone to be concerned about. “We’re going to be late for the game.”
“Molly’s around… somewhere,” Jen responded guardedly, chewing on her lower lip. “Haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Better find her or we’ll miss the opening tip-off. Did she go home?” Des asked, nodding at Jen encouragingly.
“Maybe.”
“Super, I’ll grab her up.” Des crossed the lane and climbed the Procters’ porch steps, a big, friendly smile on her face. “Hey there, Hector. Could you tell Molly I’m here? I promised to take her to the basketball game tonight.”
Hector sat there glowering at her. “What basketball game, lady? Ain’t no basketball game now. It’s summer.”
“Which is when the girls come out to play.”
“What girls?”
“The WNBA, Hector. Our very own Connecticut Sun are playing Charlotte tonight at the Mohegan Sun Arena. I’ve got courtside seats for Molly and me. Only we’re going to be late. Where is she? Is she inside?” Des swept past him, pushed open the front door and bounded inside, hearing his howl of protest behind her. “Hey, Molly, are you ready to rumble?” she hollered, the floorboards of the old farmhouse creaking underfoot as she crossed the living room to the kitchen. “Let’s go, girl! Molly…?”
Molly was seated there at the kitchen table with her library book. She looked wide-eyed and terrified but okay-all except for those fresh red finger marks around her upper arms and neck. One of the bastards had grabbed her and squeezed her tight. Seething, Des shot a look over at Clay, who sat across the table from Molly smoking a cigarette and acting as genial as can be. The very model of folksy charm.
“Why, it’s just the lady I was hoping to see,” he said, treating Des to a crinkly-eyed smile.
“Is that a fact?” she said, smiling right back at him.
“Sure is. See, I’ve got me a whole batch of gutter installations scheduled for up in western Massachusetts,” he explained, stubbing out his cigarette. “It means I’ll be away for the next month or so. Me and Hector both. What with Carolyn’s situation, I thought Molly and me better figure something out. We’ve grown real close these past few weeks, you know. So I was thinking if she wants to tag along we’d be more than happy to have her.”
“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Mundy,” Des said. “Molly, we’ll really have to scoot if we want to make the opening tip-off. You ready?”
Molly was too afraid to answer her. Or swallow. Or so much as blink. The girl was trembling with fear.
“What I was wondering,” Clay went on, “was how long it’ll be before they’ll let us leave town. Because I’m going to fall behind schedule. And I sure could use the money.”
“There’s a murder investigation underway, Mr. Mundy. And the Major Crime Squad may need your help in apprehending the perpetrators. That’s why they’ve asked everyone on the lane to stick around for the time being. You’ll want to talk to Lieutenant Rico Tedone regarding this matter. It’s his call. He may be cool with you splitting tomorrow morning. That’s really not my thing. I’m strictly about local neighborhood issues. Plus I’ve punched out for the day. But I’ll be happy to leave you his number.” Des reached for the pad and pencil on the table. “Molly, why don’t you go ahead and wait for me out in my ride? I’ll be out just as soon as I write down this information for Mr. Mundy.”
Molly’s eyes darted toward the living room doorway. But she didn’t move a muscle.
“Do you girls really have to rush off like this?” Clay protested.
“A promise is a promise,” Des said, grinning at him. “Hey, would you like to come with us? It shouldn’t be hard to scare up an extra ticket.”
Clay shook his head at her regretfully. “Lady, I have been nothing but cooperative, know that?” He fished another cigarette out of his pack, looking around the cluttered table for a match. “Me and Hector both.”
“And I appreciate it, Mr. Mundy.”
“Is that right?” Clay got up out of his chair and got a book of matches in the drawer next to the sink, lazily lighting his cigarette. He tossed the matches back in the drawer, then yanked a Glock semiautomatic out of there and pointed it right at her. “So why are you treating me like a fool?”
Across the table, Molly let out a gasp.
“Let’s just take it easy now.” Des kept her voice low. “You’re scaring the child. Please put the gun down.”
“Not until I get some straight answers.” Clay’s manner had hardened. No more easygoing charmer. That particular act had left the building. “They haven’t hauled me in for questioning yet. Now why is that? I’m the obvious suspect. Hell, I’ve got a big red X on my back. And yet a whole day’s gone by and nobody has reinterviewed me. Or Hector. Not so much as a single follow-up inquiry. No search of the premises, nothing. I find that mighty damned peculiar. Don’t you find that peculiar?”
“Mr. Mundy, if you’ve got a lost tricycle then I’m your girl. But I’m not involved in the investigation of Professor Procter’s death. Now why don’t you just put that gun down, okay?”
“They think they’ve got something on me, don’t they?”
“Sir, I’m afraid I’m not following you.”
“He knows, Trooper Des,” Molly spoke up, her voice soft and quavery. “That I told you I was supposed to stay out of the root cellar or else. I-I didn’t want to tell, honest. But he made me. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”
“Don’t be, Molly.” Des’s eyes never leaving that Glock. “You’re going to be fine. Everything’s fine. Isn’t that right, Mr. Mundy?”
“Let me spell a little something out for you, lady,” Clay responded coldly, his jaw clenched tight. “I’ve been on my own ever since my tight-ass stepfather kicked me out of the house when I was fourteen. I live by my wits. Play by my own rules. And not once has the law ever touched me. For damned sure not some village Barney Fife with tits such as yourself. I haven’t spent a single night in lockup my whole life. Not anywhere. And I never will. Small spaces get to me, okay? I’d sooner die than get locked up in some cage. I will die if I have to-and take a few of you with me for good measure. That’s a promise. But so far it’s never come to that. Because I’m careful and smart and I know how to take care of business.”
“Your business being seamless gutters, I understand.”
“Don’t get cute with me,” he snarled. “Do you people actually think I don’t know when I’m under surveillance? I always know. I can smell you from a mile off. I’ll walk into a place, any place. For the sake of conversation, let’s say it’s McGee’s diner down Old Shore Road. Everybody looks up at me as I come through the door, checking me out. Everybody except for this one guy with muscles who’s sitting there over his coffee trying real hard not to look at me. That’s when I know it’s time to pick up and move on. Who thinks they’re on to me? Is it the FBI or the DEA? Tell me, damn it!”
“Sure, I can do that,” Des said. “If you’ll do something for me.”
“I’m the one holding the piece, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“And I’m the one who has the information you want.”
Clay narrowed his eyes at her shrewdly. “What do you want from me?”
“The truth about Professor Proctor’s death.”
