“I didn’t threaten her. I talked to her.”
“Right. And you didn’t follow up on that conversation and get a little more persuasive?”
“What are you talking about?”
Rudy had a huge bowl of M amp;M’s on his desk. He reached his catcher-glove paw into the bowl. “Tawny called me last night. She quit.”
“And you think I had something to do with that?”
“You didn’t?”
“Maybe my conversation opened her eyes. You know, that and the beatings your client Carlton Flynn laid on her and this toilet of a workplace, stuff like that.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“One of my other girls lives with her. Said Tawny threw her stuff in a suitcase and ran out. Said she looked like someone had given her a fresh tune-up.”
“Who?”
Rudy poured the M amp;M’s into his mouth. “I figured that it was you.”
Broome frowned. “Where is Tawny now?”
“Gone. She hopped on a bus.”
“Already?”
“Yep, last night. Tawny called me from the bus station to quit.”
Broome tried to think it through. It could have been just what he originally said. These girls-they were not exactly the most stable columns in the Forum. She had been hurt already. Her finger had been broken. Her abusive quasi-boyfriend had gone missing. A cop had interrogated her. She had probably just decided to cut her losses and head home.
“This girl Tawny lived with,” Broome said.
“Not here. And she knows nothing.”
“Rudy, this isn’t a time to get cute with me.”
Rudy sighed. “Calm down, you know me, I’m a model citizen. I’ll get her in, but in the meantime”-he gestured over Broome’s shoulder and out the door-“my best employee just arrived. On time, as always. She’s never late.”
Broome turned and saw Lorraine heading toward her post behind the bar.
“Hey, Broome.”
He turned back to Rudy. His face was different now. Whatever human mask Rudy normally wore for cops, it was gone.
“She’s special. Lorraine, I mean. You get that, right?”
“What’s your point, Rudy?”
“If whatever you do here ends up hurting that woman”-Rudy gestured again toward where Lorraine was now cleaning off the bar-“I don’t give a crap what kind of badge you got. There won’t be enough of you left for a DNA match.”
25
Earlier that day, Ken had made his way to Megan Pierce’s sliding glass door off the wooden deck. Barbie had gone through the garage-backup in case the door was locked. It wouldn’t be necessary. The sliding glass door was unlocked. Ken quietly opened it. He was about to step inside when the doorbell rang.
He slipped back outside and ducked low. The cop Broome entered the house.
Ken wanted to curse, but he never cursed. Instead he used his favorite word for such moments: “setback.” That was all this was. The measure of a man isn’t how many times he gets knocked down. It is how many times he gets back up again.
He texted Barbie to stay put. He tried to listen in, but it was too risky. No matter. Ken stayed down and out of sight. The Pierces’ backyard had plush Brown Jordan furniture. There was a corner fountain and a full-size soccer goal and a cedar swing set that had definitely seen better days. It was really a very nice house. Ken wondered how this seemingly ordinary woman and mother fit into the disappearance of Carlton Flynn, but that was indeed his job.
He waited. He thought about Megan Pierce’s kids. He could almost see them kicking the ball into that soccer goal, lounging on the furniture, having a burger grilled on the Weber.
He thought about what that life must be like for the father of the house. Kids. Family dinners. Barbecues. Church on Sunday. His beautiful wife smiling through this sliding glass door as he taught his son to play catch. Ken wanted that life. He wanted that for himself and, he realized, he wanted it for Barbie. He could almost see her through that window now, smiling at him, filled with love. He could see them getting their children to bed, making sure they all brushed their teeth and said their prayers, and then he could see the two of them disappearing into their own bedroom hand in hand. He could see Barbie closing the door and turning toward him.
What more could any man want?
He knew, of course, that it wouldn’t be that simple. He had compulsions, but even those he could share with his beloved.
What was he waiting for?
He turned back toward the house. He didn’t relish making these children motherless, but right now he saw no other alternative. Fifteen minutes passed. Megan Pierce accompanied Detective Broome to his car. After they drove off, Ken and Barbie met up by the rented Miata.
“What do you think that police officer was doing here?” Barbie asked.
“I don’t know.”
“We should have come up last night.”
“It was too risky.”
“So now what?”
They drove off, back to the Garden State Parkway heading south. Ken wasn’t all that concerned. Chances were excellent that Broome and the Pierce woman were heading back to Atlantic City. Ken picked up speed. Three miles down the parkway, he spotted Broome’s car. He stayed way back, not really bothering to follow. No question now. They were going back to Atlantic City.
Two hours later, Broome parked in the lot at the police precinct. Broome took Megan Pierce in through a side entrance.
“Now what?” Barbie asked.
“I love you,” Ken said.
“What?”
He turned toward her. “I never told you. But you know.”
She nodded. “I love you too.”
He smiled and took her hand.
“Why did you tell me now?” Barbie asked.
“I will do anything to protect you. I want you to know that.”
“I know that too.”
He took out his cell phone and dialed the number. It was answered on the third ring.
“Goldberg.”
Ken said, “Hello, Deputy Chief Goldberg.”
Silence on the other end of the phone.
“I remembered that you didn’t want me to call you Mr. Goldberg,” Ken continued. “You said that you preferred Deputy Chief Goldberg.”
“Yeah,” he said in the wariest of voices. “What do you want? I’m kinda busy here.”
“I don’t mean to disturb you, Deputy Chief Goldberg, but this is a matter of some urgency.”
“I’m listening.”
