Units respond. Eagle Creek Park. It was a recreational area ten miles northwest of the city with golf courses, boating, archery ranges, and cross-country jogging trails.
Human remains discovered by a dog walker. Advanced decomposition. Appears to be Caucasian youth. M.E. in route…
Icy pinpricks ran up Behr ’ s arms. He turned over the car motor and jerked it into gear.
Son of a bitch. Rooster jolted aware at the sound of the engine. He might ’ ve been in a heavy-lidded state of rest and missed it, but he was almost sure that no one had just gotten into a car. He hadn ’ t heard a door slam. No, the driver starting the Olds down the street near Tad ’ s building had been in it. For a long time. It didn ’ t seem like a coincidence. The son of a bitch was staking out Tad. Rooster had the idea to drive down the street quick, box the guy in, and do him. But he resisted. Then the car lurched away from the curb and once again the street fell silent. After several hours of stiffening waiting, Rooster felt a charged looseness instantly return to his limbs. His breath came in knifing jabs and he worked to slow it down. He touched the gun handle in his right jacket pocket and felt the outline of the speed loaders in his left. He considered moving his car off the block and walking back to Tad ’ s place.
Fuck it, he decided. He ’ d already been sitting there long enough to have been ID ’ d by anybody looking. He reached behind his seat for a faded ball cap and pulled it down low to his eyes. He exhaled hard and stepped out into the cool morning air. His feet hardly made a sound as he walked down the sidewalk. He looked around as he neared the building. Not a soul was in sight. He approached the lobby door and tried it. It opened right up with a slight rattle. The latch bolt had rusted to the faceplate in the unlocked position. Good luck for Rooster, bad luck for Tad.
Rooster went up the stairs toward Tad ’ s apartment door. He ’ d only been there once, but the building layout, everything, seemed familiar to him, like he ’ d lived there his whole life. He thought about whoever had been around to the Lady questioning Tad, wondered if it was the same guy who was outside. Probably was, he figured. Even dumb-ass Tad would be on his guard after being talked to, Rooster realized, and decided he ’ d better go into the apartment unannounced. He walked quietly down the hall and reached Tad ’ s door. It was cheap hollow-core, painted builder ’ s white, with six fake inlaid panels. It had a brass knob lock with no extra dead bolt. That ’ s just penny wise, Tad, Rooster thought, as he held his breath and listened at the door. He heard some muffled sounds, a rustling from inside. He focused on a spot a few inches to the right of the knob. He flexed his knees and felt his thighs, thick with new muscle.
Tad had reached the dregs of the Wild Turkey and at some point below the label had taken to crying. It was a quiet weeping that had no real direction. The air in the apartment had grown stagnant and close, and not sure what to wear and what to pack, he had taken off his T-shirt and jeans and was down to his skivvies and socks. He touched his stomach, lapping over his underwear band, and felt wretched and cried some more. He was spun out. All his decisions during the past year or so had led him here. Maybe his poor judgment went back even further than that. He had done bad things for money, and he hadn ’ t quit soon enough. Selling the bikes had been plain stupid, and not even that profitable. The smoking didn ’ t improve matters, and he hadn ’ t tried to quit that soon enough, either. Now that he had to leave, he could admit to himself that things at the club — with Michelle — weren ’ t going to work out any better than the rest of it.
“I need help,” Tad said aloud, his voice sounding weird and pathetic to his ears. He wasn ’ t religious. He didn ’ t go to church like Mr. Riggi, and he didn ’ t know how to pray. But something about speaking aloud felt right. It wasn ’ t talking to himself. He just felt someone, Jesus, was listening. He put down the bottle and moved out of the chair onto his knees. He moaned as his tender shin met the floor and took his weight.
“I need help,” he said again. “Please. I want to change my life. I know I can be good.” He thought for a moment, unsure of how to continue, of what words to say. He wasn ’ t exactly waiting for a sign, just a thread to follow. Then there was a loud bang and the front door jumped. A current of fear shot through Tad ’ s chest. There was another bang. A bright piece of brass, part of the lock, broke free and flew through the air. The door swung open, moving through its arc in slow motion, and revealed a stocky man in a cap and a windbreaker.
Rooster, Tad realized after a second, all muscled up. He saw himself there in his underwear and with a tear- stained face. Embarrassment flooded over his skin like hot water.
“Rooster,” he said aloud, seeing his old partner ’ s lip curl up in a smirk. Then Rooster ’ s hand went into his pocket and came out holding a pair of scissors. He pointed them at Tad. It ’ s not scissors. Tad ’ s mind struggled to catch up. Gun. He saw fire.
EIGHTEEN
Behr rolled past the entry booth, still unmanned due to the early hour, and drove into Eagle Creek Park. He followed the road around the lake until he saw a string of official vehicles, cruisers, unmarked cars, ambulances, and the M.E. ’ s meat wagon. A young uniform waved Behr to a stop. He put down his window.
“Officer.”
“How ya doin ’?” the kid asked. They ’ d never met, but he read Behr as on the job or retired.
“Frank Behr,” he said, sticking his hand out the window and shaking with the officer. “Who ’ s controlling the scene?”
“Detective Petrie for now.”
“Don ’ t know him. Is Cale here?” Cale was a lieutenant, a veteran Behr went way back with.
“Vacation, I think.”
“Who ’ s down from the coroner ’ s?”
“Gannon.”
Behr smiled. “Good. She ’ ll vouch for me.”
The kid shrugged, showing fatigue, and pointed. “Pull your vehicle onto the shoulder.” Behr did it and got out.
“Have someone radio back that you ’ re cleared or I ’ ll have to come find you.”
Behr nodded, then tried to make his last question sound breezy. “Captain Pomeroy ’ s on his way, right?”
“Yep.”
Behr made his way to the scene at a more than casual pace.
There was a semicircle of backs standing in tall grass twenty yards from the road. They were ringed around what Behr knew was the body. There were the familiar sounds of a crime scene: radio static, boots on gravel, keys and flashlights swinging on belts, hot coffee being gingerly sipped, the rustle of nylon parkas. Evidence collection kits, looking like orange tackle boxes, were open, tamping down winter-yellow grass at their feet. A few yards off, speaking on a cell phone, was Dr. Jean Gannon, a sturdy woman just past fifty, dressed in cargo pants and a polar fleece top. She began shaking her head at Behr ’ s approach.
“Uh-huh, and send down those dental records, too. Bye.” She closed her phone. “Oh, shit, you ’ re not here. You are not here.”
“I am, babe, get used to it,” Behr said. She smiled despite herself. “Can you make me bona fide?”
“Hal, let ’ em know at the perimeter that my guest found me,” Jean called out to a cop nearby.
Behr had worked with Gannon a bit when she first joined the M.E. ’ s office. She ’ d been a housewife and mother before going back to school and starting her career in her forties. Her husband left her after her first year, thanks to the job and its long hours. “He was leaving me, anyway, the job just gave him an excuse,” she ’ d said when Behr consoled her. She loved her work, and they ’ d built a friendship over long discussions about forensics.
“So you were out for a morning bike ride and figured you ’ d say hi?”
“Yeah, about like that. I ’ m on a case and your rise and shine might have something to do with it.”
“Don ’ t tell me you ’ re on a case.” Her brows pinched together in regret. “You know you ’ re persona non grata and veal piccata.”
“Okay, I ’ m not on a case, then. Can you tell me what you ’ ve got?”
Jean looked up the road in concern, scanning the cluster of uniforms there.
“He ’ s not here yet,” Behr said of Pomeroy.
