“Help me now, or be arrested by me later.”
The trapped look was gone. Now the kid was downright cocky. “I’ll take my chances.”
“You know Aidan, I’m not partial to my predators. You, Mr. Jones, hell, the Boogey Man in the closet. I’ll arrest you all, let the court sort it out. That works for me.”
“Can’t. Multiple suspects would lead to reasonable doubt.”
“Yeah, but it can take months to go to trial. Months of you sitting in jail, unable to make bail, while word travels round that a known sex offender lives in cell eleven.”
He blanched. Sex offenders didn’t do well in prison. Inmates had their own code of ethics, and according to the jailhouse value system, shanking a pervert was a great way to move up in the world. Build a rep and add a teardrop to your cheek, while making the world a better place.
Aidan had been right the first time-his life was shit, and so were his options.
But the kid surprised her. Showed some of the backbone he’d been missing earlier.
“I didn’t hurt the woman,” he said stiffly. “But I did see something.”
That caught D.D.’s attention. Miller jolted as well. Seemed a little late for such a disclosure, which made them both automatically suspicious.
“I heard a noise Wednesday night. Something woke me up. I had to pee. So I got out of bed. I was looking out the window-”
“Which window?” D.D. interrupted.
“Kitchen window. Above the sink.” Aidan gestured, and she crossed to the kitchenette. Most houses in Southie were stacked side by side. The house next to Aidan’s, however, was set way back, allowing him a decent enough view of the street.
“Saw a car go by, moving slow, as if it had just pulled out of a driveway. Wouldn’t normally think much of such a thing, but one A.M. is a crazy time for someone to be coming or going on this block.”
D.D. didn’t say anything, though, in fact, Aidan’s neighbor Jason Jones routinely came and went in the small hours of the morning.
“Car looked peculiar,” Aidan offered. “Lots of antennas sticking up from the top. Like a limo, one of those car service vehicles.”
“What color?” Miller asked.
Kid shrugged. “Dark.”
“License plate?”
“At one A.M.? Hell, I don’t have X-ray vision.”
“Where did the car come from?”
“Same direction as Sandy Jones’s house.”
“You know her name,” D.D. spoke up sharply.
Aidan shot her a look. “Everyone knows her name. You announced it on the freaking news.”
“You playing us, Aidan? Seems convenient, suddenly offering an eyewitness account.”
“I was saving it up. Can’t give something for nothing, right? Well, you want to arrest me, so consider this the consolation prize. I didn’t hurt the woman, but maybe, you find that car, you’ll find the guy who did. I think I’ve already mentioned that would be in our mutual best interests.”
D.D. had to hand it to the kid. She did want to deck him, and he’d totally shut her down from searching his closet.
She glanced at Miller, saw the same assessment in his eyes. Interview was done. Real or not, a vague description of a mystery vehicle was as good as they were gonna get.
“We’ll be in touch with your PO,” she informed Aidan.
Kid nodded.
“Of course you’ll let us know if you have any change of address.”
“Of course you’ll provide police protection once I’m beaten to a pulp,” he countered.
“Then we agree.”
She and Miller headed for the door. Aidan followed in their wake, pointedly locking the door behind them.
“Well, that was a barrel of laughs,” Miller said as they headed down the walk.
“He totally has something stashed in his closet. A computer, safe, something.”
“So many search warrants, so little probable cause.” Miller sighed.
“No shit.”
They hit the car, D.D. turning around for a last look at the house. She took in the long narrow lot, the trees in the back that offered some privacy between the modest little home and its sprawling neighbor. “Wait a sec,” she called out. “Gotta check something.”
She jogged around the house, leaving Miller to stare after her in confusion. It only took her a minute or two. She’d always been a champ tree climber as a girl, and the old oak offered the perfect ladder of limbs. She went up, looked out, then scrambled back down and around before anyone could be the wiser.
“Get this,” she called out, huffing it back to the car. She opened the door, slid in as Miller started the engine. “From the tree in the back yard-perfect view into Sandy and Jason’s bedroom.”
“Lying sack of shit,” Miller muttered.
“Yeah. But is he our lying sack of shit?”
“I’m not getting warm fuzzies.”
D.D. nodded thoughtfully as Miller pulled away from the curb. They’d no sooner hit the bridge, when Miller’s radio fired to life. He took the call, then hit the switch for his lights and swung into a crazy U-turn that had them roaring back into South Boston.
D.D. grabbed the dash. “What the hell-”
“You’re gonna love this,” Miller reported excitedly. “Report of an incident-at Sandra Jones’s middle school.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jason and Elizabeth Reyes had just exited her classroom when something hard hit Jason from behind. Jason stumbled, almost caught himself, then got nailed a second time behind his left knee.
He went down flat on his face, feeling the breath swoosh out of his chest. Then a small, furious form was upon him, pummeling the back of his neck, the side of his face, the top of his head. Jason’s hands were trapped beneath his stomach, hard knots against his kidneys. He struggled to get his arms beneath him, to heave himself up and over, while a sharp-cornered textbook connected with the side of his face.
“Ethan! For heaven’s sake, Ethan Hastings, stop it!”
Ethan Hastings was not interested in Mrs. Lizbet’s command. From what Jason could tell in his shocked state, the computer nerd had a schoolbook and knew how to use it. The corner of the primer had cut his eye; Jason could feel the blood trickling down his temple even as the kid walloped him again.
Running footsteps now. Other people drawn by the commotion.
“Ethan, Ethan,” a male voice was shouting down the hall. “You get off him. Right now!”
The third blow caught Jason beneath the ear and he saw stars. His vision blurred. He could tell his eyes wanted to roll up inside his head. His chest was too tight, he couldn’t draw a breath, making his lungs burn. He was going to pass out. He couldn’t afford to pass out.
Then as quickly as it had started, it was done. Footsteps arrived, strong male arms grabbing the eighth- grader’s furious body and dragging him, kicking, off of Jason’s back. Jason seized the opportunity to flip over, struggling like a beached whale to draw breath. His chest hurt. His head, his back, behind his knee, where
