floor for a few questions. It was more like a grilling than an interview. The fair-haired agent’s demeanor was reserved, but a few times, I caught something in his eyes. Something angry, the shining surface on a well of hostility.
After I was quite professionally interviewed about everything that had happened, I was told he’d be in touch.
“But wait, Bill,” I said as he started thumbing his BlackBerry at the speed of light. “I can help you on this. I know Perrine. I’ve been on this from day one.”
“I’ll call you,” Bedford said without looking up.
Yeah, right. I’d heard that before. I was being completely boxed out, I knew. It was obvious the feds didn’t want me anywhere near the investigation. Even when I tried to get some assistance from the higher-ups in the police department to bring me on board, I was told in no uncertain terms that the brass didn’t want me on the case, either.
For once, I could hardly blame anyone. Because I’d had Perrine. Had him and then lost him in the worst, most publicly embarrassing way imaginable. My boss, Miriam Schwartz, even let me in on a few nasty rumors she heard-a few whispers that maybe I was actually in on the escape, since I had spoken to Perrine in court and interviewed him alone in prison.
In my defense, I thought about bringing up Perrine’s quarter-billion-dollar bribe, which I’d rejected, but then I came to my senses and kept my lip thoroughly buttoned. It was obvious the brass was already sizing me up for a scapegoat suit. Why pour more fuel on my own bonfire?
There was no way around it. I was toxic now, a bad-luck charm. Standing around in Foley Square with no one to talk to, I felt like a little kid at the moment he realizes he hasn’t been picked for either side in a game of sandlot baseball.
And the tacit message coming in from my law enforcement colleagues was just as clear.
CHAPTER 89
SO THAT’S EXACTLY what I did. I hightailed it out of Manhattan on the Beacon-bound 6:12, went back up to Orange Lake, and stayed away for the next two weeks.
I thought I’d be stressed out with Perrine in the wind and all the bad stuff hovering over me, but I surprised myself by having a really fun time hanging out with the kids. These were the last weeks of summer vacay, and we didn’t waste a second of them. We did something fun every day-go-kart racing, miniature golf. To the girls’ delight, one morning we got up at dawn and drove to a farm over in rural Sullivan County and rode horses.
The best time of all was driving up to Massachusetts for a day to check out a massive state fair called the Big E, at which all the New England states were represented. My city kids’ heads were spinning at all the Ferris wheels and tractors and petting zoos. After we gorged ourselves on massive stuffed baked potatoes on the midway, we even attended a blue-ribbon cattle show just for the hell of it. I stood at a rail, shaking my head, as bright-faced young country boys wearing bow ties came into the tent, walking cattle on a leash as though they were in a dog show.
“Now there’s something you don’t see on West End Avenue,” Seamus said, standing beside me. “Why are we here again?”
“Well, Gramps,” I said. “My career as a city cop seems to be coming to a close. I might have to look for another line of work, so why not farming?”
It goes without saying that being so close to my guys wasn’t just about fun and games. I knew my friend the Sun King wasn’t done with me. Even though he was free now, I’d seriously inconvenienced his arrogant ass. Not only had I caught His Highness, I’d actually broken his nose for him and laughed in his face. I knew there probably weren’t too many people in this world who had screwed with him as much as I had.
Not living people, anyway.
So throughout all the summer fun, I had my guns attached to me at all times. I’d even illegally sawed off the barrels of the lake house shotgun so I could keep it handy under the seat of the bus. I kept it there with the mirror I used every morning to see if there was a bomb attached to the underside of the bus’s chassis. Paranoid, I know, but sometimes it’s the little things in life that count most. This kind of crap never happened to the Partridge family, I bet.
After the cattle show, we went into one of the Big E tents and listened to some country music. I was getting into it, too, had almost forgotten all my troubles, when the cowboy-hatted singer started a sad tune about losing his girl.
Talk about bringing things down. I didn’t need this. My life had become a country music song. If I hadn’t been the designated bus driver, I would have ordered a beer to cry into.
Because just like Perrine, Mary Catherine was still MIA. No calls. No contact. I wasn’t the only one missing her, either. Despite all the fun vacation activities, I could see the kids were quite confused and upset.
So even with the sad-sack serenade wailing from the stage, I didn’t leave the music tent. Even after the kids went off with Seamus to go to the hay maze, I sat there and listened to every word as the cowboy sang about broken hearts and empty beds and watching the red taillights on his girl’s car driving away.
THAT NIGHT AFTER the fair, we arrived back home after midnight. I checked the house as I always did, namely, from stem to stern with my 9mm cocked. After placing all my sunburned, carb-stuffed guys into the loving arms of Morpheus, and after enjoying a nightcap with Seamus, I played messages on the house phone.
My boss, Miriam, had called and said that the
Gee, thanks, old boy. I always knew I’d make history one day. What was worse was that some of our own talking heads were agreeing with him.
Another message popped up.
“Mike, hi. Bill Bedford here. I need to reinterview you concerning a few things on the Perrine escape. Specifically about an incident at the federal lockup. Some sort of scuffle between you two? I can be reached at… ”
I promptly hit the erase button. Screw this guy. He wanted to talk to me as though I were a suspect in the Perrine escape. I wasn’t about to make it easy for him. The handsome Duke-educated prick could drive up here to the sticks in his shiny G car.
A moment later, I was actually about to unplug the phone when it rang. I stared at it for a bit and, against my better judgment, finally answered it.
“Hello?” I said.
“Mike?” said a woman’s voice.
For a split second, I thought it was Mary Catherine. My heart kicked against my chest. She was okay. She was coming back.
But it was just wishful thinking.
“Mike? Hello? It’s me, Tara. Are you there?”
“Hi, Tara,” I said wearily. “How’s it going?”
“Mike, listen. I’m sorry about the silent treatment at the trial. I’ve been a complete jackass, and I apologize. I’ve made a resolution to stop being nuts, okay? Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”
“Okay,” I said, startled.
