His eyes crease in consideration.
“Safe.”
“Why do you think you’re safe inside the tree house?”
“Because nobody can hurt me there.”
Mandal tilts her head.
“Who wants to hurt you, Thomas?”
A vein pulses in his neck.
“People are good to me.”
“But inside, a part of you believes people want to hurt you. Like the gangster who shot you in the back. And Jeremy Hyde. You stopped Hyde from harming anyone else, and the LA gangs are on the other side of the country.”
“You’re right.”
“What about the woman you mentioned when you began therapy? Your former girlfriend, the private investigator.”
“Chelsey,” he says, and the name rolls off his lips and drifts toward the ceiling with the incense smoke.
“That was a long time ago, Thomas. Don’t blame her for the mistakes she made as a teenager. Major depression is crippling. We should admire her for putting her life together.”
“I do admire her.”
“But you want more. You want her by your side again.”
Thomas shrugs.
“I can’t force her to feel the same as I do.”
“What about your parents? It must hurt you that they’re forcing you to take over Shepherd Systems and lobbying the sheriff to fire you.”
Thomas sets his chin on his fist and stares at the carpet.
“Did it ever occur to you they’re worried? They’re trying to protect their only son, Thomas, not ruin your life.”
“Why are you taking their side?”
“I’m not taking sides. You should work in the field of your choice, and I wouldn’t want you to live your life for anyone else. But pictures things from their perspective. While I consider you strong and independent, you’ll always be their child.”
“Being on the spectrum doesn’t make me helpless.”
“If it had, you wouldn’t have advanced to detective for the LAPD. Or caught a serial killer and protected your neighbors. But if you ran Shepherd Systems, you’d insulate yourself from the horrors law enforcement officers face every day.”
“So you want me to quit my job and run the family business?”
“No, Thomas. That’s what your parents want. But what is it you want?”
Friday, July 17th
10:05 a.m.
When Thomas and Aguilar entered the First National Bank of Harmon Friday morning, customers queued in the lobby to make transactions. The college age female greeter pointed them toward Earl Horton’s office at the rear of the bank.
Dressed in a silver-gray suit, Horton shook their hands and gestured at the two chairs in front of his desk.
“I still can’t accept Lincoln is gone,” Horton said, his eyes wandering to a photograph on his desk. “I look at this picture every day. We hiked the Adirondack’s every fall. We were young then. Doubt my knees could hold up these days.”
“Mr. Horton, two years ago, a man came into the bank and got into a shouting match with Lincoln Ramsey. Something about a loan.”
Horton tossed his pen aside and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped over his belly.
“I’ll never forget. Carl Middleton. The bastard runs Middleton Construction. Middleton needed a small business loan. But the bottom lines were all red on Middleton Construction’s financial statements. Lincoln came to me and asked if there was anything we could do. He wanted to help Middleton. The man didn’t have the assets, and the company wasn’t profitable. Had Middleton asked for less, we might have helped. We couldn’t justify the risk.”
“Middleton Construction still exists,” said Aguilar. “I came across their sign during the spring. They replaced a roof in my neighborhood.”
“Middleton scrounged enough money to keep his business afloat. Then we had a mini-economic boom in Wolf Lake, and the construction companies benefited from new money flowing into the village.”
“Did Carl Middleton threaten Lincoln Ramsey?” asked Thomas.
“He promised he’d make Lincoln’s life miserable, that he’d tell everyone Lincoln ruined his business. But you don’t have to take my word for it.” Horton typed at his terminal and spun his monitor around. “He’s all over social media and on chat forums, running down Lincoln and saying the bank cheated him.”
Thomas copied the website addresses.
“Are you aware someone broke the Ramsey’s window two years ago?”
“I knew,” Horton said, sitting back and lowering his eyes. “Lincoln had just begun to deteriorate. Anyone who’d cause trouble in the middle of a health crisis is a monster.”
“Did Carl Middleton throw the brick?”
“I’m positive he did.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s out of control and has no respect for others. A couple weeks after the blowup with the loan, Carl Middleton waited for us in the parking lot. He tried to egg us on, wanted Lincoln to fight him. Middleton is a petulant child in a man’s body.”
“Did the encounter turn physical?”
“We walked away. I followed Lincoln home, just to be safe. Carl Middleton hated Lincoln with every fiber in his body. The crazy part is, he lucked into an economic upturn and saved thousands in finance fees by not taking a loan. He should thank us, not hold a petty grudge.”
“Were there other incidences?”
Horton squinted and glanced toward the ceiling.
“Yes. An incident in the parking lot after church.”
“St. Mary’s church?”
“That’s right. How did you know?”
“Lucky guess,” Thomas said, glancing at Aguilar.
“There was a fender bender. Middleton tailgated Lincoln and Kay, probably to intimidate them. Lincoln stopped for traffic, and Middleton ran his pickup into their bumper. The incident ended with a lot of yelling and finger pointing. I don’t believe Middleton was ticketed, and I’m certain Lincoln didn’t charge him. He just wanted Carl Middleton out of his life.”
Aguilar edged her chair forward and asked, “Does Middleton still hold a grudge?”
“I’m certain he does. A man like Carl Middleton never lets go. He’s probably dancing on Lincoln’s grave now.”
Thomas cruised out of the parking lot with Aguilar riding shotgun.
“What’s our next move?”
Aguilar lowered the window and released the stored heat.
“We should speak to Carl Middleton. I have a hard time believing he murdered Lincoln Ramsey over a loan. But I lose faith in society every day.”
As Thomas took the exit for the highway, his mind wandered back to Horton’s words. Carl Middleton attended St. Mary’s church, as did Lincoln Ramsey
