“Where are you?” he asks.
“I’m at home.”
“Be right there.”
“No!” I shout before he can sign off. If Joe’s watching the house and a cop shows up, we’re screwed. Not that I’ve gotten a whiff of anyone watching the house, despite continually looking over my shoulder and compulsively peeking out windows at all hours. Still, my fear of Joe’s omnipresence is such that I assume someone is out there. Always.
There’s a long silence before Jake asks, “What’s up?”
“Long story, but can you sneak in through the alley and back door?”
“Seriously?”
“Please.”
This is greeted by another prolonged silence. “Why?” he finally asks.
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
He sighs and grumbles “All right” before he signs off.
I’ve been home for most of the last couple of days. Putting Pat and Deano at risk with my presence at Pat’s doesn’t sit well with me, and the truth is that I’m not feeling as comfortable there as I had been when Brittany was there. Then there’s the possibility, however remote, that Brittany might end up here for some reason. If she does, I need to be here. Trish Pangborne, who has called and texted with her support and managed to do so without being intrusive, has edged into my thoughts surprisingly often, given my preoccupation with Brittany. I’m immensely grateful for all Pat is doing, especially the way she’s smothering the dog with love and attention as he recuperates, but things simply feel off when I’m around her. I’m not sure I’d be spending any time at Pat’s if I wasn’t going by to hang out with Deano as he recovers. There’s no way I want him around Forty-Seven Liberty Street with the likes of Joe dropping in every now and then. It doesn’t take much imagination to picture the outcome of Deano taking exception to Joe and company waltzing into the house uninvited. As for me, I’ve brought the danger upon myself, so it’s my job—and mine alone—to deal with it.
In a bid to make Jake’s visit as stealthy as possible, I turn off the exterior lights and make a quick sprint to the garage to unscrew the bulbs in the motion-detector lights that cover the yard and alley. I spend the next few minutes pacing around the house, pausing only to stare at pictures of my absent family—especially Brittany. Jake sounded upset. Would he have told me over the phone if something had happened to Brittany? Probably not. That’s how cops do it when someone dies; they tell you in person. I collapse into Papa’s La-Z-Boy and bury my face in my hands. Has Joe retaliated for Penelope’s filings at the courthouse yesterday? If so, he’s moved quickly. Then again, I haven’t exactly gotten with the program.
The thought of Joe and a mental image of Brittany’s lifeless eyes shoots me out of the easy chair and into the kitchen for the bourbon. I’m well into a tumbler of it when pounding on the back door breaks through my stupor. I turn and spy Jake’s agitated face in the window.
He steps inside with a look of concern and studies the almost-empty glass sitting on the kitchen table. “You okay?”
I nod.
“I got a little concerned when you didn’t answer.”
I cock a questioning eyebrow at him.
“The doorbell, Tony. I rang three times, then started pounding on the door before you noticed me.”
Oh. “Sorry.”
“You look like hell,” he says after studying me for a few seconds. “Not sleeping?”
“What’s sleep?” I force a smile, or I think I do while he leads me back to my seat at the kitchen table and plunks his ass down on one of the maple chairs. I can’t bring myself to ask why he’s here.
“I’ve got some tough news,” he says after a beat.
I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the hammer to fall.
“Bobby Harland’s body was discovered this afternoon.”
My eyes snap open and lock on Jake’s. “Bobby?”
“Looks like he was killed sometime today and dumped inside the Independence Park pool change rooms.”
Not Brittany! I think with relief. Then I’m immediately overwhelmed by crushing guilt for momentarily being elated that it’s someone else’s child who has died.
Jake sits patiently while I process the news. Jesus, Bobby’s death is going to gut Brittany if she’s alive to find out about it. Does Brittany know what happened? Did they make her watch? Dumping Bobby’s corpse across the street is a message intended for me—Joe’s admonishment for me missing his deadline. Is it a warning that worse is still to come if I don’t get my ass in gear and do something to torpedo the R & B lawsuit?
My thoughts turn to Independence Park. What a god-awful place for Bobby to end up. Recent images of the decrepit building come to mind. The pool and outbuildings I frequented in the summers of my youth have fallen into disrepair in recent years and have become a place for druggies, hookers, and their customers. Condoms, human and animal waste, and all other sorts of filth littered the place last time I saw it. The village has committed to a cleanup; I hope to God it’s already underway. My vision narrows while I stare dumbstruck at a cabinet door and recall the few hours I spent with Bobby. Did I cause this? Might I have prevented it?
“Are they sure he was killed today?” I ask Jake.
“Yeah, they are.” When I don’t respond, he moves on. “The kids were obviously kidnapped. That’s FBI turf.”
“The FBI?” Won’t Joe love that?
“That’s right,” Jake replies.
I nod dumbly. Is Brittany’s lifeless corpse lying somewhere more remote than Independence Park?
“Even though nobody has contacted you with a ransom demand, we’re now treating this as a kidnapping,” Jake says. “The FBI has been notified and are taking over.”
But demands have been made.
“They should be by to see you….” Jake’s voice trails off as his eyes lock on mine. “That’s correct, right?” he asks
