is pretty straightforward. Someone took a shot at your house, blew out your daughter’s bedroom window. But unless there’s something you know you’re not telling me, that’s about all we know for sure right now.
“In fact, judging by where your daughter was sitting when the shot was fired, it doesn’t seem likely anyone was aiming for her. She wouldn’t even have been visible from the street. On top of that, the curtains were pulled shut almost all the way. Add to that the fact that Kelly’s only eight, not very tall, and no one shooting up from the street through a window, at that angle, could expect to have hit anyone that small anyway.”
I nodded.
“All that said, someone still shot out the window of your daughter’s bedroom. You have any idea who might want to do that?”
“No,” I said.
“No one’s got a bone to pick with you? No one’s upset with you?”
“I got more people pissed off at me than I can count, but none that would take a shot at my house. At least, I don’t think so.”
“I guess Officer Slocum would be on the list of those pissed off at you.” I looked at her and said nothing. “I was at the visitation,” she reminded me. “And I know what you did. I know you took a swing at Officer Slocum.”
“Jesus, you think Slocum did this?”
“No,” she said sharply. “I do not. But who else have you taken a swing at lately that you’ve forgotten about? Do I need to start making a list?”
“I haven’t forgotten-look, I’m a bit rattled, okay?”
“Sure.” She shook her head. “You’re lucky, you know?”
“What? That someone took a shot at my house?”
“That you weren’t charged with assaulting a police officer.”
It had occurred to me.
“He isn’t pressing charges. I spoke to him about it personally. But you’re lucky. If some guy hit me, at my spouse’s visitation, that guy would be charged. Big-time.”
“Why isn’t he?”
“I don’t know. I don’t get the idea you guys are good friends. My guess is, he’ll find a way to settle it on his own. I don’t think he’d shoot up your house, but I’d keep an eye on your speed. If he doesn’t pull you over, one of his buddies will.”
“Maybe one of those buddies did it.”
Wedmore’s face was awash with concern. “I suppose that’s something we have to consider, isn’t it? When we dig that bullet out of your wall, we’ll be taking a look at it, seeing if it’s a likely match with a police officer’s weapon. But now that you’ve had a moment to think, is there anyone else whose toes you’ve stepped on lately?”
“It’s been a kind of… kind of a strange few days,” I admitted.
“Strange how?”
“I guess… I suppose it started with the sleepover.”
“Wait, the one at the Slocums’?”
“That’s right. There was kind of an incident there.”
“What kind of incident?”
“Kelly and Emily, the Slocums’ little girl, were playing hide-and-seek. Kelly was hiding in the Slocums’ bedroom closet when Ann came into the room to make a call. When she spotted Kelly there, she got very angry. She upset Kelly so much that Kelly called me to come take her home.”
“Okay,” Wedmore said. “Was that it?”
“Not… really. Darren figured out Kelly had heard some of this phone conversation, which his wife had not told him about, and he wanted to know everything Kelly’d heard. He came by here Saturday, looking for her. Throwing his weight around. I told him what Kelly heard, which was next to nothing, and he promised not to bother her. But then I found him questioning her, without my knowledge, or permission, at the funeral home.” I looked down. “That was when I hit him.”
Wedmore put her palm on the back of her neck and rubbed. “Well. Okay. Why was Officer Slocum so concerned about that phone call?”
“Whoever it was, he thinks it was why his wife left the house that night. And then she had that accident down by the pier.”
When Wedmore didn’t say anything for a moment, I said, “It was an accident, right?”
A male uniformed officer came into the room and said, “Excuse me, Detective. The woman who lives next door, Joan…”
“Mueller,” I offered.
“That’s right. She happened to be looking out her window at the time and she says she saw a car drive past quickly at the time of the shot.”
“Did she get a look at the car? Get a plate or anything?”
“No plate, but she said it was a small car, but squared off at the back, like a station wagon. Sounds to me like a Golf, or maybe a Mazda 3, something like that. And she said she thought it was silver.”
“She get a look at the driver?” She didn’t ask the question with any hope in her voice. It was night, after all.
“No,” the cop said, “but she thought there were two people in the car. In the front. Oh yeah, and something on the end of the antenna. Something yellow, like a little ball.”
“Okay, keep knocking on doors. Maybe somebody else saw something, too.”
The cop left and Wedmore turned her attention back to me. “Mr. Garber, if you think of anything else, I want you to call me.” She reached into her pocket and produced a card. “And if we find out anything, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“What was that?”
“Ann Slocum. Her death. That was an accident, right?”
Wedmore gave me an even look. “That investigation is ongoing, sir.” She put the card into my hand. “If you think of anything.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Slocum answered his cell before the second ring.
“You tracked down that plate?” Sommer asked.
“Jesus Christ, what did you do?”
“Excuse me?”
“The Garber kid’s window?” Darren was practically screaming into the phone. “The girl’s bedroom! Is that how you lean on people? Kill their kids?”
“Did you get the plate?”
“Are you hearing me?”
“The plate.”
“You’re unbelievable, you know that? Unfuckingbelievable.”
“I’m ready to write down the information.”
Slocum tried to catch his breath. He’d been shouting so loud he was nearly hoarse. “The car’s registered to an Arthur Twain. Out of Hartford.”
“An address?”
Slocum gave it to him.
“What’d you find out about him?”
“He’s a detective. Private. With something called Stapleton Investigations.”
“I’ve heard of them.”
