a tad grim.”
“You never saw Theo at all?”
“Not to the best of my recollection,” he said, and chuckled. He finished his cigarette and tossed it in the direction of the bottle.
“What do you think he wanted to talk to you about?”
“I don’t know, but I sure knew what I wanted to talk to him about.”
“What was that?”
“Why’d he put those boxes of shit parts in my truck?”
“Did he tell you he did it?”
“Fuck, no.”
“But you think it was him? Last time we talked, you were talking like it was KF.”
He offered up an elaborate shrug. “I think I might have been guilty of what they call racist profiling, Glenny. Shame on me.” He theatrically slapped the back of his hand that was holding the beer. “But fuck, Theo? The heat’s already been on him for this. I mean, if he’s the one put that stuff into that house, makes sense he was the one put it into my truck. If I can figure that out, I don’t know why you can’t. I was interested to ask him why he’s trying to screw me over. And I still will, next time I see the bastard.”
“Theo’s dead,” I told him, looking for a reaction.
He blinked tiredly. “Come again?”
“He’s dead, Doug.”
“Well, shit, that’s going to make it difficult to talk to him, isn’t it?” He took a long swig from his last beer. “He electrocute himself? Be fitting.”
“No. He was shot.”
“Shot? You say shot?”
“That’s right. Doug, tell me you didn’t shoot Theo.”
“Jesus, you’re really something else, you know that? First you accuse me of burning our own houses down, now you think I’m going around shooting people?”
“So the answer is no,” I said.
“You gonna believe me if I say so? Because lately, you’re not exactly what I would call a great guy to have in my corner.”
“I’m sorry, Doug. Maybe I, I don’t know, maybe there’s some explanation-”
“Hello, what’s this?” he said, looking down the street.
It was a police car. No siren, no flashing light, just coming up the street. The car stopped at the end of the drive and a female officer got out.
“Douglas Pinder?” she said.
He waved. “That’d be me, sweetheart.”
She said something into the radio clipped to her shoulder, then started walking our way.
“Mr. Pinder, I’ve been asked to bring you in for questioning.”
“You got something to ask, ask.”
“No, sir, you’ll need to come in.”
“Okay if I finish my beer?”
I said, “Doug, do what she says.” To her, I said, “He’s had a little to drink, but he’s harmless.”
“Who are you, sir?”
“I’m Glen Garber. Doug works for me.”
He swung his head around. “I got my job back? That’s good news. We’ve lost a lot of the day but there’s still probably some work we can get done. Just don’t expect me to hammer a nail in straight. And I probably shouldn’t operate heavy machinery.”
Two more police cars were coming up the street.
“What’s this, a convention?” Doug said. “Glenny, do a donut run.”
“I need you to come with me, sir,” the cop said. “Peacefully.”
“Well, fine then,” he said, and put down his beer. “But first I have to get my wife’s car back to her.” He grinned at me. “Bet the bitch wants to go to the mall.”
“Sir, the Infiniti there, that’s yours?”
The other cop cars had stopped and an officer was coming out of each one.
“It’s Betsy’s,” he said. “You know, to be honest, I probably shouldn’t drive it back right now, anyway. Last thing I need at the moment is a DUI, know what I’m saying?”
The woman gave a nod to the closest approaching officer, and he opened the door on the Infiniti. He leaned in for a look.
“If you want to take it for a spin,” Doug said, “I got the keys in my pocket here somewhere.”
“Sir,” the officer said, more sternly this time than before.
Doug stood, wobbled, and said, “Okay, so what’s the deal-ee-o? What you want to talk to me for?” He looked at me. “This about Theo?”
“Don’t say anything,” I warned.
“Why’s that?” He asked the officer, “Is this about Theo Stamos? My boss here says somebody shot him. That’s pretty weird because I went out to see the son of a bitch last night.”
“Doug,” I said. “For Christ’s sake.”
“Come this way, please,” the officer said, leading him toward her car. He went without objection.
The officer looking into the Infiniti came back out, reached into his pocket, and drew out a latex glove. He pulled it over his hand, snapped it, and leaned back into the car again.
“It’s not that dirty in there,” Doug said as he walked past the Infiniti.
This time, when the officer came out of the car, he had something dangling from his baby finger on the trigger guard. A gun.
“Whoa,” Doug said, just before he was put into the back seat of the police car. “Hey, Glen, check it out! Betsy’s keeping a goddamn gun in the car! I’m definitely gonna have to start being a little nicer to her.”
FORTY-FOUR
I watched them take Doug Pinder away in one car while the other cop staked himself out by the Infiniti, seemingly guarding it. I had a feeling Betsy wasn’t going to get her car back anytime soon. It was headed for the lab, along with the gun that had been found inside.
What a mess.
I wondered whether to give Betsy a heads-up, but figured she’d be up to speed in very short order. That cop posted at her mother’s house was about to get word that Pinder had been found, Betsy’s car impounded. Which would upset her more? I wondered. That her husband was being questioned in a murder investigation, or that she’d lost her expensive wheels?
Their entire world had fallen apart in the last twenty-four hours, on every goddamn level. I felt sick about it for a host of reasons, not least of which because I didn’t believe Doug had it in him to kill someone. I’d allowed myself to believe he’d try to make a buck by using shitty electrical parts, but it was another thing altogether to believe he was a murderer.
But the problem there was, Doug had been up to see Theo. He had reason to be angry with him. And there was a gun in the car. Maybe he had done it, and gotten so drunk after that he didn’t remember. Or was even drunk when he pulled the trigger.
Three times.
You had to be pretty sober to nail someone in the dark-in the woods-three times.
I didn’t know what to think. So I got in my truck and drove back to Garber Contracting. I opened the gate that led onto the property, then unlocked the office. It felt like a weekend. No one around, the place quiet.
The light on the phone was flashing. I picked up and logged into the voicemail. Seventeen messages. I grabbed a pen and a pad of paper and started taking them down, one by one.
