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Mike paused, then said, “Crow…you don’t owe me a thing. ” And hung up. For the first time that day his bruised face wore a genuinely happy smile.
2
Detectives Frank Ferro and Vince LaMastra sat at a deuce in the lounge of the Harvestman Hotel. Ferro was taking thoughtful sips from a mug of Miller Genuine Draft and LaMastra was halfway through his fourth Pumpkin Ale. The storm clouds that had been lumped over the town the night they’d gotten there had blown away into someone else’s sky and the temperature had dropped so fast the news was warning of a possible frost. It was already a chilly forty outside and the moon was a sliver of ice in the total blackness of the evening sky.
They’d eaten chicken cheesesteaks and French fries, had listened to jukebox music, had eavesdropped on half a dozen ordinary conversations, but between them barely a half dozen words had passed in the two hours they’d been there. The report Dr. Weinstock had given had shaken them both and their shared frustration over the lack of progress in the case was running them down.
LaMastra looked up at the clock over the bar, watching the hand go from 11:58 to 11:59. He picked up his glass and drained the last of it in two big pulls, set it down, and shook off the bartender. Ferro just took another sip and stared moodily into the unhelpful amber depths of his glass.
Tomorrow they were scheduled to take a quick trip to Black Marsh. An hour ago they’d gotten reports from three separate eyewitnesses, including a USPS letter carrier, that someone closely resembling the posted description of Kenneth Boyd had been spotted. In all three reports, though, the suspect had been running or walking, and there was no visible evidence at all of the broken leg that Ruger had mentioned to the Guthries. Had Boyd been faking it to escape from Ruger? That seemed likely now, and the man was obviously doing everything he could to put as much distance as he could between his former partner and himself. If that was the case, then on one hand their immediate problems were cut in half, and on the other hand the scope of their manhunt just broadened. It was Ferro’s contention that Boyd was of so little importance in the scheme of things that going to Black Marsh was almost a waste of time, except for the chance that he might have some idea of where Ruger was or about how he planned to escape Pine Deep.
“Shit,” LaMastra said softly.
Ferro glanced at him, eyebrows raised in query.
Vince said, “It doesn’t add up. Boyd being see like that. By three witnesses…and then vanishing from the face of the earth as soon as the cruises show up. It’s a little much, don’t you think?”
Ferro pursed his lips but said nothing.
“I’m telling you, Frank, this whole fucking situation is wrong. ”
“Of course it’s wrong. ”
“No, I mean wrong. We’re not seeing something here, Frank. We’re not looking at this the right way. ”
“How should we be looking at it?”
“Shit, I don’t even know anymore,” LaMastra said. “I know Crow claims that Ruger was shot…but I don’t know. This whole thing has me spooked. ”
Ferro looked at him. “That’s an odd way to put it. ”
LaMastra shrugged. “Yeah, well, I guess ‘odd’ is pretty much the best word to describe this whole thing. Pretty fucking odd. ” He shook his head. “Screw this, I’m going up to my room to watch TV. ”
He got up, tossed some bills on the bar, and shambled out. Ferro lingered for a while, still staring moodily into the uninformative depths of his beer.
3
Crow called the hospital security and put Mike’s name on the entry list and then made a few calls to friends who had sent flowers, assuring them that he was not at death’s door. They all asked him to pass along their concerns and condolences to Val, Mark, and Connie, which he promised to do. When he finished the obligation calls he then punched in Terry’s number. The cell rang and rang and Terry didn’t pick it up.
A small flicker of concern tickled the edges of his awareness. He asked his nurse if she’d seen him and was told that the mayor had left for a meeting, though he said he would be back. He didn’t say when.
Crow gave it a half hour and then called again. This time Terry picked up on the second ring.
“Yes?” His voice was harsh, abrupt.
“Terry…Crow. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Terry gave a short laugh. “Anything after the doctor said ‘it’s a boy’ and smacked me on the ass would have been a bad time. ”
“That bad, huh?” Crow was still processing the fact that Terry had just said “ass. ” It was the first time he’d ever heard Terry use even so mild a curse.
“Bad? For the last hour I’ve been wrangling with the selectmen, trying to convince them that the whole town isn’t falling down around our ears. This after spending all day with the cops and listening to the autopsy report on one of Ruger’s chums. No sleep in going on forty-?five hours now, and I’ve got a case of the shakes so bad that if someone gave me a pair of drumsticks I’d be able to do a jazz improvisation that would make Hal Roach look like a beginner. ” Though he tried hard to make a joke, there was no humor in his voice.
“Hey, how about this? Go the hell home and get some sleep. The town will still be he
re in six or eight hours. ”
“Yeah,” Terry said, “but will I?”
