The Husbands Page 13

  He narrowed his intense blue eyes. “From someone else’s, actually. My phone was dead.”

  “From whose phone?”

  He sucked at his teeth. “Jason Sandaker. My phone was out of battery. But Archer didn’t answer.”

  It matched up, unless they’d already spoken to each other to get their stories straight. Which was why, despite concerns they were going to resist telling the truth, you still got everybody rounded up and put in separate holding rooms so they couldn’t collude on a cover story.

  You might have screwed up, Kelly.

  “So,” she said, looking up into Russell’s face, “just that? Just the idea that your sister and her husband and Blake Haig and his wife had visited Destiny? And the David Renz case. That got you thinking in a certain direction.”

  Russell didn’t answer, just breathed with a mean energy. On second thought, the tough guy thing wasn’t just an act — he looked like he could take a man apart if he had to, piece by piece, same as a car. Broward was a big guy, too, but the chief seemed diminutive by comparison, standing there and biting his tongue.

  “Yeah,” Russell said. “That got me thinking in a certain direction.”

  She lowered her voice. “Come on, Russell. I know you’re holding out. Something else happened. I think the person who killed your sister has more on his mind than just murder. There’s more to it.” She hunted his face for any giveaway until he turned his head away. “Blake Haig told you something else. Didn’t he?”

  He started to speak, then snorted. “I think, ah, I think that’s it from me, Agent Roth.”

  She gave Broward a look. “Will you excuse us for a second, Chief Broward?”

  It took a moment, but then he seemed to understand. He gave a slight nod and went out into the sunlight.

  “Look,” she said to Russell. “I get it. Small town department, you feel like Detective Faber and Chief Broward dropped the ball.”

  Russell turned toward her. “All right, yeah, we came down pretty hard on Roger. Maybe we were wrong, I don’t know, but that was before. When we talked to Blake at the funeral, all this came up. So we go down to Destiny and look around and sometimes we take some pictures and meet with him and show him. You want to arrest us for trying to figure out what happened to my sister? Or Blake’s wife? Go ahead.”

  “What’s the description?”

  “Blake says an older white guy wearing an Orangemen hat. He noticed him in the food court when they were eating, guy just sitting by himself, looking over every once in a while. Then they went to the movies and the same guy was there waiting in line to buy tickets. He says he looked around for him in the theater but he wasn’t there. That’s it. He didn’t say anything to the cops about it when his wife was first killed. But when we got together with him and we were talking about the two killings being alike, Matt started talking about the Great Northern Mall and that fucking pedophile David Renz and that’s what Blake told us.”

  “Did Blake Haig and Roger Payton talk to each other at the funeral?”

  “They didn’t talk. Blake didn’t want to make a big thing out of it. He wanted to pay his respects, keep a low profile because the media were around. But Matt and I started talking to him, we went out for drinks afterward, that’s how the whole thing got going.”

  “And that’s all he’s told you. He hasn’t said anything else.”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Russell stepped close enough for her to smell sweat and oil.

  She forced herself to stay poised as she spoke. “I need to know if the perpetrator contacted Blake Haig. Because he contacted Ted Archer. And that’s why I showed up at the diner last night, because Ted Archer killed himself, and we have his phone. If someone called Blake — if this guy from the mall called him, I need to know.”

  Russell picked up the wrench and the rag.

  “Mr. Harbaugh, are you not telling me because the killer told Blake if he contacted the police, he’d never give himself up, he’d never be found? That wouldn’t be it, would it?”

  “Have a nice day, ma’am. Tell your brother Rick I said hi.” He reached up into the undercarriage and started working.

  “You’re never going to get this guy on your own. And, yeah, you’ll all end up in jail for interfering with a federal investigation.”

  He cranked the wrench and pulled a car part loose and dropped it to the ground with a clang. “Do what you gotta do.”

  Kelly released a breath and turned away, toward the bright square of sunshine framed by the garage door.

  * * *

  She was ravenous. Maybe it was all the stress and adrenaline.

  Broward slurped his noodles and peered into his bowl. “What is this again? Tom something?”

  “Tom Kha Kai.”

  “It’s good.” He took another bite and washed it down with a drink of his soda. “I knew I’d get you to come out to dinner with me eventually.”

  “Humans require nourishment, Chief Broward. Sing unto the Lord a new song.”

  Broward wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back. “All right, so talk to me.”

  “We need to get Blake Haig to sign a statement that he was followed at Destiny mall.”

  “Agreed. If he called Archer — or the Sandaker guy did — then they didn’t know Archer completed a suicide. That’s one thing. God, these freaking guys. What else did Russell say?”

  She told him and Broward said, “So they’re running around taking pictures of people at the mall. But Russell wouldn’t admit if the unsub is communicating with Haig?”

  “No. But we need to be watching them. They think they’re going to get him on their own.”

  “I only have a few guys, and Haig is in Orzo’s jurisdiction. I’ll call Orzo, see if we can get some more people out there to keep an eye on them. Jesus — bunch of cowboys.”

  It was different counties, too, and Major Crimes didn’t really do surveillance, anyway. She needed either state police or her own reinforcements.

  They ate in silence, thinking it all through.

  She watched him for a moment. “I’m sorry if when I asked you to leave . . .”

  He lifted his eyes to her and waved a hand in the air. “I get it — good cop, bad cop. You don’t have to worry about that with me.”

  “Don’t have to worry about what?”

  “Ego.”

  She found that hard to believe but didn’t say anything. Finally Broward regarded her again and surprised her by sticking his hand out, as if to shake. “Agent Roth. Kelly. I’m Robert. I’m a divorced forty-year-old man with two daughters who likes learning about birds and watches YouTube videos on fly fishing. My most prized possession is my ’72 Harley Soft Tail. Or my signed U2 album. Your turn.”

  She blinked at him for a moment, her mind seizing on a detail. “U2?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You have a signed album . . .”

  “That’s correct. They came to Saratoga when I was . . .” He looked up at the ceiling. “Fifteen. The Zooropa tour. I thought they were the shit. That’s my deal.”

  Finally she gave his hand a quick shake and returned to her food.

  “You?” Broward asked. “Bet you were a big Tori Amos fan.”

  “Please.”

  “You remember that video where she’s naked or something playing the piano? She’s throwing her hair back, bouncing her legs.” He took another sip of his soda.

  “I listened to the . . . are we really doing this? Are we talking about what music we listened to?”

  He kept his eyes on her. “Well, we could talk about what happened to you.”

  When she felt the humor draining and didn’t answer, Broward went on. “That reporter, Oxley, called the station and asked me for a comment.”

  Her stomach clenched, appetite gone. She set down her cutlery and lowered her head, asking herself why the men in her life seemed to feel the need to keep digging around in her past.

  Broward wiped his mouth agai
n. “You grew up here, I know that. And the reporter wanted to know if I thought ‘the incident’ was going to affect your handling of the case.”

  “Uh-huh. So, getting something to eat was a pretext for an interrogation.”

  “No, not at all.”

  She felt vulnerable. “You want someone else to consult, I can give you the number for my supervisor.”

  “Kelly, no. I’m just . . . getting to know you.”

  “My personal life is irrelevant.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Is it? You being here has nothing to do with local knowledge? Your supervisor didn’t see that as a benefit?”

  “Okay — I went to West Genesee High School. My mother lives in Baldwinsville. You’re right. It’s easier to get around — no GPS required. Otherwise it hasn’t had any bearing on the work.”

  He seemed to sift through a couple of emotions before he nodded and said, “Okay. I guess I can buy that.” Then he shook his head and lowered his gaze. “Too bad though.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I thought maybe you were top of your class, or something.” He put on a dreamy smile.

  “Nope. I’m just a local. And if we want to talk about things affecting the handling of a case, maybe we can talk about the waitress at The Post.”

  Broward leaned back. “What are you talking about?”

  “I just hope you started up with her before Danica Payton was murdered and ended it the second that happened. Otherwise you’re sleeping with a witness.”

  “I, ah . . . I, ah . . .”

  “What’s the matter? Flirting with the FBI agent took a turn?”

  “Hey, come on . . . don’t be like that. It was before. Just a thing. I cut it off as soon as the . . . as soon as Danica Payton happened.”

  “You sure? Because you told me a waitress at The Post picked up Danica Payton’s phone off the bar. That you eliminated her through fingerprints. Was that the waitress? Courtney? And maybe it was one of those real estate agents of yours who called Oxley, or maybe it was her.”

  “I cut it off. As soon as the case landed in my lap. I don’t know why you have to come down on me like this. Courtney wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t call the newspaper on you.”

  “What do you want from me, Robert? You want to ask me about myself? Do I seem like I need a friend?”

  His expression hardened. “That’s kind of harsh of you, don’t you think? I was just—”

  She got up from the table, feeling embarrassed and angry. The work wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with her, personally. Feeling sorry for herself, she regretted saying yes to Genarro. But had there been a choice? Genarro had thought he was throwing her a soft ball, a case on familiar turf. But then Ted Archer had killed himself, and Blake Haig had acted like someone brainwashed in a cult, and the two brothers of a victim were playing private investigators. Maybe it was a major mistake not bringing in Sandaker and the rest when she’d had a chance.

  This was all new. And meanwhile the killer was messing with the families of his victims and she didn’t know why, what purpose it served.

  Maybe there was no purpose.

  “Hey,” Broward said. “Where are you — come on — Kelly . . .”

  She’d gone over to the waitress with her wallet. “Can I get the bill?”

  The waitress nodded and smiled warily and hurried away. Broward got up and put on his jacket.

  He matched her quick pace as she crossed the street to the hotel. “Look, I don’t mean to overstep or anything. Hey, Kelly . . .”

  She stopped and turned around. “I’m sorry about that in there. I went too far and I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s all right — I get it. We got a lot going on. I get too personal; it’s a problem.”

  “I don’t want to offend you. I appreciate your effort to be friendly, but I’m here to do a job and I’ve got a million people to call and things to do if I’m going to get surveillance up on the biggest mall in the state.”

  An icy wind skirted the corner of the tall gray block of hospital, carrying a dance of snowflakes. She stopped and stared into the white, twirling motes, brought back to the day it happened. Lying on her back in the alleyway, looking up at the sky after Danner finally left her, it had begun to snow. Just like this.

  Her breath slipped out in thin plumes. Broward watched her.

  “You find out something happened to me, and then what? That defines me?” she said.

  “No. It doesn’t have to.”

  “That’s all anyone has time for. The FBI brains trust calls it a fundamental attribution error — one event, one moment, and you’re branded for life.” She buried her hands in her pockets and looked at him as he stood blinking, his nose red from the cold.

  “I don’t . . .” Broward said. “A fundamental what?”

  “I was assaulted. The summer before I went to college.”

  He was quiet for a moment, looking at her, then glancing away. “Where’d it happen?”

  “A club called The Avenue, downtown.”

  “Yeah, I know it.”

  “I left for the night to catch a cab and they caught up to me. One guy and a bunch of his friends.” She took a breath, looked into his eyes. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She waited for him to ask if she’d pressed charges. That was usually the next question. Followed by her attempt to explain how twisted and confused the feelings were following the attack, the cloud that descended over her and lasted for months, even years afterward. The strange, senseless fog of guilt she’d tried to escape, tried so hard that she would take long and fast drives, as if she could outrun it, until she finally wrapped her car around a tree at age twenty.

  The scar across her chest, two on her arms, were from crawling over broken glass as she freed herself.

  Broward asked, “Who were they?”

  “They were guys my brother grew up with. Our father died before that and I was going out too much and Rick had left home at that point. He blames himself, thinks he should have stayed around our home, helped my mother, me and my sister. He thinks if he was around it never would have happened. It’s not his fault though. For one thing, my mother didn’t make it easy. She doesn’t like to be helped.”

  Kelly searched Broward’s face, waiting for him to say that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. But Broward just stood there, his silence inviting her to finish.

  “These guys happened to be in the club when I was in there. One of them thought it was okay to hit on me and I turned him down. They followed me out, followed me around the corner. The principal was Craig Danner. I let him back me into an alley, thinking I could talk my way out of it. The others with him stood around providing cover. He called me a cock-tease, said I wore things to get him excited when he used to come over to my house to see my brother. When I tried to get away, he grabbed me, took me down to the ground, pinned me there. I couldn’t get up . . .”

  It had been years since she’d let the memories fully surface and she could feel them, like living things, twisting within her, trying to break free. “Some people saw something happening and started yelling and came over. Danner and the guys took off before any of them could be visually identified. I went to the police, they picked up Danner the next day. I had pictures of the bruises, I had my story. Danner said he’d never been to the club, never saw me, but that I had a thing for him and made the whole thing up because he’d turned me down because of my age — too young for him. It was a lie, but he maintained that he never did anything, never knocked me down and got on top of me and started unbuckling my pants, jammed his hand down there while he spat in my face.”

  She looked up at Broward and his face was turned into the wind. Then their eyes met and he said, “I’m sorry.”

  The wind tugged at her clothes some more, and the fine snowflakes moved sideways through the air until an updraft sucked them higher, toward the buildings shouldering together around them.

  “We anticipated the media might try to make s
omething out of me being on the case.”

  “I won’t say anything to them.”

  “It’s fine. Say whatever you want to, Robert.”

  He shook his head. “Nah. To hell with that. And, by the way, of course I think it’s a good idea, you being here. So don’t go thinking I want to call your supervisor.” He sniffed and shrugged himself deeper into his jacket. “That’s how I see it anyway.”

  Not knowing what else to say she said, “Okay then.”

  “What happened to Danner?”

  “He took a deal. Entered an Alford plea — said he wanted to spare everyone drawing it out, he would take one for the team.”

  “An Alford plea — guilty but not guilty.”

  “He got probation so he could continue with school.” She studied Broward’s eyes some more and said, “But he never admitted it. Ever.”

  Broward rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m just used to getting to know the people I’m working with, that’s all.”

  “I know.”

  “I want this guy. That’s all that matters to me. And maybe what I said about ego, maybe this thing has got me a little fucked up. I got these Harbaugh guys and half the town thinking I can’t find my own ass in the dark. I want to find this psycho and nail him to the wall.”

  She let it all settle, finding it easier to look at him now. And maybe this was for the best — better that things were out and they could focus on the work. “Good,” she said. “Now let me get up to my room and get set to go talk to Blake Haig again. I’ll see you in a little—”

  “It’s interesting though.” He fixed her with a curious look. “You had this happen to you, and there you were today standing up to Severin, saying that our guy is trying to make victims of the men. Trying to hurt them.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  He stuck a finger in the air. “And that question is why you’re the right person for the job.”

  She searched for a response and was saved when Broward frowned and plucked his phone from his belt. “Uh, Chief Broward here . . .”

  He turned away. Kelly thought about slipping away, but then Broward’s voice dropped. “Oh no . . . Okay . . .” His expression grim, he continued to listen another few seconds and then said, “Thank you. I’m with Agent Roth. We’re on our way.” He rang off and stuck the phone away and locked on her with his gray eyes, a nerve twitching in his jaw. “There’s been another one. Same MO. Back of the head, one clean shot. She was in Camillus Park.”