Archer Mayor - The surrogate thief

A boss's nightmare, he was still loyal, intelligent, and tenacious enough to have not only earned Joe's respect but his protection as well. Several times, when Willy had been threatened with termination, Joe had found ways to keep him on board. When asked why, especially by Gail, who openly loathed the man, and even once or twice by Sam, who was currently Willy's girlfriend, Joe usually ducked the issue. Left to their own conclusions, therefore, people considered all possibilities, from Willy's being a substitute son to Joe's becoming senile. There were other, less well known interpretations, however, the most telling of which was that once upon a time, as Ted Moore could have attested, Joe's methods hadn't differed all that much from Willy's own. Both battle-scarred vets, they'd had difficulty reining in the style of retribution they'd witnessed all too often in combat.

Joe had eventually found a steadying mentor in his old, now late squad commander, Frank Murphy. In his heart, he was hoping that he might still serve the same role for Willy, if only partially.

"Sam tell you what I was working on?" Joe asked, pretending to be scrounging through some files.

"Something about you being so bored, you had to go back thirty years for a case?"

That was one way of looking at it. "Yeah, in a nutshell. Who would you go to if you wanted a gun?"

"Around here, anyone who wasn't driving a Volvo or didn't shop at the Co-op."

Joe sighed. "Yeah-pretty much what I was thinking."

"But you're not talking just any piece. You're talking about an ancient hog leg. That smacks of amateur hour to me."

Gunther looked up at him, brightening slightly. "I have the name of one of the dead guy's pals. Worked with him at the lumber mill as a yard gofer."

Willy hitched his right shoulder noncommitally. "That's where I'd start. What's his name?"

"Dick somebody. You want to keep me company?"

Willy snorted and began extricating himself from behind the desk. "Well, shit, since you got it narrowed down to a single Dick, how can I say no?"

The mill in question was south of the Brattleboro town line-an open complex of sheds, stacks of lumber, and a railroad spur. Again recalling his failed approach with Ted Moore, a wiser Joe Gunther went straight to the office, showed his credentials, and inquired about an employee named Dick who was a friend of Matt Purvis and had a last name starting with "Ch." The response from the secretary greeting them was happily instantaneous.

"That would be Dick Celentano. They were quite the duo. I was so sorry to hear about what happened to Matt. That's what you're here about, right?"

Willy had already opened his mouth to ruin this friendly, casual moment when Joe cut him off. "You're right. Very good. And don't worry about Dick. We just want to chat with him about Matt. I hate to wander all over the yard looking for him, though, and I sure don't want to embarrass him any. Is there a way you can page him? Tell him he has a phone call, maybe?"

Joe gave her a conspiratorial smile, causing her to giggle. "Ooh, that's clever," she said. "Okay."

She hit a button on the console before her and announced, "Dick Celentano to the office for a phone call. Dick Celentano to the office for a phone call."

Gunther thanked her and pulled Kunkle over near the front door, murmuring, "I'll wait for him here. Go loiter in the parking lot and discreetly shepherd him in. I don't want him making a run for it once he finds out who we are."

"Ooh," Willy mimicked before heading outside. "That's clever."

They needn't have worried. Dick Celentano was cooperation personified, and easily impressed. "Can I hold it?" he asked after Joe had shown him his badge. The man was completely unfazed by having been lured into the office by a ruse.

Willy rolled his eyes as Joe handed it over.

"Wow," Celentano said, cradling it as if it were a religious icon. "I've read about you guys, but this is a first. You're like the best of the best, right? Like, way better than the state troopers."

"Yeah," Willy said quickly, before Joe could interrupt. "Way better. Be sure to tell them that."

His eyes gleaming, Celentano returned the badge. "Cool. You got it. So, what can I do you for?"

"We're here about Matt," Gunther told him.

Celentano's face fell. "Can you believe that? Unbelievable. I heard about it on the news. I was, like, stunned. I mean, I cried, right then and there."

"I bet," Willy muttered.

"That must've been tough," Joe added, patting the man's arm. "You didn't see it coming?"

"Well, I knew he was bummed out, losing his job here and all. It's not like any of us has money to spare, you know what I mean? And he had less than most."

"Did you know Linda?"

The man's expression soured as he joined the general consensus. "That bitch. Yeah, we met once. She must've been something in the sack, is all I can say, 'cause she wasn't much anywhere else. I never could figure that one out-what he saw in her. She treated me like shit right from the get-go."

"No kidding?" said Willy.

Celentano glanced at him, all happy innocence. "Yeah. I mean, what did I ever do to her, right?"

"So," Joe asked, steering him back on course, "Matt going to confront her came totally out of the blue, as far as you know?"

"Oh, yeah. Totally."

"He had a handgun. What can you tell us about that?" Willy asked.

Dick Celentano furrowed his brow. "I only know about a rifle," he said slowly.

Both detectives stayed silent. Their guest's former enthusiasm had abruptly faded. He, too, remained quiet, leading Gunther to suggest, "But he was looking for a handgun."

"Yeah," Celentano mournfully conceded.

"And you supplied him with one," Willy added, his voice threatening.

This time the other man correctly interpreted Willy's meaning. "No, I didn't. I swear. I didn't want any part of that. I told him so, too."

"So, you knew what he wanted it for?"

Celentano squirmed. "Linda was driving him crazy. He said he just wanted to show her who was boss. I said I wouldn't help-turned him down flat. Just like that. He was drinking again. I wasn't sure what he'd do."

Willy had straightened by now and was looking out the window, his impatience showing. Joe, for his part, leaned in close, still suspicious. "You were best friends, Dick. He was in need. Even if you didn't want any part of it doesn't mean you couldn't help him indirectly. What was he threatening to do? Rob a store and steal a gun? That would've gotten him in really hot water."

Dick cast his eyes down. Clearly one of the world's worst poker players. "It wasn't a store," he said softly. "It was a friend's house he was thinking to rob."

"So, what did you suggest?" Joe coaxed.

"I gave him a name."

Willy took Joe's cue and said with unsettling gentleness, "Dick, we didn't jam you up here. We won't with the next guy, either. We just have to close all the circles with this. Lay it to rest so life can go on."

"His name's John Moser," Celentano confessed, looking deflated. He looked up at Joe pleadingly. "I didn't know what else to do."

Willy abruptly dropped to one knee to better make eye contact, his demeanor hardening yet again. Celentano involuntarily flinched. But Willy didn't raise his hand or his voice, although the impact of what he said had much the same effect: "You call a priest or a counselor, you moron. You hurt your friend's feelings so you can keep him alive. That's what you owe him-not access to a gun."

Gunther never did get any closer to finding Peter Shea, although it wasn't for lack of trying. After collecting what Ted Moore had stolen the night before in exchange for not arresting him, Joe tracked down Katie Clark-Pete's girlfriend at the time he disappeared-waiting tables at one of the town's ubiquitous pizza joints.