Linwood Barclay - A Tap on the Window

When Perry departed, the room erupted. People in the audience were yelling at the mayor and each other, while Sanders banged a gavel on the table to try to bring things to order.

When he saw he wasn’t getting anywhere, he said, “I move that we bring this meeting to a close. Do I have a seconder?”

A woman seated to his left raised a weary hand. “All in favor?” Sanders asked, and every hand shot up. “Fine!” he said, attempting to be heard above the ruckus.

I made my way down the center aisle to the front of the room. “Mayor Sanders!” I shouted, fighting my way upstream as others, grumbling among themselves, began filing out.

He barely glanced up, then went back to stuffing some papers into a briefcase, eager to get the hell out of here. I got up close and said, “Mr. Sanders, I need to talk to you.” He didn’t even look up. “My name’s Cal Weaver and—”

Sanders instantly stopped shuffling papers and looked at me, like I’d startled him. “Who did you say you are?”

“Cal Weaver.”

“What— I’m sorry, but I have to run.” His voice was agitated. “I–I’ve nothing else to say about this whole business.”

“I’m not here about your dispute with Chief Perry. I’m here about another matter.”

He eyed me warily. “What would that be?”

“I’m a private investigator, Mr. Sanders. I need to ask you some questions about your daughter.”

The eyebrows — sitting on his forehead like a couple of furry black caterpillars — went up. Almost, I thought, in relief. “Claire? What about her?”

“I’m trying to locate her,” I said.

“Why on earth would you be trying to do that?”

“Because — isn’t she missing?”

“Missing? Claire’s not missing. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I was probably the one who looked startled now. “Is there someplace we could go to talk?”

Sanders stuffed the last of his papers into his briefcase, snapped it shut, and cast his gaze tiredly across the room as the last of the people straggled out. “My office,” he said.

I followed him out of the courtroom and up a flight of broad wooden steps that creaked underfoot. We entered a room with a twelve-foot tin ceiling and tall windows that looked as though they’d been painted shut since the Eisenhower administration. Behind his expansive desk hung a picture of him with the current president, overlooking Niagara Falls, taken when the commander in chief took a swing through this part of the state about a year back. Sanders managed to look not like some small-town mayor, but like the head of a multibillion-dollar corporation, with his perfect hair and suit that looked like it was worth more than that modest house of his I’d been to earlier.

Sanders closed the door behind us and said, “What’s this about, Mr. Weaver?”

“Is Claire home? Has she already turned up?”

“You really have me at a loss here.”

“The police came to see me,” I said. “Earlier this evening. They’re trying to find Claire. She hasn’t been seen since last night. Are you telling me you didn’t report her missing?”

“Of course I didn’t.” But he did look concerned.

“Then where is she?”

“She’s gone away. I don’t see any reason to disclose her whereabouts to you. And what’s your connection to this, anyway?”

“I saw your daughter last night,” I told him. “She used me to give someone the slip, to get away from someone she must have believed was following her.”

“Used you? How?”

“I gave her a ride. She—”

“Whoa, stop right there,” he said. “Claire was in your car?”

“She asked for a lift, out in front of Patchett’s. She recognized me. She knew my son. If she hadn’t mentioned that, I probably wouldn’t have given her a ride. She said she was worried about someone watching her. I didn’t see how I could say no.”

Sanders seemed to be sizing me up as a possible predator. “Go on.”

“She asked me to stop at Iggy’s. Said she wasn’t feeling well. She went in, but it was a different girl that got back into my car. Dressed to look like Claire, with a wig. Hanna Rodomski. The two of them pulled a fast one on someone who may have been watching them.”

He did a slow walk to the other side of the desk, rested his hands on the back of the cushioned high-back chair. “Really.”

“Really,” I said.

“That’s quite a little stunt they pulled.” He forced a smile. “You sure they weren’t just having a little fun? Playing a trick on you?”

“Whoever they were trying to fool, it wasn’t me,” I said. “There’s no way Claire could have known I was going to be coming along at that time.”

Sanders shrugged. “Maybe it didn’t have to be you. It could have been whoever they got to pick Claire up. A practical joke.”

“I don’t think so. If it’s all a joke, then why are the police involved?”

Sanders’ tongue moved around the inside of his cheek like a lollipop. “It must just be some kind of misunderstanding.”

I placed my hands on the desk and leaned forward. “Here’s what I’m having a hard time getting my head around. The police seem to think your daughter is missing. They want to find her. They’re either worried about her or think she’s mixed up in something they want to ask her about. But you, you don’t seem to be that worried at all. About your own daughter. Maybe you could clarify that for me.”

Sanders hesitated. People usually did that for two reasons. They didn’t want to tell you the real story, or they were buying time while they thought up a good story.

“You saw what went on tonight,” he said.

“That meeting?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re telling me there’s a connection between your daughter and the fight you’ve got going with the Griffon cops?”

He gave me a sly grin that showed off his perfect teeth. “Like you don’t know.”

“You’re losing me,” I said.

“I know your connection. I know what kind of game you’re working here.”

“Connection? You talking about me and Chief Perry?”

Sanders nodded smugly, like he was no fool. “I know he’s your brother-in-law.”

“What of it?”

“Didn’t think I knew, did you? Figured you might get that one past me.”

“I don’t give a damn whether you know or not,” I said. “He’s my wife’s brother. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You think I’m stupid?” he asked. “You think I can’t figure out what’s going on here? Perry doesn’t like losing leverage, does he? Doesn’t like it that he’s got one less person to intimidate. You can tell him I know what he’s doing. You can tell him it’s not working. I don’t care how many cruisers he has watching me, or how many people he thinks he can turn against me. Because that’s what he’s doing, you know. He’s making this an ‘us against them’ kind of town, using fear to turn people to his side. If you’re not with the great Augustus Perry, you’re on the side of the criminals. Well, it’s not gonna work. I’m not backing down. He doesn’t run this town. He may think he does, but he doesn’t.”

“Is the chief trying to scare you? Is he harassing you?”

“Oh, please,” Sanders said. “What’d he think? That he could send you here, trick me into telling you where Claire is?”

“So she is missing. Or hiding.”

Sanders smiled. “She’s fine. There’s the door, Mr. Weaver.”

“Has Claire been threatened? Because of what’s going on between you and Perry?”

He just shook his head dismissively.

“You’ve got it wrong,” I said. “My concern for Claire is genuine. I gave her a lift, and she disappeared on my watch. I have to know. I have to know that she’s okay.”