Linwood Barclay - A Tap on the Window

“To where I dropped Hanna off. You didn’t answer my question. Could Claire have been trying to get away from her father?”

“What, you think he’s been following her around?”

“I’m asking you. What’s the story on Claire and her dad? They get along?”

“I guess they’re okay. She’s living with him and not her mom, so I guess that says something about how they got along. And she didn’t want to have to go live in Canada and get split up from all her friends. Her mom’s new husband is even weirder than her real dad, so she probably figured she was better off with him.”

“What’s weird about Bert Sanders?”

“You hear stories.”

“What kind of stories?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Just, he’s, you know, even though he’s an old guy, he really gets a lot of action. I don’t know where he’d find time to follow Claire around.”

“Are you talking about women? He has a lot of lady friends?”

“Yeah. I mean, Claire says he’s all high and mighty about a lot of things, like what’s right and wrong and all that kind of stuff and raising shit with the cops — which, by the way, I happen to think is a pretty good idea — but when it comes to gettin’ some, he’s right in there. It kind of embarrasses Claire. Hanna told me she said, one time— Maybe I shouldn’t tell this.”

I waited.

“One time, Claire comes home from school in the middle of the day — she was sick, right? And her dad’s home, and there’s this woman, she’s got her head in his lap, right in the living room.” He gave me a look. “You know what I’m talking about?”

“I know what you’re talking about. Who was the woman?”

“Shit, I don’t know. I don’t even know if Claire knew. She caught a glimpse of what was going down—” He stopped himself. “I wasn’t trying to be funny. But when she saw what was happening, she, like, ran off.”

“Is Claire afraid of her father?”

He gave me another glance. “Everybody’s afraid of their fathers. Mothers, too, mostly.”

My mind drifted for a moment. Had Scott been afraid of me? Had he been afraid of Donna? I couldn’t believe that. We were good parents.

Except for when we weren’t.

“Yeah, but there’s afraid, and then there’s afraid ,” I said. “You’re afraid your parents are going to find out about stuff you’ve done they wouldn’t approve of, and if they do, there’ll be consequences. You get grounded, lose driving privileges. End up with a Civic instead of that nice pickup you’re driving. It’s like that for all kids. But then there are parents who go too far. Who cross the line. You get what I’m saying.”

“Yeah.”

“Does Claire’s father cross some kind of line?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sean said. “You mean, like, what, slapping her around or something?”

“You tell me.”

“I don’t think so. I never seen her with bruises or anything like that.”

“What about other kinds of abuse?”

Sean made a face like he’d eaten something bad. He shook his head definitively. “No way. I mean, I don’t think so.” He paused. “If anything, Claire’s dad cares too much. That can be kind of hard to live with, too.”

“Do your parents care too much?” I said.

“Sometimes I wish they cared a little less. My dad’s on my ass all the time, and he’s pissed about Hanna being over and all, but her parents, they don’t care that much about what she does. She’s lucky that way.”

Was that what defined luck for these kids? Parents who didn’t give a shit? I seemed to recall Hanna’s parents being worried about something. A business Hanna was involved in with her boyfriend that could end up biting her in the ass.

“You and Hanna got something going on the side,” I said, not asking a question. “To make some money.”

His head jerked. I’d hit a nerve. “What?”

“What is it?” I thought immediately of Scott. “You guys selling something? You selling drugs?”

“Jesus, no.”

“You’re doing something. Her parents mentioned you had something going.”

“It’s nothing. It’s not a big deal. It’s just — look, everybody does it.”

“Everybody does what?”

“Drinks,” Sean said. “It’s no big deal around here. I mean, everybody knows you can get a drink at Patchett’s as long as you don’t look like you’re twelve. But not everybody wants to drink there. Sometimes, you know, you want to do stuff at home or someplace else.”

“Like when parents are away.”

He gave me a look. “Sometimes.”

“So where do you and Hanna fit in?”

Sean sighed. “Man, you just don’t quit, do you?”

“Something’s going on, Sean. Something with Claire. I don’t know what it is yet, but you answering my questions, it helps. I’m not looking to make trouble for you. I just want to find Claire.”

“What me and Hanna are doing, it’s got nothing to do with Claire.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that?”

Another sigh, then, “Okay, so, we get stuff people want, you know, to drink, and we deliver it.”

“You and Hanna. Using your Ranger?”

“Yeah.”

“Just to friends?”

“Like, anybody. Word gets around, people have a couple numbers they can call, they say they need some rye or vodka or beer or whatever, and we deliver.”

“With a markup.”

“Well, yeah. We’re not doing it for nothing.”

“How do you get it? You and Hanna aren’t old enough to be buying booze in bulk.”

Sean’s lips stayed pressed together.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You need someone who’s twenty-one, who can pick up everything you need. Roman.”

He looked at me. He didn’t have to admit it. I could tell from his expression.

“Roman gets a cut of what you and Hanna make?”

Sean nodded.

“You just work Griffon?” I asked.

He shook his head. “We kinda go all over. Lewiston, Niagara Falls, Lockport. If the order’s big enough. Thing is, it used to be easy to go over the border for a drink. But now, you gotta have a passport to get into Canada and back, so more kids, we gotta do it on this side. There’s a market, you know?”

“How much you make?”

“We usually only do it on Saturdays, maybe on a Friday night, too. We can make a couple hundred.”

I smiled. It was entrepreneurial, to be sure. But risky, too. Driving into neighborhoods they didn’t know, a truck full of liquor, large sums of cash. Pretty dumb, all things considered.

We rode for a minute in silence. Then I said, “I’ve got one last question for you. Not about Hanna, or Claire, or any of this.”

Sean waited.

“At Patchett’s, when I told you my name, and you asked if I was Scott’s father, the first thing you said was that you didn’t know anything about what happened to him.”

“I don’t.”

“I hadn’t even asked you anything. You came out with that pretty fast.”

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then, “I got another friend, Len Eggleton. Maybe you know who I’m talking about.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Len says one night, this guy came to see him, said he wanted to know who sold his kid some X. Len said this guy, he’d heard a rumor that Len dealt the stuff, even though, far as I know, Len’s never been into that kind of thing. Just weed, you know.”

I still said nothing.

“So anyway, Len says no way, he never sold or gave this guy’s kid any X, and the guy, then he’s all, okay, if Len didn’t give it to the kid, maybe he knows who did. And Len says no fucking way, he doesn’t know, and the guy, he says maybe Len needs time to think about his answer, and he grabs Len and he stuffs him into the trunk of Len’s car. Len’s, like, he’s totally claustrophobic, and just about freaks out, so the guy lets him out, and I think he actually kind of believes Len now, that he really doesn’t know who gave the kid the X, but the guy, he tells Len if he tells anybody about what just happened, he’ll put the word out that he did give up a name. Len was scared shitless, so he never told his parents or the cops or anyone else but me and a couple of other friends.”