Linwood Barclay - A Tap on the Window

“This trouble between her father and the chief. It’s been pretty stressful in that household.”

“Or maybe the ex-boyfriend,” Phyllis said.

“Roman?”

“We’ve had to throw him out of Patchett’s once or twice. Of course, seems we end up throwing every young man out at some point.”

“You think Claire could have been scared of Roman?”

“Who knows? As for Mr. Mullavey, I think you may have overestimated my knowledge of what goes on around here. I don’t know anything about the young man, I’m afraid.”

“Bert Sanders is calling everyone he can think of who might know where Claire has gone. You have any ideas?”

She shrugged.

“Did you know that Hanna and her boyfriend, Sean Skilling, were delivering booze for Roman Ravelson?”

That made her sit up. “I’m impressed,” she said. “You really are starting to find out how Griffon operates.”

“Roman’s old enough to buy the product, and Sean and Hanna were delivering, and far outside the town limits. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, am I?”

“Yes and no,” she said. “I didn’t know Sean and Hanna were involved.”

“But you knew about Roman.”

She nodded.

“That bother you?”

“Bother me?” Phyllis said. “Does my place look like it’s suffering? You come in there any night of the week, the place is hopping. If Roman wants to help out a few home parties, I couldn’t care less about it. Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Weaver?”

“No, you’ve been most generous with your time.” I surveyed the porch and the surroundings. “This is a beautiful house, and a gorgeous location. You’ve lived here long?”

“My first husband and I bought this house in the early eighties. Had to do a lot of work on it over the years. When I met Harry, he moved in with me.”

“You decided to hang on to it after he passed away.” Seven years ago, I recalled her saying.

“That’s right.” Phyllis Pearce smiled wryly at me. “Everyone knows the story, but if you moved here six years ago, you probably don’t.”

I nodded. “You’re right.”

She had to collect herself. “Harry could be so stupid. He was a damn fool, is what he was. Late one night, he gets it in his head to go fishing. He hitches the boat — just a fourteen-foot aluminum thing with a ten-horsepower motor bolted to the back of it — to the car and drives down to Niagara Falls, finds a place to launch the boat just off the Robert Moses Parkway, and out he goes, less than a mile upriver from the falls.”

Pearce took another moment, steeled herself. “He had to have been drinking. There’s no question in my mind. If he’d been sober he’d have had the presence of mind to have some oars in the boat, and make sure he had a full tank of gas. He got out there, buzzing around, and the tank ran empty. Motor died on him. Couldn’t get it started. And the current started taking him away, over into the Canadian channel, and then over Horseshoe Falls.”

“Dear God,” I said.

“They called it an accident, but really? It was so preventable, in so many ways,” she said. “A stupid, stupid man, Harry was.” She sniffed, and smiled. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t love the son of a bitch, but that was a man who didn’t always have his head screwed on right.”

Phyllis Pearce exhaled and seemed to shiver, as if to shake off the memories. “I like to cultivate this reputation as Griffon’s tough old broad. The one everyone should fear. Pretty hard to fear an old bat when she gets emotional that way.”

“I won’t tell a soul you have a heart,” I said.

She smiled. “I would appreciate that.”

I stood. “Thanks for your time.”

She got out of her chair, too. “If you hear anything about Claire, will you let me know? I’m not her father’s biggest fan, but I hope like the dickens that nothing’s happened to her.”

“Sure,” I said, and offered her a hand to shake. “You take care.”

I was almost back into town when the Griffon police pulled me over and took me into custody.

I saw the cruiser in my rearview mirror a few seconds before the lights came on and the siren started to whoop. Like a good boy, I pulled over to the curb and waited for an officer to approach. Another glance in my mirror showed I was about to be visited by Officer Hank Brindle.

I powered down the window as he came up alongside me.

“Officer,” I said.

“Out of the car, Mr. Weaver,” Brindle said.

“What’s the charge, if you don’t mind my asking?” It sounded like such a cliché, but it seemed a logical question. “Busted taillight?”

“Out of the car,” he repeated, resting his hand on the gun hanging from his belt.

I turned off the engine, and as I stepped out I saw Ricky Haines getting out of the passenger side of the cruiser and moving quickly to help his partner.

“Turn around,” Brindle said. “Hands on top of the vehicle.”

I complied. Haines patted me down. I wasn’t carrying the Glock today. But he found my cell phone and confiscated it.

“He’s okay,” Haines said.

“Hands behind your back,” Brindle said. “And don’t do anything stupid.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll leave that to the experts.”

He secured my wrists with a set of plastic cuffs, then grabbed me by the elbow and started walking me to their car. He opened the back door and I ducked so as not to hit my head as he shoved me in. I brought my leg in just before he slammed the door.

“Isn’t anyone going to help me put my seat belt on?” I asked as the two of them got back into the front seat of the cruiser.

I have to admit, being a wiseass was just covering up the fact that I was nervous as hell. What the hell had they found in my car? Or an even better question might be, What the hell had they put there?

Ricky Haines barely had the passenger door closed before Brindle had the car in drive. He kicked up gravel before getting back on asphalt.

“Last night, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure about you, but I am now,” Brindle said.

“That so?”

“They got you dead to rights on this one,” Brindle said.

“Really.”

“Oh yeah. A slam dunk.” He drummed his fingers on the top of the steering wheel. “I have to say, I’ve never had much use for private dicks like yourself.”

I said nothing. I was struggling to get comfortable with my hands locked together behind me.

“I figure, if you really cared about catching bad guys, you’d be a cop. Me and Ricky, we spend all our time trying to make Griffon a better place. But guys like you, you’re too busy looking for husbands cheating on their wives and vicey versey. You’re not doing anything that matters. You’re not doing anything for the public good, and you’re always getting in the way of people like me.”

“I was a cop once,” I said. I almost said “like you.” But I wanted to think I’d never been a cop like him.

“That a fact? And this was where?”

“Promise Falls. North of Albany.”

“Pretty country up there,” Brindle said. “So what happened? Promise Falls’ high crime rate prove to be too much for you? A lot of people fishing without a license? Moose running wild in the streets?”

“Something like that,” I said. First opportunity I had, I’d call my lawyer, Patrick Slaughter, who could get started on whatever it was the police had against me. “I’d like to make a phone call.”

“I’ll bet you would.”

“When we get to the station.”

“Oh,” Brindle said, whipping his head around for a second. “Is that where you thought we were going?”

He looked in the mirror, caught my look of apprehension, and chuckled. “You should see your face. I was just messing with ya.” He glanced over at Haines. “If you can’t have a little fun, what’s the point, am I right?”