Linwood Barclay - A Tap on the Window

I wanted to ask about the car, but felt obliged to ask about his knee first.

He grinned. “That’s always a good line to use with the ladies, you know? I usually come up with a better story for them than what I’ll tell you, which’ll be the truth. I was working in what they called the Green Zone, you know? Inside the compound but not with the actual army or anything. They had, like, this whole city inside there, with everything all American. I worked for Pizza Hut. We had this trailer in there, soldiers could come up, get a slice just like they’d get back home. So I’m coming out of the trailer one day, miss the step, and come down right on my goddamn knee. Fucked it up big-time.”

“Sorry to hear that,” I said.

“Still hurts like a son of a bitch. You figure, you go over there, if you have to come back hurt, it better be because of some car bomb or missile or something, am I right? I had to hurt myself coming out of a pizza trailer. The ladies do not get that version.”

“You said the driver of the Volvo nearly ran over your foot.”

“Yeah,” he said indignantly. “I noticed the car early on, because it was parked with the motor running, and the thing was really pumping out the exhaust, you know? It was an old car and the motor was noisy and really needed a tune-up. So anyway, I’m walking toward home, right here, across the lot, which is pretty empty that time of night, and I hear this noise coming from behind, to my right, and I look around, and there’s the car you’re talking about, zooming out of there. For a second, I thought they’re trying to run me down, but I think the asshole behind the wheel, he just couldn’t see me.”

“It was a man.”

“Yeah, I mean, I could tell that much. I didn’t get a real good look at him, but yeah, it was a guy.”

“With a girl in the passenger seat.”

“I didn’t get a look at her. I could tell someone was there, but I couldn’t tell ya if was Britney Spears or Sarah Palin.”

“But you saw the driver.”

“Yep. Not much I can tell you about him, but I think it was a black guy.”

“Okay. What about age?”

“I don’t know. Not old, but other than that, I can’t really say. Except he was an asshole. He came right up alongside me. I jumped back and gave him the finger. Then I went down.”

“You got hit?”

He shook his head. “Just lost my balance. Didn’t hurt myself. But I guess the driver must have been scared he’d hit me because he hit the brakes and stopped. I was getting up, so he must have seen me in his mirror, figured I wasn’t dead, and then he floored it.”

“You get a look at the license plate?”

Timmy shook his head. “You kidding? It was dark. I mean, I think it was a New York plate, but I couldn’t tell you any more than that. Listen, you need anything else? I have to get to work.”

I said I didn’t, and thanked him for his time.

My cell went off as I was putting on my seat belt.

“Hello?”

“Hey, finally.” It was a man, and in two words he’d managed to convey exasperation. “Bill Hooper here.”

“Mr. Hooper,” I said. “Thanks for getting back to me.”

“What can I do for you? I have to tell you, right up front, I’m not taking on any new jobs. I got all I can handle for now, I’m shorthanded, and it’s the end of the season anyway. What I’d suggest is, try me in the spring, we might have some people move, cancel service, and we could put you on the list.”

“That’s not why I was calling. I need to know about Dennis Mullavey.”

“Oh,” he said. “Him.”

“Yeah. He worked for you?”

“I can’t believe Dennis’d put me down for a reference. That takes balls. Guy walks out on me, doesn’t give me any notice at all. I’d think long and hard about hiring him. I mean, he’s a good worker and all, a good kid, but you gotta be ready for him to quit on ya just like that.”

“I don’t exactly have his résumé in front of me. You have a number where I can reach him? An address? I gather he’s not from Griffon.”

“Haven’t got any of that on me,” Hopper said. “I could get my girl to call you. I think he’s from around Rochester. Came to work for me for the summer, even rented a room in my house. Look, he’s a nice kid. I liked him, he did good work, was pretty reliable, right up until the end. And now that everybody is back to school, I can’t get anyone else to work for me till the snow starts to fly. I only got one other guy. People say there’s all this huge unemployment, but you think you can find someone willing to push a lawn mower or ride a tractor or swing a leaf blower around? I’m behind. I got some clients, I haven’t been to their place in two weeks.”

“That’s rough.”

I thought of the long grass at Phyllis Pearce’s house. I asked, “You do the Pearce place?”

“Yep, that’s one. I’m way behind getting to her.”

“Why’d Dennis quit?”

“No idea. All he did was leave a note. ‘Thanks for the job, sorry about leaving’ was all he had to say. I still owed him some money — even if a guy quits on me I’m not going to stiff him on what I owe him — but I don’t think my girl’s been able to get in touch with him. He just cleared out his room and he was gone.”

“This girl — is it the one I called initially?”

“Yeah, that’d be Barb. I’ll give her a heads-up that you’re going to call.”

“I appreciate it. One last question. Dennis have a car?”

“Yup,” Hopper said. “But if he needs it for work, I don’t know how reliable it is. He had it parked here all summer. I let him use one of my trucks off-hours, if I had one available. He always topped up the tank, I’ll say that for him.”

“What kind of car?”

“Volvo. A wagon.”

“Thanks, Mr. Hopper. I’ll give Barb a call shortly.”

“Okay,” he said, and hung up.

I sat there for a moment, thinking. If Dennis Mullavey had been maintaining the grounds at Phyllis Pearce’s place, why didn’t she have any idea who he was? Then again, she might have never known the name of the young man tending her property, or been at Patchett’s when Hopper’s crew came over to—

My thoughts were distracted by another phone call.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Weaver? It’s Sheila Skilling.” Her voice was shaking. “They arrested Sean, they think—”

“I know,” I told her. “I’m sorry.”

“You have to help us,” she pleaded. “You simply have to help us.”

I wasn’t sure what I could do for the Skillings at the moment. Finding Claire was the priority. What Sean needed was a good lawyer. But I did have some questions for Sheila and Adam Skilling. For example, how much did they know about what Sean and Hanna were doing for Roman Ravelson? And there was one question I wanted to ask Adam Skilling privately.

Why was he on Iggy’s surveillance video, standing at the counter, so soon after Claire and Hanna had switched identities?

The woman says to him, “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to be totally honest with me.”

He sits in the wheelchair, avoiding her eye. “Of course,” he says.

“Did you write anything in the book other than the usual?”

“I... I told you, I can’t find it. I need you to get me another empty one so I can start writing things down again.”

“I know you gave it to the boy. You admitted it the other night. What I want to know is what you wrote in it.”

“Like you said, just the usual. Nothing to worry about.”

“But you always wrote down the dates.”

The man says nothing.

She puts her fists on her hips. “What the hell were you thinking? Can you tell me that?”