Linwood Barclay - Parting Shot

“Anything else, Randy?” Duckworth asked.

“God, you’ve always been a stubborn son of a bitch. Think about it, okay? If you come, I’m gonna give you a plaque.”

“I don’t want a plaque.”

“I’ve already ordered it.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Mayor.” Duckworth ended the call and got out of the car.

Given that his was the only vehicle in the driveway, he knew he had arrived home before Maureen or Trevor. Maureen he expected to get here at any moment. As for Trevor, who knew?

He came in the side door of the house, which led him directly into the kitchen. He took off his sport jacket, loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves. Then he removed his weapon from his belt holster and put it in a lockbox in the laundry room, as was his usual routine.

He returned to the kitchen, opened the fridge and reached for a lite beer. He didn’t know that drinking lite beer was really doing anything for him in the calorie department. Used to be he’d have only one beer when he got home, but now he often had two. He uncapped the bottle, put it to his lips, and drew on it for several seconds.

He couldn’t help but feel relieved that Trevor was not home.

He opened the fridge a second time and wondered about dinner. Should he start something? Maureen usually cooked supper, but she worked all day the same as he did. But if it were up to him, they’d be eating steaks with baked potatoes smothered in butter and sour cream. He knew Maureen would have something healthier in mind. In fact, the fridge was filled with clear plastic containers of salad.

Oh joy.

He decided the best action for now was inaction. He took his beer with him to the kitchen table, sat down, and reached for Maureen’s iPad, which was sitting there.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Craig Pierce.

Some things, once seen, could not be unseen.

The man had suffered horrific injuries, and yet, by the end of their discussion, Duckworth was feeling no pity for him. If ever a case proved that victimization did not confer sainthood, it was Craig Pierce.

But Pierce had given Duckworth something to think about. If he and Brian Gaffney had both been set upon by the same person — or persons — why were the horrors visited upon Pierce splashed across the Internet, but not what was done to Gaffney?

Clearly someone was trying to make a point with Gaffney. But the man with the tattooed message on his back claimed not to know what it was about. And Duckworth was finding it hard to believe that what had been done to the man had anything to do with Mrs. Beecham’s dead dog. Although he had a feeling something funny was going on at that old lady’s house that had nothing to do with Brian Gaffney.

Wait , he thought. Maybe—

He heard a car pulling into the driveway, the engine dying. When the door to the kitchen opened, and Maureen stepped in, Duckworth got up to greet her. He walked over, beer in hand, and gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Hey,” he said. “I was going to start dinner, but I thought—”

“Oh, stop,” she said.

The first thing she did, even before taking off her jacket, was kick off her shoes. “God, I’ve been waiting forever to do that. I know desk jobs are awful, but at least if I had one of those I wouldn’t have to stand for nine hours.”

“Long day?” he asked.

“Is it possible to do a twenty-hour shift in a nine-hour work day? It was like time slowed down.” Maureen had worked at the eyeglass place in the mall for ten years and had never loved it. It had never been more than just a job. “What about you?”

Duckworth grimaced. “It had its moments.”

“Good or bad?”

He thought before answering. “Memorable.”

“Dumb question, anyway,” she said, “considering what you do. Was there a high point? Or a low point that was so low it was a high point?”

There were a few to choose from. The tattooed man? The one who’d had his genitals bitten off? The interrogation of their son and his new girlfriend?

“Let me think about that.”

“Why don’t you think about it while I get changed for dinner.”

“Say what?”

“You’re taking me out.” She smiled and gave him a kiss. “It’s so thoughtful of you.”

“Do I get to pick the place?” He was already thinking ribs.

She hesitated. “Why don’t we give Trevor a call and see if he wants to join us? We can let him pick the place.”

When Duckworth didn’t jump on the suggestion, Maureen said, “What? What’s wrong, Barry?”

“I think it’d be nice, just the two of us.”

“Did something happen today with Trevor?”

Duckworth was debating how much to tell her when they became aware of another car pulling into the driveway, followed seconds later by the slamming of a car door.

“Speak of the devil,” he said.

The door into the kitchen opened. Trevor took one step in and froze at the sight of his parents.

“Hey, Trev,” Maureen said cheerfully.

“Oh, great,” he said, taking in the two of them. “I guess Dad’s already filled you in.”

“About?”

“Treating me and my girlfriend like a couple of suspects.”

Maureen looked sharply at her husband. “What?” Then, just as quickly, back at Trevor, “Girlfriend?”

Duckworth shook his head. “It’s not like that. Trevor, you know that’s not how it was.”

“I never felt so embarrassed in my life,” Trevor said, moving past them. “Just the way you want someone to meet your dad.”

“What did you do?” Maureen asked Duckworth.

“I thought he might have been able to help me,” he said. “Simple as that.”

“Were you ever going to tell me about this?”

“You’ve been home for like two minutes,” Duckworth said defensively.

“Who’s this girl?” she asked Trevor.

“Carol,” he said.

“Beakman,” Duckworth added.

“Yeah, Dad would remember. I think he wrote it all down in his little notebook.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Duckworth said. “Come on, Maureen, let’s get some dinner.”

“We’re going out,” Maureen told Trevor. “Come with us. We’ll get this all sorted.”

“I’ll pass,” Trevor said, exiting the kitchen.

“What will you eat?” Maureen asked. “I haven’t made anything. There’s some—”

“I’m not five, Mom,” he said. “I’ll figure something out.” They heard him stomp up the stairs.

“It’s like having a teenager all over again,” Duckworth said.

“How could you do that to him?”

He raised his palms. “I’m telling you, he’s overreacting. I’m sorry it happened, but he’s blowing it all out of proportion. Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

“I don’t even know if I want to go now.”

“Come on. Do I still get to pick?”

She eyed him warily. “Fine. Pick.”

“Let’s go to Knight’s.”

Maureen’s face fell. “You’re not serious. That’s not a restaurant. It’s a dive.”

“They have good wings,” he said. “And there’s something there I want to have another look at.”

She shrugged. “Give me five minutes.”

Maureen managed to tread more lightly going up the stairs than her son had moments earlier. It wasn’t her intention to be a sneak. It was just that, in her stocking feet, she didn’t make a sound when she reached the second-floor hallway and started heading to the bedroom she shared with her husband.

The door to her son’s room was ajar, and she could hear him talking on his cell phone.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Trevor whispered. It sounded to Maureen like an angry whisper.

“You certainly don’t have to do it on my account,” he continued. “Yeah, well, maybe what we’re doing now is the right thing.”