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Linwood Barclay: Parting Shot

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Linwood Barclay Parting Shot
  • Название:
    Parting Shot
  • Автор:
  • Издательство:
    Orion
  • Жанр:
  • Год:
    2017
  • Город:
    London
  • Язык:
    Английский
  • ISBN:
    978-1-4091-6393-0
  • Рейтинг книги:
    4 / 5
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Parting Shot: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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When a young girl from Promise Falls is killed by a drunk driver, the community wants answers. It doesn’t matter that the accused is a kid himself: all they see is that he took a life and got an easy sentence. As pack mentality kicks in and social media outrage builds, vicious threats are made against the boy and his family. When Cal Weaver is called in to investigate, he finds himself caught up in a cold-blooded revenge plot. Someone in the town is threatening to put right some wrongs... And in Cal’s experience, it’s only ever a matter of time before threats turn into action.

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Five

Cal

Ms. Plimpton led me out of the dining room, through a kitchen that was bigger than my entire apartment, and out to a screened-in porch that overlooked an expansive backyard with a working fountain. The porch was decked out with white wicker furniture decorated with plump flowered cushions. Four of the chairs were occupied.

I’d been given the impression I’d be meeting just two people, not an entourage.

I figured the woman sitting in the closest chair was Ms. Plimpton’s niece, Gloria Pilford. Fortyish, decked out in white slacks, a coral-colored top and high-heeled sandals. Her blonde hair seemed to be inflated, making her head look too big for her slender body. She sprang to her feet when Ms. Plimpton and I entered the room, and those heels allowed her to look me right in the eye. When she smiled, her face wrinkled like crêpe paper, as if the muscles used to convey happiness might end up tearing her face apart.

She extended a hand and I took it.

“This is wonderful,” she said. “I’m so pleased you’re going to help us.”

Before I could say anything, Ms. Plimpton raised a hand of caution. “He’s agreed to meet you, Gloria. Nothing more than that, for now.”

The smile retracted immediately, and Gloria struggled to restore it. She turned to the three people — all male — who were still seated.

“Mr. Weaver, this is my good friend, and partner, Bob Butler.”

The first man stood. Just over six feet, silver-haired, barrel-chested and strong-jawed, blue eyes. Pushing fifty, or maybe he’d recently pushed past it. Tailored slacks, open-collared white dress shirt, plaid sport jacket. He put out a hand too. The grip was firm.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Madeline has had good things to say about you.”

“And this,” Gloria Pilford said, as the second man stood, “is Grant Finch.”

He was the only one in a suit, and I was betting the Rolex on his wrist was the only one in the room. He’d be the one who owned that Beemer in the driveway. He was slighter shorter than Bob Butler, but his grip was just as firm when we shook hands.

“I’ve also heard good things,” he said, giving me a smile worthy of a game-show letter-turner. Those perfect teeth probably cost as much as his car. “I expect you already know why I’m here. I acted on Jeremy’s behalf during the trial.”

“Most famous lawyer in the country,” I said.

He waved a hand dismissively. “Or infamous, depending on one’s point of view. That’ll last a week or two, then I’ll be forgotten until HBO decides to make this all into a miniseries twenty years from now.”

The way he said it suggested he was counting on it.

Gloria moved the two men aside so I could view the young man slouching in the wicker chair at the end of the porch. Extending her arm in a kind of ta da! gesture, she said, “And last but not least, my son, Jeremy.”

The young man had slid so far down the chair I was worried he might hit the floor. He had the rigidity of boneless chicken. His head was inches from where the cushions met, his eyes focused on the phone he held firmly in his lap in both hands. His thumbs were moving rapidly.

His great-aunt, Ms. Plimpton, had said he was eighteen, but he could have passed for twenty or twenty-one. Short black hair, pasty complexion, as though he’d spent more time looking at video screens than running bases. It was hard to tell how tall he was, given his slithered state, but under six feet.

Without looking away from his phone, he said, “Hey.”

“Jeremy, for God’s sake, shake the man’s hand,” his mother said, like I was a puppy she wanted him to pet.

“It’s okay,” I said, raising a palm. “Nice to meet you, Jeremy.”

Gloria smiled awkwardly at me. “Please excuse him. He’s tired, and he’s been under a great deal of stress.”

“We all have,” Bob Butler said.

Gloria had referred to Bob as her friend and partner. He wasn’t the boy’s father. That much seemed clear.

“Of course,” I said.

“Jeremy,” Gloria said, her voice struggling to stay upbeat, “can I get you anything?”

He grunted.

She turned to me for another chance at hospitality. “How about you, Mr. Weaver? A drink?”

“I’m good,” I said. “Your aunt served tea.”

She sighed and said quietly, “I could use something stronger. Why don’t we move this conversation to the kitchen.”

Grant Finch put a friendly hand atop my shoulder as we — all of us except Jeremy — left the sunroom. “We’ve all been through a lot, but at least we’re coming out the other side of the nightmare,” he said.

Seconds later we were standing around the kitchen island while Gloria opened the oversized stainless-steel refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine.

“Anyone?” she asked.

There were no takers.

I said, “Maybe you could tell me about the harassment you’ve been getting.”

“It hasn’t just been Jeremy,” Gloria said over the pop of the cork. The bottle was already half empty. “I’ve been getting my fair share too. People are saying unbelievable things about me on the Internet. That I’m the worst mother in the world.” Another sigh. “Maybe it’s true.”

“It certainly isn’t,” said Bob. “Gloria loves Jeremy more than anything in the world. She’s a wonderful mother. I’ve seen that first hand.”

Ms. Plimpton was stone-faced. She turned away and went to the dining room to bring in the teapot and cups.

I looked at Bob. “You and Ms. Pilford...” I let the sentence dangle.

Gloria moved in close to Bob and slipped her arm into his, then displayed her hand so I wouldn’t miss the rock on her finger. “Bob and I are engaged. The one bright spot in my life these days.” She grimaced. “No, I take that back. Jeremy not going to jail, that was a wonderful thing.”

Bob smiled uncomfortably. “Gloria just needs to sort some things out before we can get married. But we’ve been together a few years now.”

Gloria nodded. “Once I’m finally free of Jack, we can move forward. That’s my ex.” She rolled her eyes. “Just waiting for the divorce to go through. Bob’s been so patient. He’s been so good to me.”

And then she dug her teeth into her lower lip.

“Well,” I said. “That’s great.”

“And my other hero is this man right here,” she said, indicating Grant Finch. “If it weren’t for him, my boy’d be in jail right now.” She gave Bob’s arm a squeeze. “I can thank you for Grant.”

Bob said, “Well, me and Galen.”

At the mention of that name, Gloria slipped her arm out of Bob’s and went back to find a glass for her wine.

Bob continued, “It was Galen who put me on to Grant. When Jeremy had his troubles, Galen immediately thought of Grant and it was a terrific recommendation.”

“Galen?” I said.

Bob nodded at my puzzlement. “Sorry. Galen Broadhurst. My business associate. I’m in real estate, land development, that kind of thing.”

“Is he here?” I asked.

“He actually said he might be coming up later today.”

“We just couldn’t have done it without you, Grant,” Gloria said to Finch, pouring wine into a long-stemmed glass. Her eyes narrowed. “Even if you did make me look like a fool in the process.”

It was the first thing she’d said that sounded like it was straight from the heart.

“Well,” Grant said, “we all wanted the same thing. To keep Jeremy out of jail. He didn’t deserve that fate.”

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