Linwood Barclay - Parting Shot

“So you haven’t noticed a comment online, for example, from someone with that name? No emails from someone like that?”

Bob said, “There have been so many hateful comments online, yeah, he might be there, but you’re talking hundreds, God, thousands, of people who’ve put in their two cents’ worth about Jeremy’s trial. It’s the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

Duckworth nodded. “Sure, I get that.”

“What kind of threat is this?” Madeline asked.

“There was an incident. Someone got hurt. It was mistaken identity. I think Jeremy was the intended target.”

“What?” Gloria asked. “What happened?”

Duckworth said, “What’s important right now is your son’s safety. Where is he? When’s he coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Gloria said.

Duckworth was unable to conceal his sense of alarm. “What? You don’t know where he is?”

“It’s not like that,” Bob said. “He’s being protected.”

“Protected how?”

Madeline said, “We hired someone. It wasn’t safe for Jeremy here. We’re quite confident that he’s in good hands.”

“Where? With whom?”

Bob said, “We don’t know where. That was the whole idea. That his location be kept secret. Even we’re in the dark.”

“I hate it,” Gloria said. “Not knowing where my boy is. I can’t help thinking that letting him go with Mr. Weaver was a bad idea.”

“Wait,” Duckworth said. “Weaver? Cal Weaver?”

“That’s right,” Madeline Plimpton said. “Don’t tell me we’ve made a terrible mistake.”

He shook his head. “No, not at all. Cal’s a good man. I know him. If Jeremy’s with him, I’m sure he’s being well looked after.”

There was a collective sigh. “Well, thank God for that,” Madeline said.

“But I’d still like to know where they are. I need to tell Mr. Weaver what I’ve learned.”

Bob and Gloria shrugged. But Madeline’s lips went in and out, as though she were debating whether to reveal something.

“What is it?” Duckworth asked.

“I know where they are,” she said.

Bob’s eyes widened. Gloria said, “You knew and didn’t tell us?”

“For God’s sake, Gloria, the last person I wanted to tell was you,” Madeline said.

“Go to hell,” her niece snapped back.

Bob said, “Madeline, whatever you’ve been keeping from us, it’s got to be safe to tell the detective here. And I’ll make sure Gloria keeps a lid on things.”

“You talk about me like I’m a child,” Gloria said. She said to Duckworth, “They took away my phone.”

“And then you stole it back,” Bob said, “and gave it to Jeremy. Look how that turned out.”

Duckworth looked at Madeline. “Should we go someplace and talk?”

“No, it’s fine. They’re at my place.”

“Your place?” Duckworth said.

“Oh for God’s sake, they’re in the Cape,” Gloria said. “Why didn’t I think of that? I’d forgotten you even had that house. It’s not like we’ve been invited there in years.”

“Cape Cod?” Duckworth asked.

Madeline nodded. “A beach house. I haven’t been there in a long time. A property management company looks after it for me.”

Duckworth got out his notepad. “Address?”

Madeline gave it to him.

“Is there a phone there?”

“No, but I have a cell phone number for Mr. Weaver.”

“Okay, good.” Duckworth looked at Gloria. “I trust you’ll have no problem with my speaking to your son?”

“No, of course not,” Gloria said. “Just don’t upset him.”

Duckworth smiled. “If he’s with Cal Weaver, I don’t imagine there’s all that much to worry about. And as you say, no one knows they’re there.”

“Give me some names,” I said to Jeremy.

“What names?”

We were sitting in the upstairs living room, gazing out over the bay as the sun started going down. The clouds were streaked with orange and yellow. Another tanker ship could be seen near the horizon.

“People at the party,” I said. “The night it happened.”

“I don’t know. Lots of people.”

“Think.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I might want to talk to some of them.”

“What for?” he asked.

I sighed. “I have some questions.”

“You’re going to stir things up,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

Jeremy frowned. “I don’t know. You’re going to cause all kinds of trouble if you start asking people things.”

“Don’t you want to know what happened?”

“I know what happened. I ran over Sian McFadden and killed her. I don’t know how I did it. But I did. You’re making me crazy.”

“Sorry,” I said.

He shook his head. “We should watch some TV or something. Or go somewhere. Go to a movie maybe. This place is pretty and all but it gets boring real fast. There’s sand, and there’s water, and that’s about it.”

I pointed to the remote on the coffee table. “See what’s on.”

He snatched it up and pointed it at the TV. I hadn’t seen a non-flat screen in some time. This one was about a thirty-six-incher, which made it nearly two feet deep.

“That thing must weigh five thousand pounds,” Jeremy said. “It’s not HD or anything.” He paused. “Do you think they’d have had TV in prison?”

“In your own cell?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. Was that the thing that scared you most about going to jail?”

“God, no,” he said. “I figured I’d get killed there. Or worse.”

“Something worse than being killed?”

“I’ve seen movies and stuff. About guys being raped and everything. There were nights, during the trial, I couldn’t sleep at all. I couldn’t stop thinking what they’d do to a kid like me.”

“It can be bad,” I said.

“That’s why I don’t want you messing around with this. If you start stirring up shit, they might reopen the whole case, and this time they’ll send me away for real.”

I saw that fear again in his eyes. I decided maybe I should lay off this for a while. I pointed at the TV. “See what’s on.”

All that came up on the TV was static.

“Aw, man,” Jeremy said. He started flipping through channels, but they were all the same.

“I guess Madeline didn’t pay the cable bill,” I said. “Maybe she doesn’t hook it up until the busy season.”

“Can we go out or something? What if we drove into town and got some ice cream? I saw a place when we went for groceries.”

I thought about it. As pretty as this place was, I did feel like a change of scenery. “What the hell, let’s do that. I wouldn’t mind hitting a bakery, if there’s one open. They’ve got these things called whoopie pies.”

“Whoopie pies?”

“They kind of look like a hamburger, but the bun part’s chocolate cake, with whipped cream in the middle.”

“I want ice cream,” Jeremy said.

I nodded. “Meet me at the car in three minutes.”

I hit the bathroom, grabbed my jacket, made sure I had some cash and my car keys — I thought of something my late father used to say when he was heading out: “Spectacles, testicles, wallet and keys” — and went outside, where I found Jeremy standing next to the Honda. I locked up the beach house, got in behind the wheel and said, “Shit, I forgot my phone.”

“Oh yeah, so I’m not even allowed to have one, but you can’t go five minutes without yours.” Jeremy pointed a finger at me. “You’ve got a problem. You know that? You can’t deal with your problem until you admit you’ve got one.”

I grinned. “Shut up.”

“You’re just mad ’cause I’m right.”

“Fine,” I said. “I can quit any time I want.”