Linwood Barclay - Broken Promise - A Thriller

Maybe it made more sense to go over there.

Right fucking now.

I heard water running in the bathroom. The shower. The phone still in my hand, I called home.

It picked up on the first ring. “Yeah?”

“Dad, I need to talk to Mom.”

“What’s up?”

“Just put her on.”

A fumbling sound, a muted “He wants to talk to you.” And then: “What is it, David?”

“Something’s happened here at Marla’s.”

“Did you give her the chili?”

“No. I mean, I brought it. But... Mom, there’s a baby here.”

“What?”

“She’s got a baby. She says it’s hers. She says some woman came to the door and just gave it to her. But the story, it’s just not holding water. Mom, I’m starting to wonder... I hate to say this, but I’m wondering — God, this sounds totally crazy — but I’m wondering if she snatched this kid from someone.”

“Oh, no,” Mom said. “Not again.”

Barry Duckworth wanted officers dispatched to the neighborhoods surrounding the park to canvass residents in case anyone had noticed anything suspicious the night before. A person carrying a heavy sack, maybe, hanging around the fence long enough to string up nearly two dozen squirrels.

The first uniformed cop on the scene, a six-footer by the name of Angus Carlson, saw the assignment as an opportunity to perfect his stand-up act.

“This case could be a tough nut to crack,” Carlson said to Duckworth. “But I’m feeling bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready to get at it. But if we don’t find a witness soon I’m gonna go squirrelly.”

Duckworth had encountered Carlson at several crime scenes in recent months. He seemed to think he’d been assigned the role of Lennie Briscoe, the Law & Order detective played by Jerry Orbach, who always had some clever quip to make before the opening credits. From the few conversations Duckworth had had with the man, he knew that he’d come here four years ago after working as a cop in some Cleveland suburb.

“Spare me,” Duckworth told him.

He put in a call to the town’s animal welfare department, spoke to a woman named Stacey, brought her up to speed. “I got a feeling this may fall more into your bailiwick, but I’ve got some people working the scene right now. The type of person who does this, it’d be kind of nice to know who it is before people’s cats and dogs start hanging from the streetlights.”

Duckworth walked back in the direction of his car. Ex-mayor Randall Finley had hung in to watch other police arrive, take pictures, search the area, but when he saw Duckworth leaving, he followed him, dragging Bipsie along on her leash.

“You want to know what I think?” Finley asked.

“You bet I do, Randy.”

“I bet it’s some kind of sicko cult. This is probably an initiation ritual.”

“Hard to say.”

“You’ll keep me posted, now.”

Duckworth shot Finley a look as he opened the door to his unmarked cruiser. Did the ex-politician really think he had some kind of authority?

“If I have any questions I’ll be sure to get in touch,” he said, then got behind the wheel and closed the door.

Finley evidently wasn’t finished. He’d made no move to step back from the car. Barry powered down the window. “Still got something on your mind?”

“Something I wanted you to know. I’m not telling a lot of people about this, not yet, but I think you’re somebody who should be in the loop.”

“What?”

“I’m gonna run again,” Finley said, then paused for effect. When neither shock nor delight crossed Barry’s face, he continued. “Promise Falls needs me. Things have gone to shit since I was in charge. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I don’t follow politics,” Duckworth said.

Finley grinned. “Don’t give me that. Politics has everything to do with how you do your job. Elected officials fuck up, let jobs disappear; people get desperate, they drink more, get into more brawls, break into more homes. You telling me that’s not true?”

“Randy, really, I have to go.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know; you’re on the trail of a squirrel serial killer. All I’m saying is, when I get back in—”

“If.”

“ When I get back in, I’ll be looking to make some changes, and that could include the chief of police. You strike me as the kind of man who’d be good for a job like that.”

“I’m happy doing what I’m doing. And if you don’t mind my pointing this out, the voters may not have forgotten your habit of engaging the services of fifteen-year-old prostitutes.”

Finley’s eyes narrowed. “First of all, it was just one underage prostitute, and she’d told me she was nineteen.”

“Oh, okay. Sure, run. There’s your slogan right there. ‘She told me she was nineteen. Vote Finley.’”

“I got fucked over, Barry, and you know it. I was a good mayor. I got shit done; I worked to save jobs. This personal stuff was irrelevant, and the media made a much bigger deal of it than it deserved. I’m thinking, now that that Plimpton bitch has shut down the Standard and I don’t have to worry about a lot of negative press, I got a real shot. I can control the message. It’s not like the Albany media gives a shit what goes on around here, unless I get caught fucking a goat or something. What I’m trying to tell you is, your being something of an insider for me in the department is something I would look upon with gratitude, and someday I’d be looking to repay the favor.”

“You think being kept up to speed on a squirrel torturer is your key to victory?” Barry asked.

Finley shook his head. “Course not. But I’m just saying, generally, anything that’s going on you think might be in my interest to know about, you give me a call. That’s all. That’s not asking a lot. It’s good to have an ear on the inside. Like, say Her Royal Highness Amanda Croydon, I dunno, gets pulled over for drunk driving.”

“I don’t think our current mayor has the same issues as you do, Randy.”

“Okay, not drunk driving, but whatever. She gets a city road crew to shovel her driveway.” He grinned. “That almost sounds dirty. Anyway, you hear anything about her taking advantage of the taxpayer or cutting legal corners, you could pass it along. Same goes for the chief. There’s got to be stuff on her. Can you believe we got a woman mayor and a woman police chief? They should rename this town Beaver Falls.”

“I have to go, Randy.”

“Because, let’s face it” — and the former mayor leaned in closer — “we’ve all got things we like to keep hidden. Some of us — I mean, I’m the perfect example — have nothing left to hide. It’s already out there. But there are others who’d be happy for the world not to know all their business.”

Duckworth’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

Finley smiled slyly. “Who said I’m getting at anything?”

“Jesus, Randy, are you... Tell me this isn’t some lame attempt to threaten me.”

Finley moved back as though slapped in the face, but kept smiling. “How could you say such a thing? I’m just making conversation. As far as I know, you have an impeccable record with the Promise Falls police. Ask anyone. It’s an unblemished career.” He leaned back in again. “You’re a good cop, and a good family man.”

He put the emphasis on family .

“I’ll see you later, Randy,” Duckworth said. He raised the window and put the car in drive.

Finley offered up a friendly wave good-bye, but Duckworth wasn’t looking.

Duckworth headed for Thackeray College.

The campus was close enough to the park that students often walked through it, jogged through it, did drugs in it, made out in it. A Thackeray kid could have killed those squirrels. Or if not, a Thackeray kid might have seen it happen.