J. Black - The Shop

“So now it wasn’t just about ruining my career,” Eric Salter said. “They would have killed her.”

Landry thought about how he would feel if someone had picked up Kristal. His reaction would have been different. He would have found the abductor and killed him slowly. He asked, “So you shot this man when you didn’t need to?”

“Yes. It was clear he was going to surrender.”

Landry stared at the man until he squirmed. In that moment he seemed truly lucid, the self-hatred in his eyes shining through. “I thought I had a clean shot, thought I could take him out, but…he moved.”

“He moved?”

“Just a quarter of an inch, but it rattled me.”

“It rattled you because you didn’t want to do it?”

“Roger that.” Vituperative.

“Then what happened?” Landry asked, although he wasn’t particularly interested in a hostage situation at a motel.

“I had the shot. I was sure I had the shot.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I got him. But I got the hostage, too.”

When they were done talking, Landry turned up the triptascoline until Eric the FBI agent drifted off into the netherworld. Landry found his carotid artery and injected air from an empty syringe just below the jawline. The resulting embolism was quick, painless, and hard to trace. That done, he deposited the body in the other bench seat compartment.

The FBI agent hadn’t been much help. He was too consumed by guilt and self-loathing. He didn’t know who ordered the hit. It was all pretty much a wash.

Clearly, the agent’s fear had affected his aim at the motel. He wasn’t choosing his shot. He was forcing his shot.

Eric Salter had failed as a sniper. It was probably just as well he was dead.

38

Jolie went to seven houses and asked about the standoff at the Starliner Motel. Nobody saw anything. Or didn’t remember seeing anything, which was the same. Kids played in the street. One of them, harnessed to an iPod, zoomed his bike up and down the road in the dark.

Jolie started back up the road. She heard the hum of bike tires, and the boy skidded to a stop right in front of her. He let the earbuds drop. “You asked my mom about the standoff?”

“Why, did she see something?”

“No, but I did.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw a guy.”

He was walking the bike now, the two of them side by side, heading up the low incline. “What guy?”

Kid shrugged. “Never saw him before.”

“Can you describe him?”

“Kinda hard to see. He kept to the shadows.”

“Where’d you see him?”

He pointed back the way they’d come. “See that first house on the left side? See the boat?”

Jolie could barely make out an aluminum boat lying facedown on some blocks.

“I saw him crawl out of there.”

“Anything about him stand out?” she asked.

“He had long hair. Didn’t have a shirt on.”

“Pants?”

“Jeans. They were kind of low. Not like they were supposed to be, just they were big on him, like he was starved skinny.”

“Sounds like you saw a lot.”

He shrugged.

“Then what?”

“I was on my bike. When I came back, he was gone. But a few minutes later, I saw him in the Frohmans’ backyard.”

“What was he doing?’

The boy paused, looked at her. “He pointed his gun at me.”

“His gun?”

“He said, ‘Get the fuck out of here or you’ll be sorry.’”

“He yelled at you in broad daylight?”

“You think I’m lying?”

“No.”

“You’re thinking, how come nobody saw anything? Because everyone was inside. Or in school. That’s why I never said anything to my dad, ’cause I cut school.”

“You cut school?”

“I pretended I had a stomachache. Mom works, so I went home and snuck in and got my tackle and went fishing at the Ghost Lakes.”

“How was the fishing?”

“Crappie.”

Jolie smiled—kid had a way about him. “What did you do when he waved the gun at you?”

“Are you kidding? I took off! Mama didn’t raise no fools.” He was good with accents. Sounded like that black kid who had a TV show when Jolie was a child. “You gonna tell me what’s going on? Was he the guy who took that lady hostage?”

“Could be.”

“Then I’m a hero.” He held his hand out. “So where’s my reward?”

“I guess I could talk to your mom.”

He sighed. “Didn’t think I’d get anything.”

“You mind if I record your statement?”

“Nope.”

Jolie pulled out her microcassette recorder, and they went through it again. After they were done, it was full dark. “You going to be all right riding back?”

“Are you kidding?” He got on his bike. “You don’t want to hear about the car?”

Jolie stared at him. “Car?”

39

As she walked back up the road toward the motel, Jolie thought about the description of the car Mark Armstrong had given her. Dark blue, “official-looking, like the Secret Service, only older.”

Jolie asked him if he saw who was driving. It was just one guy. He had a buzz cut, wore a dark jacket. Close to Charly’s description of the man at her house. Jolie asked him how many times the car went by.

Four times, he said. Cruising, real slow—it spooked him.

Before or after the man hid under the boat?

After.

Anything else?

“The front was crushed in. The bumper was dragging, like he’d just been in an accident.”

It appeared that someone, someone “official,” had picked up Luke Perdue. Luke managed to get away, maybe by causing an accident? Then he hid under a boat, went into the Frohmans’ backyard, and threatened a boy with a gun. It would have taken him only a few minutes to get from the Frohmans’ backyard to the Starliner Motel.

Jolie didn’t have any more facts, but she could guess what happened from there. Luke Perdue must have spotted Kathy Westbrook and forced his way into her room. He’d been described as desperate. Desperate and scared?

Running away from Buzz Cut? Did he somehow get Buzz Cut’s gun?

The gun Luke had used that day had been a “throwdown”—the serial numbers had been filed off. It was untraceable. That would fit with a rogue FBI agent, or even a regular cop. Some cops were known to have an extra, untraceable weapon on them, in case a situation went bad and they needed to point to another suspect.

Be prepared. The motto wasn’t just for Boy Scouts.

She could ask Louis to put a BOLO on the car. Dark blue, smashed right quarter panel. But it all happened a month ago. The car was probably long gone. She could only ask Louis for so many favors before wearing out her welcome.

She took out her phone and called Zoe.

Zoe answered on the first ring.

“Did Riley tell you why Luke broke up with her?”

“Why he broke up with her?” Zoe sounded confused. “I don’t think she knows.”

“He never told her?”

“She couldn’t reach him. He wouldn’t answer the phone. He hid out from her.”

“Hid out?”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not?”

“Because that wasn’t fair. They were in love.”

She was trying to sound like a caring friend.

“He didn’t really love her, did he?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice was faint, as if she’d pushed the phone away from her mouth. “I guess, I don’t know, maybe he was using her.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know. Honest.”

“What did Luke look like?”

“He was skinny.”

Jolie vaguely remembered his picture in the paper. “He had long hair and a mustache?”