Sweet Dreams, page 22
“You can see it from the dude’s point of view, though, can’t you? ’Cause you’re the girl, the lone female. Thinks he can fuck with you and get away with it. De’Ron Griffin—remember him?—probably thought the same thing. We’ll talk to the chief about it, see what he thinks.”
Kate gave him a look.
Cornbread met her gaze and said, “Come on, QD, how’re you gonna get around that?”
“Not say anything.”
“I can’t let this go. I want to help you but I like my job. I’d like to finish my career with the Marshals Service, not as a security guard working nights at a mall.”
“It never happened.” She sipped some coffee. “How about that? And if he shows up again, I’m going to shoot him.” Kate yawned, still groggy from the spiked wine. “Can we talk about it in the morning? I have to get some sleep. I can’t keep my eyes open.”
“I can stay if it’ll make you feel better. Sleep on the couch.”
“I’m okay. Go home.”
Kate brushed her teeth and put on a T-shirt. She looked out her bedroom window and saw Cornbread’s G-ride parked on the street. She grabbed her phone, punched in his number, and said, “What’re you doing?”
“Thinking about your situation.”
“What’s your conclusion?”
“I’m involved now.” He was silent for a couple beats. “We’ve got to run this by Charlie, see what he thinks.”
“Just do me a favor, go home to your fiancée.”
Kate racked the Glock, placed it on the table next to the bed, turned out the light, and slid under the covers.
•••
On the way back to town Ray picked up his car in Hazel Park and left the old man’s truck on the street. He stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of W. L. Weller and a bag of cashews, then cruised by Kate’s apartment. The lights were out. He saw one of her marshal buddies, the black guy, sitting in an old Pontiac Bonneville parked on the street, driver’s window open, the faint glow of a cigarette. Ray drove to the street behind the apartment building, pulled over, and killed the engine.
He sat for a while, sipping bourbon out of an old coffee cup, checking the cameras he’d installed in Kate’s apartment on his phone. The rooms were dark. Ray poured half an inch of Weller into the cup, finished it in two swallows, and got out of the car.
He entered the building through the rear door and took the stairs to the second floor. Ray opened the apartment door and stood in the dark, eyes adjusting. He took off his shoes, walked into the living room, and checked the book cam. It was still operating. Ray downloaded it on his phone and saw a close-up of his distorted face peering into the lens.
He checked the bedroom. Kate was on her side under the covers, snoring lightly. Her Glock was on the table next to the bed. He picked up the gun, ejected the magazine, and put it in his pocket. He glanced out the window. The Pontiac was still parked on the street.
Ray went in the kitchen, wrote a note on the small blackboard, and left the apartment. He drove to the motel and got in bed, lying back on the cushion of pillows, glass of bourbon in his hand. He ate a cashew and washed it down with a slug of Weller, staring out the window at the pink neon sign, too excited to sleep, thinking about what he was going to do in the morning.
Thirty-eight
Kate opened her eyes looking at the clock. It was 6:57 a.m. She got up, showered and dressed, went downstairs, got the Free Press out of her mailbox, and took it up to the kitchen, scanning the sports section. The Tigers won again and now were only two games out of first place with two weeks to go till the end of the season.
After making coffee and toasting an English muffin, she sat at the table and glanced at the black board and saw SWEET DREAMS in white chalk. The simple words sent a shiver through her. Ray Skinner again. How did he know she was alone? It was a risky move. Why would he take the chance? ’Cause it was part of the game. He was toying with her. Kate had her hand on the phone to call Cornbread but hesitated. If she told him what happened that would be it. She’d be taken off the task force. If she didn’t tell him it would be withholding information. What was the penalty for that?
Kate glanced at the wall in front of her and noticed a white charging plug in the socket. She’d never seen it before. What was going on? She got up and pulled it out, staring at what appeared to be a lens of some kind, and thought of something Yumi had said. Ray had cameras installed in their apartment. That’s what this was. That’s how he knew she was alone last night. He was watching her.
She went in the bedroom and picked up the Glock. It felt light. That’s ’cause the magazine was gone. The grip was empty. Her heart started racing again, picturing Ray Skinner standing over her while she was sleeping.
Kate unlocked the gun box in the closet, loaded a mag in the Glock, and racked it, chambering a round. Now she stood at the window with binoculars panning cars parked on the street. Cornbread was gone. She searched the apartment and checked the front door. No sign of forced entry. So either Skinner picked the lock or had a key.
In the kitchen, she opened the drawer where she kept her spare keys. They were gone. Kate found another camera in a binder on the bookcase in the living room and a third one in her office. She dumped everything in a plastic garbage bag and sealed the top.
Her cell rang and she answered it, surprised to hear Thompson’s voice. “Will you put Frank on?”
“He isn’t here, left last night about nine thirty. I haven’t talked to him since.”
“He isn’t here either and I need my car.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you.” Kate disconnected and tried Frank, thinking he was probably at the realtor’s house or at a bar having his first drink. The phone rang several times and went to voicemail. “This is Frank, leave a message.”
“Call me,” Kate said. “It’s important.”
She was about to leave for work when the phone rang again. The caller identified himself as Detective Shaffo with the Waterford Police Department.
“Am I speaking to Deputy US Marshal Katherine McGraw?”
“What can I do for you?”
“Is Frank Galvin your father?”
“What’s this about?”
“I’d like to meet with you and explain the situation.”
“Is Frank okay?”
“He’s in the hospital for observation, but he should be fine.”
Kate was expecting bad news, so that was a relief.
It took forty minutes to get there. Ed Shaffo met her in the lobby. He was lean and pale, with dark hair combed back and sculpted sideburns. After glancing at her ID, he led Kate to an interview room and sat across the table from her, getting right to it.
“Mr. Galvin was found not far from here, walking on Hatchery Road, soaking wet, in a confused, agitated state of mind.” Shaffo, the small-town detective, was trying his best to sound official.
“Did you ask him what happened?”
“I questioned him here. At first, he was unresponsive and then said he couldn’t remember anything and didn’t know what happened to the car he was driving. The way he looked and acted I thought he was drunk, drove off the road into Loon Lake, which is a little more than a mile from here. I had Mr. Galvin breathalyzed and his blood alcohol was under the limit, so obviously something else had caused the accident. Is he taking medication?”
“No.”
Shaffo said, “Is he on drugs?”
“No way.”
“How do you know?”
“’Cause he’s an old-fashioned guy,” Kate said. “Still drinks beer out of the bottle.”
“Maybe he fell asleep at the wheel. What kind of car does Mr. Galvin drive?”
“A Honda Accord.” She didn’t tell him the owner was Bill Thompson.
“Mr. Galvin was subsequently taken to St. Joseph Mercy Oakland Hospital for observation, as I mentioned. I questioned him again this morning, and he still didn’t remember what happened or the whereabouts of his automobile.”
“Is Frank under arrest?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
Kate heard doubt in his voice. “You don’t sound sure.”
“On that same stretch of road where we found Mr. Galvin there was a homicide. Local handyman shot twice. And his pickup truck was stolen.”
“And you think these events are related? You think Frank was involved?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“What’re you saying?”
“The circumstances are unusual, to say the least.”
“Did you ask Frank if he witnessed the murder?”
“Says he doesn’t remember seeing anything.”
Kate said, “You don’t believe that either, I’m guessing.”
“Not necessarily.” Shaffo combed his hair back with long-nailed fingers.
“What does that mean?”
“You have to admit this whole thing is extremely odd.”
He didn’t know the half of it. “Is Frank being charged?”
“Not as of yet. Mr. Galvin’s free to go when the hospital releases him.”
“You said a man was murdered last night,” Kate said. “Can I see photos of the crime scene?”
“What’s your interest in a local homicide?” Shaffo frowned at the thought of a federal agent sticking her nose in police business.
“Did you, by chance, find casings from a .380 Beretta semiautomatic?”
Not expecting that, Shaffo said, “Are you guessing, or do you know something we don’t?”
“Let me take a look at the evidence and I’ll tell you.”
Based on the head stamp on the casings found at the crime scene, they appeared to match the one Melvin found on Belle Isle. There was little doubt in Kate’s mind that Ray Skinner was involved, but she had to connect the dots. Kate told Detective Shaffo she’d get back to him.
She parked in the visitor’s lot and walked in the hospital lobby. At the reception counter she asked a friendly silver-haired woman in a burgundy blouse what room Frank Galvin was in. The woman checked the computer. “He was in room 436, but Mr. Galvin has been discharged.”
“So he’s gone?”
“That’s what discharged means, honey.”
“Did someone pick him up?” Kate was thinking of the realtor, unless he called a cab.
“I have no idea. Mr. Galvin must have arranged for his own transportation.”
Kate walked toward the exit trying to remember the name of the woman, trying to picture the business card Frank showed her and the real estate firm where she worked. In the car Kate Googled local realtors, scrolled through three pages of profiles, and saw Peggy Nolan, the good-looking brunette, and it all came back to her. Kate tried Peggy’s mobile and it went to voice mail. She left a message and disconnected. A few minutes later her phone rang.
“I should’ve called you,” Frank said.
“You think? Tell me what you’re doing. What’s going on?”
He told her about Ray Skinner coming to Thompson’s house, tying him up and forcing him in the trunk of the Honda. He told her about Skinner rolling the car downhill into a lake.
“How did you get out?”
“I was lucky.” He pictured himself in the trunk filling with water, his hand brushing over the lever, pulling it and pushing up on the trunk, feeling it give way and going through the opening. Then swimming to the surface, lungs ready to explode.
“Why did he come after you?”
“‘He didn’t know it was me. He’d seen Thompson and I following him to Canada. Then he recognized me pulling up in front of your apartment, waited for me to come out, and followed me to Thompson’s house. He asked what my connection was with you and I told him.”
Frank heard Peggy yelling at the maid.
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“A man was murdered along that same stretch of road where they found you.”
Frank sighed. “The detective told me about it and asked if I saw what happened.”
“Did you?”
“No. My guess, Skinner needed transportation, but he was long gone by the time I passed that way. Do the police think I had something to do with it?”
“The detective never said it directly, and you didn’t, so don’t worry.” Kate paused. “Did your girlfriend pick you up? I know Thompson didn’t. He’s angry, wants to know where his car is.”
Frank didn’t say anything.
“You still there?”
“I’ll have to figure out what to do about that.”
“Want me to come and get you?”
“Let me call you back.” Frank heard Peggy going after the maid again, using language he couldn’t believe. The poor woman was a middle-aged Bulgarian named Tatiana. She had a nice disposition but didn’t speak English very well. He felt sorry for her, taking a lot of shit from this wealthy suburbanite for not dusting the molding in the bathroom. “There are cobwebs,” Peggy Nolan had said to her. “You can’t see that?”
Now Peggy came into the kitchen. “I fired her. She doesn’t know how to clean.”
“I can’t believe you’d talk to someone that way.”
“Were you listening to my conversation?”
“It’s hard not to when you raise your voice like that.”
“I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”
“You’re right.” He walked out of the room, moving toward the front door, Peggy followed behind him, heels clicking on the tile floor.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I don’t know but I’m not staying here.” Frank opened the door.
“You seemed different. I thought I could count on you. Now I’m not sure why. I canceled my appointments to pick you up and this is how you repay me?”
Frank took the sidewalk, heading east on Bradway Boulevard, passing giant red brick colonials. He didn’t have a phone or money or any idea where he was going. A few minutes later he noticed a black sedan moving slowly, creeping next to him. The front passenger window went down. “Want a ride?” Kate said.
Frank put his hands on the sill and leaned in. “What’re you doing here?”
“I was worried about you. I stopped by your girlfriend’s, introduced myself, and she went ballistic. What happened?”
“I saw the real her, and I guess you did too. Now I understand why her husband left. I’ll bet he ran out and never looked back.” Frank got in the car and closed the door.
“So you broke up with her, huh?” Kate put it in gear and they took off.
“She seemed so normal till today, and then went off on the cleaning lady. I couldn’t believe it. She’s crazy.”
“I guess it’s good that you saw it now before spending any more time with her.” Kate took a beat. “What’re you going to do about Thompson’s car?”
“I don’t know.”
“It isn’t your fault, but you’ve got to tell him what happened. With a police report he probably would’ve been able to get a settlement from his insurance company.” They rode in silence for a couple minutes until Kate said, “I can give you a loan.”
“How am I gonna pay you back?”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll work something out.”
Thirty-nine
Kate dropped Frank off at her apartment and went to see Father Kelly. The priest was wearing a blue short-sleeve dress shirt, Levi’s, and running shoes. They sat at the round table in Kelly’s office. “What can I do for you?”
Kate showed him the list of homeowners on Harsen’s Island and explained her theory. “We think Bobby Seavy—aka Ray Skinner—owns a cabin on Rafferty Lane in the name Gerald Rowan. Does that ring a bell?”
“Gerry was small for his age and ineffectual, an easy target for Seavy and his roommate.”
“Will you check the list, tell me if you see any other familiar names?”
“How many are there?”
“Five hundred and thirty-five.”
The priest gave her a questioning look.
“Take you ten minutes at the most and you’ll be helping us apprehend a dangerous fugitive.”
Father Kelly went line by line, moving his index finger down the left margin.
When he finished, Kelly said, “Here’s another one: Leonard Heinle, 4416 Middle Channel Drive.” Kelly slid the three single-spaced pages across the table to Kate.
“Why do you think Ray’s using names of boys he met here?”
“Maybe because they’ve passed away,” Father Kelly said.
Now it made sense. Who was going to challenge Skinner?
Kate heard her mobile beeping as she approached the car, and she got in but missed the call. She dug the phone out of her bag. She had four messages. The first one was from Cornbread. “Yo, QD, I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m concerned.” There was a long pause. “I just want to let you know I have to tell Charlie what happened. We can’t keep this to ourselves. Skinner’s crazy and dangerous. Secondly, you know, if the chief ever found out we were withholding information on a top-fifteen fugitive, we’d both be history. Call me.”
Kate wasn’t mad at Cornbread. She’d put him in a tough position. But now she had to decide what to do.
The second message was from Charlie. “We have to talk,” he said in a serious tone of voice. “I need you to come in as soon as you can.”
Frank was number three. “Two marshals stopped by looking for you, a black guy named Reed and a big guy named Dodge. They asked if I knew where you were, and I said no.”
The last message was from Adam. “How can we make this work if I can’t even get you on the phone? Call me, will you?” Kate didn’t need this right now. She had enough on her mind.
