The winter of Frankie Machine

76

Dave goes back to his house and works from his study.

It doesn’t take too long. The Patriot Act gives him carte blanche access to phone records, and he has the number that Troy dialed within five minutes. It’s a cell phone, of course, and that’s more complicated.

He still tackling it on his computer when Barbara comes in with a pot of coffee and some oatmeal cookies.

“One of those nights?” she asks.

He nods.

They’ve been married thirty-five years. She’s been through more than one of these nights.

“You look worried,” she says.

“I am.”

“Taking this one personally?”

“I suppose.”

It’s one of the things she loves about him, that he cares about his cases. They’re not just numbers to him, even after all these years. “Pretty soon,” she says. “A few more months and you won’t have these nights.”

She kisses him on the forehead. “Want me to wait up?”

“I don’t even know if I’m going to make it to bed.”

“I’ll wait,” she says. “Just in case.”

It takes three more hours to wade through the records-then he tracks it down.

Troy called Donnie Garth.