A Killer’s Kiss

44

By the time we got to Front Royal, it was nigh on noon.

“When did the Volvo get in?” I said to Derek as we sat together in a small booth in the Fox Diner, a tiny stainless-steel and glass box with a turquoise counter and a view of the Mountain Drive Motel across the street. The motel was a two-story pile of brick and rust and chipped tile, shaped like a V with its point facing the road.

“About an hour after you called,” he said. “A little fellow with a bow tie was driving. I tried to call back but was sent right to voice mail.”

“The battery died on me.”

“You don’t carry a spare?”

“No, actually. Do you?”

“Sure I do. In this business you got to think ahead.”

“In this business, huh? What business is that?”

“Don’t be a fool. The detecting business, I mean.”

“You been in it long?”

“Long enough to get fifty an hour. The secret’s in the preparation. Like, even though I was in your jalopy, I filled up with gas before we started so I wouldn’t have to stop along the way. And I brought an empty water jug.”

“What was that for?”

“You know.”

“Ah, yes.”

“More coffee?” said the waitress with a pot in her hand.

“Thank you, Lois,” he said. “And I think my friend will want coffee, too. And the other guy who’s in the head.”

“I’ll come back with menus,” she said as she filled his cup.

“Thank you, sweetie pie,” said Derek with a wide smile.

“Sweetie pie?” I said.

“That Lois is a doll. We got a thing going. She wants a little Derek for herself.”

“Sure she does, or why else would she be plying you with coffee?”

The motel was at the mouth of the Skyline Drive, which runs through the Shenandoah National Park. There was a McDonald’s on its right flank, a gas station on its left. The motel’s sign showed a picture of a snowcapped rocky peak, which didn’t quite fit, and had the word pool in big white letters. Weeds sprouted tall through the cracks of the two desolate parking lots in front. In one of the lots, there was a battered brown van, a big black pickup, and a Corvair; in the other lot was Julia’s large blue BMW and Clarence Swift’s Volvo, parked side by side. And in the small circular drive at the motel’s entrance, a big white Buick sat, its engine running.

“What’s with the car in front?” I said.

“Pulled in about fifteen minutes ago. There’s an old man in the driver’s seat, just waiting there.”

“Anyone get out of the car to check into the motel?”

“Nope.”

“Any idea why it’s sitting there?”

“Maybe he likes the view. What happened to your eye?”

“The two guys you saw coming into my apartment.”

“I bet you just let them in.”

“You win.”

“I warned you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you warned me. Was anyone following the Volvo?”

“Not that I saw.”

“How about Julia and her Beemer?”

“Not sure. Was a boxy brown car that passed by a couple times, but it hasn’t come back lately.”

I scoured the street looking for something brown parked somewhere. Not at the McDonald’s, not at the gas station. Maybe it was just someone passing by. Sure, and maybe we all were there to see the splendiferous Shenandoah.

“You check the place out?”

“Not a high-class accommodation, I’ll tell you that. It smells inside, like that Maurice from the neighborhood.”

“Maurice?”

“You don’t want to know. There’s a door in front that goes past the desk, a door in the back that goes to the little pool in the rear. Two emergency exits on the side with signs what say they ring the alarm.”

“Do they?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“You could try one.”

“But the alarm would ring.”

“That’s the point. It’s called scoping the scene.”

“It’s called setting off the alarm, is what it’s called. Derek isn’t a fool. Derek doesn’t set off alarms on purpose. Get a grip, bo.”

Just then Hanratty came back from the bathroom. He sat down across from us, grunted twice, squinted at the motel.

“What color car was Sims driving?” I said to Hanratty.

“He had an official car,” said Hanratty. “Brown. Listen. I got a call from a detective in robbery. There was a break-in and a beating. An older lady in Center City. She’s still in a coma. The detective, knowing about the details of the Denniston murder case, thought I might be interested. Her name is Swift, Edna Swift.”

“Crap,” I said, a ripple of relief sliding up my spine even as I imagined Edna on a respirator in the hospital. “When?”

“It happened about three hours ago.”

“Then we don’t have much time,” I said.

“You think it was Trocek?”

“Of course it was Trocek. He’s looking for the money, he thinks Clarence has it, he went after the mother to find him. If she knew anything, he’s on his way here.”

“So Trocek didn’t kill that woman.”

“Guess not.”

“Then who did?”

“What was the guy with the bow tie carrying, Derek?”

“One of those huge black briefcase things lawyers are always bringing to the courthouse.”

“Clarence has it.”

“I guess that’s it, then. I’ll call in the local police and the FBI.”

“But before you do that,” I said, “I have to go over there.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” said Hanratty. “From here on in, this is a police matter, and you will stay the hell out of it.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Coffee?” said Lois, bringing over the pot, two cups, and menus.

“Not for me,” I said. “I have to be going.”

“I’ll cuff you to this table if I have to,” said Hanratty.

“I’ll yank it out of the wall and take it with me.”

“I’ll have the coffee,” said Hanratty, staring at me all the while, “and a couple of eggs over, home fries, bacon, and some thick sausage links well grilled, rye toast.”

“Sure thing, hon.”

When Lois had gone, I leaned forward over the table. “Don’t you see what’s going to happen? She’s in the middle of a bad scene that’s going to turn worse because of me. I can’t just leave her there.”

He dumped in two creams and stirred his coffee, unconcerned. “You’ll only muck it up.”

“I’ve already done that. I’m going.”

“You’ll tip her off and send her running, and we’ll be doing this two states over.”

“She’s not going anywhere. Same time I go over there, Derek is going to take my car and park it right behind the Beemer and the Volvo so they can’t get out.”

“I am?” said Derek.

“Yes, you are, and then you’re hightailing it right back to this booth. No one’s running anywhere. I just need to get her out of there.”

“No.”

“Think about it, think about who she’s with. Terry Tipton is a murderer. Clarence Swift is probably a murderer. Your partner is after her, and he’s a crooked bastard, too. And then there’s Gregor Trocek and his pal Sandro, who are speeding toward her as we speak. When the police and FBI close in, it’s going to explode.”

“She’s made her bed.”

“I think the bed made her, Detective.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I have no idea. But I loved her once, and that means something, at least to me. I want nothing more to do with her, but I loved her once, and I’m going to do what I can to get her out of there before it all starts to burning.”

Hanratty looked at me for a long moment. I could see the calculation going on in his stolid face. On one hand I was a creep, and every time he saw me, he wanted to smash my face. On the other hand, for the whole of that night I’d been nothing but truthful with him, and he was only there because of me. But then again I was a creep, and every time he saw me, he wanted to smash my face. It was almost fun watching him try to figure it out. Then he snorted.

“Get the hell out of here,” he said, disgusted.

“Thank you,” I said.

“I’m going to drink my coffee and finish my eggs before I make a call. That’s all the time you have.”

“You know, Detective, you’re proving to be almost human. Let’s go, Derek.”

And then we were off, out of the diner, Derek to the car and me to face my old flame one time more.