Ask the Parrot

15

At twenty-five after eleven, a glow brightened the front of Lindahl’s house, and then his black SUV appeared, moving slowly. It stopped in the usual place, and Lindahl got out, stretched, yawned hugely, and walked over to enter his house.

Parker watched. Nothing else happened over there. Then, after two minutes, the front door opened again and Lindahl stepped out, peering to left and right. He barely glanced at the boarded-up house. He might have called a name, but if he did, Parker couldn’t hear it. In any event, after one more look around and a baffled headshake, he went back inside.

Now Parker turned away from the window. The attic was absolutely black, with a rectangular hole somewhere in its floor for the staircase. He took the flashlight from his pocket, closed his fingers over the glass, switched it on, and slowly separated his fingers until he could make out the area ahead of him and the beginning of the staircase.

Going down, he didn’t bother to lift the attic stairs into their upper position. Reaching the back door, he switched off the flashlight and put it on the counter, then let himself out, put the plywood in place, and crossed to enter the house.

Lindahl was in the bedroom, but he came out when he heard the front door. The look of bafflement was still on his face. “Where’d you go?”

“Looking around the neighborhood. You did the license?”

Bewilderment was replaced by a proud smile as Lindahl took a laminated card from his shirt pocket and extended it. “Take a look at that.”

It looked very good. It was the same New York State driver’s license as before, colored in pale pastels, with the same photo of Parker on it, but now his name was William G. Dodd and he lived at 216 N. Sycamore Court, Troy. The card itself seemed to be just slightly thicker than those used by the state of New York, but not enough to attract attention.

“It’s good,” Parker said, and put the license away in his wallet. “Where’d you get the name and address, make them up?”

“No. Bill Dodd used to work there years ago, before he retired, and that address came off another guy’s next of kin on his employment sheet.” Shrugging, but pleased with himself, Lindahl said, “I figured we wouldn’t want you living too close to the track.”

Parker didn’t see what difference it made, but let it go, saying, “You want me to drive?”

“God, yes,” Lindahl said. “I got stopped three times going down, by the way, and twice coming back. I’m ready to not drive for a while. But just give me five minutes.”

“Fine.”

Lindahl turned toward the bedroom, then turned back, with a sudden sunny smile on his face. “I’m really going to do it,” he said. “Even when I left here, I still wasn’t sure, but the minute I saw the place I knew. It’s been a weight on me, and now I’m getting rid of it.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes. And it was a good thing we met,” Lindahl said. “Good for both of us. Give me five minutes.”