Fear itself

A Good Shaking
1

Pender’s cell phone woke him a little after six o’clock on Saturday morning, chirping the first two bars of “Moon River” from somewhere in his pants, which were on the floor next to Dorie’s bed. Retirement or no retirement, after twenty-seven years with the Bureau, it never occurred to him not to answer it. He grabbed the pants and took them into the hall, shook the phone out just before it kicked over to the message center.

It was Steve McDougal, Pender’s longtime boss and longer-time friend. “Jesus H. Christ, Pender, did I or did I not attend your retirement party earlier this week?”

“I was poking around a little, doing a favor for Abruzzi-it got personal.”

“And what the screaming fuck possessed you to enter a suspect’s home without a warrant or backup?”

“The sister invited me in.”

“Ed, she was a fucking mongoloid idiot! And what were you doing on his doorstep in the first place?”

“That’s Down syndrome. And Dorie had mentioned Childs’s name the night before. When she disappeared, I became concerned for his safety as well.” That was the story Pender had been giving out since the first cops arrived on the scene yesterday afternoon. Might as well stick with it-it would make things go more smoothly for all concerned. “I decided to drop in and check on him-not as a suspect but as a potential victim. The sister invited me in, he attacked me. It’ll stand up. And by the way-I did try to get in touch with you Thursday afternoon, but you never returned my call.”

Irrelevant as the reason for Thursday’s call had been to the matter under discussion, Pender had decided to throw it in anyway-when you’re low on ammunition, you toss anything you can find into the cannon: grapeshot, scrap metal, whatever. And sometimes you even hit something.

“All right, all right,” said McDougal. “You’re talking to me now, and I want your word, both as your friend and as your boss, that from this day on, the word retirement will mean more to you than putting a new set of Michelins on the Barracuda. No poking around, no favors for Abruzzi, no nothing. Agreed?”

“You bet. Word up, as the kids say.” Pender decided there was no point bringing up the fact that he had just launched an affair with one of the victims in the case. “Speaking of Abruzzi, can you get Maheu off her ass?”

“Why, what’s going on?”

Pender told him. “And the worst part of it is, if there was ever a case where Liaison Support could be useful, this is it. Childs is wealthy, he’s slick, he’s mobile, there are probably victims we don’t know about scattered all over the country, and unless I miss my guess, he’s going to be leaving a trail of new ones. Plus Abruzzi’s had some bad breaks lately-why not give her a chance?”

“I’ll think about it. We do have a personnel drain, what with this Y2K flap on. But if I give her the point on this one, I want it understood, I’m giving it to her, not you. You’re still out.”

“I’m out, I’m out. One more favor, though-do you still have that cane I gave you after your knee operation…?”