Parting Shot

Forty-seven

Duckworth gave Alastair Calder his card and returned to his car. He keyed the engine, but before driving away he called the station to confirm that they had the emailed photo of Cory Calder. Once that was done, he gave instructions that the entire state, not just Promise Falls, needed to be on the lookout for him. He provided a description of the van, and added a warning.

“Calder is wanted in connection with a homicide investigation. He should be approached with extreme caution. He may be armed.”

Then he raised another matter he had not forgotten about. “Calder’s also wanted for questioning in the disappearance of Carol Beakman.”

He put the phone away and put the car in drive. Next stop: Madeline Plimpton’s house.

He was confident in his assumption that Brian Gaffney had been mistaken for Jeremy Pilford, that the message inscribed on his back was meant for the so-called Big Baby. “Sean,” Duckworth believed, was supposed to be “Sian.”

Once he’d learned Pilford was staying at the Plimpton house in Promise Falls — that there had been a protest there since his arrival — he knew he was on to something. He could feel it. Not only was the young man at risk, so was everyone else in the Plimpton house.

And maybe not just from Cory Calder.

He did a quick check to confirm the address, and ten minutes later was pulling into the driveway. He’d been past this house many times, and he certainly knew Madeline Plimpton. He had met her frequently in the past twenty years, when she was still publisher of the now dead Promise Falls Standard, and her profile in the community was much higher than it was now. Duckworth wondered how one dealt with having presided over a mini-empire for decades, only to see it wither and die.

As he rang the bell, he noticed the plywood nailed over one of the two windows that flanked the door. He spotted part of a gray-haired head through the undamaged pane, and then the door opened.

Madeline Plimpton said, “Yes?” And then, “Oh.”

“Ms. Plimpton,” Duckworth said. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Detective Barry—”

“I know exactly who you are,” she said, and reached out and took his hand in hers. “What a pleasure to see you, Detective Duckworth. What can I do for you?”

“It’s more like what I can do for you,” he said, and nodded at the boarded-up window. “You’ve had some trouble here.”

The woman smiled wryly. “Yes, we have. But surely they don’t have you on broken window duty.”

It was his turn to smile. “No. I understand you have a guest. Jeremy Pilford.”

She sighed. “I’m afraid my grand-nephew is not here right now.” A weariness infused her voice. “But come in and meet his mother, and her partner.”

He followed her into the house, through the kitchen, and out to the screened-in porch at the back of the house that was filled with generously cushioned wicker furniture. Madeline appeared surprised to find no one there.

“Oh,” she said. “Where have they gone?” She gazed out into the backyard, where a man and a woman were standing face to face, talking heatedly. “Oh, of course, they’re arguing.”

They went outside, crossed the yard. The couple cut their discussion short and turned to take in Madeline and this new visitor.

“Gloria, Bob, this is Detective Duckworth, with the Promise Falls Police.”

He offered a hand and they each took it, hesitantly.

“Have you caught the asshole who broke Madeline’s window?” Bob asked sharply.

Duckworth shook his head. “That was from the protest last night?”

“No,” Madeline said. “Someone threw a rock through the window earlier in the day. The protest was later. At least the police were here for that. No one got close to the house.”

“You can’t believe what we’ve been through,” Gloria said.

“Why are you here?” Bob asked.

“I came to speak to your son,” Duckworth said to Gloria. “About his safety.”

“He’s not here,” Gloria said.

“I told him that,” Madeline said.

Gloria continued, “We all know about his safety concerns. The whole Internet wants to hurt him.”

“I’m here about a very specific threat,” the detective said.

Everyone’s eyebrows went up a notch.

“Does the name Cory Calder mean anything to anyone here?”

They exchanged looks, shook their heads. “It doesn’t ring a bell,” Gloria said.

“So you haven’t noticed a comment online, for example, from someone with that name? No emails from someone like that?”

Bob said, “There have been so many hateful comments online, yeah, he might be there, but you’re talking hundreds, God, thousands, of people who’ve put in their two cents’ worth about Jeremy’s trial. It’s the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

Duckworth nodded. “Sure, I get that.”

“What kind of threat is this?” Madeline asked.

“There was an incident. Someone got hurt. It was mistaken identity. I think Jeremy was the intended target.”

“What?” Gloria asked. “What happened?”

Duckworth said, “What’s important right now is your son’s safety. Where is he? When’s he coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Gloria said.

Duckworth was unable to conceal his sense of alarm. “What? You don’t know where he is?”

“It’s not like that,” Bob said. “He’s being protected.”

“Protected how?”

Madeline said, “We hired someone. It wasn’t safe for Jeremy here. We’re quite confident that he’s in good hands.”

“Where? With whom?”

Bob said, “We don’t know where. That was the whole idea. That his location be kept secret. Even we’re in the dark.”

“I hate it,” Gloria said. “Not knowing where my boy is. I can’t help thinking that letting him go with Mr. Weaver was a bad idea.”

“Wait,” Duckworth said. “Weaver? Cal Weaver?”

“That’s right,” Madeline Plimpton said. “Don’t tell me we’ve made a terrible mistake.”

He shook his head. “No, not at all. Cal’s a good man. I know him. If Jeremy’s with him, I’m sure he’s being well looked after.”

There was a collective sigh. “Well, thank God for that,” Madeline said.

“But I’d still like to know where they are. I need to tell Mr. Weaver what I’ve learned.”

Bob and Gloria shrugged. But Madeline’s lips went in and out, as though she were debating whether to reveal something.

“What is it?” Duckworth asked.

“I know where they are,” she said.

Bob’s eyes widened. Gloria said, “You knew and didn’t tell us?”

“For God’s sake, Gloria, the last person I wanted to tell was you,” Madeline said.

“Go to hell,” her niece snapped back.

Bob said, “Madeline, whatever you’ve been keeping from us, it’s got to be safe to tell the detective here. And I’ll make sure Gloria keeps a lid on things.”

“You talk about me like I’m a child,” Gloria said. She said to Duckworth, “They took away my phone.”

“And then you stole it back,” Bob said, “and gave it to Jeremy. Look how that turned out.”

Duckworth looked at Madeline. “Should we go someplace and talk?”

“No, it’s fine. They’re at my place.”

“Your place?” Duckworth said.

“Oh for God’s sake, they’re in the Cape,” Gloria said. “Why didn’t I think of that? I’d forgotten you even had that house. It’s not like we’ve been invited there in years.”

“Cape Cod?” Duckworth asked.

Madeline nodded. “A beach house. I haven’t been there in a long time. A property management company looks after it for me.”

Duckworth got out his notepad. “Address?”

Madeline gave it to him.

“Is there a phone there?”

“No, but I have a cell phone number for Mr. Weaver.”

“Okay, good.” Duckworth looked at Gloria. “I trust you’ll have no problem with my speaking to your son?”

“No, of course not,” Gloria said. “Just don’t upset him.”

Duckworth smiled. “If he’s with Cal Weaver, I don’t imagine there’s all that much to worry about. And as you say, no one knows they’re there.”