The remains

Chapter 40

At my urging we drove from the Albany Medical Center in the direction of the South Pearl Street precinct. We might have been riding in silence but my thoughts screamed at me. My mind kept shifting from the horror of Robyn’s rape to the shock of her pregnancy. Was it possible that she had no idea about it? I’d never before been pregnant. But I did know that by the time six weeks went by you had to be suspecting something. Your body went through changes. Your inner voice spoke to you. I could only wonder just who the father was? The stockbroker? Or someone she met weeks before him? I wasn’t entirely sure of the timeline or the course of events in Robyn’s dangerous love life.

I spoke up as we approached State Street and asked Michael to make a pit-stop at the school of art on the way to the police. In light of Robyn’s condition and Whalen’s unexpected homecoming, I wanted to leave a note on the front door explaining that the place would be closed for the rest of the week due to a personal emergency. I also wanted to change the answering service message to reflect the same message.

When it was done, I got back in the truck and Michael pulled out onto the main road, heading further into the city. When we arrived at the APD, I carried the new ‘Smell’ canvas in with me. We learned that Detective Harris wasn’t in, but that same gray-haired watch commander was at the counter to greet us. He said that if we wanted to wait, Harris would be back within the half-hour. I knew then that I should have called the detective, let him know we were coming. But it was too late now.

The precinct smelled bad. Not altogether different from that sewer-like smell I recalled from the house in the woods. The watch commander must have noticed our sour faces because he pinched his own nostrils together, said, “Plumber’s on his way. Old cast iron pipes in this building just can’t keep up with the flow anymore… If you know what I mean.”

I nodded.

“Tell you what. Jack’s Diner is just across the street. Excellent home cooking, real good coffee. Why don’t you wait for Harris there? When he comes back, I’ll have him give you a call right away.” The big man smiled.

“Sounds good, Sergeant,” Michael said.

“Course it is,” the gray-haired cop said, waving his hand rapidly in front of his face, as if it were possible to wave away the stench. “Stay here much longer you’ll lose your cookies.”

I asked the watch commander if I could leave the painting behind.

“Sure thing,” he answered. “We could use a little culturing around here.” Then he said, “Hey John Grisham, you got a new book comin’ out?”

“Workin’ on it,” Michael said, not without a grin.

We departed the APD, headed across the street to the diner where we sat ourselves in a corner booth that overlooked South Pearl Street and the red brick police station. Michael ordered us coffee and toasted hard rolls with butter. I managed to drink the coffee, but only picked at the hard roll.

We sat and waited for Harris’s call.

And waited.

When my cell phone chimed, it nearly made me jump out of the booth.

Taking charge Michael picked up the phone, answered. While he listened, he laser-beamed his eyes into mine.

“Right away, Detective,” he said, hanging up.

Sliding out of the booth, he stood, slid a five and two ones from his pocket, tossed them onto the table.

“What did Harris say?” I asked.

“He wants to see us now. He’s got news.”

I felt my pulse race.

Whalen.

“This time we tell him about the texts. Agreed?”

“That’s why we’re here.”