Mark came in all sweaty, like he’d been working in the yard.
He dug through the drawers in the guest room and pulled apart the closet in the
den. Then he went into the garage, opening up boxes and dumping the contents on
the ground. The whole time he mutters under his breath in a way no one could
hear. Then just as quickly he exits out the backdoor and across the neighbor’s
yard to the trail that shortcuts to high school.
Maggie tells all this to her sister, Lottie, two days later.
None of explains why Maggie has a black eye or where she got that cat, but
perhaps she hasn’t got there yet. Lottie hands her sister a mason jar with ice
water to calm her nerves and help her get the words. Before Maggie can
continue, there’s a knock at the door. A man in a wool suit asks for Maggie,
but when Lottie goes back in the kitchen, the chair where Lottie was sitting
holds only a timid cat.
At least this is the story, Lottie told the undercover cop,
when he came to her door. He wrote each word down carefully. Recently he had
come under scrutiny from an internal investigation, which had more to do with
incompetency rather than unscrupulous activity. For the past few weeks he tried
to double check everything. Before he left the house his wife made sure that
his tie was straight, his nails were trim, and his hair parted evenly. She
wouldn’t know how to even go about getting a job of her own, but knew his head
injury would have to change everything.
Barry’s file wouldn’t land on my desk until two years later.
I don’t know how my assistant smuggled it out of the police department, but I
think we are all entitled to our secrets.
