Chapter 21
The Fifth Commandment

When she got back home, she found Hawk sitting at the kitchen table, cleaning his Smith & Wesson. The whole house smelled like gun oil. He didn’t look up when she came in.

“Want some coffee?” she asked.

Now he did look up, with an expression in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time, and had hoped never to see again. Cold. Remote. Nothing there to hang on to, much less touch. “I’ve had some,” he said.

She moved to the stove, twisted around to address the back of his head. “I guess if you’ve got a gun, you just have to clean it now and then.”

He didn’t turn around when he finally answered. “True,” he said. “But I also figure that there’s not much else I can do. I mean, you don’t even bother to get me up before you go waltzing off, the very morning after some fucker came in here and shot up our house. I’m becoming convinced that you’d rather get yourself killed than be my partner. I’m not quite sure what to do about that, but in the meantime, I’m going to take precautions.”

She tried to make a joke of it. “Guess somebody around here has to.”

Hawk put the gun down on the newspaper-covered table and wiped his hands carefully. Then he exploded to his feet, and before she knew it, he was gripping her upper arms and shouting in her face. “You’ve got to stop, Sally! I can’t stand this! We can’t stand this! I love you, damn you, and I swear to God, I’m about ready to give up on you.”

The distant look in his eyes was gone. Now there was anguish.

She threw out her arms, broke his grip. “Let go!” she said. “You’re hurting me.”

He looked at his hands. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been holding on to her. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said. “But I’m in too deep.”

“You sure as hell are,” he shot back, turning to clean up the table.

She wanted to go to him. To put her arms around him. To tell him he mattered more than anything, even a troubled girl whose life, sad as it was, might be running out on her. She could feel Hawk slipping away, slowly and painfully, and she wanted to pull him back, with all her strength. She’d just taken the first step toward him when, goddamn it, the phone rang.

“You get that,” he muttered. “It’s probably for you.”

So she answered. “Dave Haggerty here,” said the voice on the wire. “Are you free this afternoon?”

No flirtatious preamble, no outrageous come-on. To Sally’s vast relief. She hesitated. “Why?” she asked.

“Billy Reno insists that he wants to see you,” he said. “When I told him that Bea Preston had fired Charlie’s attorney, and then taken her out of the hospital, he freaked out. He said Charlie told him she’d come to you, and you’d given her all your money and the coat off your back. He says that makes you his homie.”

She thought about that. To her knowledge, she’d never been anybody’s homie. But she didn’t think Scotty Atkins would be excited about the idea of her chatting with his murder suspect. “I’d like to talk to him,” she told Haggerty, “but wouldn’t he talk to you about anything he’d tell me? You’ve known him since he was a baby, and after all, you’re his lawyer.”

“Yeah,” said Haggerty. “Well, I don’t know. Our relationship is... complicated.”

Sally looked at Hawk, who was stuffing oily newspaper in the trash, grimacing hard. Everything about this situation was complicated. “Okay. You think you can get me in to see him this afternoon?”

“Can and should,” said Haggerty. “It could be pretty important for Charlie.”

Nothing more needed to be said. But he did say one more thing. “I heard about what happened at your house. I’m really sorry.”

“Not your fault, Dave,” she replied.

“We’ll get this fixed, Sally,” he said.

And so, for the first time in her life, Sally found herself going to visit somebody in jail. It didn’t surprise her that her level of anxiety built as she walked across the parking lot toward the squat, windowless building, or that once she was inside, the place smelled like a combination of dust, sweat, old smoke, and disinfectant, or that she had to go through a metal detector and submit to a body search before they let her into the waiting area. She’d expected all that.

But she’d found herself profoundly unsettled by, well, by the vibe of the place. Despite the echoey hard surfaces of yellow ceramic-fired brick walls and gray tile floor, there was almost no noise. And yet, beneath the quiet, the place seemed to roar inside her head, to shriek with the rage and desperation of those who’d been confined there, of whoever was even now locked up beyond the walls. The place pulsed with the fury.

She wished she’d worn a warmer jacket, even as she felt sweat begin to trickle between her shoulder blades.

She’d become accustomed to thinking of Albany County law enforcement in personal terms. Sheriff Dickie Langham was one of her best friends, and if her relationship with Scotty Atkins was testy, well, that was personal too. But there was nothing intimate or individual about the Albany County jail. Doubtless, having Dickie or Scotty there would have made her feel more secure, more herself. But she hadn’t called them about the visit, and didn’t care to examine the motives for her reticence.

And surely it would have been easier if Dave Haggerty had met her there, smoothed the way. But Billy was allowed only one visitor at a time. Haggerty had explained that he had other pressing matters to attend to, even on a Saturday. As she went through the process of being screened and admitted, she’d never felt so alone.

Imagine how Billy Reno must feel.

She was led to a cubicle partitioned by Plexiglas, with a chair, a Formica counter, a phone. The other side of the partition featured an identical setup. She took out a notebook and a pen. She’d made a list of questions, and now she added more. She had half an hour. She hoped they’d make it count. A few, very slow minutes passed before Billy Reno was brought in to face her.

He was tall and thin and deadly pale, with immense, liquid brown eyes, like a doe or a child. His orange jail jump-suit seemed to hang from wide, sharp shoulders. The dragon’s head twined around his neck, and when he picked up the phone on his side, there was a crudely done, fresh tattoo between his thumb and forefinger. It said, “Charlie.”

“We didn’t do it, Mrs. Alder,” he said, without preamble.

Mrs.? A title of respect, she guessed. “Call me Sally, please, Billy. And let’s be serious here. I’d like to believe you. But your fingerprints are all over that lug wrench,” Sally said, beginning to write.

“Big whoop,” Billy replied. “Charlie’s a shitty driver. She’s always running over curbs. We changed a lot of flat tires. Somebody planted the wrench.”

“The police have an informant. Somebody who says they heard you two plotting to kill Charlie’s father.”

“Yeah, we’re that fuckin’ stupid. I mean, if I were going to commit murder, I’d definitely want to talk it up in front of everybody I know. Fuckin’ Munk.”

“Munk?” Sally said, looking up from her notes.

“Like Chipmunk. I know who ratted us out. Alvin fuckin’ Sabble. Wonder what charges against him they dropped in return?”

Sally thought a minute. “Billy, is there any chance that he did it himself and set you up?”

Billy tapped a finger on the counter. “Yeah. Sure. I mean, I couldn’t tell you what that fuckin’ guy might be capable of. I mean, he’s not your Eagle Scout.” More tapping. “Then again, I don’t see him using a wrench, if you know what I mean. He’s more of a gun man.”

Sally shivered, cold sweat springing up with a vengeance now. “A Saturday night special kind of gun man?”

Billy nodded slowly. “Among other things. But yeah, the man likes a little piece he can keep handy in case of emergencies.”

Her teeth had begun to chatter. She clamped them together and ordered herself to stay focused. “What does he look like?” she asked.

“Like a fuckin’ chameleon,” Billy answered. “I mean, he’s G’d up from the feet up, but then again, he can blend in. He’s got a lot of ink, but nothing that shows in a dress shirt, if you get the picture. He says it helps in his line of work.”

“And what is that line of work?” Sally said.

“Whatever anybody pays him to do,” Billy responded. “Fuckin’ bastard.”

“So why did you agree to be roommates with him?” Sally asked.

“You don’t always get to choose the company you keep,” Billy explained. “And what makes it worse is, he thinks it’s all okay because he fuckin’ goes to church all the time and God forgives him. Of course, a lot of that goes around. Shit, my mom took me to church every Sunday after she got born-again, and look at all the good it did us!”

“You grew up going to church?” Sally couldn’t control her amazement.

“Hey, I believe in God and everything—who doesn’t? But going to church doesn’t guarantee anything. I mean, the first time I ever saw Charlie, she was at that church with her parents, pretending to be one big happy freakin’ family. I fuckin’ met Alvin Sabble at the church, and look at him. Look at my mom. You’d be surprised how many dope addicts think Jesus is going to come in and save them. You know how many times she told me God was watching out for me? Charlie heard the same crap from her old man and the stepmother, and then again every Sunday. Shit, if He was watching out for us, He was the only one, I can tell you that. And he sure isn’t payin’ very close attention now, is he? Kind of like the cops.”

“Give them some credit. I’m sure they’re working every angle?” Sally asked.

Billy snorted. “It’d be easier for the cops if Charlie and I did it. They like to make it easy on themselves.”

“I bet you don’t,” Sally told him, looking him square in the eye.

He laughed at that, a strikingly sweet sound. She looked up from her notebook. And at that moment, Sally realized why the crusading attorney had called his relationship with the boy criminal “complicated.” When Billy Reno laughed, he looked a hell of a lot like Dave Haggerty.

“Listen, Billy,” she said. “I have to ask. Why did you want to talk to me?”

He gazed back at her through the glass, intent. “You helped my girlfriend. She went to you when she was in deep shit. You listened to her, and you gave her money, and you didn’t call down the cops on her. You gave her the fuckin’ coat off your back. That’s enough for me.”

Maybe most people wouldn’t be flattered by praise from somebody like Billy, but Sally blushed. And pressed on. “Tell me,” she said, “about Charlie and her father.”

“They had that love-hate thing,” said Billy. “Like most kids and their fathers.”

“Most fathers don’t beat their kids until they’re bloody and bruised,” Sally said.

“He didn’t, usually,” said Billy. “Mostly he tried not to hit her where it would show.”

“It showed a lot the last time,” said Sally.

“That one,” Billy said, “wasn’t Brad.”

Sally leaned closer. “Who was it?”

Billy shrugged. “This guy the bitch brought around. Fuck, could a been that guy who did the old man.”

“You mean Bea Preston had someone else beat her step-daughter?” Sally asked, writing rapidly.

“Who else?” Billy replied. “I guess the old man had decided he didn’t want to be the enforcer anymore.”

“What do you mean, the enforcer?” Sally said.

“They had a deal. Brad was one of those fathers who thought raising kids was the woman’s job. He was so busy, making money and all, he barely fuckin’ saw her. I mean, he pretty much left everything up to the wicked stepmother, where Charlie was concerned.”

“But sometimes, of course, he had to do his duty, as a father,” Sally prompted.

“Oh yeah. Yeah. Bea would tell Brad when Charlie was—what did they call it—breaking the Fifth Commandment. The one about dishonoring thy father and mother. Then Brad would, as they said, chastise her. It was pretty rough.”

Sally tried to think how to ask the question. “Was Bea present for those, um, chastisements?”

Billy shook his head. “She made it a point not to be there. But you know what? I think old Bea liked knowing he was doing it, a whole lot. What she didn’t like was seeing how sorry he’d be about it. According to Charlie, Brad always cried afterward. And then he’d buy her something expensive to try to make up for it. The problem was, Charlie never knew when it was coming. Sometimes it seemed like he beat her for no reason at all.”

Keep it together, Sal. Limited time, lots of questions. But she was quaking inside, on the verge of exploding. “What a horror” was all she said.

He looked back, resolute. “Oh yeah. And that wasn’t even the worst of it, because after the beatings, they’d decide that they couldn’t handle her anymore and ship her off to the crazy house. But you know what? Charlie Preston’s made of iron. I mean, that girl is so fuckin’ strong, you wouldn’t believe it. Think about it. If she wasn’t a fuckin’ brick house, she’d be dead by now.”

Yes. She would. Sally prayed that she wasn’t, took a breath, asked another question. “Was Brad your landlord at that place you all got evicted?”

“Yeah,” said Billy. “Landlords don’t exactly love my record. The other guys weren’t in any better position. Charlie hooked us up.”

“And when he rented her that apartment, was that one of those make-up presents?”

Billy cocked his head, thinking. It made him look very, very young. “Yeah. She said he wanted to prove to her that he trusted her. That’s what the Miata was about too.”

“I can see the car,” said Sally. “Parents like to bribe their kids with cars. But what about the apartment? It seems to me he was begging for her to screw up.”

“I don’t know. I got the impression he hadn’t owned the building that long. From what she said, he was new in the real estate game. Charlie said the stepmother was really ticked at him for renting it to her.”

“That doesn’t sound very motherly.”

He laughed again, this time without a trace of mirth. “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”

“Was he planning to evict you?” she asked.

“Charlie said he’d promised not to. But how do I know? All’s I know is, after he got killed, the management company kicked us out. End of story.”

“Okay,” said Sally, writing rapidly, then looking up and once again into his eyes. “Do you have any idea where Bea might have taken Charlie now? Would she take her back to wherever they treated her before, for instance?”

“Treatment!” Billy exclaimed. “Yeah, right. Like getting thrown in a hole and shot full of elephant tranqs is some kind of fuckin’ treatment. They didn’t give a flying fuck about treating her. Charlie’s got some problems. Don’t we all? But whatever they were doing, it wasn’t to make her better. It was just to get her the hell out of the way or something. Can you believe she didn’t just off herself when she was in there? Shit, who wouldn’t?” he said. “Hey—fuckin’ jail’s better than that.”

Sally swallowed hard. “I heard that Brad never went to see her in those places,” she said.

“That place,” Billy corrected. “According to Charlie, after the first time, when she was nine years old and they sent her to the hospital in Denver and did all kinds of tests on her, it was always the same place. Shelter Clinic. How do you like that? Some shelter! And the same doctor, bald dude, thick glasses. She’d have nightmares about him. Can’t remember his name. Same fuckin’ drugs. Fancy reception area and all, but once you’re inside, BAM, they hit you with the needle and next thing you know, you’re in the hole. You don’t see daylight again until it’s time to let you out. And no. Daddy never went to visit.”

He looked down. Drew figure eights on the counter with his fingertip. “You know what kills me? He did all that shit to her, and she still loved him to his dying day. Probably still does.”

“Don’t we all love our parents, in spite of everything? Don’t you?” Sally asked.

Billy’s warm eyes went cold. “This isn’t about me.”

“Sorry,” said Sally.

“And she doesn’t love Bea, I’ll tell you that. The bitch’d come get her out of the clinic, or whatever it was, and she’d talk all about how she hoped Charlie had finally forsaken her wicked ways, and all shit like that. It’s a fuckin’ miracle Charlie never killed her!”

Sally could see his point. “But it’s strange. Brad Preston obviously had misgivings about the way he was treating his daughter. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not letting him off the hook. But it does sound as if he let Bea call a lot of the shots. As if he had no clue how to be a father.”

“Like that’s some big news,” said Billy. “You think a lot of fathers do?”

Sally smiled, very sadly. “Actually, I think a lot of fathers do. And it’s really, really tragic when they don’t.”

Billy bit his lip. It took him a moment to control his breathing. “Yeah. Well. I don’t know all that much about fathers. But you know what Charlie said? She said she thought he might have been about to change, right there at the end. It wasn’t just that he decided to rent her the apartment. He told her that he’d begun to think they’d made some mistakes with her upbringing. He told her that it was time they turned over a new leaf.”

“And what did you think about that?” Sally asked.

Billy Reno didn’t look young and innocent now. He looked blank and cynical and sneering. “He’d said all that stuff before. People will say all kinds of shit. How much do you think anybody ever really changes?” he said.

“I think,” said Sally, “that nobody is only one person. I think everybody has all kinds of people inside them, and as we live our lives, different people come out, depending on what happens to us, what we learn, what we regret, what we want. Who we love.”

And now Billy looked like he was about to cry.

“Well, I love Charlie Preston.” He began to say more. The receiver went dead. A guard appeared behind him, gestured for him to get up and move out.

No sound now. But as he rose, and the guard took him by the arm to lead him away, Billy looked over his shoulder and mouthed words plain for Sally to see. “I love her,” he said into the silence. “Find her. Find her now.”