“Hey Dana, thanks for covering my shift last night,” Madigan called as the server hustled toward the kitchen.
Dana smiled, but it lacked authenticity.
Her patience for me is wearing thin, regardless of how much extra money she’s been saving for school while covering my shifts.
“Hey, Knox!” Roy hollered from the back corner booth, where he sat with a few regulars.
Damn, he caught me.
Madigan turned to him with a smile, without moving any closer to him.
“Where are you off to?”
“I’ve got to leave early,” Madigan hollered. “Dana’s here, though.”
“You need to be here; it’s getting busy toni—ahh just come over here, I’m losing my voice.”
Madigan shuffled toward the back, ready to use some finesse to get out of Roy’s inevitable guilt trip.
“Someone’s in trouble,” Harry sung from the booth across from Roy.
Madigan waved him off and stopped in front of them.
“You’re not going to try and argue with me about leaving, are ya?” Roy asked. “You’re scheduled for a reason. On the busy nights, we need you. You run things smoothly. Nobody keeps a better watch on things than you.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Roy,” Madigan said.
“So what’s the big deal? Why are you leaving?”
Can’t say I’m sick. Can’t use Grace or Buster as an excuse.
“My parents are in town, actually,” Madigan said.
I should have planned for time with them, but I didn’t. This works.
“Bill’s back?” Roy asked, and the other men within earshot stopped talking to listen in. “How are your folks?”
Whatever I say will be spread across the whole town before midnight.
“Doing good, thanks, but they might not be here for long, and they wanted to see me.” Roy studied her. “It’s been well over a year since I’ve seen them—“
“And over a decade since your dad’s been in,” Roy said.
An awkward silence lingered, as they no doubt remembered Bill the way they’d last seen him: a drunk mess, visiting the bar every night after Drew passed before they went to Florida for the first time.
They remember the way he was at his worst, and I hate that.
“Well, he’s doing really well,” Madigan said.
Roy smiled. “Good for him. Alright, yeah, you’d better make time for the folks. You pass on our best to them, alright? Tell Bill I’d love to see him while he’s here.”
Madigan nodded and turned around.
“Hey, Knox,” Harry called. “Your folks woulda been at that wedding, right? Where that guy was murdered?”
Madigan nodded over her shoulder.
“Shit, Knox, were you there too?” Roy asked.
Madigan rolled her eyes before turning back to face them.
I just want to get out of here.
“I was there,” she said.
“You don’t say,” Harry said, before taking the last swig from his pint glass and slamming it down. “You didn’t see the body, did ya?”
“No.”
“There’s been a lot of talk about the wedding. Cory Boyd in particular,” another guy said from behind them. “Did you know he’s a regular at Shorelines Casino? I seen him there every weekend, rain ‘er shine.”
“I heard he’s up to his eyeballs in debt,” the guy beside him said. “Course, you’d know all about that.”
His friend waved him off, but he continued. “You said he’s there every weekend, so I guess you are too!” he laughed.”
“Debt, eh?” Harry shouted above the crowd. “That’s motive right there! Who’d he owe?”
Great, now the whole town wants in on the investigation.
“Now how would I know?” the guy asked.
“Was ‘er blood everywhere?” Harry shouted at Madigan.
“Listen, Knox, you go on home,” Roy said. “Leave her be.”
“I didn’t see anything,” Madigan said. “Night, boys. See you later.”
As she passed the bar, she told Dana that Harry was cut off and to give him water the next time he ordered anything with alcohol. She threw her jacket on and took her helmet from beside the rack just outside the backroom door before jogging out the back exit. Grabbing her phone from her side bag, she checked the time.
Almost eight. If I don’t move quick, I’ll miss him.
She hopped on her bike and rode toward the bridge from Tall Pines to the city of Amherst.
Grace all but said the attack on Madigan the previous fall was in relation to her investigation at the time. After some digging of her own through Grace’s case files, Madigan discovered Mickey Clarke had been a prime suspect in the murder investigation.
The same day she had helped John Talbot, the man who was adopted by Eli and Evette, by breaking him out of police custody at Whitestone Lodge, a search warrant had been granted for both Wild Card and Mickey Clarke, the owner’s own home.
Madigan knew it wasn’t a coincidence.
Several troubling events occurred during Grace’s investigation into Lily Martin’s murder, including her home with John being set on fire by Joe Harris, a man with a misguided grudge against John, and Madigan herself had been attacked in Grace’s home.
A big player in Amherst and one of the richest men in the city, Mickey Clarke was involved in most of the unsavory and illegal things that went on there through each of his businesses. He’d been the first suspect Madigan checked into regarding her attack.
After learning about Mickey and her sister’s profile of him, it was clear the attack had been below Mickey himself, but without Joe’s confession, one of Mickey’s men was most likely sent to scare Grace away from investigating him—or worse.
He went after a detective inspector; he knows no limits. He has no fear.
Madigan compiled a list of all the men who worked for Mickey at Wild Card and his other club, Salty Rocks, as well as any of his other associates listed in Grace’s file, including a man named Blaze, whom she had yet to find.
After dyeing her hair dark, chopping it off at her shoulders, and dressing in the latest club fashions, she frequented his establishments, sizing up the men on her list.
Following them home.
Tailing them, learning their patterns, and finding their weaknesses.
Ruling some out based on surface factors such as weight, height, and when she could, their voice. Her attacker had sworn at one point while on top of her when Buster may have bitten him, though she hadn’t been able to find any visible bite marks on anyone on the list.
For some, she’d learn more about their character or lack of involvement with any of Mickey’s extra-curricular activities, and cross them off the list.
The ones she couldn’t rule out would qualify for a meeting of sorts. Something random and unexpected, like asking a suspect for help at a gas station, or pretending to have a child in the same school as they’d wait to pick up one of theirs.
Getting close enough to smell them helped even more.
As the man pushed himself off of her when headlights flashed through the front bay window, she got a whiff of something sweet amongst his body odour, like he had been eating candy. She still couldn’t place the smell. She hoped she’d know it when she came upon it.
But mostly, Madigan relied on a gut instinct. Something that would tell her she was face to face with the man who attacked her and Buster that night.
“Four more left,” she whispered as she parked her bike down the block from a convenience store. Without the rumble of the engine and music in her ears, her mind and heart raced as she grabbed her cell phone.
Almost nine. I made it in time.
She jogged up the sidewalk on the other side of the street until she had a clear view of the front door.
“Any time now, Paul,” she whispered.
Paul Torres, a bouncer from Salty Rocks, had a similar height and weight to her attacker. The last time he let her in, she asked if it was busy in there, and when he answered, his voice made her second-guess herself.
He walked down the street with swagger, and as he walked into the store—the same one he’d visit nightly for a pack of cigars—she walked to the curb, looking both ways. She needed to hear him say the same swear word her attacker shouted—by any means necessary.
Cars whizzed by her, and she bit her lip, waiting for an in.
I should have been there already.
After a car whizzed by, she dashed out onto the street and ran across as a truck in oncoming traffic honked at her. Paul walked toward the door with the pack of cigars in his hand as she approached.
There’s no time.
Before he reached for the door, she lowered her baseball cap and pushed the door open with all her weight, hitting his right shoulder as he pulled his head back. She stepped back, covering her mouth with her hand.
“What the fuck?!” he shouted, lingering on the “uh” syllable.
Not him.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a high-pitched voice, shaking her head and walking backwards to the sidewalk.
I could have smashed in his nose.
“Watch where you’re going,” he said, shaking his head. “You drunk?”
She shook her head and walked away, back toward the curb to cross the street.
“Hey,” he shouted, following behind her. “Did you hear what I said?”
“I’m sorry.” She turned around to face him. “It was just a mistake.”
He kept walking toward her, and she stumbled backward until she reached the curb, catching her balance as a car whizzed by.
“Pfft.” He let out a hiss of air, shaking his head, and turning around. “Fuckin’ drunks.”
Her cheeks grew hot as she dashed across the street, back to her bike.
No one’s ever approached me like that before.
Her heart thudded in her ears as she grabbed her helmet, strapping it on.
But it’s not him.
On to the next one.