“I think you’re out of your ever-lovin’ mind,” the deputy chief said.
The chief crossed his arms and leaned against the briefing room table. “Don’t hold back, Lyle. Tell me how you really feel.”
“Some poor bastard from out of town tries to off himself last night, and you decide, based on zero evidence, that he’s our killer. What I really think is too many sleepless nights with a new baby have got you delusional. I had three of my own, I know how it works.”
“I’m not delusional.” The chief looked at Hadley, who had been trying to sneak a peek at the headline story in the Saturday Post-Star. “Knox, what do you think?”
I think this is a no-winner. “About your mental health, Chief? Or about not getting enough sleep with a baby in the house?”
He gave her a look that said, Nice try. “About Bors Saunderson as a possible suspect.”
She chose her words carefully. “I understand you wanting to tie two out-of-the-ordinary events together. You always say you don’t believe in coincidences. And it is really strange that someone with no prior signs of depression should hang himself at his own congratulations party. But”—she nodded toward MacAuley—“I have to agree with the dep. Saunderson was a rich workaholic Wall Street guy. Gabrielle Yates was a poor girl from Florida. Where is there even a point of contact for them?”
“The fair.”
Hadley shrugged helplessly. “Okay, she went to the fair. And maybe he did, too. But Chief, everybody goes to the fair. They get over one hundred thousand visitors during the course of the week.”
The dep nodded approvingly.
“And there’s one other thing, Chief. We’ve been working this as if it’s connected to the 1972 killing.”
“For good reason.” MacAuley thumbed toward the whiteboard, where the known facts of all three similar deaths were scrawled in black erasable marker.
“Bors Saunderson was, like, four years old back then. Which means we’ve got no follow-through from the earlier killing.”
“Copycat?” The chief’s voice indicated he thought it was a weak argument.
“A copycat from our area I could buy,” MacAuley said. “If some smart townie accidentally killed Yates, I could just … just … see him remembering the old case and staging her body drop to look like it. But that requires one”—the dep held up a finger—“the perp be a local guy and two”—he held up a second finger—“the perp be at least somewhere around your age. Saunderson is from downstate and he’s not even forty. Not likely to get any older, either.”
The chief sighed. “Knox, what’s the report from the hospital?”
“He’s alive and in intensive care. I guess the big danger is from pneumonia or something like that, because of the compromised breathing tube.”
Van Alstyne pressed a finger against his mouth, thinking. “Okay. You two both make good points. However, I still want to canvass the folks at the fair.”
“Russ—” MacAuley began.
“I know we’re short on manpower. I know.” The chief pointed toward Hadley. “Knox, you handle it. Get a photo from … I don’t know, see if you can print one from the internet. If not, ask up at the Langevoorts’. Change into civvies. I went there in uniform and I suspect I left a less-than-ideal impression on the management.”
“Civvies?” She tried to make the word squeak less.
“You’ve done it before.”
MacAuley tipped his head toward her. “Consider it the uniform of the day, kid.”
“Meanwhile, I’m headed over to the Water View. Maybe Saunderson went to dinner there. If we can put him and Gabrielle Yates in at least one spot together, we should be able to get a warrant for his DNA.” The chief tossed the folder to the dep. “Lyle, get the paperwork ready. And call Dr. Scheeler, see if anything’s come in yet.”
MacAuley shook his head. “This is completely ass-backwards.”
“I know. But we’ve tried it front-forwards and we’ve got nothing. If this doesn’t pan out—” He spread his hands. “Well, at least we can’t have less than nothing.”
She felt like an idiot showing her badge at the gate. “I’m with the MKPD,” she began.
“Yeah, yeah. Hold your hand out.” The bearded man stamped a strip of purple on the back of her hand.
“Um…”
He sighed. “Go to the main ticket booth at the entrance of the midway. They’ll set you up.”
She wished she had her uniform on. Her poly-blend armor made her feel aloof, tough, above the crowd. In shorts and a sleeveless top, walking all alone through the throngs of fairgoers, she looked like a loser. Who even comes to a fair by themselves? They had been so slammed at the shop, she hadn’t been able to bring her kids—instead, they went with Granddad. Plus, men didn’t leer at her when she was in uniform. At least, the sober ones didn’t.
She spotted the main ticket booth by the queue stretching out in front. She strode to the rear and got in line behind a man with two preteens. All three of them, dad and kids, had their noses buried in their phones, the kids playing games, the adult tap-tap-tapping away with his thumbs. Divorced dad, she decided. She had dated her share of them back in California, something she never wanted to do again. Date, that was. Of course, that meant she might never have sex again, and wasn’t that a cheerful thought? She was pretty sure there were apps for no-strings hook-ups that encompassed even Millers Kill, but as a mom with two kids in school, she wasn’t going to risk it. Imagine if the guy on the other end was a teacher? Or worse, one of her kid’s friends’ parents? She had already experienced being the bad girl of the PTA, and she’d left California because of it.
“Miss? Miss?”
Hadley blinked. She was first in line. Crap. She fished her badge out of her pocket. “I’m with the MKPD—”
She didn’t get to finish the introduction. The girl behind the glass unspooled a long string of tickets and tore them off. “Here you go.”
Suddenly, the behavior of the man at the entry gate made sense. She pushed the tickets back through the booth’s crescent opening. “I’m not here for freebies, and you shouldn’t be offering them to cops anyway. It’s illegal.” The girl looked at her like she was crazy. Hadley unfolded the picture she had downloaded from the B and E company site. “I’m trying to find out if anyone remembers seeing this man.” She pointed to Saunderson.
“You’re kidding, right?” The girl shook her head. “I can’t remember people five minutes after I’ve taken their money.” She looked over Hadley’s head toward the line now stretching out behind her.
Hadley stayed put, blocking off the window. “Okay, then. Who is good at remembering faces?”
“Joe. Old Joe. He manages the tickets and the money.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He doesn’t work mornings. He’ll be back in the trailers, behind the midway. All right?”
“All right.” Hadley released her spot at the window and started walking. She skirted the edge of the midway until the rides and booths gave way to an agricultural display field. Spectators in a rise of bleachers cheered as a border collie raced through its paces, rounding a herd of fat sheep and moving them out.
Hadley kept going, the midway on her right and the show field on her left becoming a grassy parking area filled with livestock trailers. Beyond them, however, pitched a little farther back from the noise and smell, was a cluster of RVs, pickups, and trailers, many with lawn chairs and folding tables set up outside.
A man and a woman sat at one of the tables, with the remains of a late breakfast or early lunch scattered between them. The woman smiled when she spotted Hadley, revealing the loss of several teeth. “Hey, hon. You’ve gotten lost. What are you looking for?”
“Actually, I think I’m in the right place. I’m looking for Joe? The girl who gave me the name called him Old Joe?”
The man and woman laughed. “One of the kids,” the man said. “Yeah, I’m sure Joe seems about a hundred years old to them.” Since the couple looked a hard sixty, Hadley began to wonder if Joe might not in fact be close to the century mark.
The woman rose. “He’s in his trailer. C’mon, hon, I’ll knock you in.” She led Hadley to a small, round Airstream trailer with a wide mat of artificial turf beneath a striped awning. “Nice, hah?” The woman rapped on the door. “These things come back in style. Joe keeps getting offers to buy it.” She shook her head. “Sixty years old, and kids want it to take pictures. Crazy.” She knocked again. “Joe? There’s a cute young lady out here wants to see you.” She winked at Hadley. “That’ll bring him.”
The door opened. Joe did indeed look a couple decades older than her helpful guide. He was wiping his hands on a small towel. “I was in the can, for chrissakes. Can’t a man have some peace around here?” He looked down at Hadley. “Who’re you?”
She held up her badge. “My name’s Hadley Knox, and I’m with the MKPD.”
The woman looked at her sorrowfully. “Hon, you should’a led with that.”
Hadley spread her hands. “No one’s in trouble. I’m trying to see if anyone remembers a certain man visiting the fair.” She pulled the picture out of her pocket. “I was told you’re good with faces, Mr., uh, Joe.”
He stepped down from the doorway. “This about that girl who died? Your boss was here a couple days ago, acting like he thought one of us done it.”
“I can promise you, it’s nothing personal. We’re running down any and all leads.” She spread the photo open. “Do you by any chance remember seeing this man?” She pointed to Saunderson.
“Yeah,” Joe said.
“Yeah?” the woman asked.
“Yeah…” The instant agreement made Hadley suspicious. If the old man thought he was taking the heat off someone at the fair … “What makes him so easy to remember?”
“First off, he was really pale. Like he’d been living under a rock pale. Second, he and his friend were rich. Don’t see a lot of rich folks going for the rides. They go to, I dunno, Disney World instead.”
“How did you know he was rich?”
Joe shrugged. “Clothes. Hair. Can’t you tell when you see ’em?”
She thought for a moment. “I guess I can. You said he was with a friend?”
Joe tapped the picture. “Yeah. This guy.”
“They were together?” She couldn’t remember if the chief had included Langevoort in the report. “Okay. Anything else you can recall?”
“They asked where the shooting gallery was. I thought maybe they were queer for each other, because, you know, most regular guys go to the shooting gallery to show off for girls.”
She decided to ignore the offensive comment. “Do you think whoever runs the shooting gallery might remember them?”
Joe looked at her. “How the hell would I know?”
“I’ll take you there, hon.” The woman seemed ready to forgive Hadley’s failure to identify herself as a cop for a chance at getting more interesting gossip. She led Hadley through the encampment, across a width of half-dead grass crossed and crossed again with thick black power lines, and into the noise and fried-grease smells of the midway itself. “It’s right over here, hon. He’s a nice boy. New this year, but very polite.”
Hadley saw the gleam of red hair before they reached the booth. Of course. Of course it’s goddamn Kevin Flynn. He hadn’t told her where he worked at the carnival, but the universe hated her, so here they were, her in what felt like way-too-revealing shorts, and him in his bearded, tattooed, where-did-all-those-muscles-come-from glory.
He spotted her when she was still a couple yards away. She saw the momentary flare in his eyes, swallowed immediately by a keen-edged smile. He leaned on the counter. “Hello, there, pretty lady. Want to try your luck?”
The woman beside her cackled. “Don’t let her make you run away, Kevin, but she’s a cop!”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”
She patted him on his bearded cheek. “Nope.”
“Um.” Hadley fumbled for her badge. “I’m Hadley Knox, from the MKPD.”
“What can I do for you, Officer?”
“I’m, uh, trying to find out if anyone remembers this man.” She smoothed the picture on his counter. “Well, both of them. Joe, Old Joe, said they asked him for directions to the shooting booth.”
“It’s about the girl who died near here,” the woman helpfully supplied.
“I already told the cops I don’t remember seeing the girl.”
Hadley pointed to the picture. It was easier when she looked away from Flynn. “How about one of these men?”
Flynn picked the paper up, frowning. “Do you mind?” He stepped back into the shade of his booth to inspect it more closely. “Yeah. I think I do remember the pale guy. And I definitely remember this one.” He tapped at the picture of Langevoort. “He won flash.” He pointed up at the enormous and expensive-looking plush toys hanging front and center in his booth. “I don’t hand out many of those, and I try to remember who takes them if they come around again.”
Hadley couldn’t help asking. “Why?”
Flynn handed her the picture. “Because the point of the game is for the marks to lose their money, not for me to throw stock.” He smiled slowly. “Ma’am.”
The older woman elbowed Hadley. “I told you he was polite!”
“Hey! Debbie!” The woman turned around. A skinny man with more tattoos than Flynn was trotting toward them. “Boss wants to know if you can swing in for Weezie.”
“Can do.” She turned back to Hadley. “I gotta go, hon. Don’t let this one sell you any after-hour tours!” She walked away, laughing.
“You really recognize the guy?”
Flynn pulled a water bottle from beneath the counter and took a swig. “Yeah. What’s the deal?”
“He’s a VIP with Barkley and Eaton. New York finance firm. He tried to kill himself out of the blue last night, and the chief’s got a hair up his butt, thinking he might be connected to the vic.”
“Because they both came to the fair? That’s a reach.”
“Yeah, but…” Hadley tried to put the pieces together. “If they did intersect, where else could it have been?” She paused. “The chief is checking out the restaurant where Yates worked. If Saunderson ate there, we’ll have two points where he and Gabrielle intersected, which will get a warrant for his DNA.”
Flynn lifted a cloth off a hook and began wiping down the toy rifles racked at the front of the booth. “You’re still working from a conclusion backwards. That’s not like the chief. That’s really not like the chief.”
“He’s pretty desperate to close this case. I think he’s worried about the ballot measure. If they vote to close the department, we’re all screwed.”
“Syracuse is hiring.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so. You’re not making it look like the best career move.”
He pulled back. “I’m doing something important here. I’ve connected with one of the guys who seems to be involved. I’m getting close to having some real evidence.”
“I’m not attacking your—” At the last minute, she remembered to drop her voice. “Your work. I never said you weren’t good at what you do.” If that implied he was lousy at what he was, well, that was fine.
He nodded. “Don’t knock yourself out with the compliments.” She opened her mouth and he raised a hand. “You better go. I don’t want anyone wondering why I’m chatting with a cop.” His lips thinned. “I’ve had enough encounters with the law already this week. Next time, just slap down some tickets and play the game.”
“Don’t worry, Flynn. I’m done here.” She turned, and turned again to fire one last shot. “I think we’re both done here.”