“Turn right.”
“That’s not what he said.”
“Turn,” she insisted. So Dave turned.
It had proven impossible to leave Teresa behind. Beyond her fierce determination to come was the fact that both Fred and Miranda were far more concerned about her than the house or its contents. Dave was not to abandon her for anything. Which meant staying at Owl’s Point and ignoring Philip, or bringing her along. Given the task Philip had laid out, ignoring him did not seem an option.
“I told you, I know this park,” Teresa said, leaning against the seat belt’s restraint like a dog on a short leash. She had sobered up swiftly. “Philip’s directions are crap. You would be lost out here.”
There was a GPS in the glove compartment, but Dave did not argue. They had passed the bright lights of a shopping center and always-busy Route 95, but otherwise it was back roads.
“How do you know this place, anyway?”
“My grandmother took us when I was little. Then I found it again while I was at school. Like a nostalgia thing, I guess. I still don’t understand why we haven’t called the cops.”
“Philip told me not to.”
“But someone could be dead.”
“In which case he’ll still be dead when we get there, and then we’ll call the police. On the other hand, if Philip has made a big drama out of nothing, it’s better we leave the authorities out of it.” He did not add that his history made calling police an absolute last resort. All they had to do was punch his name into a database, and he was facing days of hassle, minimum. Worse if there was a body involved.
“Do you have a gun?” she asked.
“There won’t be need for that.”
“You don’t know.”
“Guns escalate things,” Dave said. “Come on, I’m an art investigator.”
“Audrey said you were dangerous.”
“She did, huh? Well, she wants to believe that. Or she wants to scare you.”
“So it’s not true?”
“A few years back,” Dave said reluctantly. “After my life took a nosedive, I worked for some unsavory types. Down in Florida, finding art that one thief stole from another.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“It was. The first client was a white-collar type. Lawyer, collector, entrepreneur. Charming guy and upstanding citizen, except for being a thief. The longer I stayed at it, the farther down the food chain I fell, until one of my clients was murdered an hour before our meeting. I found him. That’s when I got out, moved back here. Doing research, surveillance, security, whatever I could find. Philip did a pretty complete background check on me, and he must have told Audrey some things.”
“Wow,” Teresa said after a few moments.
“You sure you still want to be in this car with me?”
“Keep straight here,” she instructed. “It will be coming up on the right.”
They were in a sleepy neighborhood of middle-income houses built close to the road. Then the houses fell away on one side and there were stately trees and paths of cracked asphalt. Half of the old-fashioned lamps were dark. Connecticut needed to invest in infrastructure. Dave pulled over slowly.
“Teresa, listen to me.”
“I should not even think about getting out of the car, right?”
“Thank you.”
“Do you watch any slasher movies? Do you know what happens to the girl who stays in the car?”
“Here.” He handed her the keys. “Drive around if you want, but swing by every five or ten minutes, okay?”
She took the keys silently and handed him the flashlight. He could see that she was both energized and frightened, and he squeezed her shoulder.
“Thanks for getting us here. Hang tight now. This is probably nothing.”
“Be careful.”
“Always.”
The park was still and empty. There was a dog walker across the street who might be coming this way, or possibly just leaving. Not another soul. The trees were mostly oaks, their broad branches forming a pale and susurrating ceiling. His breath misted, and he jammed his hands into his jacket pockets so they would not get stiff with cold. To his right was a large band shell. To the left a pond, with a monument on the far side. Bronze soldiers frozen in action, he could not tell which war. Dead ahead was a copse of tightly packed trees. He could see nothing within, but anyone there would see him approaching. Damn it. Why did he have to do this at night? Why couldn’t he say no to people?
On the swath of grass between the path and trees, an object caught Dave’s eye. A crushed cigarette box. Lucky Strikes, Pete’s brand. Him and a million others. Not far away was a plastic lighter, and the grass was disturbed and even gouged in places. Two men had struggled here. A few yards on, at the edge of the trees, some saplings were bent. Dave crept over, trying not to step on anything. Trying to separate sounds within the night woods. Peering in, all he could tell was that the copse was larger than he had guessed, and ran downhill into a little gulley. Without a light source, he would find a prone body in there only by tripping on it. No choice. He reached the flashlight out of his jacket and flicked it on.
If the light was not sufficient giveaway, an army of twigs and weeds exploded under his shoes with every step. It would have taken considerable imagination to engineer a way that he might have made more noise. The trees were mostly birch, with oak and maple mixed in. Dave lost the path of broken twigs, or any path at all. He might have stumbled around a long time if the flashlight beam did not catch a pale object. Stepping over fallen branches, he arrived at a spot where the weeds had been flattened. A blood-stained rag was bunched there, and more drops of blood were scattered about the leaves and brambles. Someone had lain here, hurt.
A moment later it was Dave facedown on the weeds. The flashlight beam was in his face and the air had been punched out of his lungs. After a stunned delay, pain erupted across his just-healed ribs, not sparing his spine. He pulled for breath, but it would not come.
“You saw my flag,” said a voice so slack it was almost indecipherable. A branch hit the ground near Dave’s head—the club that had struck him. A man bent to retrieve the bloody rag. His shaggy hair made a blond halo in the light beam. Bending and straightening took some time. “Must have thought it was a surrender flag.” Pete cackled, but the sound was horrible through his ruined face.
Dave tried again and was able to breathe, but the pain in his ribs doubled. Small breaths, he told himself. Gentle, gentle. Pete squatted beside him. One eye was swollen shut, he had the bloated lips of a corpse, and there was blood all over his face and shirt.
“You,” Pete said. “They send you to do the dirty work, huh? That used to be my job. You poor, stupid dick.”
Dave rolled onto his side and tried to speak, but what emerged was the noise a child might make imitating a dinosaur.
“Whoa there,” said Pete. “Don’t make me hit you again.”
“Who did that to you?” Dave whispered.
“Hell,” Pete laughed. “Don’t they tell you anything? You need to reconsider your line of work, friend. Where’s my pistol?”
“Don’t know.”
“I saw you picking up stuff out there.”
“Cigarettes,” Dave wheezed. “No pistol.”
“Damn,” Pete growled, but the tone shifted quickly to whining. “That’s my only gun, man. I need it.”
“What for?”
“Business, you know?”
“Blackmail business?”
“Shut up. You shut up or I’ll kick you where it hurts.”
“That should be easy.” The pain was backing off somewhat, and Dave thought he might not be too badly hurt. “What happened, Pete?”
“Man don’t like hearing the truth, that’s all.” He stood and reeled a few steps. “I thought you were one of them. That’s why I hit you so hard.”
“You should go to the hospital. We both should.”
“Nah, I got to get out of here. They might have called the cops. Make it all my fault, you wait and see. I didn’t break your back or nothing, did I?”
Dave sat up very slowly, though not slowly enough. He tipped his head, thinking he would vomit, but nothing came. Mulhane was already moving away, disappearing noisily into the surrounding darkness.
“Pete,” Dave called after him. The heavy steps stalled, but Dave was not sure what he wanted to say. “What happened to the painting?”
“He didn’t really hire you to find it, did he?”
“No,” Dave admitted, both to the other man and to himself. “That was a lie to pull me in. I just want to know.”
“I didn’t take it.”
“But you know who did.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Who?” But that was wrong, Dave knew. He should have guessed, or kept quiet. The footfalls started again. “Stay away from them, Pete. You hear?”
“Why should I?” the disembodied voice asked.
“Because those types always come out on top.”
“That’s what they think, but I know things.”
“What do you know?” Nothing. “Well, it doesn’t matter,” Dave said in a tired voice. “They’re poison. They poison anyone who comes near them. You stay away.”
“Yeah,” the other man said after a few moments. “Maybe. You do the same.”
Dave retrieved the flashlight and made a pathetic attempt at pursuit. Even in his battered condition, Mulhane managed to disappear completely before Dave freed himself from the trees. No more woods, he thought as he staggered over the damp grass toward the street. Go back to the city and stay there.
The street was empty. Where was the damn car? Had Teresa driven off? Had Mulhane taken her hostage? But, no, there it was fifty yards away. It was Dave who had come out in the wrong spot. Teresa sprang out of the passenger seat as soon as she saw him, eyes wide with worry and phone plastered to her ear.
“Are you all right?” she asked, looking him up and down.
“More or less.”
“It’s Philip,” she said, holding the phone out to him. Dave grabbed it too roughly.
“What is she doing with you?” the lawyer demanded. His voice sounded stronger but also thicker. Dave suspected whisky courage.
“I’d still be driving in circles if she wasn’t here.”
“I didn’t tell you to—”
“Pete’s alive.”
“He is? Thank God. What shape is he in?”
“Good enough to club me with a tree branch. But you worked him over pretty good, or someone did.”
“Is he there, do you have him?”
“No, he got away from me.”
“Damn it, Webster. The man’s dangerous, he could say anything.”
“He’s badly banged up, he’s lost his gun, and I think I convinced him to keep his distance from you. Philip, what is going on?”
“Okay, okay, we’ll just have to... Go back to the house, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Philip,” he said savagely, then held the phone against his chest while he breathed deeply and painfully. Why the ribs again? He brought the device back to his ear and spoke calmly. “If you do not tell me what the hell is going on right now, I am going to drive to your house and beat it out of you.”
“I have to think this through,” the lawyer insisted. “Be patient. I’ll call in the morning.”
“Philip, no. Philip?”
The connection was cut. That high-handed little dick, Dave would bounce his head off the walls of his pretty white kitchen. He would grind his... Teresa was watching him.
“What?” he said furiously.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes,” Dave said more gently. He was not angry with her, and anyway she was utterly unimpressed with his rage. “I’m good. Probably cracked ribs.”
“Should we get you to a doctor?”
“There’s nothing to do for ribs. They don’t even bind them anymore, just give you painkillers.”
“Pete’s all right, too?” she asked cautiously.
“I wouldn’t say that. He was all right enough to give me the slip a second time.”
“What do we do now?”
Right. Get with the program, Dave. He levered himself very slowly into the passenger seat as Teresa scampered around to the driver’s side and swung in.
“Now,” Dave breathed, when the pain had subsided enough to speak. “We go show your uncle that I do not make idle threats.”
* * *
The house was dark, except for a light in the kitchen. No sign of the Mercedes in the driveway or the garage. No way to know if someone lurked in the bushes. Dave had felt eyes upon him since walking the Owl’s Point woods, and all nature was suspect now. They went to the kitchen window and peered in. Chairs were knocked over, and there was broken glass on the table and floor. He could just glimpse a painting askew in the hall.
“Quite a brawl.”
“Do you think Pete came here after we talked to Philip?” Teresa asked.
“Doubt it. He was in no shape to do this kind of damage. Let’s take a closer look.”
He used a potted geranium to shatter one pane of the window and unlock it. No alarm sounded. He began to pull himself up, but Teresa grabbed his forearm.
“You aren’t in any condition for that.”
“I can’t ask you to break into your uncle’s house,” Dave said, pleased at recovering so quickly. The pressure of her hand had shut his brain down briefly.
“I’m guilty by association just standing here. I’m also lighter and smaller, but you have to give me a boost. I’m not exactly athletic.”
“Okay. Be very careful of the glass. And don’t touch anything you don’t have to.”
“You want me to levitate?”
“That would be best.”
She may not have been an athlete, but her legs were strong, and she was a good climber. He held her a little too long, which was better than letting go too soon. Half a minute later she let him in the door.
The worst damage was in the kitchen, and it was not too bad. Overturned chairs and a few broken glasses. From the impact marks on the wall, Dave guessed they had been thrown at someone. The coffee table in the living room was tipped over and the sofa knocked back a foot. In the cramped study in back, a cut crystal glass with a faint scotch residue sat on the desk. Beneath it was a check and a note. The check was made out to David Webster for $10,000. The note said: We’ll talk soon. Keep your mouth shut.
“He knew you would break in,” Teresa said, amazed.
“Yes,” Dave agreed.
“And what? He ran off so he wouldn’t have to face you?”
“Possibly. Possibly he was running from someone else.”
“Like Pete,” she said.
“Maybe. He may also have been chasing someone.”
“You know, don’t you?”
“No,” Dave said. Which was true, strictly speaking. Though he had a theory or two.
“This is hush money,” Teresa said, flicking the check with her finger. Her moral vehemence amused him.
“It’s just money.”
“We need to call the police now. Let them figure this out.”
“Teresa.” How should he say it? “Some men have beaten one another for reasons they understand and we don’t. I would be very surprised if any of them pressed charges, and no one involved wants the police called.”
“Then what do we do next?”
“The wise thing would be to go back to the house and finish your work.”
“Do you usually do the wise thing?”
That made him laugh, though it hurt. “Almost never.”
“My work is essentially done,” Teresa said. “I want to understand what’s happening to my family, Dave. It’s important to me. So I’m asking you again, what do we do next?”