Homemade Molotov cocktail,” Merrick was saying. “A glass bottle hit the porch and sprayed the guy’s face and clothes. Lucky for him, he immediately dove into the snow and started rolling around.”
Mike lifted his toolbox into the back of the truck. They were standing in Margaret Van Buren’s driveway in Newton. It was Saturday, sometime after one, and Mike was wrapping up a half day of work.
“The bodyguard wasn’t the target though,” Merrick said. “He had a coat that was similar to Jonah’s. Someone unscrewed the bulbs from the sensor lights out on the back porch. Bresler’s out there in the dark, same height as Jonah, wearing a similar coat and standing near the walker, it could have been Jonah. If Bresler had noticed that the porch lights hadn’t kicked on, he probably wouldn’t be clinging to life inside a burn unit at Mass General.”
Mike slammed the hatch shut.
“I’m sorry to ask you this,” Merrick said, “but I need to know where you were last night.”
“What’s the deal with my daughter’s jacket?”
“Still waiting for the lab results.”
Mike fished his keys out of his pocket, Merrick’s voice picking at his brain.
“So you don’t know a thing.”
“Not yet,” Merrick said. “I should know something soon.”
Mike felt a barely suppressed scream rising in his throat. He brushed past Merrick, opened the door to his truck and climbed inside the cab. Merrick stepped up next to the opened window.
“I asked you a question.”
“I think I’m going to follow Jonah’s lead,” Mike said. “What do you guys call it? Getting lawyered up?”
“You care to explain the bug that’s stuck up your ass?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s a question for my lawyer.”
Mike started the truck, wondering if Merrick might slap the cuffs on him, drag him down to the station. The guy looked pissed enough to do it.
“I suggest you go home,” Merrick said. “A detective will be waiting there with a search warrant.”
“There’s a key under the mat on the back porch. Knock yourself out, Kojack.”
WBZ news radio had the story in heavy rotation.
“In what police are calling a deadly case of mistaken identity, Charles Bresler, one of two bodyguards hired to protect Francis Jonah, is listed in critical condition after suffering third-degree burns and inhalation injuries resulting from a fire-bombing attack during the early morning hours. Francis Jonah, the former priest police believed to be responsible for the disappearance of three young girls, the most recent Sarah Sullivan of Belham—”
Mike clicked off the radio and gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles formed white half moons. Fucking Merrick. Guy hunts me down, runs right up here to get his questions answered and expects me to drop what I’m doing and then lies about the lab results.
And what about Jess? She had to have known by now what was going on. The story of Sarah’s jacket was everywhere—USA Today, CNN. They had USA Today in Paris, right? They sure as hell had CNN, and CNN had the story in heavy rotation the first two days. And even if Jess wasn’t reading the papers or watching TV, one of her friends knew what was going on and must have tried to contact her in Italy or wherever she and her new boyfriend were honeymooning.
Mike came to a stop at the light. Sweat had gathered beneath his clothes; a dry pasty coating lined his mouth. Across the street was a bar. He stared at the neon sign and the big, dark window facing the street when his cell phone rang. It was Slow Ed.
“Have you lost your goddamn mind?”
“You actually think I did that?”
“You tell me. You were the one talking about wanting Jonah to burn.”
“You know what, Ed? Go fuck yourself.”
“Then what’s this shit I hear about you getting lawyered up? Merrick just called over here to get a search warrant going.”
“Merrick came by the jobsite with all these questions about where I was last night.”
“Right. It’s called a police investigation, Sully. Someone tried to turn Jonah into a candlestick and got the wrong guy. Given your past history with Jonah, you’re what we call a prime suspect.”
Mike squeezed the phone as he stepped on the gas. “I love how you guys expect me to drop whatever I’m doing and answer your questions, but when I’ve got a question, you turn into a bunch of mutes.”
“Sully, we’ve already been over this.”
“I asked Merrick about the lab results.”
Slow Ed didn’t say anything.
“I didn’t tell him about last night or anything you said,” Mike said. “I just wanted to see if he was—”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”
“—telling me the truth, and as usual, Merrick denied—”
“You’ve got a serious hearing problem, you know that?”
“I’ve got rights here. You guys keep forgetting that this is my daughter we’re talking about.”
“Yeah, you’re right, Sully. We’re all a bunch of heartless pricks. That’s why we kept you in the loop the first time around, only you had to turn around and beat the shit out of the main suspect because you felt we weren’t doing our job.”
“If you guys had done your job five years ago, Jonah would be behind bars. At least I’d have that satisfaction. He’s out and about doing his thing and the cop you have watching him fell asleep at the wheel and I have to schedule time and pay money to piss in cups.”
“You ever stop and ask yourself why Jonah hired bodyguards? Why he’s got panic buttons installed all over his house? You think he’s scared of us? The media?”
Mike heard his blood slamming against his eardrums, felt it pounding across his forehead and behind his eyes.
“Merrick shows up to your jobsite—he comes to you so you don’t have to make a trip down to the station and deal with this media shit-storm—the guy’s doing you a favor and as usual you turn around and kick a two-by-four up his ass. The fuck is your problem, Sully?”
“My problem?”
“Yeah, you’re the problem. You’re the one with the goddamn attitude. You’re the one—”
“They found my daughter’s jacket hanging on a cross—on a cross, Ed. I’d love to see what you’d do if the one person you loved more than anything—” Mike’s throat froze up. He tried to clear it and felt his love for Sarah burning in his chest, his hope rising and falling, rising and falling, and then he thought about the jacket on the cross and thought that if given the opportunity, he’d gladly cut off his own arm if that meant discovering what had happened to her, because knowing whatever nightmare she had endured, alone, without him—knowing it had to be better than what he felt right now. It had to be.
“Finding Sarah’s jacket is supposed to mean something, Ed. I’ve waited five years. I’ve done my time. You try walking around with all these weights piled high on your chest, see how long you can go.”
“Sully.”
Mike pulled the phone away from his ear, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, Sarah still there in his chest, telling him to keep fighting.
“Sully,” Slow Ed said, his voice a bit softer but still clearly pissed.
“What?”
“Just tell me where you were last night, and don’t bullshit me, okay?”
And then Mike felt that need to fight for Sarah dry up.
“My dog’s at Bill’s house,” he said. “His kids have been watching him for a few days. I had dog food in the truck so I swung by his house and ended up staying the night.”
“What time you get in?”
“Around eleven-thirty. Bill saw me come in. He was up with one of the twins.”
“Good,” Slow Ed said. “The other bodyguard said Bresler went outside for a smoke at one. This is good. Bill know you talked to me?”
“I gave you my word on that, remember?”
“Hold on a sec.”
Mike heard mumbling and then Slow Ed came back on the line, his voice a drawn out, heavy sigh. “Where you at right now?”
“On my way back to Belham.”
“Meet me at Highland Auto Body. You can park your truck there, and I’ll take you in and you can give your statement.”
“I just told you where I was last night.”
“I know, but word just came down. The bodyguard died. We’re dealing with a homicide, and right now you’re the prime suspect.”