Blue Stew (Second Edition) (12 page)

Chelsea put a hand to her open mouth, “On
no
. I must not have . . . it’s a quiet phone . . . but we
were
loud . . .”

“Chelsea, it’s
okay
. No one is in trouble. I just got the call and it’s my job to knock on the door, basically.” He was trying to smile reassuringly, with mixed results. “Happy birthday,” he added, noticing the balloons above the snack table.

“Thanks. Thank you.”

“So, just do what you have to do to keep Leeann from calling me again, please.”

“
Yes
, I will. Thank you
so
much,” she sounded close to tears. A few stray noises from the living room behind her might well have been muffled snickers.

“Ah. Okay. Have a good night,” Officer Corey tipped his hat and turned to leave.

Walter, at the far corner of the room, stood up. Henry looked at him.

“I wanted to talk to him about something,” he muttered to Henry as he started to navigate the crowded floor.

A few curious gazes tracked him through the room: the majority of those present had at least heard some variation of the story of the terrible night as it involved Walter Boyd and Officer Corey.

“Excuse me,” Walter said to Chelsea, who had just shut the door.

She opened it again, with a hand that appeared to be trembling a little. Walter chuckled and said, “Thanks.”

After lunging out of the duplex’s main entrance, Walter spotted Officer Corey leaving the housing complex’s courtyard some distance ahead.

Walter hustled after him. His breath came out as wispy white clouds, and the grass beside the walkway, in the plentiful lamplight, appeared crisp and sparkled with the first touches of frost.

“Excuse me,” Walter spoke when Officer Corey had gotten to within a few paces of his cruiser, parked on the street under a large maple tree.

Officer Corey turned around.

“Oh, Walter . . . put a
coat
on, son!”

Walter was only wearing a thin, brown, long-sleeved shirt. He had left his coat on the couch inside, but he hadn’t noticed its absence until it was now highlighted.

“Wow, it
has
gotten cold,” said Walter, rubbing his hands together. “That’s all right. I’ll make this quick. I was thinking of calling you.”

Officer Corey waited expectantly.

“It’s . . .
okay
. . . I mean, I know it’s not my place . . . but I saw Timothy Glass at Kall’s today. Have you seen him recently?”

“Yes, actually,” said Officer Corey wonderingly. “What about him?”

“You saw the three nasty scars on his cheek?”

“Yes . . .”

“Well, Kall said that
he
said they were from a line-cutter accident . . . but I
couldn’t
avoid noticing the similarities between them and the cuts on the guy in the Jeep . . . it was creepy . . .”

“What are you saying, Walter?”

Even in the cold, Walter’s face tingled warm, “I know it’s a bit of a long-shot, but . . . what if Timothy had been
part
of it?” Officer Corey opened his mouth to object, but Walter rambled on hastily, “You remember the story of his wife’s death, after they moved out here together. That—if
anything
—has
got
be the kind of thing that can trigger someone to fall so low that they might latch onto a suicide cult. And then you think about the location—walking distance from Timothy’s house—so there wouldn’t need to be a trace of a sixth car. He could’ve chosen the location, too. But then, when it came time for the
final act
, he chickened out after only three slices to his face . . . ?”

Officer Corey shook his head. “That was all very . . .
interestingly
put together, Walter. However, those scars are
more
than three days old.”

“You
sure
? I thought they looked pretty fresh . . .”

“Yes. Because I saw him a week ago. Before that night. He had the cuts then.”

“
Oh
.”

“Walter, all the evidence we’re sorting through upholds the notion that these five insane men acted alone, and upon themselves. This is a
good
thing for our town. It is in
everyone’s
best interest that we close the book on that horrific night as soon as we humanly can, and put it
far
behind us.”

“
Oh
.” Walter would not have sounded more deflated if his favorite football team had lost the Super Bowl in overtime. “So . . . then . . . you’ve identified all the victims?”

“Most of them.”

“And they all fit some kind of suicidal profile?”

“Well,” Officer Corey paused. “It’s not like they had a
history
of suicide attempts. But you usually don’t see that, I don’t think. None of them had crystal-clear records, however.”

“So their friends and families weren’t too shocked when you told them?”

“Of
course
they were,” Officer Corey appeared flustered by the question. “Why do you want to keep thinking about this, Walter? It’s over. Be
glad
.”

“I’m just curious,” muttered Walter. He went on defiantly, “And what about the man that I saw floating down the river?”

“No, we haven’t found the body yet. We’ve still got people walking the river. We’ve identified the owner of the one remaining car, so we know who we’re looking for now. Just a simple matter of time.”

All of Walter’s lines of questioning and speculation were colliding against a brick wall. Above all, Officer Corey wanted to bring closure to a case that had been tormenting his department and his community, and he was good at his job. A familiar feeling of depression now started creeping over Walter, making his insides go cold.

Or, maybe that was the icy outdoor air.

“We know what we’re doing, Walter. Now get back inside so you don’t freeze to death, and please put your mind at ease. There’s no reason for you to dwell on this anymore.”

Walter nodded silently and turned around.

He was intercepted halfway up the stairs by a small crowd of people coming down. Nigel, Jamie, Henry, and Vanessa were among them.

Nigel responded to Walter’s quizzical look, “Some people were laughing at Chelsea. She kind of snapped and started telling people to leave. Maddie’s up there trying to placate the situation . . . but, the crowd really needed to thin anyways, so we thought we’d take our leave.”

“Oh.” Walter looked upstairs, thinking of Maddie. “I should grab my coat. It’s gotten cold as fuck out.”

Henry held out Walter’s navy-blue coat.

“
Oh
. . . thanks.”

Nigel saw Walter shoot another fleeting look up the stairs.

He muttered to Walter as he pulled on his coat and turned with the crowd, “Just call her later, bud. No big deal. Shit happens.”

For the second time in what had been a grim minute for his mental state, Walter nodded silently. He was falling fast into a familiar dark place, a place where “later” was as distant and insignificant as a drop of water a thousand miles away. He needed
something
to fight off the dark, pressing pain in his chest. But, the thrill and the mystery of the terrible night were evaporating, and he was now leaving behind the one other thing he could think of that could consume his mind: Maddie Wendell.

Well . . . there
were
other things . . .

He didn’t speak a word to anyone as he followed Nigel and Jamie into Nigel’s car—not even to say bye to Henry.

“Are you feeling alright, Walter?” Nigel, as he pulled out of his parking spot, glanced through his rearview mirror at Walter, seated in back.

“Can you take me home, please.”

Walter’s monotone voice tripped an alarm in Nigel’s head.

“Um . . . why—why don’t you just spend the night? Wasn’t that the plan?”

“I just want to go home.”

“But . . . it’s much easier for Henry to take you to work from my place. And it’s easier for me right now, too,” he chuckled nervously.

“I don’t care.”

Again Nigel glanced into his overhead mirror: he couldn’t see more of Walter than a dark outline against the well-lit street that they were leaving behind. It scared Nigel, how he couldn’t make proper eye contact with his friend.

“So what did you talk to Tom Corey about?”

“Nothing. I had a stupid idea about the investigation.”

“Oh yeah?”

No response. It wasn’t enough to just imply the question.

“What was the idea?”

“That Timothy Glass, because he also had scars on his face, must’ve had some part in the suicide cult.”

Nigel laughed another nervous laugh, “Yeah . . . that is a
bit
of a leap of logic. I talked to Timothy a few days after it happened . . . gotta be careful when tinkering with old lawnmowers, huh?”

Walter, his thoughts elsewhere, didn’t identify the disparity right away—Kall told him it had been a new line-cutter,
not
an old lawnmower—so he didn’t have a mind to correct Nigel. Nor did he have a mind to stir up any desperate intrigue with an unlikely alternative: that Timothy’s story had, at some point, been altered.

“Did you know the guy has a doctorate in biochem from Harvard? Fucking smart—bigger nerd than me . . .”

Walter didn’t care, and he made this clear through his silence.

They drove on wordlessly for five or so minutes.

When, after two of these minutes, they reached the Sutherland town line, the street lights abandoned the sides of the road and the pavement instantly became rougher and patchier.

Sutherland had never been the brightest town when it came to budget management. Some years back a chunk of money had been siphoned from the road crew to pay for a new town hall: The idea had been that they could use the public space as a forum in which local issues—including budgeting issues—could be tackled more effectively and openly. However, someone had underestimated the construction costs, and for the past year the town hall had been left incomplete and inoperable.

Nigel found the nerve to speak again after three more minutes, and as there were no lights beyond his headlights, he couldn’t even see an outline of the person he was addressing. This left him with an odd feeling, like he was speaking to the dark.

“
So
. . . Walter, I’m really tired. We
all
are. It just makes more sense for you to crash at my place for one more night.”

The dark remained silent for what seemed like a very long time.

It then muttered darkly, “Christ, it’s only like five fucking minutes . . .”

“Walter, I’m
not
taking you to your place.”

“Fucking
why?
”

“I
just
told you why.”

Walter managed barely enough foresight to realize that pressing for the
real
reason why would get him nowhere.

“Whatever. I’ll just walk.”

Nigel shook his head. Jamie, listening silently in the front passenger seat—having immediately guessed at the reason for Nigel’s unwillingness to take Walter home—also shook her head.