Crooked Numbers (40 page)

“I don’t want to forget it.” I sighed. “Can you at least tell me what it’s about?”

Another pause. “I have some information about Douglas,” he said. “And something about drugs from Jack.”

“Drugs? Who told you this, Elliot?”

Silence, then, “Douglas did. A few days before he…”

“Okay, Elliot.” I didn’t like the hesitation in his voice. “Where are you now?”

“No, not now,” he said. “Tonight. Seven o’clock.”

“Elliot, I told you I have plans for tonight.”

He waited a few beats. “Okay. Forget it.”

“I don’t want to…” I took a breath. “Okay. Seven o’clock. Where do you live?”

“No,” he said. “Not at my apartment. The Ramble.”

“The Ramble?”

“In Central Park. Where you were supposed to go bird-watching with us the other day.”

“Why the Ramble? Your folks are okay with you going out there at night?”

“I am not a baby, Ray.” Another pause. “I have a lot of homework to do. My parents sometimes let me go out and do a little night birding if I get my work done.”

I thought of the Shermans letting Paulie skateboard after dark.

“Okay, Elliot,” I said. “Seven o’clock at the Ramble.”

“On the bridge,” he said. “When you enter the—”

“I know the bridge. Seven o’clock.”

It took him five seconds to say, “Thank you, Ray,” and he hung up.

What the fuck?
Now I had to call Allison and change our plans, because Elliot had something to tell me about Dougie and couldn’t do it over the phone. Maybe it was about the night Dougie was killed. Maybe
Elliot
was the mysterious bouncing kid.

I called Allison back. She apparently recognized my number, because she answered. “This better be good, tough guy. I told you how busy I am.”

I told her about my phone call from Elliot and my plans for seven o’clock in Central Park.

“Why does he want to talk to you?”

“He didn’t say. He didn’t say much, in fact. My guess is he needs a grown-up to talk to, and since Dougie trusted me…”

“Jesus, Ray.”

“He said Dougie told him something about some drugs at the Quinns’. I’m just not sure if he means Paulie’s prescription or those unidentified capsules Mrs. Lee found.”

“You think Jack and the boys were trying to sell them?”

“I don’t know,” I said, and something from the part of my brain that stored last week’s memory clicked in. “Remember when I had that conversation with Dougie’s father?”

“At the bar, yeah.”

“He told me Dougie had told him he was going to get him help. To make him better. Something about connections at school.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“I didn’t know what to make of it.”

“And now?”

“Part of the drug Ward Fullerton had their problems with was designed to treat the symptoms of dementia and stimulate a chemical in the brain that helps with memory retention and learning. If not for the side effects they experienced in Nigeria, they’d probably be doing clinical trials here in the States within the next year or so.”

“But they
did
have side effects. Enough where they had to scramble to save the company’s ass.”

“I know,” I said. “But that might explain what Dougie said to his dad. About getting better.”

“That’s quite a stretch, Ray.”

“I know, but think about what we know about the last weeks of these kids’ lives. Their parents said Dougie and Paulie were both experiencing abnormal mood changes and problems sleeping.”

“Two side effects of donezepil. You think the kids were taking those clinical trial meds?”

“Maybe. And Jack and Paulie were on ADHD medications. Stimulants.”
Shit.
“A side effect of some of those meds is suicidal thoughts.”

Allison caught on. “Paulie Sherman. Holy fuck, Ray.”

“All right,” I said. “We’re getting way ahead of ourselves. I’ll call you after I find out what Elliot has to tell me.”

“Definitely,” she said. “Should you try Murcer again?”

“Yeah, just to cover our asses.”

“What if he’s still not picking up?”

“Then, I guess we’ll have to cover each other’s asses,” I said.

“Any other time, I’d have a smart answer for that, Ray. Call me later.”

After we hung up, I called Murcer again. No luck, so I phoned the precinct. I was told he was still out, so I left my own ‘urgent’ message. I asked that he call me ASAP, but left out the part about meeting with Elliot Finch. I didn’t want to hear I was overstepping my bounds again. I already knew that.

I went home to eat. Alone. I was hungry, and the night had the potential to be a long one. Another after-dark trip to a city park. I thought about my off-duty gun, now safely stored away in the back of my closet. I didn’t think I’d need it tonight. At least, I hoped not.

AT SIX FORTY-FIVE, I
was standing outside Central Park, hands in my pockets, watching my breath turn to mist and disappear into the night. Some flakes had started to fall and, if the local news was to be believed, we were still expecting up to six inches by the morning. Not enough to cancel school in the city, but more than enough to make getting around tomorrow a bit slower and a whole lot messier.

I was early, so I walked around to get my blood flowing. I used the old street cop’s trick of stamping my feet every thirty seconds to help stay warm. It may have looked weird and gotten me a few strange looks, but it worked. I don’t really mind the cold weather; it’s the standing around part that gets to me.

Five minutes later, I called Allison again and got her voice mail. Since I already had the phone out, I tried Murcer. No luck. I looked at my watch and decided to head into the park. It’d take me a few minutes to get to the bridge by the Ramble, and I didn’t want to give Elliot any reason not to stick around.

I arrived at the bridge just before seven o’clock. There was no one there to greet me. It was full-on nighttime in the city now, and the snowflakes were beginning to increase in size and number. There was light coming from both sides of the bridge. The vision of falling snow was straight out of a Hallmark card.

“Mr. Donne?”

I turned, expecting to see Elliot, but instead saw Jack Quinn walking toward me. His hands were in his pockets—
didn’t anybody wear gloves anymore?
—and he had on the same ski jacket he’d worn to Dougie’s wake, the lift ticket still hanging from the zipper. The ski hat he was wearing was white and pulled down over his ears. His long blond hair spilled out the sides.

“Hello, Jack,” I said.

He stepped toward me, looking behind me and then over his shoulder. “Thanks for coming.”

“Where’s Elliot?”

“He had to go home.” He turned around again, checking for something. At this hour, in this cold, I doubted we’d see anyone. Maybe that was the point.

“What’s this about, Jack? Elliot told me he had information about Dougie.”

“Elliot made the call for me. I told him what to say.”

That explained all the pauses.

“So
you
have information about Dougie? Couldn’t you have just told me over the phone? Or better yet, called the detective in charge?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It looked as if he were smoking an invisible cigarette. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his next words.

“I killed him,” he said, like he was telling me he’d dropped an expensive vase.

I let those words sink in before responding. Even after five years as a cop, I’d never heard that before. The most I’d gotten was someone telling me he’d snatched a lady’s purse or decided to take a ride in a car that wasn’t his. Murder confessions were new territory for me.

“You killed Dougie?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said, then mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

“What was that?”

“I said, I think so,” he said louder.

“You ‘think so’? Jack, you either did or you didn’t.”

“I did. I killed him.”

He sounded like he was trying to convince both of us.

“All right, Jack,” I said. “Don’t say anything else. I’m going to reach into my pocket and take out my phone.”

He looked nervous. “Why are you doing that? I didn’t say to do that.”

“I didn’t ask,” I said, my phone still in my pocket. “I’m calling the police.”

“No!” he screamed, and then backed away a few steps. “No police.” His voice got shaky and then he lowered it. “Please. Not yet.”

“Jack,” I said as calmly as I could. “You just confessed to murder. I know the detective in charge. Tell him what you told me. He’ll help you get out in front of this. You’ll need a lawyer. Things’ll go a lot easier—”

“Fucking lawyers!” he screamed. In a much calmer tone, he added, “His uncle’s one, you know? Dougie’s?”

“I know. That’s not the one I would call, though.” I felt like moving closer to the kid, but had the feeling he’d jet out of there if I moved so much as an inch. I stayed where I was, put my hand in my pocket, and touched my phone. “Jack,” I said. “Tell me what you want to do about this.”

I knew what I wanted: to get him out of the park, into a cab, and down to Murcer.

“I don’t know,” he said, looking at me as if he were five years old. “Elliot said I could trust you. That you would know what to do.”

“Then
trust
me, Jack, when I say we need to get you to the police.”

He thought about that. “Are they going to tell my mom and dad?”

Holy shit,
I thought.
You just confessed to murder, and you’re concerned about your parents finding out?

“They’ll have to know, Jack. You’re under eighteen and—”

“What if I sign something?” he asked. “Can’t I waive my rights or something and not get my parents involved?”

He couldn’t do that, I knew. What I said was, “That’s a good question for the detective. That’s why we need to go see him. He’ll know what to do.”

“He was going to tell on us, you know.” Now he
sounded
like he was five.

“Who?” I asked.

“Dougie. He was gonna tell on us: that we’d stolen the drugs and we were taking them, and they were making us act all different. He was gonna get us in a lot of trouble.” He stamped his feet, and yelled, “You don’t rat out your friends, Dougie!”

Shit.
This kid was going off the deep end fast. I needed to get him out of the park and into a cab two minutes ago.

“Paulie and I wouldn’t have told on him. We were buddies. We … Paulie’s dead now, too, you know. Fuckin’ skateboarded into a bus. The fuck was
that
about?” He took a step toward me. “Can ya tell me what the fuck that was about, Mr. Donne?”

“It was the drugs, Jack,” I said, taking a step toward him. “Maybe that’s why Dougie felt the need to stop you guys. That’s why you ended up in the hospital, right? The drugs?”

He nodded his head yes.

I took another step closer. “You ready to go talk to the police, Jack?”

“He’s not going anywhere with you, Mr. Donne.”

I turned around as Jack’s sister, Alexis, stepped onto the bridge from the same direction he’d come. Again, no jacket. Just a volleyball hoodie.

“Jesus Christ,” Jack stage-whispered. “It’s my sister.”

Alexis walked around me and took her brother by the arm.

“It’s time to go home now, Jack.”

Jack didn’t resist. He just hung his head and stared at the snowy ground.

“Alexis,” I said, moving in front of the twins. “Jack just confessed to killing Douglas Lee.”

A voice from behind me said, “My son did no such thing, Mr. Donne.”

I turned. It was John Quinn Sr.

“Hey, Dad,” Jack said. “Where’s Mom?”

Ignoring that, the father looked at me. “He’s obviously still feeling the effects of his medications. He left the house without telling us. We came to the park, heard him yelling, and found him here with you.” He looked over at his kids and back at me. “If you leave now, we’ll just take Jack home and consider this matter closed.”

“Jesus Christ,” I said. “What world do you people live in?”

“The kind of world,” he said, “where grown men don’t meet with young boys late at night in the park, Mr. Donne. What world do
you
live in? First, you harass my daughter, and now I find you doing the same to my son?”

“Your son asked me to meet him here.”

He looked at his son. “Is that true, Jack?”

Jack gave that a lot of thought before answering. “No,” he said, obviously scared to death to give any other answer.

“You see, Mr. Donne. My son contradicts your version. I suggest you leave.”

“I have a witness,” I said. “Elliot Finch.”

“Who?” Alexis said, finally speaking. “The retard?”

Oh, fuck these people.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

“Either way,” I said, “I’m contacting Detective Murcer. I’ll tell him Jack told me he killed Dougie, and he and his friends stole drugs from you. The drugs Jack had Dougie hide in his closet. Those drugs were responsible for Paulie Sherman’s death.”

Mr. Quinn looked surprised. It was clear this was the first time he’d heard that Dougie was in possession of his drugs. He recovered quickly.

“First of all, Mr. Donne, Jack will deny having anything to do with Douglas’s death. And from what I understand from Jack, it was Douglas who stole the drugs.” Already, he was spinning the story in his favor. “Jack just told me the boy was up there the weekend the drugs were taken.”

“Is that the card you’re going to play, Mr. Quinn. Blame it on the black kid?”

“It doesn’t matter what color Dougie was, he—”

“Your daughter’s
boyfriend,
Mr. Quinn? It didn’t bother you he was black?”

For the second time that night, Quinn senior blinked. He turned to face Alexis.

“It’s not true, Daddy,” she said.

“Wanna see a picture, Alexis?” I asked. “One that Dougie’s mom gave me?”

“Shut up, Mr. Donne,” she said, the fear and agitation in her voice almost palpable. “Daddy, I swear…”

“We’ll talk about this at home, Alexis,” he said. “We are leaving, Mr. Donne. I think you should do the same.”

I knew I couldn’t let them leave the park with Jack. I needed to stir the pot that was this fucked-up family.