Red Light (28 page)

"I
hope there's some kind of legitimate explanation for this," Brighton said.
"For Mike. For you. For my department. For my own sorry hide. Stop. I'll
walk it from here."

• • •

She pulled over
beside the old courthouse and called Big Pat McNally. He wasn't home, but she
didn't think he would be. More likely, by this time of day he'd be at Cancun
Restaurant, down on First Street.

Like
Clark, he was retired; unlike Clark, Pat McNally liked to get out and raise a
little hell.

It
was still early enough to park close to the restaurant. She guided in the
Chevy, looked for Pat McNally's black Cadillac. It was taking up two spots out
in the corner of the lot.

Pat
himself was taking up a stool by the margarita blender, chatting up a pretty
young thing who looked at Merci approaching and scuttled away like she'd been
slapped.

"Didn't mean to
ruin your moment," she said.

Big
Pat lumbered off the stool and hugged her. His arms were huge and freckled and
his neck seemed thick as a power pole. His hair was graying red, and he had the
most gentle blue eyes Merci had ever seen. Crooked smile, quick laugh, good
guy.

"You rescued me
from temptation. It's the only thing I can't resist."

She
sat down next to him, got coffee. She wondered if she'd ever do such a thing
again, the way things were stacking up against his son. She stared straight
ahead.

He
put his hand on her forearm, gave it a squeeze. "How you doin', Merci?
Everything okay?"

She nodded and looked
at him but she let her eyes betray her.

"What is it?
That son of mine?"

"No.
Mike's great." She tried to make it convincing. It occurred to her for the
first time that she might ruin Big Pat along with his son. It seemed like every
hour she had to recalculate the size of her betrayal.

His clear blue eyes roved
over her face. He took a drink of his beer. "Lemme guess. He's asked you
for the twentieth time to marry him, and you wish he'd stop."

"No,
Pat. Really, it's not Mike."

"What
then?"

"Patti
Bailey."

He reeled back in an
exaggerated gesture, like he was taking one on the chin. "All the
miserable unsolveds and you got that one? Mike told me."

"Can
you tell me anything?"

"Well,
Detective, that was a long time ago."

"I'm getting
interference from the outside. Maybe it's help. I don’t know what it is."

"You'll
have to explain that one."

She did—the letter,
the key, the storage unit, the gun and casings, the blood-riddled dress.

Pat looked at her
slack-faced, like she was telling him a whopper just couldn't believe. She
watched him choke down his surprise, try make something good out of it.

"What
else was in the box?"

"Newspapers
from sixty-nine. That's it."

That wasn't it,
because she had Patti Bailey's little black book and the unlabeled cassette
tape in the trunk of her car. But she wasn't going to give those up until she
looked at them. No lab, no Brighton, McNally, no nobody.

"Well, you got
solid physical evidence now. That's more than Thornton ever found. It's a
start. But somebody's messin' with you, Merci. Somebody wants you to have this
stuff. There's something in for him. So ride it out as far as you can."

He leaned in close to
her, his big red face right up close to hers. "But be careful. Anyone with
enough balls to lead a cop around like that is dangerous. Patti Bailey was
murdered. Thirty years or thirty minutes ago—it ain’t some fuckin' game."

"Pat,
it's like they're . . . inside of me. Watching everything I do. Moving me
around like a chess piece. Like they're in the backseat of my damned car."

Big
Pat sat back, observed a moment of silence for what Merci had gone through with
the Purse Snatcher. Something about Pat reminded her of Hess, the way he wore
his scars, the sharp sadness in eyes that had seen a lot, the same graceful
refusal to become bitter. The difference was Pat had a life outside of work;
Hess had never found one. He'd been close to finding one.

"The
gun and the dress, they're safe in the lab now? Nobody can mess with
them?"

She
nodded. Safe as the lab can be, with detectives running all over it, stuff
disappearing, Gilliam ready to put it off limits to everybody but his own staff.

Big
Pat thought about this. She couldn't tell what. A cell phone rang and Merci got
her purse, but it wasn't her phone. Pat's hand went to his ear.

"Yo. Hey,
Bright. Yeah. Um-hm. You got it."

Got what, she
wondered.

He
set the tiny phone on the bar. He looked down at his beer, took it off the
napkin, then looked at the sweat ring in the middle of the paper.

"Merci,
it isn't easy doin' what you do. Lemme think about the Bailey case, see what I
can remember after all these years. You watch yourself. You don't know what's
going on and that isn't good. It's always when you're stepping easy on the ice,
it breaks and in you go. Stay light, girl. Heads up."

He
set out a couple of bills for the waitress, collected his phone and smokes and
got off the stool. He hugged her again.

"Sorry,"
he said. "Boss barks, I still jump."

Chapter
Twenty-two done

A
fter
dinner she took Tim into her room and set him up with a stuffed gorilla to play
with. The animal was almost as big as he was. Tim liked to sit the ape on the
floor, then creep around back and sneak up him, either kiss him or slug him.

Merci put the unlabeled
cassette into her old boombox. She put in new blank in the second deck, hit the
dub button and sat down on floor with her back against the bed. She looked through
the black book as she listened.

Man
:
"Whazzat?"

Woman
: "Zwhat?"

Man
:
"Clickiri sound."

Woman
: "My bubble gum." Chewing sounds.

Man
:
"Chew a lot of that flavor, don't you?"

Woman
: "Just yours, honey."

Man: "I
'm a lucky guy."

Woman
: "I don't panic, it's organic. And it goes down smooth."

Man
:
"Want another drink?"

Woman
: "Yeah, and how about another hit, honey?"

Man
:
"I'm still damned stoned."

Woman
: "Poor Ralphie-Honey. Not used to that."

Man
:
"Like
I
got hit by a
train."

Woman
: "Like that
farmer you were talking about."

Man
: "That ain't
funny."

Woman
: "You said
at least it got his attention."

Pause. Tape hiss.
Covers rustling?

Man
: "Know
somethin', Patti Dear? "

Woman
: "Tell me,
honey."

Man
: "For
afuckin' whore you sure got big ears."

Woman
: "I'm horny,
honey, not deaf. You say something and
I
listen to you. Everybody's talking about him. It's in the papers. You
said it got his attention. I believe you."

Man
, snide laughter:
"Attention. Yeah, it got that."

Ice clinking in a
glass. A match flares. Deep inhale.

Woman
, smoke-choked:
"You know who conked him?"

Man: "I
told you
I
did. How come if you listen so well
you gotta ask a dumbfuck question like that?"

Woman
: "Because
I
wanna know, Meeksie.
I'm
interested.
I
care. Man, this dope is really good."

Man
: "You're
stoned. I'm not telling you anything. You'd forget it by tomorrow anyway."

A
fter
dinner she took Tim into her room and set him up with a stuffed gorilla to play
with. The animal was almost as big as he was. Tim liked to sit the ape on the
floor, then creep around back and sneak up him, either kiss him or slug him.

Merci put the unlabeled
cassette into her old boombox. She put in new blank in the second deck, hit the
dub button and sat down on floor with her back against the bed. She looked
through the black book as she listened.

Man
:
"Whazzat?"

Woman
: "Zwhat?"

Man
:
"Clickiri sound."

Woman
: "My bubble gum." Chewing sounds.

Man
:
"Chew a lot of that flavor, don't you?"

Woman
: "Just yours, honey."

Man: "I
'm a lucky guy."

Woman
: "I don't panic, it's organic. And it goes down smooth."

Man
:
"Want another drink?"

Woman
: "Yeah, and how about another hit, honey?"

Man
:
"I'm still damned stoned."

Woman
: "Poor Ralphie-Honey. Not used to that."

Man
:
"Like
I
got hit by a
train."

Woman
: "Like that
farmer you were talking about."

Man
: "That ain't
funny."

Woman
: "You said
at least it got his attention."

Pause. Tape hiss.
Covers rustling?

Man
: "Know
somethin', Patti Dear? "

Woman
: "Tell me,
honey."

Man
: "For
afuckin' whore you sure got big ears."

Woman
: "I'm
horny, honey, not deaf. You say something and
I
listen to you. Everybody's talking about him. It's in the papers. You
said it got his attention. I believe you."

Man
, snide laughter:
"Attention. Yeah, it got that."

Ice clinking in a
glass. A match flares. Deep inhale.

Woman
, smoke-choked:
"You know who conked him?"

Man: "I
told you
I
did. How come if you listen so well
you gotta ask a dumbfuck question like that?"

Woman
: "Because
I
wanna know, Meeksie.
I'm
interested.
I
care. Man, this dope is really good."

Man
: "You're
stoned. I'm not telling you anything. You'd forget it by tomorrow anyway."

Woman
, giggling:
"I
know you know. You're that
kind of guy."

Man
: "Come here.
Make yourself useful."

Woman
, giggling still:
"I'm
just kidding, honey.
I
don't care what you know and what
you don't."

Man
: "I don't
just know the shit around this county, Patti. I make it happen. I'm the shit
king."

Woman
:
"Groovy."

Man
: "Ought to
have you banged on the head. Maybe you'd work more and talk less."

Woman: "I'm
going
to take care of you, Ralphie."

Man
: "What
year?"

Woman
: "This one.
Good old nineteen sixty-nine. Mmmm."

Man
: "Oh, yeah.
Oh, yeah, yeah."

The sounds of sex.

Merci
hit the pause button and thought: Patti Bailey and Supervisor Ralph Meeks. So,
Bailey's sister had it right, Patti had moved to a higher-end clientele after
her biker days. And Meeks knew who had Acuna beaten, or claimed to Bailey that
he did. He even implied he was behind it. Was he confessing a truth, or trying
to impress her with a lie?