Spitting Image (11 page)

I TOOK MY TIME driving south. I had plenty. I kept an eye on my rear view mirror, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t followed. Of course, if they could track the phones, they wouldn’t need to follow me. That wasn’t a comforting thought.

About halfway home, I stopped for a coffee. I called a friend of mine on the police department, to see if he could track down the ownership of the Walther.

“Hello.”

“Carlos? Hi, it’s Sean.”

“What’s up?”

“I need a favor,” I said. “A friend of mine just got offered a deal on a handgun. I want to make sure he’s not buying something hot. If I give you the serial number, can you run it?”

“I can try,” he said. “If it’s been reported stolen, I can find out. If it’s registered in a state that requires it, I can maybe get a name, find out if the guy who’s selling it is the real owner. He buying it in Massachusetts?”

“He’s from New Hampshire,” I said, trying to keep a fictitious friend off the radar, “but the seller is from Mass.”

“If the seller is in Mass, it’s probably registered. As far as New Hampshire, that’s the Wild West. No registration. Live Free or Die Tryin’ or some shit.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” I said. “I just don’t want to see anybody wind up with a murder weapon.”

“Sure,” he replied. “What’s the make and number?”

“Give me a second.”

I walked into the bathroom, into a stall before pulling the weapon out. Even in New Hampshire, people tend to get jumpy if you draw a gun at a lunch counter. I read off the serial number. “It’s a Walther.”

“Like James Bond had?” he laughed. “If Goldfinger’s death is still an open case, I wouldn’t buy it. I’ll see if I can turn up anything. No promises. There’s a lot more laws against checking on guns than there are against guns.”

“Thanks. Anything is better than nothing.”

“Take care,” he said.

“You too.” I hung up.

It might be a dry hole, but if there was a name connected to the gun, and if it matched one connected to the phone or to the property in Rowley or the hunting camp up north, then it was thread to pick at. The more I had, the better my chance of unraveling this knot.

I took my time in town, swung by my apartment, which didn’t seem to have been ransacked, checked in on the cat, who was staying downstairs with Mrs Rodriguez.

Carlos called me back. “That gun is registered to an Amelia Bennet of Rowley,” he said. “That check out?”

“It does,” I said. “Not stolen or used in a crime?”

“Not so far as we know. It wasn’t reported stolen anyway.”

“Thanks, man. I owe you.”

“It all comes out in the end,” he said. “You just step it up when I call for an ambulance.”

“Will do.”

I hung up.

Well, now I had a name. Maybe not a real name, but something that appeared on legal documents that could be cross checked.

Amelia Bennet.

That was WASP-y enough for Rowley. Old Yankee money. It felt right.

I killed some more time, trying to solve this puzzle with most of the pieces missing and eventually gave up and made my way to the small brew pub where Sarah and I had first had lunch and started getting to know one another. I looked around carefully before I got out of my car, scanning for threats.

Which was probably a waste of time, given that my enemies could just look like the waiter or my date or just some unrecognizable bar patron and shank me as soon as my back was turned.

You’d think I’d have learned how to pick my battles after all this time.

I walked into the building, stepping quickly to the right when I got through the door so as not to be silhouetted in the doorway. Old habit. I scanned the room as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer inside light.

The place was fairly crowded, a mix of couples on dates and single people sweeping the crowd with eyes like a lion on the savannah.

I didn’t see Sarah at first. I did see the back of a man, leaning forward over a table. Eventually he shrugged and walked away, drawing himself to his full height and pushing out his chest in the classic display of a rebuffed male unwilling to show weakness in defeat.

When he walked away, I saw her at the table. My heart did a quick stutter step. God, she looked good. I wanted to go over and run my hands through her golden hair and kiss that white neck so bad it hurt. She caught sight of me and gave a smile. It was a tight, tense smile, not her broad happy one or her twisted bantering one, but it was a smile.

I gave the man a once over as he walked away. Just to be sure he wasn’t a shape shifting assassin, of course, then I came over to her table.

“Hey, you,” I said, pulling out a chair.

“Hey yourself,” she said, her smile widening.

“You’re looking good,” I said. “Have you been here long?”

“Not too long. But it’s like feeding time at the zoo. I’ve been fighting off predatory bachelors since I sat down.”

“You’re gorgeous and alone,” I said. “Can’t really blame them.”

“You can’t?” Her smile twisted and she arched an eyebrow, looking over her glasses. It was a look you could bottle and sell. Probably in little blue pill form. “You look like you wanted to hit that guy.”

“Because I do,” I replied, shrugging. “I can’t help it. Testosterone poisoning. Remember, I’m older than most of the men you meet. I’ve had fewer generations to evolve.”

That got a laugh. “I miss this,” she said with a tinge of regret.

“Me too.”

She sighed. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“Bad idea or not, it’s worth it to see you again.” Reasoning I’m not proud of, but that the drunks and junkies I treated would understand. The letdown would be bad, but the fix was so worth it.

A waitress came by and I took that moment to order a beer and a sandwich. Sarah ordered another drink.

“I’ll get this,” she said.

“You don’t have to do that,” I protested. “Let me treat.”

“Aren’t you about to lose your job because you’re a violent psychopath?”

“How’d you know about that?”

“Monique called me after it happened,” she said. “Wanted me to keep an eye on you. Did you really threaten this other medic?”

“A bit,” I admitted. “But I stopped short of actual violence.”

“You think you’ll get fired?”

“Well, maybe, but that’s days away. And look on the bright side, I could get shot long before that matters.”

I’m sure that was the wrong thing to say, but I’d honestly stopped caring. My job was at stake, my relationship was crumbling, my life was in danger, I was damned if I was going to be denied the refuge of gallows humor.

“So let’s see the phones,” she said, all business.

I took them out and put them on the table.

“I have a name for you to look at as well,” I said. “Amelia Bennet. Probably has an address in Rowley. One of these phones is hers. Or an alias of hers.”

“That might help,” she said, looking at the phones. She turned each one on, checked them over. “I know somebody who teaches computers at the college. He could hack the password and I could get a look at what’s on these. I’ll go through the contacts list and see what I can run down.”

“Be careful letting anybody else in on this,” I said. “Make sure whoever he is is really him.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “You better do the same. I...I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Me too,” I replied. Forced a smile. “Thanks. For everything.”

“I’ll talk to you soon,” she said.

I watched Sarah walk out of the pub, hoping she’d look back. She didn’t, which was probably smart, but made me feel like a drowning man who had just been thrown a cannon ball.

I let out a long breath and sank the rest of my pint.

I sat for a moment, starting at my empty glass. I wanted another drink. I wanted to numb the empty aching void, to smooth off the rough edges when I thought about her, about how good we were together. Getting hammered out here was probably stupid, but if I went home, I’d be sitting alone in an apartment full of memories. From the wine glasses we’d bought together to her shampoo and body wash in the bathroom to the quarter of my closet she’d annexed. Even the fridge would have the horrible fat-free yogurt she insisted she liked. I didn’t want to be in a place where any direction I looked in would remind me what I was drinking to forget. The things that up until a few days ago had given me a warm reassurance that she was part of my life even when she wasn’t there would just highlight the gaping hole that I feared was coming.

Actually, what were the chances anybody would find me here? No worse than if I went to my place. I caught the waitress’ attention as she passed.

“Another beer?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Maker’s Mark,” I said. “Neat.”

A flicker of concern passed over her features. Her glance took in the empty seat across from me. “Is everything OK?”

I forced a smile. “Not yet.”

“You here all alone?”

“I have my sorrows to keep me company at the moment,” I said. “But I’m planning to drown them soon.”

“Aww,” she said. “Do you want some company? Somebody to help hold their little heads under until the bubbles stop?”

That made me laugh. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“Do you need me to call you a ride?”

“I’m taking care of that right now,” I promised, pulling out my phone.

“Good,” she said. “I’ll be right back with your drink. If your friend doesn’t show up, please don’t go home alone.” She touched my arm and smiled when she said it.

Now, maybe she was being friendly to get a bigger tip, and maybe she was genuinely concerned about me wrapping Vlad the Impala around a tree on the way home and dealing with the guilt or the liability or maybe she was actually pitching me a nice slow one over the plate and seeing what I would do with it. But I just wasn’t interested in finding out.

I should get a ride when I got out of here. I thought for a second. I wasn’t drunk, per se, but I planned on having a few, and Caruthers and Friends knew my car. Easy enough to pose as a cop, pull me over. Then who knew what might happen? Better to leave my car here and get a ride.

I called Nique.

“Hi Sean,” she answered.

“Any chance I can bum a ride?” I asked.

“I’m working until tomorrow morning. Pete’s out later tonight, though.”

“Thanks, I’ll try him.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Is everything OK?”

“Not really, but I’ll survive.”

“Take care of yourself,” she said.

I called Pete. I had hoped Nique would be free, since she was a nice sympathetic ear, and a helpful female perspective, while Pete would never hesitate to help me, but he’d make gay jokes the whole time. Still, he was a friend, and he was reliable so long as you didn’t mind his humor.

“Hey, man,” he answered. “What’s up?”

“You working tonight?” I asked.

“Babysitting the new meat right now, but I’m off in a bit,” he said. “Why?”

“I need a ride home,” I said.

“Car died?”

“No,” I replied. “Just some hopes and dreams. I’m drinking. A lot. And I don’t need to get pulled over.”

“Gotcha,” he said. “Any rush?”

“No. I’m at the Peddler’s Daughter. I’m fine here. Just whenever.”

“OK. Once I’m out of here I’ll head over.”

“Oh,” I remembered. “Just in case, use the challenge.”

“The what?” he asked.

I sighed. “Raquel Welch?
Mother, Jugs, and Speed
? So I know it’s really you. Or maybe just make a gay joke or say something shockingly sexist.”

“Right, right. Raquel,
Mother, Jugs, and Speed
. Got it. Sorry. I mean how could I forget? Passwords are just so normal. I don’t think anybody’s ever not been sure I’m me, you know.”

“Try not being offensive for a day and people will start swabbing for your DNA.”

“I may do that one day, just to mess with you. See you soon.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“You owe me a bunch,” he corrected. “But I stopped keeping track.”

He hung up. I ordered another bourbon. I knew this was a bad idea. But I couldn’t think clearly right now. Too much that I couldn’t do anything about was clouding my brain, distracting it from thinking about things I could do something about.

I couldn’t plan my next move against my enemies until I got more information. I hoped Sarah would get some from the captured cell phones. And I couldn’t do much about my job until my meeting.

I was probably fired. They don’t let you threaten co-workers with physical violence any more. Which is bullshit, I reasoned, finishing my drink and ordering another. Choking Armstrong to death would make the company stronger and better. It would remove poor employees, give the good employees something to bond over, and would show the new hire exactly where the important lines are. If anything, it should be a promotable offense.