Stone Kiss (42 page)

For five and a half years, she would be his property—his chattel and concubine. And in the process, he figured he’d eventually
fuck her out of his system.

A serious miscalculation.

Because it wasn’t getting better. If anything, it was getting worse. Every time they parted, it was another knife slicing
through his heart, and the knife kept getting bigger and bigger…the voices growing louder and louder. He didn’t just want
her; he didn’t just crave her; he
needed
her. When they were together, she silenced his demons: her face, her voice, and her touch more soothing than any drug he
had ever taken, more effective than any therapy he had ever gone through. She was his personally designed opiate, and he was
addicted to her as surely as if she coursed through his veins.

Two and a half years left
.

The thought of her being financially independent, that one day she might leave him yet again, only this time she’d take from
him his own flesh and blood, seized him with heart-thumping anxiety. And now she was talking about marriage—
theoretically
—to someone else. His anxiety receded, evolving into uncontrollable rage.…

What the
fuck
was on her mind?

His breathing quickened, and he knew what was coming. Slowly, the veil of deep depression would lift, converting its energy
into unbridled frenzy. Then the urge would overwhelm him. By now, he didn’t even try to stop it, knowing full well that there
was only one way to quell it.

He reached under his mattress and pulled out one of his many firearms—a Walther semiautomatic. Holding the weapon ameliorated
some of the feeling, but that was only temporary. Something more permanent had to be done. With sudden force, he shoved the
magazine into the chamber.

Fuck the promises—tacit or otherwise.

He had a
job
to do.

First come, first served.

D
espite the cold weather
and the threatening clouds, there were more than a few joggers in Liberty Park, men and women in sweatpants and jackets,
exhaling rapid puffs of mist like fire-breathing dragons. Beyond them lay the steel and glass structure of the Quinton Police
Station, all sparkles in the dull sunlight, but as welcoming as a computer chip. Though the van’s motor had been turned off
for only a minute, the interior temperature was dropping quickly. Decker wrapped his fingers around the chilled metal door
handle. He paused before tugging it backward.

“So you have my cell number, and I have yours.”

“Yes.” Jonathan rubbed a stiff neck. “I don’t feel good about this.”

“Don’t do anything to your relatives that you can’t live with,” Decker told him. “I’ll understand.”

“I’m not worried about myself. I have concerns about you.”

“Me?” Decker furrowed his brow. “Why?”

“You didn’t leave the police chief under ideal circumstances.”

“I’m just going to talk to the man.”

“Akiva, if he’s crooked, he’s not nice. You’re in his territory. That puts you at risk.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

Decker mentally summarized the events of the past few days. It was more than a casual question. “I’ll be careful.” Then he
opened
the door and was out, waving to his brother as the van pulled away. He fast-walked toward the station, hands in his pockets—he
had yet to pick up his gloves from Luisa—dodging the runners and the rollerbladers, wondering if he’d ever own the capacity
to kick back and let go. It wasn’t just this case—although this was personal—it was any case he was on. After turning the
big five-oh, he kept waiting for the inevitable diminution of drives. Yet, as much as ever, he was still a slave to his twin
obsessions, sex and work, both keeping him vital and sharp witted, but no doubt fueling his overheated engine. It was only
a matter of time until he hit maximum burnout.

Precipitation had begun to moisten his nose, dotting the hard ground with distinct wet circles. He put some speed on and made
it to the station house before the sky decided to open up. It wasn’t warm inside, but the temperature was livable. Better
still, it was dry. He went through the usual channels to get to Merrin, but because the town was so small, the red tape didn’t
take very long. To his surprise, Merrin was in. To his greater surprise, the chief agreed to see him— a promising start considering
that Decker had acted like a fool the last time the two had met up.

As he waited, Decker worked on his excuses, playing with the fine points and the details of what he should say and how he
should act. When the big man appeared—bulging stomach leading the way— Decker had not only perfected his defense but had also
attained, in his mind, the ideal humble look. A glance at the face, then the eyes— an expression that didn’t confront, yet
held some dignity. He held out his hand as a peace offering. The big man took it, pumped it, then nodded for him to follow.
The chief went over to the elevator and pushed the up button. Decker remembered that the office was on the third floor.

Merrin was dressed conservatively—blue suit, white shirt, blue-and-brown-striped tie. His platinum hair was slicked back off
his forehead, his ruddy face had that wet look of the recently shaved. Underneath Merrin’s belly, Decker could make out the
chief’s gun harness—a waist holster.

They strolled through the hallways silently, Merrin waving to his officers and detectives as he passed them. His secretary
was on the phone,
but he nodded to her as he took Decker into his office, closing the door behind. Because of the expanse of picture windows,
the room was chilly, actually drafty in spots. Only half of the glass panes had been double hung. But the nip in the air was
offset by the perfume of brewing coffee, sending up an aromatic steam that made Decker’s mouth water. To distract himself,
he looked outward, at the rain pelting the hard brown earth of the pathways, drenching the loose soil of the flower beds.
The surface of the lake had become pitted silver. The corner suite afforded Merrin a good view of the park. It was not only
pretty, but also allowed the chief to take in most of the area in a single glance.

“Coffee?” Merrin asked.

“If you’re taking, so will I.”

“Black, white, sugar?”

“Black.”

He pressed the intercom on his desk and requested two black coffees. A moment later, his secretary came into his office, went
over to the gurgling coffeemaker, and poured two cups for the chief—one in his ceramic mug, the second in a paper cup. Why
the chief couldn’t go over and pour his own coffee was left to speculation.

“Have a seat,” Merrin told him.

“Thank you, sir.” He waited for Merrin to sit, then followed suit. “I appreciate your seeing me.”

“My imagination, Lieutenant, or do I detect a serious change in attitude?”

“I… believe that’s an accurate assessment.”

“That’s a good start. An even better start would be an apology.”

“I was embarrassed. I was an idiot. Does that suffice as an apology?”

Merrin smiled, his watery blue eyes crinkling at the corners. His mouth held bruised banana-colored teeth. “I accept.” A sip
of coffee. “Now, what do you need, Decker? You wouldn’t come here voluntarily eating shit unless you required something in
the way of help.”

Decker raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I ain’t as dumb as I look.”

“I’m from Gainesville, Chief Merrin. You know we’re not all that different. Matter of fact, I use it all the time.”

“Use what?”

“The accent,” Decker said. “Whenever I’m with a highbrow— someone I perceive as a slicker—the drawl gets thicker and thicker.
The things people try to pull once they hear that twang in your voice.”

“Then you shoulda known better. Whaddaya need?”

“A girl’s been murdered. Brutally.”

“Brutally, yes, but in New Jersey.”

“I think the reason for her death originated here.”

“Go on.”

“Her death was a side effect of her uncle’s murder. And I’m not willing to rule out the family—yet.”

“You want me to investigate the family based on… what?”

“Sir, I don’t expect
you
to do anything. You’ve got a town to run. I, on the other hand, have a few more empty days to play with. If possible, I’d
like the names of the north side kids whom Shaynda Lieber used to hang out with. Maybe she confided in someone outside of
her community.”

“I doubt that.”

“You’re probably right. Nevertheless, I’d like to give it a shot.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t give you names. They’re minors. While I feel very bad about that girl’s death, I believe with all
my heart that it had nothing to do with Quinton or its citizens. Sorry, Charlie, can’t let you disrupt my town just on a hunch.”

“Well, how about this? Through my wiles and resources, I managed to land a couple of names. Would it get your nose out of
joint if I paid them a call?”

Merrin’s eyes narrowed, staring at Decker over the rim of his coffee cup. “What names?”

“Just a few local Quinton kids who were hauled in for possession of ecstasy down in Miami. Correct me if I’m wrong, but some
of them might even be eighteen by now.” Decker maintained eye contact as he sipped. “Of course it’s up to you, sir.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you found out about it.”

“We all have our ways, right?”

“You are one sneaky bastard.”

“Coming from you, I’m sure it’s a compliment.”

“Which ones do you want to talk to?”

“Ryan Anderson and Philip Caldwell. Both of them have reached their majority.”

“What do you know about them?”

“Nothing.”

“Then I’ll tell you something.”

“Please.”

Merrin sat back, eyes on the ceiling, hands resting on his belly. “Every town, every city has its share of bad boys. For Quinton,
it’s Anderson and Caldwell—two nasty little pricks who think it’s a hoot to throw shit in their hometown and watch with glee
while someone else cleans it up.”

“The parents have money.”

“Yes, they do, and we both know that money can buy a lot of janitorial work. But even money can’t clean everything.” He put
the coffee cup down and leaned over. “This stays between the two of us, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“Those two have done some edgy things in these parts as juveniles. Things I don’t need to go into. When they came back from
Miami— after I heard what happened down there—I put the fear of God into them and into their families. I do b’lieve we came
to a mutually satisfactory agreement.”

Decker waited.

“It goes somethin’ like this,” Merrin said. “I don’t poke my nose in their affairs as long as they keep their mess outside
my jurisdiction. That don’t mean they can get away with murder. If I seriously thought those two dogs had anything to do with
the death of that little girl, I’d have their dicks in a vise so fast, they’d be talking like Alvin and the Chipmunks. But
short of the biggies—murder, rape, assault, robbery—I don’t want you messing with their heads. Simply because I don’t want
those two bothering me or the fine citizens of Quinton. If that seems selfish, I can live with that.”

“Can I talk to them?”

“No, you may not go to their houses and interrogate them. But if you give me a couple of hours… well, maybe I can set something
up here in the station house. Nice and clean and officially sanctioned.”

“More than fair, Chief. Thank you.”

“I suggest that in the meantime you go find yourself a nice, warm restaurant and nurse a long cup of coffee. Or… if your dick
needs attention with the wife out of town, go on over to Tattlers and tell them that Virgil Merrin sent you. That way, you
can have a good meal and some fine scenery on the house. Tattlers likes to cooperate with the law. It’s in their best interest.”

Decker tried to smile wickedly. “Sounds nice.” He took a calculated risk. “I wouldn’t mind some company. Wanna come with me,
Chief?”

Merrin smiled with smoker’s teeth, but his eyes never left Decker’s face. “Now that’s kind of you to ask, but right now I’m
backlogged. Another time, maybe.”

Decker nodded. “You got it.”

“Maybe I misjudged you, Lieutenant.” Merrin continued to study the face. “Or maybe I didn’t and you’re being cagey.”

“Innocent until proven guilty. That’s American jurisprudence.”

“Nah, that ain’t American jurisprudence.” Merrin unhooked his holster and pulled out a Beretta. “
This
is American jurisprudence.”

“Are you telling me something, sir?”

“I’m not a man to cross.”

“I figured that out.” Decker got up. “Thank you. You’ve been more than accommodating.”

Merrin rose, his belly straining the buttons of his shirt. From a wastebasket, he took out a pocket umbrella. “You might be
needing this.”

“Great.” Decker took it, then extended his hand. “Thanks again.”

“Not a problem. Always happy to help out.”

They shook hands, extending the routine gesture just a little too long. Grip-to-grip and eye-to-eye, they were engaged in
something more than a pissing contest, but hopefully less than mortal combat.