Page 76 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

Alex had called ahead, so when they pulled into the precinct parking lot, Dandridge was waiting for them beneath the steel awning that shaded the front doors. He lifted a hand in greeting, and when they joined him, he said, “Let’s go to my office.” They walked that way, through the cool, white-painted halls without speaking, and once inside, Dandridge locked the door, and then closed the blinds.

“Can’t be too careful right now,” he said, and now that they were inside, under the harsh tube lights, he saw that Dandridge had sizable sweat rings under each arm. He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face before sitting down behind the desk. He produced a small key from a different pocket, and used it to unlock his top desk drawer, from which he drew a file folder.

Alex traded a look with Colin, who shrugged with his eyebrows.

Dandridge opened the folder on a deep breath and said, “Okay, so. You both went to public school?” He flicked them a cursory glance.

“Yes.”

“Yeah.”

“So did Boyle. And, Colin, he was one of your classmates.” He turned the folder upside down and slid it across the desk toward them so they could lean over it together.

To the left was a photocopied yearbook page in black and white. Senior portraits. Boyle looked so different, that if not for his name printed beneath his photo, Alex would never have recognized him. He was scrawny-skinny, with ears that stuck out like mug handles, and an unfortunate haircut that looked self-done with kitchen shears. Pimples lined his jaw, and his eyes bore a frightened, rabbit-in-a-snare sort of look undercut with the kind of vacant anger Alex had seen in the school photos of every mass killer he’d ever tracked.

To the right was his school file: proof that Boyle had entered the city of New Orleans public school system at the age of seven, and proceeded all the way through graduation. His grades were average, and he didn’t have any disciplinary action on record: no suspensions or time spent in alternative school.

“Shit,” Colin said beside him, and then he stabbed at Boyle’s photo with his pointed finger, sending the page skidding and nearly bashing Alex in the nose in the process.

Alex reared back. “What?”

“That kid – that kid, he–”

“Who, Boyle?”

“I didn’tknowit was Boyle.” His voice had taken on a high, frantic edge. “He never said what his name was, and I didn’t ask – I wasn’t friends with the little creep.”

When Alex looked at him, he found his shoulders cocked at a defensive angle, his face pale.

“I didn’t know,” he repeated, and Alex sent a look to Dandridge, who was watching Colin with shrewd, narrowed eyes.

“Didn’t know what?” Alex asked. “Clearly, you met him.”

“No, it wasn’t – I didn’t meet him. I saw him once, and I only remember it because it was so fucking weird.”

“Not weird enough for you to mention months ago when Boyle first showed up?”

“I didn’t know it was him! He looks totally different now, and it was ages ago!”

Dandridge held out a soothing hand. “Nobody’s blaming you for anything. Just tell us what you can remember.” It was exactly the sort of thing all officers used on frightened witnessesand children, and Colin was panicked badly enough that he didn’t seem to notice

He scrubbed both hands down his face and said, “Oh,fuck.”

“Colin,” Alex prodded, ungently, and Dandridge sent him acool itlook.

Colin dropped his hands, and his expression was haunted. He looked like he’d run here on foot, wan and sweating and spacy. “Fuck,” he said again, and his gaze returned to the yearbook photo. “It was nothing – it was barely even a full minute. I was running late for U.S. History, and this kid – Boyle – came up to me at my locker, and his eyes were all” – he gestured at his own in a telescoping way that suggested instability – “and he asked about–” He froze, hands still suspended in front of him, and his face got somehow paler. “Shit, he asked about Dee. He was all, ‘Is Felix Lécuyer’s mom a whore?’”

Alex felt the blood drain out of his own face. Even in high school, an awkward and doubtless unpopular seventeen-year-old version of Boyle had already been searching for information on Mercy. Ava had described him as a stalker, and he’d been stalking Mercy for awhile.

“Jesus Christ,” Alex breathed, “that’s how he knew about Regina.”

“But…” Colin’s gaze shifted wildly between them. He pushed both hands through his hair, and then linked them behind his neck. “He was still in school. He wasn’t a fed, and at that point, Mercy hadn’t even done anything!”

Dandridge leaned forward to check the dates on the file, and said, “He was already patched in by then.”

“Yeah,” Colin said, “but he hadn’t–” He checked himself, and glanced around the room, as though searching for a hiddencamera or bug. “Met his mom’s boyfriend yet,” he finished, head tipped to a meaningful angle.

“I don’t think that matters,” Alex said, thoughts spinning, ramping up faster and faster. The professional part of his brain had kicked into high gear, and left him blessedly analytical, so he didn’t get sucked into Colin’s panic vortex. “At this point, he wasn’t thinking about arresting him. He was trying to learn about him. Find – find some sort of inroad.”

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