Page 92 of The Furies

I hated even asking Macy for that much. Unspoken between us was that we would not risk compromising each other professionally. And that was another odd thing: I still thought of her as Macy, just as she still called me Parker. That might change as, or if, the relationship continued, but who could tell?

“My advice would be to walk away,” she said. “Removing a woman from a domestic nightmare is always messy, and rarely goes smoothly. Even cops draw straws for those assignments. There are some who are really good at dealing with them, but it’s a combination of nature and training, and someone—usually the male abuser—will still end up bleeding or in cuffs. It’s not a job for a private investigator, not even one as skilled as you.”

“Melissa Thombs’s mother thinks Donnie may be close to killing her, and any shelter-in-place order could be enough to tip the balance.”

“Then the daughter really needs to go to the police.”

“We’re talking in circles here. If the police show up at the door, there’s no guarantee Melissa will leave with them, and Donnie will be alerted. He may even take it out on her once that door is closed again.”

I was by now outside the little strip mall store that sold cheap burner phones, both used and new. I had often been tempted to have a button made for these visits. It would read I AM NOT A DRUG DEALER.

“You do pick them, don’t you?”

At least I detected some affection amid her frustration.

“You’re not the first person to have said something along those lines to me today,” I said. “And for what it’s worth, her mother picked me. I knew her in high school.”

“An ex?”

“I might have wished, for about two seconds, and I doubt it took her even that long to dismiss me from her list of prospective suitors. Also, since we’re engaging in full disclosure, I did try to speak to Melissa Thombs once before, but didn’t get very far. You have no idea how reluctantly I’m reinvolving myself in this.”

“I’m beginning to have an idea,” she said. “When are you going to make your approach?”

“Tonight, with luck. I have a plan.”

“I’d expect nothing less. If you’re committed, and I can’t talk you out of it, I’d suggest notifying Yarmouth PD formally when you’re outside and ready to go. I’ll find out who’s on duty tonight, see if there’s anyone who’s particularly adept at dealing with domestics, and have a quiet word with them. But you do not—I repeat, do not—enter that property without the consent of either Melissa Thombs or, unlikely as it may be, Donnie Packard. If you do, and one of them gets hurt, you’ll lose your license, and possibly your liberty, too, and I won’t come visit you in Warren. You’ll also be putting my career at risk, because I won’t necessarily be able to ask whomever I spoke with to remain silent about my intervention, nor should they have to.”

That was more than I’d expected, or had asked. Anyway, I had no intention of entering the Packard property without permission. Even on the ride over to the cell phone store, I’d decided that if Melissa Thombs didn’t walk out of the house under her own steam, I’d postpone the effort to remove her, and find another way to help her as soon as I could.

“Agreed,” I said. “And thank you.”

“You owe me dinner.”

“I’ve been saving my Denny’s coupons for a special occasion.”

“And I bet you wonder why women aren’t lined up around the block to date you.”

“It’s still cold out there. Come summer, you’ll see.”

“Call me before you go to the Packard place. Is that your main focus for the day?”

“There’s one other thing.”

“Do I want to hear the details?”

I looked at the cell phone store. Standing outside was a man in his early twenties who, if he’d been wearing my button, could have crossed out the “not.” I thought about Sarah Abelli and her dead child.

“No,” I said, “you really don’t.”

2

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living.

—Marcus Tullius Cicero, Ninth Oration

CHAPTER XXIV

Pantuff and Veale had blackmailed people in the past, and twice participated in kidnappings. The first of the abductions had gone well, in that the ransom was delivered successfully and the hostage released relatively unharmed, but the second had ended badly: no money, two of their associates apprehended, and a dead hostage. In neither case had Pantuff and Veale actually instigated the actions—they had been contractors only, working as part of a larger team—but the second incident had taught them that involvement in kidnapping wasn’t worth the stress or the risks involved.

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