Page 119 of The Furies

“Not unless you want to.”

“But—”

“For a number of reasons, I’d prefer that they didn’t know about you or the nature of what was stolen. For now there is no cookie tin, and I was looking for these men in connection with an ongoing larceny investigation. The police might push me on it, but I doubt they’ll push too hard. Should they decide to, we may have to muddy the waters. I’ll try to claim client privilege on behalf of my lawyer, and he’ll backdate a contract and have you sign it, but that would be a last resort. If, or when, they catch up with Veale, I’d be surprised if he opens his mouth. But if you have a problem with this, I can return that tin to the room before the police get here. There’s still time.”

“No,” she said, “I’d like to be kept out of it, and I have no difficulty in signing anything that might help avoid police trouble for you—or me.”

I told her I’d do my best to get the tin back to her before the night was out, but I had one more client to take care of, so it might have to wait until morning.

“If you can, I’d like to have it returned as soon as possible,” she said. “It doesn’t matter how late you call, I’ll wait up.”

But I didn’t think that would be necessary. I said goodbye and called Paulie Fulci as the first emergency lights bathed the parking lot below. I gave him the short version of what had occurred, and asked him to get in touch with Louis about retrieving the tin and getting it back to Sarah. I knew she wouldn’t have any peace until it was safely in her hands.

Two uniformed officers emerged from the stairwell. I had just enough time to make one last call, this time to Moxie, before the questions commenced.

CHAPTER XLIX

As it happened, the interviews that followed proved reasonably straightforward. Bobby Wadlin had seen Gilman Veale leave before we arrived, and was with us when the body of Lyle Pantuff was discovered. Both men had records, neither ever having been in line for a good citizenship award, and Wadlin was able to provide the license plate number of the blue Chrysler in which Veale had driven away. It was found dumped by the Maine Mall a few hours later, but there were no reports of any other vehicles being stolen in the vicinity at about that time, which meant that Veale might have had another car waiting, or had arranged to be picked up. Whatever his means of escape, he was probably gone from the state by the time the Chrysler was discovered. Angel, Louis, and I all gave statements to the police—mine more detailed than theirs, since they claimed to have been asked to come along only as backup, which was largely the truth—and we were then free to go. I was pressed to name my client, but only half-heartedly. I referred the inquiry to Moxie.

Sharon Macy called as we drove toward Yarmouth, and the house occupied by Donnie Packard and Melissa Thombs. By then, it was closing on midnight, and I felt as though I hadn’t slept in days.

“So was what happened tonight at the Braycott the other thing I didn’t want to know about?” said Macy.

“It was.”

“Thank God I wasn’t on duty. This thing of ours, it’s going to cause complications as it continues, assuming it does.”

Louis glanced at me from the passenger seat. He was definitely smirking, but from the back seat I heard actual laughter.

“Hey, are you alone?” said Macy.

“Not quite.”

“Damn it. Call me back when you are. Jesus.”

She hung up.

“Ha,” said Angel. “You got in trouble with your girlfriend.”

* * *

THE DRAPES WERE DRAWN on the windows of the single-story Packard house as we drove by, but I could see lights burning. We parked just out of sight, and I texted Melissa Thombs to let her know that we were waiting for her. Angel took the wheel while Louis and I moved to the sidewalk, so we could be ready should Melissa emerge with Donnie Packard close on her heels. I was hoping she’d just walk out the front door while he dozed on unawares; if she did, I’d make a donation to charity in the name of St. Jude. We gave her five minutes, but she didn’t appear, which meant we were going to have to get her out the hard way.

“Well?” said Louis.

I didn’t want to knock on the door and confront Donnie, not at this late hour, because he wouldn’t answer it without a weapon close at hand. Our best bet would be to distract him in order to give Melissa time to get to the door. We had already watched a red fox trot by the side of the house, a dead rodent in its mouth. The animal hadn’t triggered any motion-activated lights.

“You think you can go around the back and throw a stone through one of the windows?” I said.

“You mean without getting shot?”

“Preferably, although it’s your call.”

“Yeah, I can break a window.”

Louis moved into the yard, and I followed. We were about halfway to the house when the front door opened. Melissa Thombs stood framed against the light. She was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt and gray sweatpants. Even from a distance, I could see she was covered in blood.

CHAPTER L

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