Chapter 29 #2
A door clanked open down the hall. Jennie turned to look, holding on to the bars, but Malcolm stayed where he was, less than eager to talk to the police.
Two men came along the corridor, one of them the uniformed officer who had locked them in the cell.
The other was a thin man in a rumpled suit and a loose red tie.
He needed a shave and some time with a comb.
He looked as if someone had dragged him out of bed and he’d pulled on yesterday’s clothes, and he carried a cup of coffee that he held on to as if it were a life preserver. Malcolm liked him immediately.
“Open it,” the rumpled man said.
“About time,” Jennie replied.
The rumpled man pointed at her. “Nope. I’m not in the mood.”
The officer opened the jail cell and stepped back to let them emerge.
“I’m Detective Ray Hope,” the rumpled man said. “Don’t take any comfort from the name. I’m not especially cheerful, and you won’t get a pep talk from me. We’re gonna have a conversation now. If you don’t make it difficult, it shouldn’t take too long.”
Detective Hope led the way. Jennie and Malcolm followed him down the corridor and into the side room they’d passed before, where the only furniture consisted of a small metal conference table and four chairs, two on either side.
A single small window looked out the side of the building.
The uniform followed them, and Malcolm was keenly aware of the gun at the cop’s hip; otherwise, he might have jumped on Detective Hope right then and tried to knock him out.
“That coffee smells good,” Jennie said as she took a chair.
Detective Hope gestured to the officer to leave them. The cop stepped back into the hall, but closed the door and locked them in.
“Then it smells better than it tastes,” Detective Hope replied. “Sit down.”
Malcolm stood behind Jennie instead. They both faced the detective across the table. The small window let in enough morning light to create a halo around the detective’s head.
“Where’s our mother’s body?” Malcolm asked.
Detective Hope studied him. “Your mother?”
Malcolm felt his skin prickle with urgency and irritation. “I’m sure the report you read before coming in here told you what we said to the officers who brought us here. The dead woman is Maggie Wise, our mother. We’re taking her to her hometown in Maine to bury her there.”
“There are laws about transporting human remains across state lines without a permit.”
Jennie shook her head. “That’s why you’re holding us?”
“There are lots of reasons for us to hold you. That’s the one you’ve already confessed to,” Hope said.
Malcolm gripped the back of Jennie’s chair. He didn’t like the gruff, tired man in front of him. “That’s not why you’re holding us. Not just that. Tell us what you want and we’ll make it quick so we can put this misunderstanding behind us.”
Hope leaned back in his chair. “You’ve got some brass ones, Mr. Wise. I admire that. And I see in the statement you gave the officers that you claim to be a Korean War veteran. I admire a man who loves his country.”
“Claim?” Jennie echoed. “You think he’s lying?”
“I don’t know, do I?” Hope said. “Here’s what I do know, Miss Wise.
You and your brother were caught in a stolen vehicle, traveling from a town where a lot of people are dead, and before that from a train wreck where even more people are dead.
You admit you were on that train, but clam up about everything after the crash. ”
“I hit my head,” Jennie said. “My memory’s all jumbled.”
Detective Hope exhaled slowly and sipped his coffee.
“It’s too early in the morning to play games.
I’m tired and hungry, and my coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.
Sit down, Mr. Wise. You and your sister are going to tell me the story of your last twelve hours or so.
You don’t look like you murdered a bunch of people, but a bunch of people have been murdered, and you two seem to be the only survivors.
You’re driving a vehicle that doesn’t belong to you, with a corpse in the back that you claim is your mother.
I’d really like there to be an explanation for all of this, mostly because it would make my life easier and my day a whole lot brighter, but I’ve gotta admit, I don’t have a lot of hope. ”
Malcolm racked his brain. It was still early in the morning, but every minute would be valuable from now on, and every hour could be the difference between putting all of this behind him and spending the rest of his life torturing himself over failing.
“Listen, Detective Hope—” Jennie began.
“She wasn’t there,” Malcolm interrupted.
“Malcolm—”
“No, Jen. I know you’re going to try to spin some kind of story for this guy, but it’s not going to work.”
She turned in her chair, staring at him like he’d lost his mind. “You’re going to tell him the truth?”
Malcolm gave a dry laugh. “Any lie we invent is going to fall apart. What can you say to explain it all?”
Hope leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “This should be interesting.”
Malcolm watched him. “I’m going to tell you the complete truth, Detective. No beating around the bush. But I’d like you to do one quick thing for me before I do. It’ll only delay you five or ten minutes, and I swear that delay hurts us a lot more than it does you.”
“Go on.”
“Call Paxson Keates at Keates Funeral Home in Elkhart, Indiana. Explain the situation to him. He’ll confirm who we are and that our mother died yesterday at dawn. He’s the one who sewed her into the canvas shroud you found her in.”
Detective Hope cocked his head. “That’s going to explain everything, is it?”
“Not by half. But it’s a start.”
Jennie crossed her arms on the table and rested her chin atop them. “Also, if you want us awake for the next conversation, you might give us some of that shitty coffee.”
The detective seemed to surprise himself by laughing. He slid his chair back. “You two are something else.” He stood and knocked on the door from the inside. “Tell you what: I’ll call Mr. Keates, and if I like what he has to tell me, I’ll bring a couple of cups of shitty coffee back for you.”
Malcolm exhaled. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
The officer opened the door, and Hope stepped out, shutting it behind him.
Malcolm didn’t bother to check if it was locked.
They were prisoners, after all. No way would the cops forget to lock the door, even in a tiny little town like this one.
He hated the stereotype about people in small towns. Quiet places didn’t make you stupid.
Gray light spread gloom through the window. Rain pattered the glass. Another time, another place, it would’ve made him sleepy, but no matter how tired he felt, his thoughts remained desperate, frenzied. They had to get out of here.
He went to the window, looked out. “Son of a bitch.”
Jennie turned to him. “What?”
“Alfie’s out there.”
“The giant Irishman?”
“He was on our side.”
Jennie stood and came to join him. “Whose side is he on now?”
Malcolm didn’t have to explain. The window looked out into a grassy lot beside the police station. Two figures stood in the rain—Alfie and the little boy who’d accompanied Root on the train. Their faces were blank. They stared at the building, rain-soaked and intent but unmoving.
“How did they find us?” Malcolm looked away. The way they stared at this window unsettled him.
“Asked around,” Jennie replied. “This is what they do. During the day, they do whatever the Morák need them to do. They’re eyes and ears, hands and feet.”
“As long as they’re not the teeth, we can deal with them.”
Jennie nodded. “We can. But we can’t do a damn thing from in here. And with them waiting for us, it’s that much more important that we get out long before the sun goes down again.”
“It’s still early,” Malcolm said.
“Not as early as it was a minute ago. We’re on the clock.”
Malcolm studied the faces of Alfie and that little boy, out in the storm. Detective Hope would be back soon. They would tell Hope the truth. Maybe the presence of the two figures out in the rain would help the detective believe them. But maybe not.
He went to the conference room door and banged on it with a fist.
Waiting, just like Alfie and the little boy were waiting. And just like somewhere nearby, underground or in a cellar, out of the daylight, Root and Elias were waiting.
He thought of Violet, also nearby, but not waiting. Violet would be taking action. Malcolm knew he and Jennie had to do the same.
“Be ready,” he said.
His sister frowned. “For what?”
“If they won’t be reasonable, we’re gonna have to get more than a little unreasonable ourselves.”
Jennie showed her teeth in something more violent than a smile.