If a spider could smile-
Cable flirted with the idea that she had already found Josh's knapsack in its new hiding place behind his garage. No, that was paranoid.
Before he could recover from this little ambush, she raised one fluttery hand to wave away any necessity for a response. "Who remembers details after twenty years?" Preparing to leave him now, she slipped her purse strap over one shoulder and dropped one more bomb. "How come you never arrested Oren Hobbs?"
"Oren had an alibi for his time that day. A witness puts Josh on a hiking trail by himself."
"I need a copy of that witness statement." Sally Polk said this so sweetly. She might be a neighbor lady come to borrow a cup of flour.
He spun his chair around and reached for the key that Oren had left in the lock of the credenza, but it dangled from the lock of the lower drawer- not the one that held the labeled case files. After a full minute of searching, he realized that the unmarked red folder was gone.
"Lose something, Sheriff?" asked the woman behind him-right behind him-standing over his bowed back.
He opened the upper drawer and thumbed through the other folders, but the red one was not among them. "Damn reporters." Cable slammed the drawer. "One of them must've taken a file. It was bright red, so that'd be the one to catch his eye." Always best to mix truth with the lies. "Those bastards were all over this place yesterday."
"Reporters." She mulled this over, as if taking him seriously. "I suppose that's… possible. I understand Oren Hobbs was in here yesterday. Local boy-I think he'd have a better chance of getting past your people out there in the squad room."
So she had interviewed his deputies and discovered Oren's unescorted office visit. And now Cable called himself six kinds of a fool. He had never seen this moment coming.
Sally Polk was holding her notebook, idly leafing through the pages. "Ferris Monty seems to think that Oren Hobbs is working this case with you." She looked up from her reading, to smile at him. "I'm sure that must be wrong. You'd never give a civilian-a suspect-access to evidence. Let's say Mr. Hobbs gave one of your deputies a story about being told to wait for you in your office. I think that story works well for everybody concerned about covering their tails. Don't you agree? Did you say this was a red folder?"
16
Oren Hobbs was seated at a table for two in the Water Street Cafe, where he waited for the sheriff and watched boys shooting hoops in the playground across the road.
The large plate-glass window looked out on the schoolhouse. Though built to resemble a hundred-year-old landmark, that building had replaced the abandoned mill-town school when he was in kindergarten. The large gymnasium was underground, a concession to the Coventry Landmark Society, defunct with the demise of its only member, Millard Straub, who could not bear the idea of his hotel being dwarfed by any larger structure.
The wealthier citizens had made it possible for every child in town to obtain a fine education, though teams for football and basketball had to draw their players from a smaller-than-average pool of students, and contests with other towns had always been a county-wide joke.
Oren's last day of high school had been capped by a night game with an unexpected twist. The bleachers had rocked with stomping feet, applause and wild cheers from the crowd, though not a single point was scored. No player ever touched a basketball.
Visitors and townspeople had witnessed the spectacle of schoolboys bursting through the locker-room door, Dave Hardy half flying and Oren following on the run. The two had rolled, boy over boy, to the center of the gymnasium. None of the spectators had complained about the fight- they loved it-though the blood gushing from Dave's nose had made the damage look more exciting than it was.
When it was over, and the fight fans had gone home happy, the principal's office smelled of blood and sweaty boys. Oren's knuckles were raw that night, and so was Dave Hardy's face. They sat with Josh in chairs lined up before the desk. Without being told, the adults queued up like schoolchildren to stand with their backs to the office wall-all except Hannah, who stood behind Josh's chair.
Oren had a clear memory of Hannah fussing with a bandage that covered his little brother's wound. Josh had looked up at her, eyes pleading, silently begging, Don't baby me, not here, not now. With a slow wink of understanding, she had turned away from him to join the judge and Mrs. Hardy at the back of the room, where they kept company with a worried Coach White.
Principal Mars made eye contact with each of his three students in turn. "I don't suppose you kids want to tell me who started the fight." After a few seconds of boy-squirming silence, the man said, "No, of course not. Much too easy. What was I thinking?"
Heavy footsteps clumped forward from the back of the room. Without turning his head, Oren knew it was Mrs. Hardy. He could smell her.
"I bet it's got something to do with Josh's camera." There was a sneer in her voice when she said, "Maybe Josh took a shot of my boy's little pecker."
"That's enough, Mavis." The principal's tone was not angry. He seemed only bone-weary of his dealings with Dave's mother. This was hardly her first visit to his office. He focused his attention on Josh. "You're not on the basketball team. What were you doing in the locker room with a camera?"
"I was taking pictures for the school yearbook. No pecker shots… sir." Josh gave the principal his widest, goofiest grin, and this was the boy's best trick, for the man had to smile; he was helpless to do otherwise. Josh was that charming.
"It was my idea," Coach White called out from the back wall. "I brought the boy into the locker room to get a few pregame shots."
The principal beamed at the coach. "So you were there when the fight started. Well, now we're getting somewhere." He pointed to Josh. "This boy was hit from behind. Is that right, Coach?"
"No!" Coach White stepped forward to lay both hands flat on the desk, insulted and on the offensive. "None of my kids would ever do a thing like that."
"Really? I couldn't help but notice-the bandage is on the back of the boy's head."
In a more offhand tone, the coach said, "Josh cut his head on a locker with a broken handle… Dave could've pushed him… It might've been an accident."
The heat of a blush rose in Josh's face. The scalp wound had been his only battle scar-ever-and now all his hopes of shared glory were gone.
Oren had seen his own error in that moment. He had been too quick to go after Dave, never giving Josh a chance to strike one blow for himself. That night, his little brother would have given anything to be the boy standing under the bright lights of the gym with blood on his hands.
"David?" The principal rapped the desk, calling for Dave Hardy's attention. "Is that right? You bounced Josh off a locker, and then his big brother went after you? Now why would you do a thing like that to a smaller boy? What set you off?"
All three maintained their schoolboy's honor code: Thou shalt not rat on thine enemies.
Once again, crazy Mrs. Hardy advanced her theory on the camera shot of an undersized penis. "Not very good porno in my estimation."
The departing group of boys and adults were gathered in the corridor, all but Dave's mother, when they heard the principal yell, "Mavis, sit your ass down in that chair!" And the office door was slammed shut.
The judge herded his two boys toward the stairwell, and Oren turned back to see their housekeeper reach out to the enemy and lightly squeeze Dave Hardy's arm. He suspected that she was offering comfort. Whatever she said to him was too low to be heard from any distance.