Offed?
“Yeah, it is.”
“Tell me all about it,” he said.
“You need to tell me something first,” I said.
“Shoot.”
“What exactly do you do?” I asked. “I mean, outside of school? What is it you spend your time doing?”
“Why do you want to know about this stuff?” he asked, half smiling.
I had to admit the smile was charming. He wasn’t my type. He was too scruffy, too unwashed. I could imagine whoever lived with him spent a lot of time picking up dirty socks and putting the toilet seat down. But he had a presence, an energy that I suspected drew a certain kind of undergraduate girl to him like a magnet to iron.
“You said something to me in the hallway the other day, something about your dad working to help people. I just wanted to know what you meant.”
“Oh, that,” he said. “It’s true. My old man’s a lawyer. Well, he was a lawyer at one time. Are you looking for a lawyer?”
“I have one of those.”
“Who?”
“Frank Allison. He practices here in Dover.”
“Never heard of him,” Neal said. “But my dad doesn’t do the law stuff so much anymore. You know?”
“Then what does he do?”
“Like I said, he helps people. Say somebody suspects their husband is cheating on them, and they need to know for sure in order to go to court. Or maybe somebody has an employee, and they think the guy’s doing drugs and is in danger of ruining the company. My old man checks that stuff out. He helps people.”
“He spies on them?” I asked.
“He investigates,” Neal said. “Like a PI, I guess. But without all that Tom Selleck shit. Sometimes I help him, especially if it’s a matter involving the campus. Look, we can get the job done for you. Just tell me about it, and we’ll figure something out.”
I hesitated. I didn’t know that he could really do anything for me. I stood up and went to the counter, where I refilled my mug. When I came back, Neal sat with his face eager and open and expectant.
“Okay,” I said. “You read the stuff in the paper about my mom, right?”
“I did.”
“There’s something else to it, something that hasn’t had time to be in the paper yet, but believe me, it’s going to be there tomorrow or the next day.”
I told him about Ronnie’s confession as well as the reason the police had suspected Ronnie in the first place. I told him about the scene at the hospital that morning, and Ronnie’s refusal to answer my questions about whether he’d committed the crime or not. Neal listened to all of it attentively, his eyes fixed on my face as though I were telling him the most important story in the world.
When I was finished, I said, “Well?”
He stood up. “I’m hungry. I need a bagel or something.”
I waited while he went through the line. He came back with a bagel smeared with peanut butter. He took a big bite and started chewing with his mouth open. He didn’t say anything.
“Well?” I asked. “What do you think of what I just told you?”
“I’m kind of wondering what you think we can do to help you,” he said. “You have a lawyer, like you said. It’s always good to have a lawyer on your side if you’re charged with something. That’s what Dad’s always told me. He first told me that when I was eight.”
“I guess I don’t know what I want you to do,” I said. “That’s what I thought you would figure out.”
He nodded his head, chewing the whole time. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You want to know if it’s possible that someone else killed your mother, and you want us to help you find that out. You think the cops are taking the easy way out, letting this confession thing fall into their laps. Right?”
“I guess so.”
“And you think this lawyer guy you have— What’s his name?”
“Frank Allison.”
“Frank.” Neal laughed a little. “You think he’s too old-school for the case. I mean, he’ll do his job and everything, but you don’t think the legal wheels will turn as fast as you want things to turn. Right?”
“Sure.”
“I have to say, if you want my professional opinion—”
“Are you a professional?” I asked.
“I get paid, don’t I?” he said.
“Okay. Go on.”
“Anyway,” he said, “I have to say it looks pretty rough for your brother. I mean, the lack of an alibi, the violent past. And, hell, a confession. Looks like a slam dunk.”
“I know.”
Just hearing the facts recited back to me weighed me down. My shoulders dipped as though someone had placed bricks across my back.
Neal must have seen the slump in my posture. He leaned forward, leaving his bagel alone for a moment. “Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“I know Ronnie,” I said. “There’s just a part of my mind that can’t accept he would do this.”
“But a part of your mind does?” he asked.
I didn’t answer.
Neal pressed on. “Is it typical for people with whatever it is your brother has—”
“Down syndrome, Neal.”
“Right. That. Does it tend to make people violent?”
“No more than anyone else,” I said. “I guess if you have a disability that limits some aspects of your life, you might tend to get frustrated easily.”
“That makes sense.” He stuck a finger into his mouth and dislodged some peanut butter. “And was your mom pretty tough on him? I mean, did she ride his ass about things?”
“She was tough. She expected a lot from him. And me.”
“Sort of like you in class,” he said. “A hard-ass.”
“She loved Ronnie. She’d do anything for him.”
“I hear you, Teach. We all love our moms. Right?” Neal shook his head. “My mom. Sheesh. She’s a tough lady. I bet your mom was like that too. I can see it, Teach.”
“Can you do anything?” I asked. “Or can your dad?”
He chomped on the bagel again. This time he didn’t bother to wipe the peanut butter and crumbs from out of his beard. I wanted to grab a napkin and reach across the table myself, but I knew better.
“I’ll poke around a little bit, see what we can find out.” He threw the last bite of the bagel into his mouth. “Hell, I’ll do it pro bono. That means free, right?”
“Yes, it does,” I said. “But you can’t just do it for free. If you’re working, you should get paid something.”
He nodded, a large smile spreading across his face.
“What?” I asked.
“I know what my fee will be,” he said.
“What?”
“Have you graded my paper yet?”
He laughed and winked at me.
Chapter Thirty-two
Dan called while I was driving home from the Grunge. I answered as I drove, one hand on the wheel and the other on the phone. I hoped no cops saw me.
“I was just seeing how you were doing,” he said. “If you need anything.”
Do I need anything? I thought. Where do I begin?
I opted for a simple statement of fact. “I was at the hospital already this morning.”
“That’s an early start,” he said, trying to sound light. It didn’t work. His words hit my ear like a lead weight.
“There’s a lot going on here, Dan,” I said. “A lot.”
“Oh,” he said.
I understood where he was in his approach to me. He wanted to be cool and coy. He wanted to give me space, but he also didn’t want to miss the chance to help me if he could. It was impossible, and I couldn’t blame him for fumbling it.
“Do you need anything?” he asked, trying to keep it simple.
My apartment building came into sight. I cut down the small alley and pulled into my designated spot. The sun was bright, the air still cool. I’d cracked the window and let the breeze blow against my face.