Why'd you do it, buddy? Why'd you leave? We would have made room.
Gayle and the kids had decided to move into Mom's and Dad's old house; they hadn't been there the night I got home, nor had I seen them yet.
I was hiding from everyone and everything. But something I'd found out tonight in the computer lab was threatening to change all that and I didn't like it one little bit. I liked hiding out in my jackass suit, mop in one hand, bottle of Windex in the other.
I squeezed Tanya's leg a little harder.
She turned toward me. "What?"
"Look at that."
She leaned over and stared out the window. "What? What am I supposed to be looking at?"
I pointed toward the missing child flier. "The biggest part of the mess."
She looked at the flier, then at me. "Okay…?"
The light turned green and we drove on.
"I love you so much," I said to her.
"You're repeating yourself."
"If I tell you everything that happened, will you promise not to interrupt me until I'm finished?"
She nodded her head, her eyes tearing up. "Just as long as you don't keep shutting me out, Mark. I can't stand it when you shut me out. Gayle and the kids are worried—they think you're mad at them."
"I'm not."
"Then why have you been acting like this? I've been living with a stranger for the last ten days."
"I know." I touched her cheek; she leaned into my touch.
"You see their pictures everywhere these days," I said.
And told my wife everything.
16. And Peace Attend Thee
When I had finished telling Tanya, down to the last detail, what had happened, she said nothing for several moments. She just wiped her eyes and got us a couple of fresh cold beers from the refrigerator while the Marshall Tucker boys sang about why couldn't I see what that woman been doing to them. I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment. It was after three in the morning and I was exhausted.
"This will be your last one for a while," said Tanya, handing the beer to me.
"Fair enough." I decided to drink this one slowly.
Tanya sat across from me on the couch, ran a hand through her hair, then sighed, tried to smile, and said, "What's on the computer and CDs?"
I looked at her and shook my head. "Didn't you listen to that last part? Honey, I killed a man. I stood right in front of him and shot him in the head and then kept shooting. He was chained up, he had no weapon, he posed no threat. I murdered a man in cold blood."
"No you didn't. You killed a bug, that's all you did. You stepped on a worm." She squeezed my hand. "You don't have it in you to harm another person, not like that. You're no murderer, my love."
"Do you suppose that might explain why I don't feel worse about it?" I scratched my chin. "Hell, I don't even feel bad about it."
"Then why are we wasting our breath discussing it? I believe my original question was something about what's on the computer."
"Video files of Grendel with all the children. In groups, by themselves, at the parties. Being… disposed of. E-mails from his various customers, orders for antiques, for furniture."
"Christ." She shook her head. "Don't take this the wrong way, Mark, but I'd really like that stuff out of our house as soon as possible. Why not take it to the police?"
"I don't know. Maybe because once it's done, they're going to be all over Thomas and Arnold and Rebecca for all the details. Goddamn media vultures will come out of the woodwork wanting all the juicy details."
"Mixed metaphor, honey."
I looked at her. "Thank you for pointing out my every mistake and flaw, regardless of how small or inconsequential."
"That's why I married you."
"No, you married me because I lied about being pregnant."
"Oh."
I set down the beer and rubbed my eyes, then stared at my hands—which were still shaking—as I thought about what had happened since I'd come back home.
The officer from the Missouri State Police who'd called the house last week was very polite and understanding, and accepted my explanation about having to run out the first chance I got to rent a car. He swore me in over the phone and recorded my statement, then thanked me for my time and asked me if I'd like to have Denise Harker's family contact me personally; they were very grateful and wanted to thank me. I'd told him that wasn't necessary but to make sure he told Denise that I was fine and she shouldn't worry. I wasn't mad.
"Why would you be mad at her?" he asked.
"She thinks I was mad because she skipped out on paying for the orange juice. It's a joke, officer. She'll get it."
He concluded by telling me that a transcript of my testimony would arrive in the mail, and that I should read it over, sign it, and send it back as soon as possible.
Cletus called, as well, to tell Tanya that he was shipping the boxes I'd left behind and we should have them soon. He then gave her Edna's cookie recipe and informed her that I should give him a call when I was feeling better.
"I like him," Tanya had said. "He's a feisty one."
"He cheats at Pinochle."
"So do I."
Tanya's hand on my arm startled me from these thoughts.
"Mark?"
"What? Huh?—oh, I'm sorry."
"Please bear in mind that I'm only asking this for practicality's sake, okay? But—"
"—how much money is in the bag?"
She blinked. "How'd you know I was going to—?"
I tapped my temple with my index finger. "Psychic powers. Sixty-two thousand dollars."
"What?"
"Sixty-two thousand dollars, minus the four or five hundred I gave to the little girl in the bus depot."
"I can't believe you did that."
"Seemed like a good idea at the time."
"And you'd do it all over again, wouldn't you?"
"Probably."
She smiled. "Still insist you're not one of the good guys?"
"Could we not get into that old chestnut again—I know, I know, another mixed metaphor."
"Actually it's a misplaced simile, but let's not pick nits."
"You're too good to me."
She began rubbing my back. "What happened to set you off at the bar? I know it wasn't just the joke."
"No, but goddammit that was part of it! I get so sick of these smartass college kids who think that just because you have to wash your hands at the end of the day's work and maybe clean grease out from under your fingernails that your intellectual level isn't quite on par with a slug. That little fucker figured that because I was a janitor, I'd appreciate a joke like that because it's the only kind of humor I could understand. Asshole! It was the way he was so obvious about it, you know? Thinking I'd laugh at it and that'd show his little prickettes what an ignorant low-life I was and—"
"Settle down."
"Sorry."
"Deep breaths."
"I'm fine."
She kissed my cheek, then continued rubbing my back. "So what set you off? What started it?"
"This morning when I got into work, I started checking the inner-office e-mail—you know, to see what needed done where—ever since the university freed up some money for repairs, there's always a list of things longer than my arm—anyway, I finish checking the e-mail and then I checked my personal account, and there was an e-mail from Christopher. All it said was, 'Guess where I am, Pretty-Boy.' I think he called me that so I'd know it was from him."