In general, that kind of cursory introspection has yielded acceptable results. I’ve made retrievable errors now and then, stepped on people’s toes unnecessarily once in a while, but overall, I could live with that. If nothing else, I could at least look at myself and see a certain predictable steadiness.
But not this time.
We all overlook things, sometimes important things. I knew that, and indeed I’d done it before. Gail would have claimed that I’d done it quite recently by not warning her of an approaching political hurricane. Still, whatever pain and confusion those occasions caused were nothing to what I was feeling now.
Fred McDermott was the kind of man you assumed had a niche in appointed town government. Short, round, with pale, thinning hair and a fondness for TV bowling tournaments, he had the slightly portly, bland-faced quality of the unimaginative bureaucrat, enforcing the rules as they were passed onto him, without challenge or critical judgment. He agreed with those in power, less because he believed power and wisdom were synonymous, and more because power hired and fired. It was an attitude designed to keep his pension-focused mind riveted to his assigned task.
That I had dismissed this man in the context of a case as easily as I had in day-to-day life was bad enough; that by so doing I might have endangered the life of Tobias A. Huntington bordered on criminal stupidity.
I didn’t delude myself into thinking that just because McDermott had surfaced twice in the context of an investigation, it automatically made him a killer. But overlooking him caused me to wonder how much else I had missed.
It was this unhealthy combination of self-doubt, guilt, and embarrassment that had consumed me since leaving the Brooks House tower room. I had dropped by McDermott’s house, a pleasant, middle-class split-level ranch on Wantastiquet Drive, near the Connecticut River, but had learned from neighbors that he and his wife were out to dinner. That had probably been for the best; to interview him now, when I was emotionally off balance, would have been to compound my error. I needed to think, to take the time necessary to see how McDermott might fit in as a major player. I knew I had time; his office was directly over mine, and he would be appearing as usual, bright and early, with a briefcase and paper in one hand and a lunch box in the other.
From one body, a few footprints, and a cigarette butt, I had amassed a fortune in possibilities, plus an additional corpse.
And, to make sense of it all, I had four detectives and a few borrowed patrolmen whose cumulative experience could have been matched by one New York cop with a month on the job.
Still, I was convinced there had to be some logical pattern. McDermott’s appearance had startled me; he’d been in the right place at the right time. He worked in the Municipal Building and often came downstairs to share the police department’s coffee and to shoot the breeze, and thereby pick up information. But for now he was also, like all the others, merely a loose strand.
The phone rang. I picked it up and answered.
“Joe? Are you okay?”
It was Gail, the wrong person at the wrong time. Instead of finding comfort in the gentle tone of her voice, now I found she merely reminded me of another area where I’d recently dropped the ball.
“You sound depressed.”
“Just a little behind on my sleep.”
“How’s it going?”
“Slowly.” I tried willing myself to be more conversational, to lighten my tone, but I didn’t have it in me.
“I tried calling you at home, but when I got no answer, I thought I might find you there. Would you like to come over after you’re through?”
I hesitated before answering. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be, plus I have to talk to someone at the crack of dawn.”
“You’ve got to sleep sometime.”
“I know.” A long silence stretched between us. “I’m sorry I caused you trouble with Jackson.”
“To hell with him. He just surprised me, that’s all. I’m not sure it would have been any easier even if you had warned me.”
I was glad to hear that, but I still remembered the sting of her accusations. I was both surprised and disappointed to find my self-doubt being replaced by resentment; it revealed to me that I, like many of my colleagues, had slipped into a siege mentality.
“Gail, I’ll take a rain check on tonight. I’m too bushed and too swamped. But thanks for the offer. Maybe once this mess is over, we can make up for lost time-go away for a weekend or something.” They were all mechanical phrases and sounded tinny even to me.
Her voice echoed with disappointment. “Sure. Well, I just wanted to say hello… Don’t stay up too late.”
I thought she was going to add something, but after a long pause, which I only later realized I should have filled, the line went dead. I swore to myself and hung up. I couldn’t have devised a better way to further damage my pride.
I heard the bang of the hallway door being kicked open. I leaned forward over my desk to look through my interior window and saw Buddy wrestling his armload of janitorial paraphernalia into the squad room. He glanced up at my movement and wiggled a couple of free fingers at me in greeting. Through my half-open office door, I heard his mumbled, “Hey, Lieutenant.”
I returned the wave and sat back down, uncertain of how I felt about the interruption. He was sensitive enough that if I merely picked up a folder and pretended to be reading, he’d let me be. But I wasn’t sure I wanted that.
When he did gently tap at the door to retrieve the wastepaper basket, I made a point of not appearing overly occupied.
He smiled shyly and nodded toward the fan. “Still doing the trick for you?”
“Yeah. Thanks again.”
“No problem. It was a pleasure.”
He pulled a plastic garbage bag from his pocket and snapped it open, preparing it to receive my refuse. He paused and then said tentatively, “You folks sound like you’re in pretty hot water.”
I shrugged. “Sounds worse than it is. That’s what sells newspapers.”
“So you’re doing all right?” he asked, as he reached for my wastebasket.
“Not too bad,” I answered, thinking of McDermott.
He beamed. “That’s good. I was talking to a friend of mine, and he kept saying you didn’t know what you were doing. I said you did, but you couldn’t say so ’cause of security reasons.”
“You got it, Buddy.”
There was an awkward pause. I picked up a folder and opened it. Buddy quickly replaced my empty trash bin. “Well, I got to get back to work, Lieutenant. I’ll close the door on my way out so the vacuum don’t bother you.”
“Thanks, Buddy.”
“No problem.” He smiled awkwardly. “Stay cool.”
I returned the smile as the door shut and he passed in front of the glass panel. Stay cool. That’s what my nemesis was doing: taking care of business until I could find a way to stop him.
25
I was waiting outside Fred McDermott’s door when he walked in at 7:45.
He looked surprised to see me, perhaps even startled. “Hi, Joe, long time. How’s the investigation going?” He fumbled to extract his keys from his pocket, dropped them, and let out a nervous laugh as he bent over to retrieve them. “Oh, oh. Sign of a bad day coming.”
I followed him inside. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
The dimensions of his office were almost precisely the same as mine, but he still had the older, taller ceiling, and no window to the reception area. The mad renovator had yet to cast his hellish spell on McDermott’s corner of the building. Indeed, he even had an air-conditioner, which he switched on before putting his briefcase on the desk. The initial blast of warm air smelled dusty and oddly electrical.
He motioned me to sit, as he did so himself. He looked quite pleased at my comment. “Bringing me in as an expert witness?”