"Mrs. Sweeney."
"Right. Mrs. S. Always peering out the window, no matter what time it was. Big sourpuss on her face, complaining about the kids cutting through her yard." Matt pointed at him. "You're like that, Lance. You're like a great big Block Mom."
"You been drinking, Matt?"
"Yup. That a problem?"
"Not in and of itself, no."
"So why are you always out and about, Lance?"
He shrugged. "I'm just trying to keep the bad out."
"You think you can?"
Lance didn't reply to that.
"You really think that your minivans and good schools are, what, some kind of force field, warding off evil?" Matt laughed too hard at that one. "Hell, Lance, look at me, for chrissake. I'm the poster boy proving that's a load of crap. I should be on your warn-the-teens tour, you know, like when we were in high school and the cops would make us look at some car smashed up by a drunk driver. That's what I should be. One of those warnings to the youngsters. Except I'm not sure what my lesson would be."
"Not to get into fights, for one."
"I didn't get in a fight. I tried to break one up."
Lance fought back a sigh. "You want to retry the case out here in the rain, Matt?"
"No."
"Good. Then how about I give you a lift home?"
"Not going to arrest me?"
"Maybe another time."
Matt took one last look at the house. "You may be right."
"What about?"
"About my belonging."
"Come on, Matt, it's wet out. I'll drive you home."
Lance came up behind him. He put his hands under Matt's armpits and lifted. The man was powerful. Matt stumbled to a wobbly stand. His head spun. His stomach gurgled. Lance helped him to the car and into the front passenger seat.
"You get sick in my car," Lance said, "you'll wish I arrested you."
"Ooo, tough guy." Matt cracked the window, enough for a breeze but not enough to let in the rain. He kept his nose near the opening like a dog. The air helped. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the window. The glass was cool against his cheek.
"So why the drinking binge, Matt?"
"Felt like it."
"You do that a lot? Drink yourself stupid?"
"You an AA counselor too, Lance? You know, along with your gig as the Block Mom?"
Lance nodded. "You're right. Change of subject."
The rain let up a little. The wipers slowed down a notch. Lance kept both hands on the wheel.
"My oldest daughter is thirteen. You believe that?"
"How many kids you got, Lance?"
"Three. Two girls and a boy." He took one hand off the wheel and fumbled for his wallet. He extracted three photographs and handed them to Matt. Matt studied them, searching as he always did, for echoes of the parent. "The boy. How old is he?"
"Six."
"Looks just like you did at that age."
Lance smiled. "Devin. We call him Devil. He's wild."
"Like his old man."
"Guess, yeah."
They fell into silence. Lance reached for the radio then decided against it. "My daughter. The oldest. I'm thinking of putting her in Catholic school."
"She at Heritage now?" Heritage had been the middle school they'd attended.
"Yeah, but, I don't know, she's a little wild. I heard St. Margaret's in East Orange is supposed to be good."
Matt looked out the window.
"You know anything about it?"
"About Catholic school?"
"Yeah. Or St. Margaret's."
"No."
Lance had both hands on the wheel again. "Say, do you know who went there?"
"Went where?"
"St. Margaret's."
"No."
"Remember Loren Muse?"
Matt did. It was that way with people you went to elementary school with, even if you never saw them after graduation. You recall the name and face instantly. "Sure. Tomboy, hung out with us for a while. Then she kinda faded away. Her father died when we were kids, right?"
"You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Her old man committed suicide. Blew his brains out in their garage when she was in like eighth grade. They kept it a secret."
"God, that's awful."
"Yeah, but she's doing okay. She works in the prosecutor's office in Newark now."
"She's a lawyer?"
Lance shook his head. "An investigator. But after what happened with her father, well, Loren hit a rough patch too. St. Margaret's helped, I think."
Matt said nothing.
"But you don't know anybody who went to St. Margaret's?"
"Lance?"
"Yeah."
"This subtlety act. It's not really playing. What are you trying to ask me here?"
"I'm asking if you know anything about St. Margaret's."
"You want me to write your daughter a letter of recommendation?"
"No."
"Then why are you asking me these questions?"
"How about a Sister Mary Rose? Taught social studies there. Do you know her?"
Matt shifted so that he faced Lance full on. "Am I a suspect in some kind of crime?"
"What? We're just having a friendly conversation here."
"I don't hear a no, Lance."
"You have a very guilty conscience."
"And you're still evading my question."
"You don't want to tell how you knew Sister Mary Rose?"
Matt closed his eyes. They weren't far from Irvington now. He leaned his head back against the headrest. "Tell me more about your kids, Lance."
Lance did not reply. Matt closed his eyes and listened to the rain. It brought him back to what he'd been thinking before Lance Banner showed up. He needed to call Cingle as soon as he could.
Because, strangely enough, the rain could hold the key to what Olivia was doing in that hotel room.
Chapter 22
MATT THANKED LANCE for the ride and watched him pull away.
As soon as the minivan was out of sight, he headed inside, grabbed his phone, and started dialing Cingle's cell. He checked the time. It was nearly eleven o'clock. He hoped that she was awake, but even if she wasn't, well, once he explained, she'd understand.
The phone rang four times and then went into Cingle's simple voice mail message:
"Me. You. Tone."
Damn.
He left Cingle a message: "Call me back, it's urgent." He hit the button for "other options" and plugged in his home number. Maybe she'd get the page.
He wanted to download the images from his camera phone onto his hard drive, but like a dummy he'd left the USB cord at work. He searched the computer room for the cord that came with Olivia's phone, but he couldn't find it.
It was then that he noticed the phone's message light was blinking. He picked it up and hit play. There was only one message and after the day he'd had, it hardly surprised him.
"Matt, this is Loren Muse. I'm an investigator with the Essex County prosecutor's office. We knew each other a lifetime ago, at Burnet Hill. Could you give me a call as soon as possible?"
She left two numbers- office and cell.
Matt put the phone back in its cradle. So Lance was trying to get a jump on his county counterpart. Or they were working together. Whatever. He wondered what it could be about. Lance had said something about St. Margaret's in East Orange. Something about a nun there.
What could it possibly have to do with him?
Whatever, it couldn't be good.
He didn't want to speculate. He also didn't want to get caught unawares. So he headed into the computer room and ran a classic Google search. He searched for St. Margaret's in East Orange and got too many hits. He tried to remember the nun's name. Sister Mary Something. He added that into the mix. "Sister Mary" "St. Margaret's" "East Orange."
No relevant hits.
He sat back and thought it through. Nothing came to him. He wouldn't call Loren back. Not yet. It could wait until morning. He could say that he was out drinking- Lance would back that up- and forgot to check his messages.