The Night Gardener

It had made Holiday sad to look at the clock as it was. He had reset it for himself, not the old man.

'Makes no difference to me,' said Cook. 'But thanks.'

'So your EI Salvador lady knows the correct time.'

'All right, friend.'

'T.C…'

'What?'

'I talked to Ramone.'

'You told me. He wouldn't make the call and find the identity of the patrol car's driver. I wouldn't have done it for you, either, you want the truth.'

'It's not that. It's just, I sensed from his voice, the urgency in it, I mean, that he was getting close on the Asa Johnson murder.'

'You don't think Asa Johnson's connected to the Palindrome killings, do you?'

'I just don't want you to be disappointed.'

'I won't be,' said Cook. 'It's going to sound callous, I know, but I've had fun these past few days. No, fun's not the right word. I've had purpose. When I've woken up these last couple of mornings, my eyes came wide open; do you know what I mean?'

'Yes.'

'So let's just see where this leads us. Okay?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And knock off that 'sir' bullshit, too. I never made it past sergeant, young man.'

'Right.' Holiday took a long swig of his coffee and placed the mug back on the table. 'I've got to take off.'

'See you at four,' said Cook.

He stayed in the kitchen and listened as Holiday closed the front door behind him. Cook could hear the thin voices of the police Internet site, dispatcher to patrolman, coming from his computer. And something else: the faint sound of children laughing. Knowing that it was not possible, knowing, too, that he was not alone.

Conrad Gaskins sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing one finger in small circles on the scar that ran down his cheek. Behind him, atop the sheets, was a duffel bag filled with damn near everything he owned. It was clothes, mostly, the majority being underwear, khakis, and T-shirts he wore to work. He had a couple of button-down shirts and a pair of slacks, but as far as nice shit went, that was it. Clothing, his shaving kit, one pair of sneakers, and the Glock Romeo had given him. He'd get rid of it later, but he wasn't gonna leave that behind. Another weapon was not something his cousin needed.

Too many beers the night before had caused him to sleep through his alarm clock. He had missed the pickup at the shape-up spot for the first time since he'd been lucky enough to find work.

Gaskins had phoned the foreman, the ex-con Christian who had seen fit to give him a chance, on the job site. And after he apologized and pleaded for the man to forgive him, he felt a rush of emotion come to him, and the words poured free.

'I am in a real bad situation here,' said Gaskins. 'If I don't get free of it I am going to die or get myself sent back to the joint. I don't want to die, and I don't want to kill no one. All's I want is to work an honest day and be paid honest in return.'

Gaskins told the foreman, whose name was Paul, a little bit more of his situation but nothing too specific. He told Paul about his aunt Mina, Romeo's mother, and the promise he had made to her to look after her son.

'You've done everything for him that you can do,' said Paul. 'Grab your gear, walk out that house, and call me when you're ready. I'll meet you down at the end of your road.'

'But where I'm gonna stay at?'

'I got a couch. Until you find something, you'll stay with me.'

'You can take some money out my pay.'

'Forget about that, Conrad. Just call me, hear?'

Gaskins had thought hard on it most of the day. He had made the call and now he was packed and ready to go. He'd considered Mina Brock and what he'd promised. Romeo hadn't even visited her for some time. He, Conrad Gaskins, would be her son now. She'd understand, even if she couldn't say it in words. He knew this, and still he felt guilt.

Gaskins Velcroed the straps of his duffel bag together, picked it up, and walked from the room.

Romeo Brock, not long awake from a nap, heard his cousin's footsteps. He rolled off his mattress and touched his feet to the floor. He stretched and looked at the two Gucci suitcases set beside his dresser. Then he went to the dresser, where he kept his wallet, keys, and cigarettes. He automatically checked that they were there every time he got out of bed.

Also on the dresser were his Gold Cup.45 and his ice pick. The tip of the pick was corked. Romeo liked to tape it to his calf. When he grabbed the handle and pulled it free, the tape naturally knocked off the tip. He might have seen this in a movie, but over time he had convinced himself that he'd thought of it himself. A man wasn't stupid who could invent a system like that.

Brock, shirtless, lit a Kool and tossed the dead match into the tire-shaped ashtray. He slid his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans and walked barefoot from his bedroom. He went down the hall, past his cousin's room, and out into the open living room. Conrad was seated on the couch, his duffel bag at his feet.

Brock took a drag off his cigarette, double-dragged, and let out a long stream of smoke.

'You dippin out?' said Brock.

'I'm done, Romeo.'

'You ain't got the heart for it no more.'

'Killin and robbing is easy. It's the consequences… I don't want no part of it, man.'

'We almost there,' said Brock. 'Least you can do is stay till we cut it up. Take your share and then, if you want to, go.'

'That's blood money. I don't want it. And I don't want to be here to watch you go down.'

'Shit. Me?'

'You don't think it's gonna happen? Even your boy Red Fury exceeded his grasp. When he was getting stabbed to death in that prison yard, do you think he was boastin? Was he prideful of his rep? Nah, cuz. He was cryin for his mama, most likely. The way all men do in the end.'

'But I'm just getting started.'

'You already done,' said Gaskins. 'A guy like you has success against chumps and kids, but there's a ceiling. You make a score like you did the other day, you start spending, and then you got a standard of living to maintain. So you gonna steal bigger and bigger until you step on someone's toes you shouldn't have. That someone then puts a contract out on you and, bam, it's over. Hell, boy, you might already have sealed your fate. You took that girl with you, you made a big mistake. That Broad-ass fella got to know where she works at. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday some killer's gonna follow her out to this house. Whoever's fifty grand was you stole, most likely. So, yeah, cousin. You done.'

'Good thing I love you, man. I wouldn't let no one else talk to me that way.'

'I love you, too. But I can't stay.'

Gaskins got up off the couch and hugged Romeo Brock. He broke free and picked up his duffel bag.

'Take care of my mother,' said Brock.

'You know I will,' said Gaskins. 'That's my heart.'

Brock watched through the front window as Gaskins passed under the tulip poplar and walked on the gravel road toward Hill.

Brock could still catch up to Conrad if he ran to him now. Talk some sense into him, stop him from leaving. But he stood there instead, smoking his cigarette and tapping its ash to the hardwood floor.

CHAPTER 32

Ramone entered the video monitor room at VCB with a fried-chicken sandwich and can of soda in hand. It was late in the afternoon, and he had not eaten lunch. Rhonda had processed Aldan Tinsley while Ramone made the carryout run.

Antonelli sat in a chair, his feet up on a table, his ankle holster and Glock fully visible. On screen 1, Bo Green was going at Dominique Lyons, who apparently had been informed of Darcia Johnson's on-camera testimony and cooperation. His face was contorted in anger, and he had been leg-ironed to the stool. Bo Green sat back, his hands folded on his belly, his expression neutral, his voice calm and soft.

'Bo just told Dominique that we've got the man who sold him the gun,' said Antonelli. 'And that that same gun was the weapon used in a homicide the night before. Check him out. Our boy don't look so pimpin now.'