“Higgins,” he said, shocked.
He licked a trickle of blood away from the corner of his mouth, and struggled a second to uncross his eyes. His face was still a patchwork of browns and blues from our skirmish in the woods. His nose was covered with a white strip.
“Surprised to see me?”
“How …”
“You tried to kill me,” I hissed. “That wasn’t very fucking nice.”
“Higgins …”
“You fucked up. People like you always do. If you’re going to try to kill a man, you do it right, like I do.”
“Please don’t …”
“You’re a scumbag, Van Buren. You’re no kind of cop. Where did you get that car you rammed me with?”
“Impound,” he said. “You ruined my truck.”
“I shot you …”
“Yes you did, you motherfucker.”
“You should be dead. How …”
“You’re a cop, Van Buren. You would know that they didn’t pull a body out of that truck. Don’t pull this shocked shit with me, and if you thought I wouldn’t come back for you, you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”
“I thought you’d crawled into the woods and died, Higgins….
What’re you going to do?”
I know what I would have liked to do.
I pulled an envelope from the back pocket of my jeans. It contained Van Buren’s shield and a hand-drawn map I’d made for him. The map was crude, but showed exactly where in those thick and haunted woods off of Old Sherman Road there was a little ancient shack with a broken window, a body, stacks of incriminating photos, and the cameras that took them. It was a gift from me to him, even though he shot me. Twice.
I tossed the envelope into the car and said, “There’s a treat in there for you and the federales.”
“What’s that?”
“Where to find the Rose Killer.”
“You got him?”
I let the question go. It seemed redundant to me that he felt it necessary to ask.
“I can kill you anytime I want, Van Buren. But I won’t. I want you to forget my name though. The contents of that envelope were stuck under your windshield wiper when you left the house this morning, you copy that?”
He nodded.
“Forget my fucking name. Forget I exist. If I ever see you again, I won’t be merciful, and I won’t fuck up. I’ll do things to you so bad I won’t be able to live with myself.”
I threw his gun into the car, stood, and slammed the door.
“Your badge is in there too.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“Don’t thank me. Quit. You don’t deserve it.” I walked away. No one followed.
After dropping off the shield and the map to Van Buren, I paid Mrs. Pearce a visit. I had every reason to believe the house was still under the watch and guard of the police, but I couldn’t leave without seeing her.
She opened the door and was much more cordial this time around. She invited me in, led me to the couch, and made me what must have been the best cup of tea I’d ever had in my life. I was never a big fan of tea, but Pearce liked it, and it was that part of him that was inside me that enjoyed the drink she made for me.
Her face looked not as exhausted as it did the first time I was there, and the aura that surrounded her seemed a little less gray.
When she finally got around to asking me what I was doing there, I pulled from a sleeve in my wallet a single piece of black, human hair. I gave it to her carefully, as if the fingers that held it were fine surgeon’s tools, and once she held it tight between her fingers, I told her that it was a hair from the head of the man who was responsible for her husband’s death. It was true enough for me.
She inspected it like it would answer her questions, like why her husband had to die so young, or what kind of man could have done such a thing. I just hoped it would put them down for her.
“Why are you giving this to me?” she asked, teary-eyed.
“There’s never going to be a trial,” I said. “No sense of closure for you. This piece of hair is going to have to do.”
“How did you get it?”
“That’s something you don’t have to think on,” I said, “and you shouldn’t.”
She felt her stomach and smiled.
“I am a cop’s wife. I know when to leave well enough alone. Thank you.”
“How’s the baby?”
“Fine. Coming along. She’ll be popping out just about any day now,” she said. “I wish Danny were here for this….” She stopped, brought a tissue to her eye.
“Me too,” I said.
She cleared her throat and asked, “Any ideas for a name?”
“Yeah,” I said, “actually, I do. I’ve always been fond of Doris.”
Last, I pulled up outside Alice’s little house on the north side of town. I felt bad that things had gone so sour between us. I knew that our relationship was just as much a figment of my imagination as it was real, and I had scared and offended her by thinking it was anything more than what it was—an arrangement. But I didn’t regret following her all the times I did. Half the reason was because I wanted to make sure she got home safely. I always did. The other was because I loved her.
I blew the horn. It was not yet ten o’clock, and she was sleeping. By nature, her schedule was, sadly, nocturnal, like mine. I blew the horn again, and this time her face appeared behind the kitchen curtain. A minute later, she came out in her real jammies—a pair of boxers and a tank top. Her hair was down, and she came out to the curb barefoot. I loved her feet. She never looked better than she did outside of Mama Snow’s house.
I got out and rested against the hood.
“Marlowe,” she said.
“I’m sorry to wake you. You look great.”
She smiled.
“And you look okay. A lot better than the last time I saw you. I guess everything worked out for you.”
“It worked out good enough.”
“Where did you get this car?”
“I traded it in,” I said.
“Where? I’ve never seen that ride around here before.” Thank God for that.
I blinked, and just for a moment, I saw her through Raynor’s eyes, the way he would have seen her. It made me sick. I blinked again to make it go away.
“It’s from out of town,” I said.
“What is it?”
“It’s a ‘73 Mach 1. They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.”
The Rose Killer’s deathmobile would be my ride until I got out of Evelyn and got the cash together to pick up a new car for myself. I could only hope the tags wouldn’t pop if I ever got stopped for anything.
“What happened to your accent?” she asked.
“It went the way of the Duke, Alice. I may not need it where I’m going, depending on where that is. I tried telling you that there was a lot more to me than people know, and this is one of those things. I’m not really a Bible Belt kind of guy. It’s not my history.”
“Well, that much I’ve always figured, Marley, you being who
you are….”
“I’m not a bad man, Alice.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
“I know it now,” she said softly.
“I just wanted you to be okay. And I just wanted you to hear my real voice before …”
“So … is this it?” she asked.
“Yeah, darlin’, this is it. I’m just about used up here. I’m gonna be hitting the highway in a short while.”
“Oh,” she said, looking down.
“I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”
She thought for a moment. She looked off into the distance, and finally said, “No, I don’t think I will, I hate to say. We all have our … burdens … and I got mine. I can’t go.”