بخش 03 - فصل 06

6 When he gets back to his house, his arches throbbing and his ankles singing high C, the light on his answering

machine is blinking. It’s Pete Huntley, and he sounds excited. “Call me,” he says. “This is unbelievable. Unfucking-real.” Hodges is suddenly, irrationally sure that Pete and his pretty new partner Isabelle have nailed Mr. Mercedes after all. He feels a deep stab of jealousy, and–crazy but true –anger. He hits Pete on

speed-dial, his heart hammering, but his call goes right to voicemail. “Got your message,” Hodges says. “Call back when you can.” He kills the phone, then sits still, drumming his fingers on the edge of his desk. He tells himself it doesn’t matter who catches the psycho sonofabitch, but it does. For one thing, it’s

certainly going to mean that his correspondence with the perk (funny how that word gets in your head) will come out, and that may put him in some fairly warm soup. But it’s not the important thing. The important thing is that without Mr. Mercedes, things will go back to what they were: afternoon TV and playing with his father’s gun.

He takes out his yellow legal pad and begins transcribing notes on his neighborhood walk-around. After a minute or two of this, he tosses the pad back into the case-folder and slams it closed. If Pete and Izzy Jaynes have popped the guy, Mrs. Melbourne’s vans and sinister black SUVs don’t mean shit.

He thinks about going on Debbie’s Blue Umbrella and sending merckill a message: Did they catch you? Ridiculous, but weirdly attractive. His phone rings and he snatches it up, but it’s not Pete. It’s Olivia Trelawney’s sister. “Oh,” he says. “Hi, Mrs. Patterson. How you doing?”

“I’m fine,” she says, “and it’s Janey, remember? Me Janey, you Bill.” “Janey, right.” “You don’t sound exactly thrilled to hear from me, Bill.” Is she being the tiniest bit flirty? Wouldn’t that be nice. “No, no, I’m happy you called, but I don’t have anything to report.”

“I didn’t expect you would. I called about Mom. The nurse at Sunny Acres who’s most familiar with her case works the day shift in the McDonald Building, where my mother has her little suite of rooms. I asked her to call if Mom brightened up. She still does that.” “Yes, you told me.”

“Well, the nurse called just a few minutes ago to tell me Mom’s back, at least for the time being. She might be clear for a day or two, then it’s into the clouds again. Do you still want to go see her?” “I think so,” Hodges says cautiously, “but it would have to be this afternoon. I’m waiting on a call.”

“Is it about the man who took her car?” Janey’s excited. As I should be, Hodges tells himself. “That’s what I need to find out. Can I call you back?” “Absolutely. You have my cell number?” “Yeah.” “Yeah,” she says, gently mocking. It makes him smile,

in spite of his nerves. “Call me as soon as you can.” “I will.” He breaks the connection, and the phone rings while it’s still in his hand. This time it’s Pete, and he’s more excited than ever. “Billy! I gotta go back, we’ve got him in an interview room–IR4, as a matter of fact, remember how you always

used to say that was your lucky one?–but I had to call you. We got him, partner, we fucking got him!” “Got who?” Hodges asks, keeping his voice steady. His heartbeat is steady now, too, but the beats are hard enough to feel in his temples: whomp and whomp and whomp. “Fucking Davis!” Pete shouts. “Who else?”

Davis. Not Mr. Mercedes but Donnie Davis, the camerafriendly wife murderer. Bill Hodges closes his eyes in relief. It’s the wrong emotion to feel, but he feels it nevertheless. He says, “So the body that game warden found near his cabin turned out to be Sheila Davis’s? You’re sure?” “Positive.”

“Who’d you blow to get the DNA results so fast?” When Hodges was on the force, they were lucky to get DNA results within a calendar month of sample submission, and six weeks was the average. “We don’t need DNA! For the trial, sure, but–” “What do you mean, you don’t–”

“Shut up and listen, okay? He just walked in off the street and copped to it. No lawyer, no bullshit justifications. Listened to the Miranda and said he didn’t want a lawyer, only wanted to get it off his chest.” “Jesus. As smooth as he was in all the interviews we had with him? Are you sure he’s

not fucking with you? Playing some sort of long game?” Thinking it’s the kind of thing Mr. Mercedes would try to do if they nailed him. Not just a game but a long game. Isn’t that why he tries to create alternate writing styles in his poison-pen letters? “Billy, it’s not just his wife. You remember those dollies he had on the side? Girls with big

hair and inflated tits and

names like Bobbi Sue?”

“Sure. What about them?”

“When this breaks, those

young ladies are going to get

on their knees and thank God

they’re still alive.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Turnpike Joe, Billy! Five

women raped and killed at

various Interstate rest stops

between

here

and

Pennsylvania, starting back in ninety-four and ending in oheight! Donnie Davis says it’s him! Davis is Turnpike Joe! He’s giving us times and places and descriptions. It all fits. This . . . it blows my mind!” “Mine, too,” Hodges says, and he absolutely means it. “Congratulations.” “Thanks, but I didn’t do anything except show up this

morning.” Pete laughs wildly. “I feel like I won the Megabucks.” Hodges doesn’t feel like that, but at least he hasn’t lost the Megabucks. He still has a case to work. “I gotta get back in there, Billy, before he changes his mind.” “Yeah, yeah, but Pete? Before you go?”

“What?” “Get him a courtappointed.” “Ah, Billy–” “I’m serious. Interrogate the shit out of him, but before you start, announce–for the record –that you’re getting him lawyered up. You can wring him dry before anyone shows up at Murrow, but you have to

get this right. Are you hearing me?” “Yeah, okay. That’s a good call. I’ll have Izzy do it.” “Great. Now get back in there. Nail him down.” Pete actually crows. Hodges has read about people doing that, but hasn’t ever heard it done–except by roosters– until now. “Turnpike Joe,

Billy! Fucking Turnpike Joe! Do you believe it?” He hangs up before his expartner can reply. Hodges sits where he is for almost five minutes, waiting until a belated case of the shakes subsides. Then he calls Janey Patterson. “It wasn’t about the man we’re looking for?” “Sorry, no. Another case.”

“Oh. Too bad.” “Yeah. You’ll still come with me to the nursing home?” “You bet. I’ll be waiting on the sidewalk.” Before leaving, he checks the Blue Umbrella site one last time. Nothing there, and he has no intention of sending his own carefully crafted message today. Tonight will be soon

enough. Let the fish feel the hook awhile longer. He leaves his house with no premonition that he won’t be back.