بخش 04 - فصل 09

9 “You were talking to your friend in the Records Department?” Janey asks.

“Marlo Everett, yeah. She’s always in early. Pete Huntley, my old partner, used to swear that was because she never left.” “What fairy tale did you feed her, pray tell?” “That some of my neighbors have mentioned a guy trying cars to see if they were unlocked. I said I seemed to recall a spate of car burglaries

downtown a couple of years back, the doer never apprehended.” “Uh-huh, and that thing you said about not turning into an uncle, what was that about?” “Uncles are retired cops who can’t let go of the job. They call in wanting Marlo to run the plate numbers of cars that strike them as hinky for

one reason or another. Or maybe they brace some guy who looks wrong, go all copfaced on his ass and ask for ID. Then they call in and have Marlo run the name for wants and warrants.” “Does she mind?” “Oh, she bitches about it for form’s sake, but I don’t really think so. An old geezer named Kenny Shays called in a six-five

a few years ago–that’s suspicious behavior, a new code since 9/11. The guy he pegged wasn’t a terrorist, just a fugitive who killed his whole family in Kansas back in 1987.” “Wow. Did he get a medal?” “Nothing but an attaboy, which was all he wanted. He died six months or so later.”

Ate his gun is what Kenny Shays did, pulling the trigger before the lung cancer could get traction. Hodges’s cell phone rings. It’s muffled, because he’s once more left it in the glove compartment. Janey fishes it out and hands it over with a slightly ironic smile. “Hey, Marlo, that was quick. What did you find out?

Anything?” He listens, nodding along with whatever he’s hearing and saying uh-huh and never missing a beat in the heavy flow of morning traffic. He thanks her and hangs up, but when he attempts to hand the Nokia back to Janey, she shakes her head. “Put it in your pocket. Someone else might call you. I know it’s a strange concept,

but try to get your head around it. What did you find out?” “Starting in September of 2007, there were over a dozen car break-ins downtown. Marlo says there could have been even more, because people who don’t lose anything of value have a tendency not to report car burglaries. Some don’t even realize it happened. The last

report was logged in March of 2009, less than three weeks before the City Center Massacre. It was our guy, Janey. I’m sure of it. We’re crossing his backtrail now, and that means we’re getting closer.” “Good.” “I think we’re going to find him. If we do, your lawyer– Schron–goes downtown to fill

in Pete Huntley. He does the rest. We still see eye to eye on that, don’t we?” “Yes. But until then, he’s ours. We still see eye to eye on that, right?” “Absolutely.” He’s cruising down Lake Avenue now, and there’s a spot right in front of the late Mrs. Wharton’s building. When your luck is running, it’s

running. Hodges backs in, wondering how many times Olivia Trelawney used this same spot. Janey looks anxiously at her watch as Hodges feeds the meter. “Relax,” he says. “We’ve got plenty of time.” As she heads for the door, Hodges pushes the LOCK button on his key-fob. He

doesn’t think about it, Mr. Mercedes is what he’s thinking about, but habit is habit. He pockets his keys and hurries to catch up with Janey so he can hold the door for her. He thinks, I’m turning into a sap. Then he thinks, So what?