The Forgotten (John Puller 2)

Life was perfect, after all.

He had walked through the front gate and busied himself in the bushes. Positioning himself where no one could see, he had snapped some pictures of the gate and surveillance apparatus with his cell phone. He was confident that he could find in the dark the exact positioning of the power and data transmission line. He had better be able to.

And then the long day had finally ended and now here he was in his room.

As he sat on his bed he thought back to Chrissy Murdoch. Something was definitely off there.

But he couldn’t put his finger on it. He would have to reflect on it some more. There were many things that could go wrong, and some would. But there were certain things he could keep from going wrong. Chrissy Murdoch might be one of them.

He lay back on his bed in the sweltering heat. It didn’t bother him. He had trained his mind to ignore such physical discomforts. And when the mind did not pay attention to such things, neither did the body. The mind controlled pain. And the mind could make pain go away. He had survived much agony with that simple philoso- phy.

Tonight would be busy. He had two things to do.

The first surely would be problematic.

The second might be catastrophic.

But he had come here to take risks, not to avoid them.

CHAPTER 43

Cheryl Landry was not in uniform. She wore light blue capri pants, a yellow sleeveless blouse, and white sandals. Her hair, unconstrained by a police cap, was down around her shoulders.

Puller rose from the table at Darby’s as she approached.

He had taken a shower at a local YMCA for a daily fee and changed into fresh clothes—khaki pants, short-sleeved shirt, and loafers.

As she sat down, she looked, he thought, a little self-conscious, as though she preferred the uniform and clunky shoes to what she had on.

The waitress brought menus and Puller glanced over his while also checking out the folks at the other tables.

She caught him doing this.

“Scoping the place?” she asked.

“Always good to have alternate exits, just in case.”

“One behind the bar. Another left of the kitchen.”

“I take it you like scoping too.”

“Comes in handy.”

“What’s good on here?” he asked, indicating the menu.

“Scallops, swordfish, mussels. And the New York strip, if you’re into cows.”

They ordered drinks and their meals. Puller had opted for the swordfish over the cow.

They sat back and Landry finally seemed to focus on him.

“Something you want to say?” asked Puller.

“I don’t know. Should there be?”

“We could run that one in circles for days.” “You invited me to dinner, not the other way around.”

“Fair enough.”

“But you do make people nervous, Puller.” “I’ve been told that before.”

“I’m sure you have. Eight guys beaten up. Nearly ramming another car. Doing your own investigation. And we found out you got a set of elimination prints from your aunt’s body. The chief was not happy about that.”

“No law against me visiting my aunt’s remains.”

“But there is a law against obstructing a police investigation.”

“I was under the impression that you weren’t conducting one, so what exactly am I obstructing?”

“It’s not that simple and you know it.”

“I do?”

Their drinks and appetizers came and they both plunged into them, perhaps as a way to avoid more conversation, at least until it became absolutely necessary. They didn’t return to the topic until their entrees were nearly done.

Landry took a sip of her Riesling and glanced at him.

“Ready to resume the War of the Roses?” he asked.

“Oh, I haven’t started to fight.”

“I think we should be on the same side. A house-divided thing, you know.”

“I’m in one kind of uniform. You’re in another.”

“Not that much of a difference, really.”

“Look, I’m not saying that your aunt wasn’t murdered.”

“And I’m not necessarily saying that she was. That’s why people investigate. So I’m really not seeing the problem.”

“You come here, do your thing, and let’s say you find out she was killed.”

“Okay.”

“Then what do you do?”

“Find the killer.”

“Wrong. That’s for the police to do. That’s my job.”

“So you want me to do all the grunt work and then hand off the arrest to you?”

“I don’t need you to help me look good,” she said heatedly.

“Never said you did. So where does that leave

“I don’t know.”

“You could work with me.”

She glanced sharply at him.

“I usually work solo,” he added. “So it’s a remarkable offer. Shows I have great confidence in you.”

“And exactly how would that work? I do it on my off time, the little I have of it?”

“Yeah.”

“And then what? We crack the case and shove my boss’s face in it? How does that advance my career in law enforcement?”

“I’m not saying it does. And if that’s your only goal then your answer to my offer should be no.”

“What other goal should I have?” she asked.

“Bringing to justice somebody who killed an old lady.” He leaned forward, his look growing as dark as he suddenly felt right now. “I hoped that might be why you put on the badge in the first place.”

“Don’t read me the riot act. I don’t deserve that.”

“Twenty seconds ago I would have agreed with you.”

“Do you really want to go down that road? I can make your life miserable.”

“I think the police department has already done a good job of that.”

“Yeah, well I’m a lot more subtle than Hooper.”

“I’m not looking to make enemies, Cheryl. I’m just trying to find out the truth. If this had happened to your family I have to believe you wouldn’t just walk away.”

This comment seemed to pierce whatever wall Landry had built up during this exchange. She looked away and then down, all the classic signs of capitulation, Puller knew, from interviewing so many suspects.

She said, “I get how you’re feeling. I really do.”