Chill Factor
“Resentment,” Hoot said. “For all practical purposes, Hamer, as city councilman, is Burton’s boss. Burton hates answering to him.”
“Maybe that’s it, Hoot. Maybe that’s it.” He wiped the windshield with his sleeve. “Still not much visibility, is there?”
“No, sir.” Begley heard the beep at the same time Hoot did. He checked the pager clipped to his belt. “Perkins.”
Then for a time the only sounds in the car were the swish of the wipers, the purr of air coming through the vents, and the crunch of tires on snow. Finally Begley said, “The kid got particularly jittery when you asked him the cause of his breakup with Millicent. Both parents perked up and seemed awfully interested in the answer to that question, too.”
“Especially Mrs. Hamer.”
“Because I don’t think she believes that ‘got tired of each other’ crock of crap any more than we do.”
“What about Mr. Hamer?”
“I’m still mulling that over, Hoot. But my gut instinct is telling me that the coach knows a whopping lot more than he lets on.”
“About their breakup?”
“About everything. Unless you’re a movie star, a used-car salesman, or a pimp, you’ve got no use for a smile like his.”
Hoot pulled into the slot beside the Bronco outside police headquarters. They tramped into the building seconds behind Dutch Burton. The interior smelled like scorched coffee, wet wool, and men who hadn’t showered in a while, but at least it was warm.
The dispatcher said to Hoot, “You’re supposed to call Perkins in Charlotte soon as you come in.”
“Yes. May I use your phone again?”
The dispatcher motioned him toward an unoccupied desk.
Begley, forced to wait to hear what Hoot would learn, if anything, joined Burton, who was pouring himself a cup of coffee. “What do you make of our visit with the Hamers?”
“I don’t make anything of it,” Burton replied.
“No need to take umbrage.”
Burton snorted into his coffee mug, took a sip, then asked, “What did you make of it?”
“Wes and Dora Hamer are a long way from Ward and June Cleaver, and there’s something the matter with their kid.”
“You deduced all that after only thirty minutes with them?”
“More like three.”
“However long it took, it was a waste of time, as well as an invasion of their privacy. We’ve tagged our man. It’s Ben Tierney.”
“At this point, Mr. Tierney is wanted only for questioning. Nothing more.”
“My ass,” Burton said. “You were searching his rooms at Gus Elmer’s place. Harris told me so. What did you find that gave you a hard-on for him?”
Begley refused to acknowledge the question.
“If that’s the way you want to play it, fine,” Burton said angrily. “I’ll go out there and see for myself.”
“Listen to me,” Begley said, his voice low but vibrating with menace, “you tamper with anything out there, you even step foot in those rooms, and I’ll personally see to it that you won’t be able to buy yourself a job in law enforcement, and I’m talking goddamn game warden. I can do it.”
“Why aren’t you trying to get up there and apprehend Tierney?”
“Because a jealous hothead ruined all chance of that this morning,” Begley fired back.
Burton was so irate, the corners of his eyes were twitching. “Leave it to the fucking FBI to pester my best friend and his family about some pissant high school romance that has no bearing on the case while issuing empty threats to me. Meanwhile, the likely perp is—”