Chapters (68)
- Dedication
- Title Page
- Contents
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Copyright
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Finch,” I said, ending the call.
Thirty-Eight
THIRTY-EIGHT
BARRY Duckworth would have asked his son about why he’d tattooed his badge number onto his shoulder, but his phone rang.
“Duckworth,” he said.
“Hey, it’s Shirley.”
“Oh, hi,” Duckworth said.
“I’ve got that picture of Carol Beakman circulating, but now I’m doing somebody else’s job. You called in wanting info on some guy named Cory Calder? They left it with me since they think I don’t look busy enough.”
“I’m always happy to hear from you,” Duckworth said, his eyes still on his son, who was doing up the buttons on his shirt and rolling down his sleeve.
“Okay, he’s thirty-one, date of birth September twentieth, 1984, he lives at 87 Marshall Way, he—”
“Hang on,” he said. “You sending all this to me?’
“Of course. Nobody writes anything down any more, Barry.”
“Okay. Main thing I want is an address. That a house or an apartment?”
“It’s a house.”
“Thanks. What about a car?”
“I’m finding a 2007 Chrysler van. Black. Plate number in the stuff I’m sending you.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s just official stuff. You want me to google him?”
“Would you?”
“I’ll get back to you.”
Duckworth put his phone back into his jacket.
“I thought I heard Carol’s name,” Trevor said.
“Yeah. There’s nothing new. Her picture’s being circulated.” Duckworth rubbed his hand hard over his mouth, squeezing his lips together. He pulled it away and said, “So, tell me about that.”
He was pointing at his son’s shoulder.
Trevor shrugged. “I was looking for a way to honor my hero.”
Duckworth closed his eyes for a second, shook his head. When he opened them, he smiled. “Gonna be hard to rub off.”
“Yeah,” Trevor said. “I’m thinking maybe I could add some numbers to it and try to get a cell phone to match it. Or turn it into a zip code.”
Duckworth lowered his head. “I’m sorry about the last couple of days. All I’m trying to do is my job. I go where the investigation takes me.”
Trevor looked away and shrugged. “I guess I’ll keep looking for Carol.”
“Okay. And I’ve got places to check out. I’d like to stay here, but I can’t. Can I ask you one more question?”
“What.”
“You ever heard of a guy named Cory Calder?”
“No. Who’s he supposed to be?”
“Dolores Guntner’s boyfriend.”
Another shrug. “Nope.”
“Okay.”
Trevor opened his car door. Clearly this was not going to be one of those goodbyes accompanied by a hug. He settled in behind the wheel, turned the car around, and aimed it for the main road. Duckworth watched him wait for a tractor-trailer to speed by, then turn onto Eastern and head for town. The tires squealed briefly as he hit the gas.