He told her he was leaving it there at the hotel. “If I was being tailed from the department, which I suspect, he’ll have a long sit-in.”
Eye on the rearview mirror, Mitch drove out of the parking lot. “Where to first?”
“My house. I’ve got to get Mutt. I can’t leave the boat behind, either. We may need it later. Mutt and I will go by water and meet you two at the cabin.”
Beth said, “Why can’t I stay with you?”
“We’ll need provisions. Mitch will drive you.” He rattled off a list of food staples. “Don’t forget dog food.” He took two prepaid credit cards from his wallet and gave them to her. “Each has two hundred dollars on it.” Looking down at her feet, he said, “Buy yourself some socks, and a pair of stouter shoes, and anything else you can think of that you might need.”
“You make it sound like we’re preparing for a siege.”
In all earnestness, he said, “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Tom’s wife’s main concern was that the facial disfigurement would be permanent.
When she’d arrived in the ER and saw his misshapen nose and the eggplant-colored bruises that rimmed his bloodshot eyes, she’d burst into tears. When he’d looked in the mirror, he’d almost started crying himself. Not just over his appearance, but over the unfairness of life.
John Bowie’s black eye had made him look rakish, dashing, dangerous, and sexy. It had contributed to his swagger. Peering over the wad of bandages holding his nose in place, Tom could barely see to walk, much less swagger. He was uglier than the ogre.
“The surgeon will fix it,” he’d told his weeping wife. Her boo-hooing had driven him to distraction until an injection for pain had finally kicked in and made him loopy enough to ignore her.
It was suggested by one of the ER doctors that he consider going to New Orleans for the surgery, but he hadn’t wanted to expend the time or effort. He’d entrusted himself to the local plastic surgeon.
He was at home now, and in bed. The anesthesia had worn off, but he had pills within reach on the nightstand. His wife fussed over him, but, behind her murmurs of sympathy, he sensed her misgiving that the defacement was temporary.
When his kids came into the bedroom, they were uncharacteristically subdued at the sight of him. They said all the expected sweet, nice things, but once they’d filed out into the hallway, he’d heard them gasping with laughter.
What ate at him was the probability that others also viewed him as a laughingstock. Subordinates who’d watched from the open doorway of his office as Bowie had unleashed his wrath were probably laughing up their sleeves and secretly high-fiving Bowie.
“Honey?”
“Go away.”
“It’s Frank Gray.”
“Tell him I’ll call him back.”
“He’s at the front door.”
Tom pried open his swollen eyes. “Send him in.”
The ogre tramped into the bedroom, took one look at Tom, and bellowed, “Christ on a cross.”
“Mr. Gray, please, your language,” Mrs. Barker whispered. “The children.”
“Sorry.”
“Get out,” Tom said to her. “Close the door.” She did as ordered.
Frank sat down in a rocking chair. Its joints groaned in protest. Smacking his chewing gum, he ran his ham-sized hands over the smooth arms of the chair. “Nice finish. Is it an antique?”
Never minding the children, Tom spat out a string of obscenities. “Antique? Who knows? Who cares? I want to know what’s happening!”
“Nothing. Bowie’s still there at the hotel. Has been all afternoon.”
“With her?”
“Duh. You owe my surveillance guy twenty bucks. He had to bribe the desk clerk. She hasn’t checked out. But even for fifty, he wouldn’t give out her room number.”
“You’re sure your guy followed the right car?”
“Hell yeah, I’m sure. He saw Bowie entering the lobby. Satisfied?”
“All right. I meant no offense. I feel like crap, is all.”
The ogre rocked back in the chair and planted his large feet on the floor to keep himself reclined. “You know, Tom, Bowie isn’t without admirers in our division. In fact, throughout the whole department. They don’t let on, because they don’t want to cross you and be subjected to the treatment he is. But they’re there.”
“You think I don’t know that? Are you trying to make a point here, Frank? If so, get to it.”
“Fine. I think Bowie added members to his cheering section today. Other detectives have asked for you to assign him to help them with tough cases. You’ve denied those requests and have kept him doing housecleaning and other chickenshit chores. He’s been wasted. In trying to bring him low, you’re the one who looks bad.”
In so many words, Bowie had said the same thing during their standoff yesterday morning. Hearing it again from an ally made him want to grind his teeth. But that made his nose throb. “Are you joining Bowie’s rah-rahs, Frank? Is that what this visit is about?”
“No, hell no. I despise the asshole. Just think of me as a little birdie in your ear whispering a warning. After today, when practically everyone who answers to you heard Bowie’s ugly accusations, the tide may turn. There may be more rumblings in the ranks.”
“I can squelch rumblings.”