Broken Harbor Read Free Page A

talk at, what, nine o’clock, once the hubbies are off to work and the kids are off to school—”
    “Or once they’re in work themselves, the women. They could have jobs.”
    “Jennifer Spain didn’t, or the sister’s problem would have been ‘She’s not in work,’ not ‘I couldn’t get through.’ So Fiona rings Jennifer at nine-ish, maybe half past eight at the earliest—up until then, they’d still be busy getting their day underway. And at ten thirty-six”—I tapped the call sheet—“she’s in Brianstown calling the uniforms. I don’t know where Fiona Rafferty lives, or where she works, but I do know Brianstown is a good hour’s drive away from just about anything. In other words, when Jennifer’s an hour late for their morning chat—and that’s an hour
maximum
, it could be a lot less—Fiona gets panicked enough to drop everything and haul her arse out to the back of beyond. That sounds a lot like overreacting to me. I don’t know about you, my man, but I’d love to know what had her knickers in such a twist.”
    “She mightn’t be an hour away. Maybe she lives next door, just called round to see what the story was.”
    “Then why drive? If she’s too far away to walk, then she’s far enough away that her going over there is odd. And here’s Rule Number Two: when someone’s behavior is odd, that’s a little present just for you, and you don’t let go of it till you’ve got it unwrapped. This isn’t Motor Vehicles, Richie. In this gig, you don’t get to say, ‘Ah, sure, it’s probably not important, she was just in a funny mood that day, let’s forget it.’ Ever.”
    There was the kind of silence that meant the conversation wasn’t over. Finally Richie said, “I’m a good detective.”
    “I’m pretty sure you’re going to be an excellent detective, someday. But right now, you’ve still got just about everything left to learn.”
    “Whether I wear ties or not.”
    I said, “You’re not fifteen, chum. Dressing like a mugger doesn’t make you a big daring threat to the Establishment; it just makes you a prat.”
    Richie fingered the thin cloth of his shirt front. He said, picking his words carefully, “I know the Murder lads aren’t usually from where I’m from. Everyone else comes from farmers, yeah? Or from teachers. I’m not what anyone expects. I understand that.”
    His eyes, when I glanced across, were green and level. I said, “It doesn’t matter where you come from. There’s nothing you can do about it, so don’t waste your energy thinking about it. What matters is where you’re going. And that, mate, is something you
can
control.”
    “I know that. I’m here, amn’t I?”
    “And it’s my job to help you get further. One of the ways you take charge of where you’re going is by acting like you’re already there. Do you follow me?”
    He looked blank.
    “Put it this way. Why do you think we’re driving a Beemer?”
    Richie shrugged. “Figured you liked the car.”
    I took a hand off the wheel to point a finger at him. “You figured my ego liked the car, you mean. Don’t fool yourself: it’s not that simple. These aren’t shoplifters we’re going after, Richie. Murderers are the big fish in this pond. What they do is a big deal. If we tool up to the scene in a beat-up ’95 Toyota, it looks disrespectful; like we don’t think the victims deserve our best. That puts people’s backs up. Is that how you want to start off?”
    “No.”
    “No, it’s not. And, on top of that, a beat-up old Toyota would make us look like a pair of losers. That matters, my man. Not just to my ego. If the bad guys see a pair of losers, they feel like their balls are bigger than ours, and that makes it harder to break them down. If the good guys see a pair of losers, they figure we’ll never solve this case, so why should they bother trying to help us? And if
we
see a pair of losers every time we look in the mirror, what do you think happens to our odds of