The Moores Are Missing Read online

  “But why?”

  “You and Kevin Moore are tight. Me, too, no matter what they’ve told you. Can’t two guys get together to talk about a friend in trouble without the whole world listening in?”

  I look again at the gray Buick. There are two people seated in front. I nod, lock up, and step outside.

  The big car is spotless, wearing so many coats of blue finish it makes me dizzy, as if I’m about to fall into a mountain lake a hundred feet deep. The interior is upholstered in tan glove leather, including steering wheel and dash with its confusion of gauges, like the control panel of a commercial jet. The smell belongs to a store that sells expensive luggage.

  The key’s in the ignition. I turn it and the motor starts with a barely perceptible vibration and no more noise than a sewing machine.

  “Go ahead,” Adder says, when I hesitate with both hands on the wheel, “pull out. You’ll think it’s driving itself.”

  I grasp the shift lever, move the indicator to Drive, and press the accelerator. We peel away from the curb with a slight chirp of tires. “Sorry.”

  “Forget it. They’re new. Swing around downtown.”

  In the rearview, the Buick slides into the driving lane three-quarters of a block behind us.

  Adder frowns at the mirror on his side. “It’s prejudice is what it is, only I can’t sue because I don’t belong to the right minority. I started out as an electrician. Well, I still am; I keep up my dues for old times’ sake. Back then, the maintenance game was as mobbed up as Vegas. You had to cooperate in order to eat. Now just because I worked my way up steady, it means I’m a crook, too. It doesn’t matter that I employ almost as many people as the university, pay good wages, and give bonuses. Some no-neck who just happens to work for my company floats up in the river and suddenly I’m Public Enemy Number One. Is that fair?”

  It’s supposed to be a complaint, but it sounds like a threat. But I say, “I guess not.”

  “Damn straight. All they’re interested in is pinning a bunch of unclaimed stiffs on an easy target and closing another drawer in their files. Scalp-hunters!”

  “I guess so.”

  “Kevin’s a good boy in the office. Nice family. I met them all at company picnics. I give him a raise every year because he’s so good with the books. But then these bastards come along and start working on him, he spooks and blows. If I could just talk to him the way I’m talking to you, I know I can convince him of the truth.”

  I say nothing. I can’t think of a response that won’t include the word guess. What will he do when he realizes I’m just humoring him?

  “I’d like to set up a meet. Someplace where he’ll feel safe. We’ve always been able to talk. I don’t want to have to train someone to take his place. I can’t afford to hire a newbie who’ll make mistakes while he’s learning the ropes; not with these buzzards circling around, waiting for me to slip up.”

  “I don’t know where he is, Mr. Adder.”

  “You don’t?”

  I turn my head to look at him, still in profile. “I don’t. That’s why I reported the family missing.”

  “So that’s why. I thought maybe the feds enlisted you to keep an eye out.”

  I return my attention to the street. “I never met a federal officer before this morning, when a US marshal showed up at the police station in response to the missing-persons complaint I filed.”

  In the little silence that follows, I hear the mechanical clock in the dash change numerals. Then:

  “I believe you,” he says. “But you’re tight, like I said. If he gets in touch with you, maybe you can tell him what I told you. Let him decide.”

  “If he contacts me, I’ll have to tell the police.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  His tone is so even, I can’t tell if this is a threat. I notice the red light at the intersection almost too late. We both lurch forward when I slam on the brakes.

  “Relax.” Adder glances at the mirror, then turns his head my way, resting an arm along the back of the seat. “I know you don’t trust me. I can’t blame you, the way cops work. But before you go trusting the locals, you might ask Chief Howard how much he’s got invested in Adder Enterprises.”

  Chapter 15

  This time I note the light change just in time to avoid the prod of a horn, but I roll so slowly through the intersection the driver behind me swings into the outside lane and passes.

  “Why would a police officer put money into—?”

  “Go ahead, say it.” Grinning his artificial grin, Adder withdraws his arm from the back of the seat and returns his gaze to the street ahead. “‘False front,’ my ass. I make more money peddling legitimate maintenance work to the university and a dozen other concerns than Whitey Bulger cleared running drugs, and I use the best materials and the best men in the trade. Whatever I might’ve done to get along in the past, that’s years over. The IRS audits me spring in, spring out, steady as crocus, and I account for every penny, all on the up-and-up. I only plow Howard’s dinky little portfolio back into the firm because in my situation it’s good business to have friends in law enforcement.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I’m saying it’s not in Howard’s best interest to play Kojak down the line. Man in my position, I can always make up for what’s lost. Not him. The Moores are his last stand.”

  “Aren’t you contradicting everything you said about being a legitimate businessman?”

  “You don’t listen. I’m talking about what the cops think. It’ll set me back a bundle in attorney fees and court costs to get out from under this mess, but I will. Meanwhile the ones the Moores have to worry about are the crooked little fish like Howard, who think the simplest way to cover their ass is to chain Kevin, Margo, and their kids to a Chevy short block and drop them in the city reservoir. Stop sign!”

  I brake with the front tires in the middle of the crosswalk. The picture he’s drawn is vivid.

  “So—”

  “So now you know why this little joyride. Anything happens to the family, I wind up paying for it. Even if they don’t manage to frame me, they’ll squeeze me dry in court and call it a win. You might be the best friend the Moores ever had, but I’m their best insurance against the Cam Howards of this world.”

  “I’ve only got your word for it that Howard’s an investor.”

  “He put you on his fall-guy list based on the ten grand you owed Kevin. Who do you think told me about that little deal?”

  I press the accelerator as gently as if there’s an egg under the pedal. If I drive any slower I can get a ticket for holding up traffic.

  “For all I know,” I say, “you own the bank.”

  Adder’s chuckle resembles a death rattle.

  “I could, but I don’t. Rotten risk.”

  “I can’t believe he’d slaughter a whole family just to protect his investment.”

  “But you can believe it of me, the big bad gangster you never heard of before today.” He slaps his flat stomach. “That sound like a belly full of linguini and chianti? You think I’m wearing a silk shirt under this running suit? I keep in shape, I top off the tan so the big money men I meet with think my business is running so smoothly I’ve got the time to work out and bask on the beach.”

  We’ve put the gift shops, hardware stores, real estate offices, and mini antiques malls of downtown behind us, and are approaching my neighborhood. I hesitate at my corner, then turn toward home.

  “Here we are, safe and sound.” Adder strokes the dash, as gently as if it’s a woman’s thigh. “I can put you onto a classic just like this, on an employees’ discount, same rate as that motorized roller skate you still owe nine payments on. My people maintain all the dealerships in the tri-county area. Here’s my card.” He produces a rectangle of heavy rag-stock bond from a slash pocket; closes his hand around mine as I accept it.

  “In return for—?”

  “Not a thing; seriously. Just a good turn for a friend of a friend. Kevin call
s you, you call me.”

  On the sidewalk in front of my house, he thrusts his hand at me. I take it. It’s like grasping the iron handle of a pump, and just as cold.

  Chapter 16

  “Ray, I don’t mean to be rude, but—”

  “It’s not a date. I just want to go someplace where we can talk in private.”

  “Ray, that’s a date.”

  I can’t believe how fresh Sharon Kowalski looks, and that only hours have passed since she tapped into Gabby Moore’s phone as a favor to me. In that time I’ve broken the law twice, become a suspect in a criminal investigation, and crossed swords with a reputed crime boss. I must look like something that just crawled out from under a bridge.

  Jim’s tinkering with something in the back room with the door open, and a paunchy customer in a rumpled suit is staring at the ink-cartridge display in the corner like he’s trying to remember the combination to his locker. I brace my hands on the counter and lower my voice.

  “I just had a talk with Jeremy Adder. Does that sound like a pick-up line?”

  Her eyes widen. She looks at the clock. “Half-hour till closing. Meet me at the Blue Parrot.”

  It’s a brew pub within walking distance, recently moved into a former KFC. The giant plaster parrot perched outside doesn’t hide the outline of the colonel’s signature red-and-white-striped bucket. But huge turning blades suspended from the ceiling and fan-shaped wicker chairs inside make me feel like Humphrey Bogart. The third time a chirpy young waitress with blue feathers in her hair comes to my booth, I order the day’s specialty beer just to get rid of her.

  In a little while she brings me something medium bronze and foamy in a frosted mug. “Enjoy.”

  I nod. Too rich for my taste. I’m not much for beer. I let it sit while the head settles.

  Then she breezes in from the street, crisp and pretty, even the way she walks, as if she’s known all along right where I’d be sitting and makes a brisk beeline that way. Male heads turn. Female, too.

  She plops down in the seat facing me. “What are you drinking?”

  “Search me. Haven’t taken a sip.”

  “May I?” She gestures toward the mug.

  “Please do.”

  She raises it to her lips, wipes foam from them with a finger. “Not bad. I prefer it dark and bitter.”

  The plumed waitress returns to offer her something. Sharon looks at me, cocking an eyebrow; I shrug and open a palm toward the mug. “I’ll drink this, thanks,” she says.

  I say, “I’ll have a Coke.”

  “Pepsi okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m starving.” Sharon orders the Reuben without looking at the menu. Plainly she’s a regular.

  The waitress looks at me. I start to shake my head, then realize I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I pick up the menu and ask for cheddar bites.

  When we’re alone again, Sharon smiles. “Isn’t it ridiculous you can’t have your choice of soda brands?”

  “I’m actually old enough to remember when you could.”

  And now I’ve admitted I’m over the hill. The Moore thing’s gotten me so snarled up, I’ve forgotten everything I ever learned about dating.

  But I don’t want our conversation interrupted, so we make small talk until our meals arrive. I watch her dive into her sandwich while I dip a deep-fried sphere of cheese into a little bowl of white sauce, and bring her up to date, including Saskatchewan and my run-in with Chief Howard and what Jeremy Adder told me about him.

  “Wow. You’ve been busy.”

  “Have I? It feels like they’ve been gone a month, and this is all the progress I’ve made.”

  “You’re not working the case alone, remember. You don’t know Adder’s telling the truth about Howard. If he’s guilty, it’d be one way to throw you off the track.”

  “What makes me so important? I don’t qualify as even an amateur detective.”

  “Then why would he bother to talk to you at all?”

  I shove my plate away, almost knocking the bowl of dip into her lap. “Hell if I know.”

  She glances around, at heads turned our way; this time aimed at me. “Cool your jets, Ray. Even if it’s true, you said Howard seemed surprised when Marshal—what’s his name?”

  “Mercer. Dale Mercer.”

  “When Marshal Mercer told him Adder was being investigated. Maybe the chief thought he’d invested in a legitimate company. You can’t be a cop all your life, and I doubt Willow Grove provides much of a pension.”

  “You’re right, I suppose. Anything can look suspicious if you look at it with suspicion.”

  “Eloquently put. And remember, it’s not just Jeremy Adder versus the Moores and maybe Cam Howard. They’ve got the federal government on their side.”

  I retrieve my plate, apologize for my fit of temper, and resume dipping. “I knew there was a reason I came to you.”

  “Now let’s talk about Saskatchewan. Passport in order?” She picks up her sandwich.

  Chapter 17

  “Whatever gave you the idea I was going there?”

  I begin the question with surprise; the notion, I swear, has never entered my head. But I realize it was there all along, fighting its way out of my subconscious through layers of worry, fear, and confusion.

  “You. Otherwise, you’d have told Howard about your talk with Tiffany Thurgood, let him take it from there.”

  “You’re giving me credit for determination I never had. I was so busy trying to talk my way out of jail I clean forgot about Saskatchewan.”

  “Maybe. What were you going to do when you found out Howard’s one of Adder’s investors?”

  “That’s why I came to you. I’m too close to this thing to think straight. If I was thinking straight, running off to a foreign country to play Boston Blackie would be out of the question.”

  “Who’s Boston Blackie? Never mind. You could have gone directly to Marshal Mercer.”

  “I don’t like Marshal Mercer.”

  “When you’re clutching at straws, does it matter if you like them?”

  “I just never thought about taking it to Canada.”

  “Then let’s think about it now.”

  “Even if I knew what to do once I got there, I can’t. Howard told me not to leave town.”

  “You said that, not him.”

  “I’ll be sure and mention that at my arraignment.”

  Her face twists. “You’ve been bending everyone’s ear all day about your dear friends the Moores, how no one in authority’s doing anything to bring them home safe, so it’s up to you. Now that you’ve got a solid lead, you don’t pass it on and you don’t follow it up yourself because you’re afraid you’ll get in trouble. How’s that make you better than the people you’ve been bitching about?”

  I don’t know if I’m shaken more by being accused of cowardice or by this side of Sharon Kowalski. All the times I’ve taken advantage of her good nature, putting her job in jeopardy, I’ve never known her to show even slight annoyance.

  “You’re right. ‘Friend’ is an easy word to throw around; it should have ten syllables, to prove you’re prepared to work at it. Kevin was there for me. I didn’t even have to ask. When the time came to show him I was worth it, all I could think about was myself.”

  She subsides into her seat, as if something rigid and painful has been keeping her spine straight, and has suddenly collapsed.

  “Wow,” she says again. “I had a longer speech planned, but you finished it.”

  “I’m sorry I got you into this. I’ll go to Mercer right away. He can decide whether Howard can be trusted. The Moores deserve expert help.”

  “That’s not what I’ve been saying. Ray.” She elbows aside her plate and reaches across the table, taking both my hands in hers. “It’s a job to them. It’s like a surgeon referring to a patient, a fellow human being, as ‘my gallbladder.’ Even if they’re both as straight, they’ll never bring the passion to this case that you can.”

&nb
sp; “Canada’s a big place. I don’t know anything about Saskatchewan. What do I do, start knocking on doors asking if they’ve seen my friends?”

  She squeezes, lets go. “This isn’t 1860. Somewhere among all those beavers and moose they must have private investigators.”

  “Then I’ll call one, give this to the professionals.”

  “How can you be sure Adder won’t intercept the call, or Howard?”

  “You think they’ve tapped my phone?” I ask incredulously.

  “Oh, like cops never do that, especially crooked cops. And if Adder’s the twenty-first century’s answer to Al Capone, do you think he’d apply for a court order?”

  “I can use my cell.”

  “You don’t even need to tap a cell. The signal goes out by radio waves and satellite. Any fourteen-year-old kid with a scanner from Radio Shack can eavesdrop. You forget what business I’m in. If I told you half the ways a private conversation can be overheard, you’d dump all your gadgets and communicate by tin cans. And there’s another thing,” she adds.

  “What other thing can there be?”

  “Adder will be back, to pump you for information. What do you think he’ll do if you tell him you don’t have any? You can’t be here.”

  I feel again the empty horror I felt in the deserted house. “What’s to stop them, Howard or Adder, from following me? Or meeting my plane in Canada?”

  “Speed. The quicker we act, the less time they have to set up. If you have a passport?”

  “I’ve got one of those enhanced driver’s licenses you can use to get into Canada.”

  “Then we’re all set.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve said ‘we.’”

  She crosses her forearms on the table, looking conspiratorial. “I’ve got my passport on me.”

  “Why?”

  She smiles, and leans closer, dropping her voice to a murmur. “I’ve never left the country, but I got a passport after the break-up. Like to carry it around—if only to remind me that I can pick up and go whenever I like. I’ve always wanted to see Paris. One day when I decide it’s time? Two hours later I’m on my way across the Atlantic, sipping a glass of French champagne.”