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Nick Timmons received a courtesy call from State Trooper Willis around 6pm Friday night. He called to tell Nick they had secured a signed confession from Eric Lowell, a.k.a. Whistling Dick, for dealing narcotics, kidnapping and child endangerment. They’d had to drop the murder charge of the mother and reduce the charge of attempted murder to felony child endangerment. In other words, a disappointing success. How successful depended on whether they secured a conviction and appropriate sentencing. How disappointing depended on what they’d had to concede and why. Nick kept the trooper on the phone for another 20 minutes getting the details of Eric’s statement.
“Eric Lowell,” said Willis, “regularly supplied Sheila Green with heroin. He used himself and dealt just enough to keep his own addiction going. They had an arrangement; he’d bring food, drugs, and ‘epic fucks’, his words, and all she had to do was cook and keep her ‘shit kid’ quiet, also his words. That was his only condition – no squawking brats underfoot.”
“Or what?” asked Nick.
“We tried, Nick. We couldn’t get an admission of threat. The cocky s.o.b. insisted Sheila found him so irresistible, all he had to do was ask. He’s also of the opinion that kids are so annoying, even their own mothers are happy for an excuse to drug them into oblivion. Not hard to guess at his childhood.”
Nick grunted. “Doesn’t make the man.”
“Doesn’t help.”
“Fair enough,” said Nick, more to move the conversation along than in agreement. Piss poor parenting was too pat an explanation to be meaningful, but he’d seen enough to know that in some instances it explained quite a lot.
“According to Eric, the night Sheila died was just like usual; snatch, snack and smack, in that order, his words. He didn’t know Sheila had overdosed until her daughter woke him up the next morning. He said he panicked when the kid started screaming like that girl in the Exorcist. When she started hitting and kicking, he bound her arms and legs in duct tape. When she still wouldn’t stop screaming, he forced her to swallow more Klonopin and taped over her mouth. He’d warned her, so it was her fault, his words.”
“Why bring her here?”
“He needed time to think.”
“What?”
“His words. He needed to think because even though he hadn’t done anything wrong the cops and the kid were sure to pin Sheila’s death on him. He couldn’t think with the dead woman right there and he couldn’t leave the kid in case someone found her and she started blabbing. He did his best thinking on the water, his words. He had access to a buddy’s skiff for clam digging. He took the girl with him.”
“Corroboration?”
“Working on it. Broad daylight but a private landing.”
Nick sighed. Just 225 miles as the crow flies, Maine had 3500 miles of coastline, over 5000 miles if you included the islands. It wasn’t hard to take a boat out unseen. “So what did our boy come up with?”
“New Hampshire, maybe Massachusetts. He’d fish the season out there, wait for things to blow over.”
“And the girl?”
“Leaving her on an island gave him time to leave town.”
“Not enough for attempted murder?”
“Yeah, so get this, he unbound her legs so she could walk out, no harm done, his words. A five-year-old? On an island? This s.o.b…”
Willis paused and Nick understood. Words failed when a perp was that oblivious to the depravity of their own actions.
“Well, anyway, it jives with how Kate Brown found her, legs free, and the tape residue they found on the girl’s pant legs. He swears we’ll find a wad of used tape in the skiff. It was enough to take murderous intent off the table.”
Nick grunted. Maybe. “So yesterday he makes temporary arrangements for Madeline to buy himself time to get out of town. Why was he out fishing today?”
“Stupid, cocky, and cash poor. He got back to the mainland, suddenly realized the kid was out of the way, and no-one the wiser. Figured he could fish one more day, make enough cash to cover gas for the truck, something to eat. Smack too, I’ll wager. You know how they are, living one fix to the next.”
‘You know how they are’ was a phrase that acted on Nick like a matador’s cape. As any person who’d ever worked for him could attest, it signaled ignorance, or worse, laziness; assumptions, generalities didn’t make a bullet proof case. Nick took a deep breath; he was on the outside and Willis was doing him a favor.
“Any evidence for that?”
“Well, we picked him up before he could score, but, yeah, we impounded his truck, the gauge read near empty. Bank account at zero. Couple bucks in his wallet.”
Good, Willis knew his job, assumptions notwithstanding. Still, Eric’s delayed departure niggled. Even if they got a conviction for felony child endangerment, and with a confession they probably would, sentencing hinged on intent. What if he had second thoughts? If he said he planned to go back for her, showed remorse, he could get as little as a year. On the other hand, second thoughts went both ways. Maybe he changed his mind and planned to silence her permanently? Nick’s thoughts raced ahead to what would be required to prosecute a stronger conviction.
“Any evidence he had second thoughts, one way or the other?”
“No. The only thing on his mind was earning a buck on his way out of town. I know what you’re thinking, Nick. We got it in writing. He’ll go down for endangerment, hard, but not more than that.”
Right. They’d worked it through. Nick thanked Willis and hung up. He remained seated, tapping his knee, then reared back and bellowed for Matt. Jeff appeared in the doorway.
“He’s in the shower. Apparently, he’s going to Anne’s party tonight.” Jeff raised his eyebrow theatrically at this momentous news. Since the breakup and divorce with her sister, Anne had made it abundantly clear that he was unwelcome.
“Huh,” was all Nick said.
“Huh,” repeated Jeff and rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless.”
Nick dropped his head, hiding the smile. They’d had decades to hone their roles; Jeff the drama queen, Nick the disinterested stoic. Both knew that between them, Nick was the bigger gossip. What cop wasn’t?
“Matt mention where Kate went from the dock?”
“Yes.” Jeff waited for Nick to look at him, and still he didn’t elaborate.
The two stared at one another until Nick carved circles with his finger for Jeff to continue.
Jeff grinned and rubbed his hands together. “So. You’ll never guess. Evelyn’s.” He paused for dramatic effect.
“She’s at Evelyn’s?” Jeff was right, Nick definitely wouldn’t have guessed. She didn’t suffer fools, or anybody else for that matter. If it wasn’t for her dog, ancient enough now to require lifting in an out of her truck, he wouldn’t have guessed she had a nurturing bone in her body.
“It’s better than that. First, she guarded her. Apparently, Kate stayed on the dock long after the ferry left, all crumpled up in a heap. You can hardly blame her, after all she went through, and then to have the girl ripped from her arms. She could have jumped, you know, swum after her, drowned. Nobody gave her a second thought, did they? Just like Matt. Do you know how long they questioned him? What they insinuated? And where were you?”
“Jeff,” said Nick. “Evelyn?”
Jeff harrumphed. “Evelyn stood guard at the head of the dock. Wouldn’t let anybody near her, although you know Matt tried. It wasn’t until Harlan and his son showed up to swap out some traps from the Edna Kathleen, that Evelyn pulled her truck down, loaded Kate into it and took her home.
“Harlan’s fishing the Edna K?”
“Mostly his son anymore. Harlan’s been putting a lot of money into the boat, hoping to pass it and the trap tags to his son and retire because of his back.”
Nick grunted. Eighteen was young to commit to anything, especially a livelihood as grueling, dangerous and unpredictable as fishing. But in Maine, where entry into the fishery was limited, finishing an apprenticeship by 20 years of age meant skipping the waitlist for licensure. Putting it off risked waiting a decade or more to be able to haul your own traps. Harlan’s boy had known he would fish since he was eight; father and son had worked toward that goal ever since. It was a clarity of purpose Nick hadn’t found until nearly 30. Matt, in his 40s, was still adrift.
“You said Matt’s going to Anne’s?”
“Finally! Matt is going to Anne’s in the hopes Kate will be there.” Jeff did a Groucho Marx worthy double eyebrow lift which Nick ignored. Jeff forged ahead. “I don’t know how Matt wrangled an invitation out of her, they’re barely talking. Oh. Oh. I bet it was Evelyn. She must have convinced Anne to invite Matt. The question is why?”
Nick held up his hand before Jeff bombarded him with speculation. “Kate’s at Evelyn’s. That’s all I wanted to know.”
“You’re calling her? Ask if she’s going to Anne’s party?”
Nick growled.
“Alright. Be that way. But if you’re calling to ask her whether she wants an update on the investigation, don’t bother.”
“You think she won’t want to know, too painful?”
“Of course she wants to know, you dumb lummox. But you’re going to tell her in person, because it’s only right, and you always do what’s right. And, you better have an update on the little girl, because that’s what matters most. And, if you knew she was coming to the party, you could arrange for her to come here first since it’s two doors away.”
Jeff was correct on all four points. “I’ll ask if she’s going to the party.”
“Even if she’s not, you should still do it here. We all want to know; you can update everyone at once. I’ll go pull some hors d’œuvres from the fridge.” He called over his shoulder on the way to the kitchen. “Tell her 7. Party starts at 7:30 and Anne will need to get back. And don’t forget Tom.”
“Bad idea.” Nick snickered. He knew that would get an about face from Jeff and heard him trotting back down the hall to get the gossip.
Jeff poked his head in the door and spoke in an undertone. “No. Good idea. Competition with Tom for Kate is just what we need to get him off his ass and out of the nursery. Winter’s too long to have our middle-aged son underfoot.”
Nick guffawed. Clever bastard, always one step ahead.
Tom arrived late, shortly before 7:30, and still in uniform. He made a beeline for the crab dip and bruschetta, ate one practically whole, spare the few crumbs he licked from his hand, and washed it all down with a long pull of beer from the bottle Jeff handed him. Tom reached for another piece, and a napkin this time. “Best damn horses’ ovaries on the island, Jeff.”
The three women in the room gaped, Jeff beamed, and Matt looked put out. Nick explained, “Family saying, hors d’œuvres, horses’ ovaries. Tom actually thought Jeff had served him horses ovaries the first time he came.”
“That pate tasted so good, decided I didn’t care,” said Tom taking another enormous bite.
Jeff ushered him back to the mudroom. “Boots. Coat. And then Nick can catch you up.”
Tom came back into the room and scooped up a handful of spiced nuts. Kate sat on the sofa flanked by Jeff and Matt, the others in the remaining seats around the coffee table. Tom was too excited to hear the news and too intent on the food to bother pulling up a chair.
“You can take the gun off too, Tom,” said Matt, drawing everyone’s attention to it. “The bad guy’s behind bars. He confessed.”
Tom immediately looked to Nick? “Murder? What?”
“Dealing. Child endangerment.”
“Child endangerment? Are you joking?”
“Signed confession for what they thought they could prosecute,” said Nick.
Tom vented his rage directly at Nick. “Are their heads up their asses? Putting a kid next to a buffalo for a picture – that’s endangerment. This, this. He left her unconscious, gagged. It’s a wonder she didn’t choke, suffocate, let alone…”
“Tom.” Nick nodded toward Kate. She didn’t need the full list of tragedies that could have happened to 5-year-old, drugged and dumped in the woods.
Kate’s eyes were closed, the color had drained from her face.
“Shit, Kate, I’m sorry. It didn’t happen. I shouldn’t have said it.”
Kate waved her hand to dismiss the apology. “It’s fine, you’re right. I just hadn’t thought of it.”
“It didn’t happen,” said Matt taking Kate’s hand in his.
She smiled at him gratefully.
“Do we have word on Maddy?” asked Tom gently and then kicked himself. The news could be bad; she may have gone silent again. It would kill Kate not to be there protecting her.
“Actually,” said Matt. “There the news is good, right Kate? She’s been temporarily placed with a foster family. They’ve previously taken care of children forcibly removed from drug addicted households. They know exactly what to do.”
Tears started to spill down Kate’s checks.
“Kate?” asked Tom.
“She’s doing great. Really great.” Kate chocked a sob and snatched her hand away from Matt to swipe at her face. “God.” She made to get up, remembered her foot and slumped back onto the couch, wiping her hands on her pant legs as if she’d touched something disgusting. “God.”
Tom glanced at the others in the room. Everyone looked just as confused and concerned as he felt. He squatted to be eye level with Kate and she looked him in the eye.
“Great. Really great. Last we heard she was heading up for a bath.”
“Talking?”
“Yes,” screamed Kate, tears streaming. “Talking. She’s talking. To Sonny, Detective Collier, the foster parents. She’s doing great with all those people who know exactly what to do. And I’m…” Kate stalled.
“Jealous,” said Evelyn. She’d labeled it like a tree in the forest; oak, elm, spruce, birch, weighted only by fact, not judgment.
“God. How fucked up is that? Jealous she’s doing fine without me.”
“It started with you, Kate,” said Tom. “She started talking to you.”
Platitudes from around the room came in a rush after that. Praise for what she had done, reassurances that her feelings were normal, and admonishments not to judge herself too harshly. It was painful to see herself this way, the veil lifted, her flaws revealed. Embarrassing too. But mostly it calmed her. She wasn’t half the person she thought she was, but in this room at least, the revelation came with acceptance. In the end it was Pops who’d said it best; she’d been focusing on the wrong half. It was a new trick for Kate, forgiving herself her imperfections. But since her new friends seemed willing to, maybe she could too.