Two Days Gone by Randall Silvis

Author:Randall Silvis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2016-10-24T04:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Eight

Back at the barracks, he dropped the white paper bag, long and slender, on Commander Bowen’s desk. “You want half of this?” Bowen asked.

“I want six dollars and forty-nine cents.”

Bowen reached for his wallet. “Learn anything useful?”

“At the moment I’d say no. But I have to process it to be sure. Something feels off.”

“You locate the contact?” He laid a five and two ones on the far edge of the table.

DeMarco picked up the bills, folded them, and slipped them into his pocket. “I found her, but there were no revelations. She’s just a kid. Decent kid at that.”

Bowen unwrapped the spinach roll, a long tube of baked pizza dough stuffed with spinach, mushrooms, and gooey mozzarella. “You sure you don’t want some of this?”

“Nah, I’m not hungry. I already licked it a few times on the way back.”

Bowen grinned, lifted the spinach roll to his mouth, and bit off the end. “She wasn’t getting it on with the suspect?”

“Says no. I’m inclined to believe her.”

“And why is that?”

“Can we have this conversation when there’s not cheese and spinach hanging out of your mouth?”

“I want you to know that I still have my concerns.”

“Hemorrhoid cream, liberally applied. Works every time.”

“All I’m saying is you knew the guy. Maybe it colors your judgment, maybe it doesn’t.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t get hemorrhoids if you didn’t sit around on your flat ass all day.”

Bowen waved him away. “Go. I’d rather be alone with this beauty anyway. I’m in heaven here.”

In his own office, DeMarco sat at his desk and stared at the screen saver on his monitor, a black background with what were supposed to be stars rushing forward as if he were speeding through deep space. To DeMarco it looked more like a snowstorm at night, the Arctic Express blasting toward him off Lake Erie.

He asked himself why he felt so tense. Ever since leaving Albion, his nerves had felt raw and abraded. Something sat leering at him from the edge of his consciousness, something he could not quite identify—something he should know, almost knew, but couldn’t quite put his finger on.

He reached for a legal pad, turned to a clean sheet, laid the tablet horizontal. Across the top he wrote three names, evenly spaced: Danni. Bonnie. Huston.

Under Danni’s name he wrote a.k.a. Annabel. And under that, I believe her.

Under Bonnie’s name he wrote don’t trust her.

And under Huston’s name why Shadytown at dawn? missed one Thursday at Whispers why? told Danni out of town on business. Bonnie failed to mention the missing night.

But Bonnie hadn’t failed to mention Danni. She could have given him the names of any two dancers. Instead, one of them just happened to be Huston’s connection. Why had Bonnie done that? She could have protected Danni, provided another’s name. Was it a gift? Or was it a diversion?

He stared at the paper. There was more to the situation than what he had written, he knew there was. But what was he missing? His brain wasn’t working right, wasn’t seeing the connections.

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