Fiske sat back, stunned. McKenna had put them under surveillance. That wasn’t unusual, yet somehow Fiske hadn’t even thought about the possibility. “You seem to know so much — why ask me?”
“You might have some information I could use to solve this case.”
“Ahead of Chandler?”
“When people are getting killed, what does it matter who stops it first?”
That statement made a lot of sense, Fiske knew. On the surface, at least. But of course it mattered a great deal who stopped it. People in law enforcement kept score, just like people in other lines of work. Fiske stood up. “Let’s check in with Billy. By now he’s probably found those two bodies I stuffed in my file cabinet last week.”
Hawkins was just finishing up when they returned.
“Nothing,” he said in response to McKenna’s look. “You can search it yourself if you want,” he added defiantly.
“That’s okay, I trust you,” McKenna said amicably.
Fiske was staring at Hawkins. “What’s that, Billy?” Fiske pointed at his neck and collar.
“What’s what?”
Fiske touched Hawkins’s collar with his finger and then held it up for the man to see.
Hawkins blushed a little. “Oh. Damn, that was Bonnie’s idea to cover the bruises. That’s why my face doesn’t look so beat up. I’ve never been hit that hard in my life. I mean, the guy was big, but so am I.”
McKenna said, “I would’ve emptied my clip in the bastard.”
Fiske stared openmouthed at McKenna as he said this.
Hawkins nodded. “I was tempted. But anyway, the guys would give me hell if they knew, but it’s so hot outside and you start sweating, and the stuff just comes off on your clothes. I don’t know how women do it.”
“Then you’re saying it’s — ”
“Yeah, it’s makeup,” he said sheepishly.
Despite the revelation that had just occurred to him, Fiske tried his best to appear calm. He unconsciously rubbed his still-tender shoulder.
McKenna was staring at him.
Just then the phone rang. Fiske picked it up. It was the nursing home where his mother lived.
“I read about Michael in the paper. I’m so sorry, John.” The woman had worked at the home for years and Fiske knew her very well.
“Thanks, Anne. Look, right now is a real bad time — ”
“I mean, Michael was just here and now he’s gone. I can’t believe it.”
Fiske tensed. “ ‘Here,’ as in at the nursing home?”
“Yes. Just last week. Thursday — no, Friday.”
The day he disappeared.
“I remember because he usually comes on Saturday.”
Fiske shook his head clear. “What are you talking about? Mike didn’t visit Mom.”
“Sure he did. I mean, not nearly as often as you did.”
“You never told me that.”
“Didn’t I? Well, I guess if you have to know, Michael didn’t want you to know.”
“Why in the hell didn’t he want me to know? I’m sick and tired of people not telling me things about my brother.”
“I’m sorry, John,” the woman said, “but he asked me not to say anything and I honored his request. That’s all. But now that he’s gone, I . . . I didn’t think it would hurt for you to know.”
“He saw Mom on Friday? Did he talk to you?”
“No, not really. He seemed a little nervous, actually. I mean, sort of anxious. He came really early and only stayed about a half hour.”
“So they talked?”
“They met. I don’t know how much they actually talked. Gladys can be difficult sometimes. When do you think you might stop by to see her? I mean, she couldn’t possibly know about Michael, but still she seems very depressed for some reason.”
It was clear to Fiske that the woman believed a mother’s link to her children could trump even the grip of Alzheimer’s. “I’m really busy right — ” Fiske broke off what he was saying. It would be a miracle if his mother could remember anything of any conversation she might have had with Mike that could possibly help them. But if she did?
“I’ll be right over.”
Fiske hung up the phone, picked up his briefcase and stuffed the stack of mail in there.