Deadline for Lenny Stern, Peter Marabell [sneezy the snowman read aloud .TXT] 📗

visitors like themselves.” He smiled.

“Good choice.”

“Just barely,” Lasher said. “You’re the guy ran them over, remember?”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “What’s next?”

“Well, let’s talk to Mr. Stern first,” he said, “then we’ll see …”

When he stopped in mid-sentence, Office Bales and I took notice. Officer Flores was coming our way. Alone. No Stern, no Lawson.

Deputy Lasher threw me a sharp look. “Was there a problem?” he said when Flores got close enough.

Flores shook his head. “Lady at the bookstore confirmed the reporter and a woman were there.”

“Who’s the woman?”

“Tina Lawson,” I said. “Works for Stern’s publishing company.”

“The reporter and the woman left with another man …” Flores said.

“That’d be my associate, Henri LaCroix.”

“Do you know …” Lasher started to say, but his phone beeped. He took it out and read the screen.

“Mr. Russo,” the deputy said. “How about we take a ride to the road patrol building? It’s just over …”

“I know where it is. Why?”

“Captain Fleener will meet us there. Shouldn’t take long.”

I’d heard that one before.

24

“I’ll be in touch, officers,” Deputy Lasher said. The three men exchanged good-byes, and Officers Flores and Bales returned to their beat on Main Street.

“You have a car?” Lasher said.

“Down by the marina,” I said.

He considered that for a moment. “How ‘bout you ride with me?”

I thought about objecting.

“I’ll see to it you get a ride back.”

More than anything else, I wanted to talk with Henri. It wasn’t worth arguing about my car. We went across the street, and climbed into the patrol SUV.

Deputy Lasher said only a few words on the way to the office, which gave me time to think. Henri had obviously made it back to the bookstore to hustle Lenny and Tina out of town. But what happened to the guy he was chasing? Hell, what happened to the guy I was chasing?

The road was thick with traffic. The quaint charm of the houses along Main Street, the privileged life on the fairways of Wequetonsing Golf Club, casually devolved into strip mall storefronts near the airport. The Richard L. Zink Law Enforcement Center, housing the road patrol offices, was a contemporary building with smart roof lines and not a tacky cement block in sight. Its second most notable feature was that it sat across the Harbor-Petoskey Road from Johan’s Burger Express.

Deputy Lasher turned in and parked in the “official” area.

“This way,” he said, pointing to a side entrance.

“Never gone in that way,” I said.

“First time for everything.”

He led me down a corridor with several doors on one side, the holding cell on the other.

“Here,” Lasher said, opening a door to an interview room. “Have a seat.”

The windowless room was about ten-by-six, with a small table and two chairs. I pulled out a chair as the deputy closed the door. I considered my torn shirt, with its missing buttons, and shook my head. Hardly the most professional dress for the job. I was momentarily tempted to call Henri, but walls, especially these walls, had ears (and electronic eyes).

I was replaying the events of the day when my attention was drawn to muffled talking out in the hallway. Moments later, the door opened.

“Why am I not surprised,” I said as Captain Martin Fleener came into the room and closed the door. He leaned back against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his immaculately tailored suit, and stared at me without expression, as if he were trying to decide what to order at a restaurant he didn’t like. His eyes moved, and his head tilted slightly.

“You look like you ought to be in the drunk tank across the hall.”

“A tourist took exception to meeting …”

“So I heard,” Fleener said as he took the other chair.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” I said.

“I’m a cop. The building’s full of ‘em.”

“Nice you brought your sense of humor,” I said. “Seriously, why’d the deputy call you?”

Fleener hesitated; I waited.

“I put out the word after Kate Hubbell’s murder. If you pop up …”

“You get a call.”

Fleener put his hands out and smiled. “Voila.”

“The deputy catch you up?”

Fleener nodded. “His boss, too. You want to give me your version? Before and after the cops showed up on the street corner.”

I did.

Fleener thought for a moment. “Strange,” he said, “that the officers heard about Henri LaCroix from the woman at the bookstore. You never said a word about him. Why is that?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Fleener didn’t consider that for very long. “Like hell,” he said. “You were shielding Henri because you had no idea what happened to him, or where he was.”

I leaned forward on the table and laced my fingers together. “Maybe.”

“So you haven’t talked to Henri yet?”

“No chance,” I said. “Deputy Lasher insisted I ride over here with him.”

“Henri obviously didn’t get picked up like you did,” Fleener said. “The guy he was chasing got away, that what you’re thinking?”

I nodded. “Seems likely.”

“But you don’t know.”

“Not for sure, no,” I said. “When do I get out of here?”

“You’re free to go anytime.”

“What about the sheriff?”

Fleener took a deep breath. “You’re my case, remember? They don’t know how lucky they are to be rid of you.”

“Any trouble with the tourists I ran over?”

Fleener shook his head. “I had Deputy Lasher follow up, just in case. No trouble.”

Fleener slid his chair back and stood up. “Come on, let’s go.”

“My car’s downtown.”

“Of course, it is. I’ll drop you off.”

Fleener’s dusty black sedan, looking hopelessly dated in a row of shiny cop SUVs, was parked outside the door.

He beeped the locks, we got in, and I told him where to find my car. “Think they’ll ever give you a shiny, new SUV?”

“You can always walk, you know.”

“Sorry I asked.”

We left the parking lot and headed downtown.

“Why don’t you get Henri on the phone, see what he has to say?”

I hesitated, like I wasn’t listening.

“What’s the matter, Russo? I’ll find out one way or the other.”

“True.” I pulled out my phone.

“Where are u?” I tapped to Henri.

“Your office. u?” he tapped back.

“Riding with Fleener. wait for me.”

Fleener turned off Main