This is bad behavior. I wouldn’t have expected it of you.
There was no reason for Ralph to feel guilty at the reproach of a man who had raped and murdered a child, but for a moment he still did. Then he thought of the crime scene pictures, photos so ugly you almost wished you were blind. He thought of the branch sticking out of the little boy’s rectum. He thought of a bloody mark on smooth wood. Smooth because the hand that left the print had shoved down so hard it had peeled the bark away.
Bill Samuels had made two simple points. Ralph had agreed, and so had Judge Carter, to whom Samuels had gone for the various warrants. First, it was a slam-dunk. There was no sense waiting when they already had everything they needed. Second, if they gave Terry time, he might take off, and then they’d have to find him before he found another Frank Peterson to rape and murder.
10
Statement of Mr. Riley Franklin [July 13th, 7:45 AM, interviewed by Detective Ralph Anderson]
Detective Anderson: I’m going to show you six photographs of six different men, Mr. Franklin, and I’d like you to pick out the man you saw behind Shorty’s Pub on the evening of July 10th. Take your time.
Franklin: I don’t need to. It’s that one there. Number two. That’s Coach T. I can’t believe it. He coached my son in Little League.
Detective Anderson: It so happens he also coached mine. Thank you, Mr. Franklin.
Franklin: The needle’s too good for him. They ought to hang him with a slow rope.
11
Marcy pulled into the parking lot of the Burger King on Tinsley Avenue, and took her cell phone out of her purse. Her hands were trembling, and she dropped it on the floor. She bent over to get it, thumped her head on the steering wheel, and began to cry again. She thumbed through her contacts and found Howie Gold’s number—not because the Maitlands had a reason to keep a lawyer on speed-dial, but because Howie had coached Pop Warner with Terry during the last two seasons. He answered on the second ring.
“Howie? This is Marcy Maitland. Terry’s wife?” As if they hadn’t had dinner together once every month or so since 2016.
“Marcy? Are you crying? What’s wrong?”
It was so enormous that at first she couldn’t say it.
“Marcy? Are you still there? Were you in an accident or something?”
“I’m here. It’s not me, it’s Terry. They’ve arrested Terry. Ralph Anderson arrested Terry. For the murder of that boy. That’s what they said. For the murder of the Peterson boy.”
“What? Are you shitting me?”
“He wasn’t even in town!” Marcy wailed. She heard herself doing it, thought she sounded like a teenager throwing a tantrum, but couldn’t stop. “They arrested him, and they said the police are waiting at home!”
“Where are Sarah and Grace?”
“I sent them with Jamie Mattingly, from the next street over. They’ll be okay for now.” Although after just seeing their father arrested and led away in handcuffs, how okay could they be?
She rubbed her forehead, wondering if the steering wheel had left a mark, wondering why she cared. Because there might be news people waiting already? Because if there were, they might see the mark and think Terry had hit her?
“Howie, will you help me? Will you help us?”
“Of course I will. They took Terry to the station?”
“Yes! In handcuffs!”
“All right. I’m on my way. Go home, Marce. See what the police want. If they have a search warrant—that must be why they’re there, I can’t think of anything else—read it, see what they’re after, let them in, but don’t say anything. Have you got that? Don’t say anything.”
“I . . . yes.”
“The Peterson boy was killed last Tuesday, I think. Wait—” There was murmuring in the background, first Howie, followed by a woman, probably Howie’s wife, Elaine. Then Howie was back. “Yes, it was Tuesday. Where was Terry on Tuesday?”
“Cap City! He went—”
“Never mind that now. The police may ask you about that. They may ask you all sorts of things. Tell them you’re keeping silent on advice from your lawyer. Got it?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Don’t let them coax, coerce, or bait you. They’re good at all three.”
“Okay. Okay, I won’t.”
“Where are you now?”
She knew, she’d seen the sign, but had to look at it again to be sure. “Burger King. The one on Tinsley. I pulled in to call you.”
“Are you okay to drive?”
She almost told him she’d bumped her head, then didn’t. “Yes.”
“Take a deep breath. Take three. Then drive home. Speed limit all the way, signal every turn. Does Terry have a computer?”
“Sure. In his office. Plus an iPad, although he doesn’t use it much. And we both have laptops. The girls have their own iPad Minis. And phones, of course, we all have phones. Grace just got hers for her birthday three months ago.”
“They’ll give you a list of the stuff they mean to take.”
“Can they really do that?” She wasn’t wailing again, but she was close. “Just take our stuff? It’s like something out of Russia or North Korea!”
“They can take what their warrant says they can take, but I want you to keep your own list. Do the girls have their cell phones with them?”
“Are you kidding? Those things are practically grafted to their hands.”
“Okay. The cops may want to take yours. Refuse.”
“What if they take it, anyway?” And did it matter? Did it really?
“They won’t. If you haven’t been charged with anything, they can’t. Go on now. I’ll be with you just as soon as I can. We are going to sort this out, I promise you.”
“Thank you, Howie.” She began to cry again. “Thank you very, very much.”
“You bet. And remember: speed limit, full stops, turnblinkers. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Headed to the station now.” And he was gone.
Marcy put her car in drive, then put it back in park. She took a deep breath. Then two. Then three. This is a nightmare, but at least it will be a short one. He was in Cap City. They’ll see that, and they’ll let him go.
“Then,” she told her car (it seemed so empty without the girls giggling and squabbling in the backseat), “we will sue their asses off.”
That straightened her spine and brought the world back into focus. She drove home to Barnum Court, keeping to the speed limit and coming to a full stop at every stop sign.
12
Statement of Mr. George Czerny, [July 13th, 8:15 AM, interviewed by Officer Ronald Wilberforce]
Officer Wilberforce: Thank you for coming in, Mr. Czerny—
Czerny: You say it “Zurny.” C-Z-E-R-N-Y. The C is silent.
Officer Wilberforce: Uh-huh, thanks, I’ll make a note of that. Detective Ralph Anderson will also want to talk to you, but right now he’s busy with another interview, and he asked me to get the basic facts while they’re fresh in your mind.
Czerny: Are you towing that car? That Subaru? You ought to get it impounded so no one can pollute the evidence. There’s plenty of evidence, I can tell you that.