Gone(23)

Peter finished reading Brad his Miranda warning as he slapped the cuffs on him.

By now, the first carpenter had left his work and was standing beyond the framing. “Hey,” he said, but it lacked any authority.

“It’s alright, sir.” Althea stuck the gun and pocket-carry holster into her pocket.

Peter stepped close to the cuffed Brad, and whispered in his ear. “I thought all morning about how I was going to come back to Moh’s tonight, maybe have a little drink with you. But this is just as good,” he said. Then he grabbed Brad and yanked him from the wall, shoved him into walking.

He gave Carmelita a quick glance. “Thanks for all your help, ma’am.”

And he marched Brad back around the restaurant to the car. Althea got ahead to open the car door. Peter pushed down on Brad’s head to help him into the backseat. Brad’s eyes rolled up, a smirk curled his lips. “Oh I see,” he said. “She yours?”

Peter stepped back and let Althea slam the door on the asshole carpenter.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN / Land-full

Rondeau drove through the countryside towards the landfill. He plucked his cup of coffee from the console holder and took a sip. The car hit a pothole in the road and the coffee slopped down the front of his suit.

“God . . .” he said, swerving. A vehicle coming the other direction blared its horn as he veered over the double yellow. The vehicle passed, its tires biting into the gravely shoulder, as Rondeau corrected his steering and got back on course. “. . . Dammit,” he finished.

He put the coffee cup back in the holder. Keeping his eyes on the road he leaned over, popped the glove box and fished around for some napkins. Still swearing under his breath he dabbed at his shirt and tie and tried to assess the damage. There was a nice dark stain forming there. He scrunched the napkins up and chucked them aside. To hell with it.

He urged the car back up to speed.

The day was off to a bad start. For one thing, Rondeau had questioned John Hayes for half an hour but Hayes, bleary-eyed and either hungover or sick, had given away nothing. Whatever he’d been alluding to the previous night — whatever he’d said to King — he wasn’t saying it now. And he denied any suggestion that he’d ever loitered outside the Kemps’ house, watching them or anything else. Rondeau told him to stay in the area. Hayes articulated his one and only clear phrase during the interview: “Where the fuck else am I gonna go?”

Rondeau had tried to get in to see Addie Kemp before testing and sampling, but he’d been too late. Millard had called, freaking out. He was worried about the drone he’d shot down, about people coming for him. Rondeau assured him that it was going to be alright, but his brother-in-law was really coming unglued. It had taken precious time to calm him down, and it had gummed up the morning.

He was able to reach Addison by phone, though, and ask her why she’d given him those two particular clips. She’d apologized and said she must’ve given him a clip from the wrong film — the one called Citizen Farmer. He asked if she’d seen someone outside the house in the birthday video. She hadn’t. Not for the first time, he suspected she was lying — or at least trimming the truth — but until she took the polygraph, it was tough to say. He was revising his list of questions for her as he went along, and the DA was chomping to get involved. It was a mess.

He passed the clip to Silas, told her to have her people seek to enhance the person on the road as best as possible.

Finally, he’d gotten the drone owner’s phone number from the state police. He called the number and spoke with a guy name Paul Palmirotto. Yes, Palmirotto said, he worked with Hutch Kemp. On two films, Citizen Farmer and the one currently in production, Nothing Disappears. Rondeau explained he needed Paul to return for questioning. Paul had started off brusque, ill-tempered.

“Are you kidding? After what happened, I was delayed a whole day. I’ve got a shoot in Memphis today, and tomorrow in Colorado.”

“This is very important, Mr. Palmirotto. Your co-worker . . . your friend, Hutch, is missing. His entire family is missing. If I’d known you’d worked on Hutch’s films sooner, I would have just . . .”

“I’m very sorry, and very worried. I can come back by mid-week, on Wednesday. Okay? I want to help. But, Jesus. They said the property where my copter was shot down belonged to a detective. Is that you?”

“Yes, very unfortunate. I’m sorry. My brother-in-law . . .”

“Look, I don’t care. We’ll sort that out in court. I’ve got to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can to help . . .”

“Okay. One last thing — the Nothing Disappears film, you were shooting around here? Where? Who did you interview?”

Palmirotto sighed irritably. “My schedule is all over. I’ll have to check. But for Hutch’s film I did one shot. Over at the landfill, in, whaddya call it — Stock County. We had a miserable day. It was raining. Talked to some guy about how fast the shit filled up. That’s it.”

“What was Hutch’s . . . what was his objective for this film?”

“His objective? That people throw things out every day and think they just go away. Nothing goes away.”

“And Citizen Farmer?” Rondeau recalled the shots sweeping over the pastoral landscape. The factory cows, by contrast, in their filthy stalls. “You said you also worked on . . . Hello?”