Mr. Mercedes (Unnamed Trilogy #1)(98)

“Why would she do that?” Isabelle asks.

“Because she thought we might have jammed her sister up, and that caused her suicide.”

“Bullshit,” Pete says.

“I’m not going to argue with you about it, but you can understand the thinking, right? And the hope of clearing her sister of negligence?”

Pete gestures for him to go on. Hodges does, after finishing his water. He wants to get out of here. Mr. Mercedes could have read Jerome’s message by now. If so, he may run. That would be fine with Hodges. A running man is easier to spot than a hiding man.

“I questioned the old lady and got nothing. All I managed to do was upset her. She had a stroke and died soon after.” He sighs. “Ms. Patterson—Janelle—was heartbroken.”

“Was she also pissed at you?” Isabelle asks.

“No. Because she was for the idea, too. Then, when her mother died, she didn’t know anyone in the city except her mother’s nurse, who’s pretty long in the tooth herself. I’d given her my number, and she called me. She said she needed help, especially with a bunch of relatives flying in that she hardly knew, and I was willing to give it. Janelle wrote the obituary. I made the other arrangements.”

“Why was she in your car when it blew?”

Hodges explains about Holly’s meltdown. He doesn’t mention Janey appropriating his new hat at the last moment, not because it will destabilize his story but because it hurts too much.

“Okay,” Isabelle says. “You meet Olivia Trelawney’s sister, who you like well enough to call by her first name. The sister facilitates a Q-and-A with the mom. Mom strokes out and dies, maybe because reliving it all again got her too excited. The sister is blown up after the funeral—in your car—and you still don’t see a connection to the Mercedes Killer?”

Hodges spreads his hands. “How would this guy know I was asking questions? I didn’t take out an ad in the paper.” He turns to Pete. “I didn’t talk to anyone about it, not even you.”

Pete, clearly still brooding over the idea that their personal feelings about Olivia Trelawney might have colored the investigation, is looking dour. Hodges doesn’t much care, because that’s exactly what happened. “No, you just sounded me out about it at lunch.”

Hodges gives him a big grin. It makes his stomach fold in on itself like origami. “Hey,” he says, “it was my treat, wasn’t it?”

“Who else could have wanted to bomb you to kingdom come?” Isabelle asks. “You on Santa’s naughty list?”

“If I had to guess, I’d put my money on the Abbascia Family. How many of those shitbags did we put away on that gun thing back in ’04, Pete?”

“A dozen or more, but—”

“Yeah, and RICO’d twice as many a year later. We smashed them to pieces, and Fabby the Nose said they’d get us both.”

“Billy, the Abbascias can’t get anyone. Fabrizio is dead, his brother is in a mental asylum where he thinks he’s Napoleon or someone, and the rest are in jail.”

Hodges just gives him the look.

“Okay,” Pete says, “so you never catch all the cockroaches, but it’s still crazy. All due respect, pal, but you’re just a retired flatfoot. Out to pasture.”

“Right. Which means they could go after me without creating a firestorm. You, on the other hand, still have a gold shield pinned to your wallet.”

“The idea is ridiculous,” Isabelle says, and folds her arms beneath her br**sts as if to say That ends the matter.

Hodges shrugs. “Somebody tried to blow me up, and I can’t believe the Mercedes Killer somehow got an ESP vibe that I was looking into the Case of the Missing Key. Even if he did, why would he come after me? How could that lead to him?”

“Well, he’s crazy,” Pete says. “How about that for a start?”

“Sure, but I repeat—how would he know?”

“No idea. Listen, Billy, are you holding anything back? Anything at all?”

“No.”

“I think you are,” Isabelle says. She cocks her head. “Hey, you weren’t sleeping with her, were you?”

Hodges shifts his gaze to her. “What do you think, Izzy? Look at me.”

She holds his eyes for a moment, then drops them. Hodges can’t believe how close she just came. Women’s intuition, he thinks, and then, Probably a good thing I haven’t lost any more weight, or put that Just For Men shit in my hair.

“Look, Pete, I want to shake. Go home and have a beer and try to get my head around this.”

“You swear you’re not holding anything back? This is you and me, now.”

Hodges passes up his last chance to come clean without a qualm. “Not a thing.”

Pete tells him to stay in touch; they’ll want him in tomorrow or Friday for a formal statement.

“Not a problem. And Pete? In the immediate future I’d give my car a once-over before driving it, if I were you.”

At the door, Pete puts an arm over Hodges’s shoulders and gives him a hug. “I’m sorry about this,” he says. “Sorry about what happened and about all the questions.”

“It’s okay. You’re doing the job.”

Pete tightens his grip and whispers in Hodges’s ear. “You are holding back. You think I’ve been taking stupid pills?”