Mr. Mercedes (Bill Hodges Trilogy, #1)(105)



“Happy to make that work. Call me on my cell.”

“Really? Since you retired, you never carry it.”

“I’m carrying it today.” Yes indeed. Because for the next twelve or fourteen hours, he’s totally unretired.

He ends the call and goes back to his notes, wetting the tip of his index finger each time he turns a page. He circles a name: Radney Peeples. The Vigilant Guard Service guy he talked to out in Sugar Heights. If Peeples is even halfway doing his job, he may hold the key to Mr. Mercedes. But there’s no chance he won’t remember Hodges, not after Hodges first braced him for his company ID and then questioned him. And he’ll know that today Hodges is big news. There’s time to think about how to solve the problem; Hodges doesn’t want to call Vigilant until regular business hours. Because the call has to look like ordinary routine.

The next call he receives—on his cell this time—is from Aunt Charlotte. Hodges isn’t surprised to hear from her, but that doesn’t mean he’s pleased.

“I don’t know what to do!” she cries. “You have to help me, Mr. Hodges!”

“Don’t know what to do about what?”

“The body! Janelle’s body! I don’t even know where it is!”

Hodges gets a beep and checks the incoming number.

“Mrs. Gibney, I have another call and I have to take it.”

“I don’t see why you can’t—”

“Janey’s not going anywhere, so just stand by. I’ll call you back.”

He cuts her off in the middle of a protesting squawk and goes to Jerome.

“I thought you might need a chauffeur today,” Jerome says. “Considering your current situation.”

For a moment Hodges doesn’t know what the kid is talking about, then remembers that his Toyota has been reduced to charred fragments. What remains of it is now in the custody of the PD’s Forensics Department, where later today men in white coats will be going over it to determine what kind of explosive was used to blow it up. He got home last night in a taxi. He will need a ride. And, he realizes, Jerome may be useful in another way.

“That would be good,” he says, “but what about school?”

“I’m carrying a 3.9 average,” Jerome says patiently. “I’m also working for Citizens United and team-teaching a computer class for disadvantaged kids. I can afford to skip a day. And I already cleared it with my mom and dad. They just asked me to ask you if anyone else was going to try to blow you up.”

“Actually, that’s not out of the question.”

“Hang on a second.” Faintly, Hodges hears Jerome calling: “He says no one will.”

In spite of everything, Hodges has to smile.

“I’ll be there double-quick,” Jerome says.

“Don’t break any speed laws. Nine o’clock will be fine. Use the time to practice your thespian skills.”

“Really? What role am I thesping?”

“Law office paralegal,” Hodges says. “And thanks, Jerome.”

He breaks the connection, goes into his study, boots up his computer, and searches for a local lawyer named Schron. It’s an unusual name and he finds it with no trouble. He notes down the firm and Schron’s first name, which happens to be George. Then he returns to the kitchen and calls Aunt Charlotte.

“Hodges,” he says. “Back atcha.”

“I don’t appreciate being hung up on, Mr. Hodges.”

“No more than I appreciate you telling my old partner that I was f*cking your niece.”

He hears a shocked gasp, followed by silence. He almost hopes she’ll hang up. When she doesn’t, he tells her what she needs to know.

“Janey’s remains will be at the Huron County Morgue. You won’t be able to take possession today. Probably not tomorrow, either. There’ll have to be an autopsy, which is absurd given the cause of death, but it’s protocol.”

“You don’t understand! I have plane reservations!”

Hodges looks out his kitchen window and counts slowly to five.

“Mr. Hodges? Are you still there?”

“As I see it, you have two choices, Mrs. Gibney. One is to stay here and do the right thing. The other is to use your reservation, fly home, and let the city do it.”

Aunt Charlotte begins to snivel. “I saw the way you were looking at her, and the way she was looking at you. All I did was answer the woman cop’s questions.”

“And with great alacrity, I have no doubt.”

“With what?”

He sighs. “Let’s drop it. I suggest you and your brother visit the County Morgue in person. Don’t call ahead, let them see your faces. Talk to Dr. Galworthy. If Galworthy’s not there, talk to Dr. Patel. If you ask them in person to expedite matters—and if you can manage to be nice about it—they’ll give you as much help as they can. Use my name. I go back to the early nineties with both of them.”

“We’d have to leave Holly again,” Aunt Charlotte says. “She’s locked herself in her room. She’s clicking away on her laptop and won’t come out.”

Hodges discovers he’s pulling his hair and makes himself stop. “How old is your daughter?”

A long pause. “Forty-five.”

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