Mr. Mercedes (Bill Hodges Trilogy, #1)(107)

Jerome sighs and ruffles his cap of dark hair. “This is getting heavy.”

“Want out? If you do, you’re taillights. Right this minute. I can still rent a car.”

“No, I’m good. It’s you I’m wondering about. Those aren’t bags under your eyes, they’re suitcases.”

“I’ll be okay. Today is it for me, anyway. If I can’t track this guy down by nightfall, I’m going to see my old partner and tell him everything.”

“How much trouble will you be in?”

“Don’t know and don’t much care.”

“How much trouble will I be in?”

“None. If I couldn’t guarantee that, you’d be in period one algebra right now.”

Jerome gives him a pitying look. “Algebra was four years ago. Tell me what I can do.”

Hodges does so. Jerome is willing but doubtful.

“Last month—you can’t ever tell my folks this—a bunch of us tried to get into Punch and Judy, that new dance club downtown? The guy at the door didn’t even look at my beautiful fake ID, just waved me out of the line and told me to go get a milkshake.”

Hodges says, “I’m not surprised. Your face is seventeen, but fortunately for me, your voice is at least twenty-five.” He slides Jerome a piece of paper with a phone number written on it. “Make the call.”

Jerome tells the Vigilant Guard Service receptionist who answers that he is Martin Lounsbury, a paralegal at the firm of Canton, Silver, Makepeace, and Jackson. He says he’s currently working with George Schron, a junior partner assigned to tie up a few loose ends concerning the estate of the late Olivia Trelawney. One of those loose ends has to do with Mrs. Trelawney’s computer. His job for the day is to locate the I-T specialist who worked on the machine, and it seems possible that one of the Vigilant employees in the Sugar Heights area may be able to help him locate the gentleman.

Hodges makes a thumb-and-forefinger circle to indicate Jerome is doing well, and passes him a note.

Jerome reads it and says, “One of Mrs. Trelawney’s neighbors, Mrs. Helen Wilcox, mentioned a Rodney Peeples?” He listens, then nods. “Radney, I see. What an interesting name. Perhaps he could call me, if it’s not too much trouble? My boss is a bit of a tyrant, and I’m really under the gun here.” He listens. “Yes? Oh, that’s great. Thanks so much.” He gives the receptionist the numbers of his cell and Hodges’s landline, then hangs up and wipes make-believe sweat from his forehead. “I’m glad that’s over. Whoo!”

“You did fine,” Hodges assures him.

“What if she calls Canton, Silver, and Whoozis to check? And finds out they never heard of Martin Lounsbury?”

“Her job is to pass messages on, not investigate them.”

“What if the Peeples guy checks?”

Hodges doesn’t think he will. He thinks the name Helen Wilcox will stop him. When he talked to Peeples that day outside the Sugar Heights mansion, Hodges caught a strong vibe that Peeples’s relationship with Helen Wilcox was more than just platonic. Maybe a little more, maybe a lot. He thinks Peeples will give Martin Lounsbury what he wants so he’ll go away.

“What do we do now?” Jerome asks.

What they do is something Hodges spent at least half his career doing. “Wait.”

“How long?”

“Until Peeples or some other security grunt calls.” Because right now Vigilant Guard Service is looking like his best lead. If it doesn’t pan out, they’ll have to go out to Sugar Heights and start interviewing neighbors. Not a prospect he relishes, given his current news-cycle celebrity.

In the meantime, he finds himself thinking again of Mr. Bowfinger, and Mrs. Melbourne, the slightly crackers woman who lives across the street from him. With her talk about mysterious black SUVs and her interest in flying saucers, Mrs. Melbourne could have been a quirky supporting character in an old Alfred Hitchcock movie.

She thinks they walk among us, Bowfinger had said, giving his eyebrows a satirical wiggle, and why in God’s name should that keep bouncing around in Hodges’s head?

It’s ten of ten when Jerome’s cell rings. The little snatch of AC/DC’s “Hells Bells” makes them both jump. Jerome grabs it.

“It says CALL BLOCKED. What should I do, Bill?”

“Take it. It’s him. And remember who you are.”

Jerome opens the line and says, “Hello, this is Martin Lounsbury.” Listens. “Oh, hello, Mr. Peeples. Thanks so much for getting back to me.”

Hodges scribbles a fresh note and pushes it across the table. Jerome scans it quickly.

“Uh-huh . . . yes . . . Mrs. Wilcox speaks very highly of you. Very highly, indeed. But my job has to do with the late Mrs. Trelawney. We can’t finish clearing her estate until we can inventory her computer, and . . . yes, I know it’s been over six months. Terrible how slowly these things move, isn’t it? We had a client last year who actually had to apply for food stamps, even though he had a seventy-thousand-dollar bequest pending.”

Don’t over-butter the muffin, Jerome, Hodges thinks. His heart is hammering in his chest.

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just need the name of the fellow who worked on it for her. The rest is up to my boss.” Jerome listens, eyebrows pulling together. “You can’t? Oh, that’s a sha—”