Mr. Mercedes (Bill Hodges Trilogy, #1)(39)

“Surely there’s a Police Department old boys’ network?”

“There is, but if I tried to use it, I’d be putting both the old boys and myself in a bad position.” That he has already done this by pumping Pete for information is a thing he won’t share with her on such short acquaintance.

He lifts the letter Janey has showed him.

“For one thing, I’m guilty of withholding evidence if I agree to keep this between us.” That he’s already withholding a similar letter is another thing she doesn’t need to know. “Technically, at least. And withholding is a felony offense.”

She looks dismayed. “Oh my God, I never thought of that.”

“On the other hand, I doubt if there’s much Forensics could do with it. A letter dropped into a mailbox on Marlborough Street or Lowbriar Avenue is just about the most anonymous thing in the world. Once upon a time—I remember it well—you could match up the typing in a letter to the machine that wrote it. If you could find the machine, that is. It was as good as a fingerprint.”

“But this wasn’t typed.”

“Nope. Laser printer. Which means no hanging As or crooked Ts. So I wouldn’t be withholding much.”

Of course withholding is still withholding.

“I’m going to take the job, Janey, but five thousand a week is ridiculous. I’ll take a check for two, if you want to write one. And bill you for expenses.”

“That doesn’t seem like anywhere near enough.”

“If I get someplace, we can talk about a bonus.” But he doesn’t think he’ll take one, even if he does manage to run Mr. Mercedes to ground. Not when he came here already determined to investigate the bastard, and to sweet-talk her into helping him.

“All right. Agreed. And thank you.”

“Welcome. Now tell me about your relationship with Olivia. All I know is it was good enough for you to call her Ollie, and I could use more.”

“That will take some time. Would you like another cup of coffee? And a cookie or two to go with it? I have lemon snaps.”

Hodges says yes to both.





9


“Ollie.”

Janey says this, then falls silent long enough for Hodges to sip some of his new cup of coffee and eat a cookie. Then she turns to the window and the sailboats again, crosses her legs, and speaks without looking at him.

“Have you ever loved someone without liking them?”

Hodges thinks of Corinne, and the stormy eighteen months that preceded the final split. “Yes.”

“Then you’ll understand. Ollie was my big sister, eight years older than I was. I loved her, but when she went off to college, I was the happiest girl in America. And when she dropped out three months later and came running back home, I felt like a tired girl who has to pick up a big sack of bricks again after being allowed to put it down for awhile. She wasn’t mean to me, never called me names or pulled my pigtails or teased when I walked home from junior high holding hands with Marky Sullivan, but when she was in the house, we were always at Condition Yellow. Do you know what I mean?”

Hodges isn’t completely sure, but nods anyway.

“Food made her sick to her stomach. She got rashes when she was stressed out about anything—job interviews were the worst, although she finally did get a secretarial job. She had good skills and she was very pretty. Did you know that?”

Hodges makes a noncommittal noise. If he were to reply honestly, he might have said, I can believe it because I see it in you.

“One time she agreed to take me to a concert. It was U2, and I was mad to see them. Ollie liked them, too, but the night of the show she started vomiting. It was so bad that my parents ended up taking her to the ER and I had to stay home watching TV instead of pogoing and screaming for Bono. Ollie swore it was food poisoning, but we all ate the same meal, and no one else got sick. Stress is what it was. Pure stress. And you talk about hypochondria? With my sister, every headache was a brain tumor and every pimple was skin cancer. Once she got pinkeye and spent a week convinced she was going blind. Her periods were horroramas. She took to her bed until they were over.”

“And still kept her job?”

Janey’s reply is as dry as Death Valley. “Ollie’s periods always used to last exactly forty-eight hours and they always came on the weekends. It was amazing.”

“Oh.” Hodges can think of nothing else to say.

Janey spins the letter around a few times on the coffee table with the tip of her finger, then raises those light blue eyes to Hodges. “He uses a phrase in here—something about having nervous tics. Did you notice that?”

“Yes.” Hodges has noticed a great many things about this letter, mostly how it is in many ways a negative image of the one he received.

“My sister had her share, too. You may have noticed some of them.”

Hodges pulls his tie first one way, then the other.

Janey grins. “Yes, that’s one of them. There were many others. Patting light switches to make sure they were off. Unplugging the toaster after breakfast. She always said bread-and-butter before she went out somewhere, because supposedly if you did that, you’d remember anything you’d forgotten. I remember one day she had to drive me to school because I missed the bus. Mom and Dad had already gone to work. We got halfway there, then she became convinced the oven was on. We had to turn around and go back and check it. Nothing else would do. It was off, of course. I didn’t make it to school until second period, and got hit with my first and only detention. I was furious. I was often furious with her, but I loved her, too. Mom, Dad, we all did. Like it was hardwired. But man, was she ever a sack of bricks.”