Page 49

On Saturday morning, Ella Davis drives to Manitou.

Her daughter is strapped in the backseat, absorbed with the iPad Mini she got for her birthday.

Ella told Danny Coughlin that she had a babysitter and the meter was running.

That was a lie, but she doesn’t feel bad about it.

He is lying about Yvonne Wicker, after all, and his lie is bigger than hers.

Are you sure he’s lying? Totally sure?

Ella and Laurie are staying with Regina in Great Bend.

Reggie has a daughter just Laurie’s age, and the birthday party was actually Reggie’s idea.

She’s crazy about Laurie and is delighted to keep her when Davis has to work.

One hundred per cent sure?

She tells herself she is.

She’s less sure that he called in the location of the girl’s body out of remorse and a desire to be punished for his horrific crime.

He would have confessed already if that were the case.

She thinks now that it’s a kind of arrogance.

“He’s playing chicken with us,” she murmurs.

“What, Mommy?”

“Nothing, hon.”

“Are we almost there?”

“Three or four more miles.”

“Good.

I’m beating Beer Pong.”

“What Pong?”

“I use my finger to throw the little balls into the cups of beer.

When they go in, there’s a ker-sploosh and I get points.”

“That’s nice, Laurie.”

She thinks: Beer Pong.

My eight-year-old is playing Beer Pong.

She thinks: What if he’s telling the truth? What if there really was a dream?

It’s the same story each time, without significant variations and without the liar’s tells that she’s been trained to look for: a shifting of the eyes to the left, a wetting of the lips, a raising of the voice, as if being loud would convince her of the truth.

He doesn’t over-explain, either, and risk getting tripped up by his own lies.

Is it possible he’s even convinced himself? That his rational mind, horrified by what the alligator deep inside did, has constructed its own alternate reality?

Is it possible he’s telling the truth?

This morning she called the Jacksons in Manitou and asked Jesse if he would be willing to talk to her.

He said yes without hesitation, and here she is, turning into the Jacksons’ driveway.

She isn’t here because she believes Danny about the dream.

She’s here because she almost believes him about Jalbert.

If Frank’s been doing what Danny says he’s been doing, it could very well screw up any chance they have of making a case.

More than that, it’s wrong.

It’s bad policing.

Her unease about her partner is growing.

She’s almost ready to be angry at him.

Bullshit, you’re angry at him already.

“True,” she says.

“What, Mommy?”

“Nothing, Lore.”

Mrs.

Jackson is hanging out clothes.

A little boy who looks to be Laurie’s age is on a swing set nearby, singing that awful “Baby Shark” song.

When Davis opens the back door and lets Laurie get out, the little boy hops off his swing and runs over, examining the newcomers.

Laurie stands close to Ella, putting one hand on her mother’s leg.

Mrs.

Jackson turns to Ella and says hello.

“Hi.

I’m Inspector Davis, here to see Jesse?”

“He’s just in the house.

Jesse! Your company’s here!”

The little boy says, “I’m Luke.

Is that an iPad Mini?”

“Yes,” Laurie says.

“I got it for my birthday.”

“Radical!”

“My name is Laurie Rose Davis.

I’m eight.”

“Me too,” Luke says.

“Want to go on the swing?”

Laurie looks at Davis.

“Can I, Mommy?”

“Yes, but be careful.

Don’t break your iPad.”

“I won’t!”

They run for the swing set.

“Pretty girl,” Mrs.

Jackson says.

“I’m the mother of boys.

I’d pay to get one of those.”

“She can be a handful,” Ella says.

“Try Luke, you want a handful.” She goes back to hanging clothes.

Jesse comes out of the house, dressed in jeans and a plain white tee.

He walks to Davis without hesitation and shakes her hand.

“Happy to talk to you if it’s about Danny.

Tell you up front, though, I don’t think he did what the cops say he did.

He’s a good man.”

Davis has heard this several times now, even from Becky Richardson, Danny’s sometime girlfriend.

Richardson wants nothing to do with him now, of course, but continues to say that “he seems like the nicest guy you’d ever want to meet.” And Richardson believes the dream story.

“It isn’t Danny Coughlin I want to talk about, at least not directly,” Davis says.

“Is it true that Inspector Frank Jalbert came by to see him at the school yesterday?”

“Yeah.

I didn’t like him.”

“Oh? Why?”

“He’s made up his mind.

I could tell just by the way he looked at Danny.”

Well, she thinks, I have, too. Right?

“Danny says you saw Inspector Jalbert park around back.”

“That’s right. Why?”

“Did he park near Danny’s truck?”

“No, by the school buses, but that’s pretty close.

Hey, did he put something in Danny’s truck? Try to set him up? I wouldn’t put it past him.

He looked totally locked and loaded.”

“Did you see him put anything in Danny’s truck?”

“No…”

“Did you see him go to Danny’s truck? Kind of looking it over? You know, the way some guys look at trucks?”

“No, soon as I saw him get out of his car I told Danny.

Then I went back to work.

Danny said just because it was our last day, that was no reason to be slacking off.”

“I’m sorry you lost your job because of Coughlin.”

Jesse’s face darkens.

“Wasn’t him.

Chickenshit school administration said Danny had to go and I had to go with him.

They made up a lot of bullshit reasons—”

“Jesse, watch your mouth,” his mother says.

“This is an officer of the law you’re talking to.”

“It just makes me mad.

They probably made up some stupid stuff on account of they couldn’t fire him because of that girl.

Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

I keep hearing that, Ella thinks.

“He went, so I had to go,” Jesse says.

“I get that, I’m just a kid.

But I needed that money for college.”

“You’ll get another job,” Davis says.

“Already did.

At the sawmill.” Jesse makes a face.

“The pay is better, so long as I don’t cut off a hand.”

“You better not,” his mom says.

“You need that hand.”

Laurie and Luke have abandoned the swings.

They are sitting in the shade of the small yard’s only tree, heads together, looking at the iPad Mini.

As Davis glances their way, the two kids start giggling at whatever’s on the screen.

Davis is suddenly very glad she came.

After spending so much time with Jalbert, it’s like coming out of a stale room into fresh air.

“Let me get this straight,” Davis says, taking out her notebook.

“You saw Inspector Jalbert park in back—”

“Yeah, even though out front is a lot closer to the building.”

“But you didn’t see him approach Danny Coughlin’s truck, or touch it in any way.”

“I told you, I had to go back to work.”

“Okay, understood.” She smiles and gives him her card.

“If anything else occurs to you—”

“You should have seen him!” Jesse bursts out.

“Waving that newspaper in Danny’s face.

Low class! After Danny did the cops a favor! I don’t think that guy even cares who did it, he just wants to put Danny in jail.”

“Enough, Jesse,” his mother says.

“Show some manners.”

“That guy Jalbert didn’t show any,” Jesse says, and Davis guesses that was true.

But excusable.

When you’ve got a rapist-murderer standing in front of you, manners have a way of going out the window.

“Thank you for your time.

Come on, Laurie, we have to go.”

“We just got here!” Laurie groans.

“Me’n Luke are playing Corgi Hop! It’s so funny!”

“Five minutes,” Ella says.

Her ex claims she spoils the girl, and Ella supposes he’s right.

But Laurie is what she’s got, all she’s got, and how she loves her.

The thought of Coughlin putting his dirty bloodstained hands on her—on any girl—makes Ella cold.

“Mrs.

Jackson, can I help you hang those clothes while I wait for them to finish their game?”

“If you want to,” Mrs.

Jackson says, sounding both surprised and pleased.

“The pins are in that mesh bag.”

The two women finish up fast, hanging the last two sheets as a team.

Davis thinks about Jalbert parking near Coughlin’s truck.

She doesn’t—can’t—believe that Danny Coughlin dreamed the location where a murdered girl was buried, but she is closer than ever to believing that Frank Jalbert, a decorated inspector, planted drugs and then got some cop to stop Danny on the road to Great Bend.

She just can’t prove it, any more than they can prove Danny Coughlin killed Yvonne Wicker.

Let it alone, she tells herself as she puts the last pin on the last sheet.

Probably good advice, but she won’t do it.

If Jalbert is over the line, she can’t just stand by.

And she has someone else to question.

It will probably come to nothing, but at least she’ll be able to tell herself she tried.

“You want a glass of iced tea?” Mrs.

Jackson asks as she picks up her laundry basket.

“You know, that sounds good,” Ella says, and follows her toward the house.

One thing she’s sure of: This is going to be her last case with Frank.

All else aside, Danny is absolutely correct about one thing—that counting business, the arithmomania, is spooky.

And it’s getting worse.