Death Falls. Todd Ritter

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СКАЧАТЬ the end of time. It didn’t really matter who walked on it and what country they were from.

      Turning away from the TV, Nick asked an elderly woman sitting nearby to point out Owen Peale. She did, gesturing to a man in sweatpants and a plaid robe sitting alone with a deck of cards. Next to his elbow was a tattered shoe box.

      Nick approached the table. “Mr. Peale?”

      The man studied first Nick, then Kat. “That’s me.”

      “Do you have a minute to speak with us?”

      “Am I in trouble?”

      That question again. Hearing it a second time made Nick wonder just how much of a handful Owen Peale really was.

      “Of course not.”

      “I was just wondering,” Owen said, cocking his head in Kat’s direction. “Because most people who visit me don’t bring a cop along.”

      Kat extended a hand. “Mr. Peale, I’m Kat Campbell—”

      “Jim Campbell’s girl. I know. You look like your dad.”

      “So you remember working for him?”

      Owen started shuffling the cards while muttering, “Of course I remember. I’m old, not senile.”

      “Then if you remember that,” Nick said, “you most likely recall an incident involving a boy named Charlie Olmstead.”

      “I remember. I wrote the report.”

      “I know. That’s why we’re here. To ask you a few questions about the incident.”

      “That’s an old case, son. Let sleeping dogs lie. That’s my motto.”

      “Even if the boy’s mother thought he was kidnapped?”

      That seemed to get Owen’s attention. The former cop eyed Nick’s cane. “Looks like you need to sit down, son. You’re in worse shape than me.”

      Nick took a seat. Kat remained standing. It was a wise decision, because Owen Peale started dealing cards as soon as Nick got situated.

      “What’s this?” he asked, staring dumbly at the cards being tossed in front of him.

      “Poker,” Owen replied. “Five-card draw. No wilds.”

      “I don’t play poker.”

      “If you’re staying, you’re playing. That’s the only way I’m going to answer your questions. Now ante up.”

      “Ante?” Nick said. “You’re joking, right?”

      “Poker isn’t played for fun, son. This is a money game. Now, I need to see some cash on that table or you and your cop friend can take your questions elsewhere.”

      Nick sighed his response. “How much are we betting?”

      “Five dollars to start.” Owen opened the shoe box, which was filled with loose bills and rattling change. He placed a five-dollar bill in the middle of the table. “We can go higher if you think you can keep up with me.”

      “Five? That’s extortion.”

      “But I might have some juicy information about the Olmstead boy. You’ll never know if you don’t play.”

      Nick opened his wallet. Save for three ones, it was empty. He thought of the four dollars he had spent for a coffee at Big Joe’s. Without the java, he could have played at least one hand. Unless the old coot decided to raise.

      He turned to Kat. “Could you spot me?”

      “This is ridiculous,” she announced, digging through her own wallet. Still, ridiculous or not, she found a five and slapped it on the table.

      When Owen saw the cash, a wide smile spread across his face. “Let’s look at our cards.”

      Nick peeked at his hand. It was weak—a pair of twos, a four, a seven, and a king.

      “You going to start asking your questions?” Owen said from behind his own cards.

      “The report states you were with Chief Campbell and Maggie Olmstead the night Charlie vanished,” Nick began.

      “That’s not a question,” Owen said. “But I’m gonna answer it anyway. Yes, I was there.”

      “Who was the first person on the scene?”

      “The chief. Normally, it was just me on duty at night, but the chief thought it’d be a good idea to have more manpower on the streets in case something happened with the moon folks. The whole town was buzzing about it. Parties and singing in the streets and worrying about something bad happening up there.”

      “What does the moon have to do with any of this?”

      Owen lowered his cards and flashed him a look seen only from grandmothers, teachers, and other exasperated authority figures. “Don’t you know your history, son? Apollo 11. Man walked on the moon.”

      “I know what Apollo 11 is,” Nick said, bristling. “Was that the night Charlie Olmstead vanished?”

      “It sure was. July twentieth, 1969.” Owen jerked his head toward the TV across the room. “And what’s going on in China right now was going on in America back then. I raise you five.”

      A raise. Of course. Nick should have seen it coming. Kat, apparently, had. Clenched in her hand was a five spot, which she threw onto the table with an audible growl.

      “So my dad was there first,” she said. “Do you know for how long?”

      “A few minutes, I guess. It was about quarter to eleven. I met up with him at the end of the street. He told me that Ken Olmstead just reported his son missing and that we should have a look around the creek and bridge.”

      “Why there?” Nick asked.

      “Because that’s where Mr. Olmstead said Charlie was heading. How many cards do you want?”

      Nick got rid of the four and the seven. They were replaced by a six and a ten. Still a crappy hand, especially compared with the one card Owen took.

      “I raise you another five,” he said.

      Nick dropped his cards. “I fold.”

      Grinning again, Owen Peale lunged for the money and slid it toward his side of the table. “Feel free to ask me another question.”

      “Was Ken Olmstead also there when you arrived?”

      “He was. So was a neighbor. Mort Clark. They looked around with us for a little bit before going back home to tell Mrs. Olmstead the bad news. The chief and I continued looking.”

      It was Kat’s turn for another question. “Did you see anything unusual?”

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