The Dark Tide. Andrew Gross

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СКАЧАТЬ They’re expecting us. It’s good for her now—for her to see them once or twice a year.”

      “I know, Ty. You’re right. Next time, I promise, she will.” Another pause. “Listen, I’m glad you understand.”

      They hung up. He swiveled around in his chair, his eyes settling on the picture of Jessie and Norah he kept on the credenza. Five and three. A year before the accident. All smiles.

      It was hard to remember they had once been in love.

      There was a knock against Hauck’s office door, startling him. “Hey, Loo!”

      It was Steve Christofel, who handled bunko and fraud.

      “What, Steve?”

      The detective shrugged, apologetic, notepad in hand. “You want me to come back, boss? Maybe this isn’t a good time.”

      “No, it’s fine. Come on in.” Hauck swiveled back around, mad at himself. “Sorry. You know the routine.”

      “Always something, right? But, hey, Lieutenant, you mind if I see that case file you always keep in here?”

      “Case file?”

      “You know, the one you always keep hidden on your desk over there.” The detective grinned. “That old hit-and-run thing. Raymond.”

      “Oh, that.” Hauck shrugged as if exposed. He always kept it buried under a stack of open cases. Not forgotten, not for a second. Just not solved. He lifted the stack and fished out the yellow case file from the bottom. “What’s going on?”

      “My memory’s a little fuzzy, Lieutenant, but wasn’t there a name that was connected to it somewhere? Marty something?”

      Hauck nodded.

      The person who had called up AJ Raymond at the shop, just before he’d left to cross the street. Something like Marty, his boss had said. It had just never led anywhere.

      “Why?”

      “This wire just came in.” Christofel came around and placed his notepad on Hauck’s desk. “Some credit-card-fraud division has been trying to chase it down after all this time. An Amex card belonging to a Thomas Mardy—that’s M-A-R-D-Y—was used to pay for a limo ride up to Greenwich. Dropped him off at the Fairfield Diner at a little before noon, Lieutenant. April ninth.”

      Hauck looked up, his blood starting to course.

      April 9. That was the morning of the hit-and-run. Mardy, not Marty—that fit! A Thomas Mardy had been dropped off across the street from where AJ Raymond was killed.

      Now every cell in Hauck’s body sprang alive.

      “There’s just one catch, Lieutenant.” The detective scratched his head. “Get this…. The Thomas Mardy the Amex card belonged to was actually killed on April ninth. In the Grand Central bombing. On the tracks …”

      Hauck stared.

      “And that was three full hours,” the detective said, “before the Greenwich hit-and-run.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

      That night Hauck couldn’t sleep. It was a little after twelve. He climbed out of bed. Letterman was on the TV, but he hadn’t been watching. He went to the window and stared out at the sound. A stubborn chill knifed through the air. His mind was racing.

       How?

      How was it possible someone had died on the tracks and yet hours later his card had been used to pay for a ride to the Fairfield Diner? To the very spot where the Raymond kid was killed.

      Someone had called him right before he left to cross the street. Something like Marty …

       Mardy.

      How did Charles and AJ Raymond fit together? How?

      He was missing something.

      He threw on a sweatshirt and some jeans and slipped on some old moccasins. Outside, the air was sharp and chilly. He hopped into his Bronco. The block was dark.

      He drove.

      They had kept the protection on for four days now. He’d had a car in front of the house, another that followed the kids to school. Nothing had happened. Not surprising. Maybe whoever was bothering her had backed off? The temperature had already been turned up pretty high.

      Hauck pulled off the highway at Exit 5. Old Greenwich. As if by some inner GPS.

      He headed onto Sound Beach and into town. Main Street was totally dark and deserted. He turned right on Shore toward the water. Another right onto Sea Wall.

      Hauck pulled up twenty yards down from her house. The rookie, Stasio, was on duty tonight. Hauck spotted the patrol car, lights out, parked across from the house.

      He went up and rapped on the window. The young officer rolled it down, surprised. “Lieutenant.”

      “You look tired, Stasio. You married, son?”

      “Yessir,” the rookie answered. “Two years.”

      “Go home. Grab some sleep,” Hauck said. “I’ll take over here.”

      “You? I’m fine, Lieutenant,” the kid protested.

      “It’s okay. Go on home.” Hauck winked at him. “I appreciate your doing the job.”

      It took a final remonstration, but Stasio, outranked, finally gave in.

      Alone, Hauck balled his fists inside his sweatshirt against the cold.

      Across the street the house was completely dark, other than a dim light upstairs shining through a curtain. He looked at his watch. He had a meeting with Chief Fitzpatrick at 9:00 A.M. A replacement shift wouldn’t be on until 6:00. He inhaled the crisp, damp air from off the sound.

       You’re crazy, Ty.

      He went back to his Bronco and opened the door. As he was about to climb in, he noticed that the drapes had parted upstairs. Someone looked out. For a moment, in the darkness, their gazes met.

      Hauck thought he made out the faint outline of a smile.

      It’s Ty, he mouthed, looking up. He had wanted to tell her that every time she called him “Lieutenant.”

      It’s Ty.

      And about your husband. What you’re feeling, what you’re going through now … I know.

       I damn well know.

      He waved, a wink of recognition he wasn’t sure she could even read. Then he pulled himself inside the Bronco, shutting the door. When he looked back СКАЧАТЬ