Page 122 of Whistle
The evening dragged on. Shortly before eight, he realized he had to take a leak. He turned in close to the wall, unzipped, and did what he had to do. Good thing there wasn’t a cop around, he thought. Might have gotten arrested for indecent exposure.
He kept glancing at his watch, wondering how much longer he could do this. By nine, it was completely dark. If Nabler wanted to conduct some nefarious business, this would be a good time to get to it. But the door never opened, and the van never moved. Harry was coming to the realization that this stakeout (he did kind of like that word) was a waste of time. Whatever Nabler might have been up to, maybe he’d finished. And anything that might incriminate him wasn’t to be discovered by following him.
It might well be in his shop.
What Harry really needed was to get inthere. And if he wasn’t going to be able to get a warrant to search the place, he might have to bend the rules somewhat.
A plan began to formulate in Harry’s mind. He would need to enlist an accomplice.
Janice met Harry when he came through the front door shortly before ten.
“I forgot to eat,” he said.
There was some leftover lasagna that she popped into the microwave while he took off his jacket, put his service weapon in the top of the front hall closet, then went to the fridge for a cold beer.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Gonna have to come at this another way.” Harry looked at her as he took a long pull on the beer.
The microwave tinged. Janice slipped on an oven mitt to bring out the plate, peeled off the plastic wrap, and put it on the table. “Thanks,” Harry said, sitting down. “I’m gonna hoover this.”
Janice took a seat across from him. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” he said, blowing on a forkful of pasta before putting it into his mouth.
“You’re exhausted. This Angus Tanner thing is wearing you down. Can’t you get help from, I don’t know, the FBI?”
He shrugged. “I’ve called. Everything’s taking a backseat to anti-terrorism. First all those planes, then everybody losing their shit over those letters that maybe were loaded with anthrax. You think anyone outside of Lucknow cares about one murder and a couple of men still missing, one who was pretty much the town drunk? The things keeping me up at night, I don’t even know how to explain what the hell they’re about.”
He shoveled more lasagna into his mouth, washed it down with more beer. He set the bottle down, rested the fork on the side of his plate, and went quiet.
“Talk to me, Harry.”
“For a long time, I wondered if maybe I made the right decision, about never moving away, staying in the town where I grew up, becoming a cop, working my way up to chief. Did I settle? Doesn’t everybody have to go someplace else to become something? Could I have been more?”
Janice smiled sadly. “You’ve been talking to Melissa.”
Harry sighed. “Busted.”
“You think you’d have been happier working for the FBI, having to go all over the country, being transferred to North Dakota, dealing with a massive bureaucracy? Is that what you would have wanted? Don’t ever, ever discount what you do for the people of Lucknow. You make a difference here.” She put her hand over his for a moment. “That’s what matters. You help folks, one-on-one, and I could not be more proud walking the streets of this town knowing you’re my husband.”
He looked off to one side. “Yeah, well.” He got the last piece of lasagna onto his fork, popped it into his mouth, and finished off the beer. He was picking up the plate to take to the sink when Janice grabbed him by the wrist. She stood, took the plate from his hand and put it on the table, slid her arms around him, pulled him close to her. She tilted her head up and put her lips on his.
“Take me upstairs,” she said.
Once they were undressed and under the covers, it was as special as it had ever been, and Harry found himself thinking fate was a wonderful thing, that somehow he had met this woman and fallen in love with her, that they had made a life together and this union had blessed them with a terrific son, and it didn’t matter how much shit got thrown his way as Lucknow’s chief of police, he was still the luckiest son of a bitch in the whole world.
Forty-Two
“I promised you a surprise,” Janice said the following morning in the kitchen.
“That was a pretty good one last night,” Harry said, taking a bite out of a slice of toast. For the first time in weeks, he had slept well.
“When Dylan gets down here,” she said, giving him a smirk, “all will be revealed.”
Their son showed up five minutes later. It was a school day, but aside from getting up earlier than he would have on a weekend, there was no sense of urgency in his actions. He wandered in, opened the fridge and got himself a glass of orange juice, poured some cornflakes into a bowl, and added a splash of milk.
As he took his first bite, Janice said, “Gentlemen, if I might have your attention for a moment.”
