He paused. I waited.
“...but it just might make some sense.”
“It does,” I said, “in a way.”
“So, what happened with Fletcher? I mean, how did he go from running you down to outside his window and dead? And how did you not get hit? Every witness claims they saw you get hit.”
“I wasn’t hit,” I said.
“Then what happened?”
“I can’t tell you,” I said.
“I really think you should.”
I looked at him and shook my head. “I can’t, Detective. Not now.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not sure what happened myself.”
“I’m going to need more than that for my report, Ms. Lopez.”
I shook my head again. “You’ll get the answer someday. Maybe.”
He didn’t like it, but he kept it to himself, which I appreciated. We were both silent. Outside, we heard excitable voices, officers barking orders, and saw a whole lot of curious faces. Something else occurred to me.
“Will you be talking to Peter Laurie about this?” I asked.
Smithy looked at me for a long moment, his mustache twitching ever so slightly. His piercing eyes softened, and he said, “About Peter Laurie...”
Chapter Twenty-eight
I rapped on the front door.
I had come unannounced, which, under the circumstances, I had thought was best. I waited, and as I did so, I scanned the yard, noting again its perfectly manicured lawn and well-maintained garden. I noted again the “For Sale” sign out front, and the Realtor’s lock box attached to a nearby water pipe. It was attached, in fact, to the water handle, which was currently pointing down in the “off” position. Which meant, of course, the interior of the house had no water, either.
I was about to knock again, when I heard heavy footsteps approach from the other side. With each slow step, my heart increased in tempo. As it did so, that familiar, electrical current formed around me, that tell-tale sign that a spirit was nearby.
Who’s here with me? I asked.
I didn’t, of course, get an answer, although I suspected I knew exactly who was here.
The door opened slowly and there stood Peter Laurie, as tall and forlorn and miserable as ever. As far as I knew, Peter had no knowledge of the events that had happened just hours earlier at Clover Field Elementary.
It had taken me a few hours to get here. I had to shower and cry and get dressed and cry some more. I had never, ever seen someone die before. Even a sicko child killer. It had been too much. Just too damn much.
Hell, it was still too much.
Anyway, I had needed to be alone, and then I’d needed to make a few phone calls.
“A lovely surprise, Ms. Lopez,” said Peter with his usual warmth. Ever the gentleman.
“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” I said, stepping inside as he ushered me in.
He was, of course, wearing the same suit and tie. I had thought the man had dressed impeccably, or didn’t have much variation to his wardrobe. I had thought wrong.
We were standing in the foyer. The spiral staircase was before us. The paintings were everywhere, as were the statues. Nothing had been touched. Peter was still holding his stomach. I motioned to it. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I wish I could say yes, but, sadly, no. I really should go see a doctor.”
“How long has the pain been going on now?”
He looked at me, blinked, shrugged. “Why, I don’t know. Quite a long time, I suppose. I really should go see a doctor.”
“Yes, you just said that.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
He blinked at me, and sighed. “Let me tell you, my memory isn’t holding up well these days.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “So, why don’t you go to the doctor, Peter?”
“I just...” he shrugged again, gave me a long look. “I just don’t care enough, I suppose.”
“You don’t care enough about your own health?”
“Nothing much matters to me anymore. Not since...”
His voice trailed off and I nodded. He didn’t need to finish his sentence. I knew what followed “not since...”
I said, “Tell me, Mr. Laurie, why are you moving?”
He looked at me for another long moment. “The house...it’s so big...and I’m all alone now...surrounded by painful memories. I need to start somewhere fresh. I need to move on, I guess.”
I nodded. I couldn’t have agreed more. “Do you still go to work, Mr. Laurie?”
“I thought I’d told you I’d taken a leave of absence. Didn’t I tell you that? Boy, I really can’t remember much these days.” He rubbed his face, moving his hand over the same three-day growth he’d been sporting for the past two weeks. His hand moving over his whiskers, I noticed, didn’t make any sound. “Are you here with news about my daughter?” he asked.
“I found your daughter’s killer today.”
He snapped his eyes up, inhaled sharply. He seemed about to take my hand, or grab me about the shoulders, or perform some other form of physical contact, but refrained. He was, of course, the perfect gentleman. Or something. “Please, Allison, tell me who it is. Tell me everything.”
And so I did. I told him all about my dream, about the connection to her school, about my theory that Penny never went straight home. I told him about my meeting with her teacher. I paused there and Peter Laurie seemed to be holding his breath. Tears came to his eyes and then spilled down his cheeks.
“Her teacher?” he asked finally.
I nodded and relayed the conversation I’d had with Mr. Fletcher...and then the attack in parking lot. As I spoke, I felt nauseated, knowing that a man was dead by my hand...a man who’d died only hours ago.
Sweet Jesus, help me.
Peter sensed my own pain and confusion and did something that surprised the hell out of me...and maybe even him, too. He reached out and hugged me...only it wasn’t any kind of hug I’d felt before.
It was then that I knew.
That I knew.
* * *
We were sitting on his couch, holding hands.
We had been sitting like this for some time. Ten minutes, perhaps. Maybe longer. We were both dealing with a lot of shit.
“My daughter...she came to you in a dream?”
“Yes. I believe so.”
“Did she...did she look okay?”
“She did.”
He inhaled deeply, although I didn’t hear any actual air passing over through his open mouth. His hand, I noted, was soft and pulsated with energy. If my eyes had been closed and I had been asked to describe what I was touching, I would have said a pile of cotton, with a soft electrical current passing through it.