Tracking Shot by Colin Campbell (i can read book club .txt) 📗

McNulty shrugged. “Because I’m a cop?”

“You’re not a cop.”

“I was.”

She shook her head. “You remember Archie Shapiro? The kid who was always banging his head against the wall?”

McNulty nodded but let her run with it.

“He wasn’t trying to bring the wall down. He just needed the pain.” She barked a laugh. “You’re like an angry man version of survivor guilt.”

McNulty took another sip of tea to avoid answering. He couldn’t argue that he felt guilty about letting his sister down. He’d tried to save her but ended up losing her instead. Sold for adoption abroad. Given a hard time at Crag View before that happened. What sweetness was there in that? Susan appeared to read his mind. It wasn’t difficult.

“I look back and all I remember are the good times. Some of the kids. The day trips and the holidays. The treacle pudding.” She softened her tone. “You look back in anger and all you see is…”

McNulty held his hands up. “The mushy peas. Yes, I get it.”

Susan let out a sigh. “No you don’t.” She indicated the house again. “This is my treacle pudding.” She put her cup down and rested her elbows on the table. “I’m here because of Crag View and Chester Brook. Good things have come out of both of them.”

She threw her head back to swish the hair out of her face. “Chester Brook still does good things. There are kids living there who rely on it. Harlan DeVries is the reason it’s working. He’s paying back into the community. His donations every Fourth of July are his Golden Syrup.”

McNulty put his cup down. “You really like him don’t you?”

Susan sat up straight and flexed her back. “I really believe in him.”

McNulty looked at his sister. “And you don’t want any of this shit coming back on him.”

Susan let out a sigh. “It won’t, because he’s not involved. But we both know that being innocent doesn’t mean bad shit doesn’t happen.”

It was the first time she’d acknowledged the bad shit that had happened. She fell quiet and went back to hugging herself. McNulty nodded and spoke softly. “Okay. I’ll look into it.”

The siblings smiled at each other but the smiles held a hint of sadness. They both knew that before the sweetness could come forth, there had to be strength. The steam had stopped drifting from the empty mugs. The sky was completely dark. The moth was joined by another and they both bumped heads against the light. Susan blew out her cheeks.

“So, this fight you’ve picked tonight. I’d say it’s one worth getting into.”

McNulty looked at his sister. “Does everybody know about that?”

Susan raised her eyebrows. “I thought you wanted everybody to know.”

Once again he couldn’t argue with that. He nodded his understanding and Susan nodded back. This was one time that having angry-man survivor guilt was a good thing. They both stood up and there was no awkward pause this time. He put his arms around his sister and gave her a hug.

TWENTY-SEVEN

The crime-scene tape fluttered in a gentle breeze that rose and fell like waves on the shore. It made a different sound than the rustling leaves, more plaintive and sad. Of course that could just be the circumstances leading to its presence. Dead people on a movie set designed to look like the Second District Court of Eastern Middlesex. McNulty stood in the shadows across the street and thought that Chester Brook Orphanage had never looked more like a courthouse.

Linden Street was dark and still. There was no traffic at this time of night, approaching midnight. Every other streetlamp had been turned off to save electricity, leaving the road looking like a piano keyboard of black and white keys. Stephen’s Industrial Cleaners, where the witnesses had been corralled after the shooting, was a square black presence between two patches of brightness. Farther down the street the real courthouse stood out in a blaze of security lights. Across from McNulty, the only thing that stood out was the crime-scene tape.

Clouds drifted across the sky, blotting out the stars in patches then letting the night sky back in. There was no moon to light McNulty’s way. Ordinarily that would have been a good thing, but since he wanted to be seen tonight he just had to hope that whoever was watching him could see him. He checked up and down the street. There was no sign of the rusty foreign car that had been following him earlier, but at ten to midnight, the shooter wouldn’t be following him in a car. He’d be hiding in the shadows the same as McNulty. He checked his watch again. It was time to come out of the shadows and hope the bait would be taken. He stepped away from the Aston Martin dealership and crossed the street.

The main doors to the west wing of the orphanage, the ones replicating the real courthouse doors where the gunman had burst in, were at the front of the building, facing the street. These doors were locked, but McNulty approached them anyway. There was no cover; he was standing in plain sight. He made a big show of trying the doors and checking the adhesive police tape that sealed the crime scene. The tape was intact. The doors hadn’t been opened since the place had been secured. He glanced over his shoulder. He looked up and down the street. He rattled the door one last time, hoping he wasn’t overdoing it, then turned away.

He walked around to the blind side of the building, scanning the street. Now Aston Martin Boston was directly across the street. Abko Auto Body was farther up Linden Street. He went to the side door and stopped. This was the door into the hallway that led to the main lobby, where he’d charged through to pick up the fire extinguisher. He took the location manager’s keys out of his pocket and tried the door.

It