Chat - Archer Mayor [27]
“That sounds pretty strong,” his mother suggested.
“On the face of it,” he agreed. “My problem was that he’d never done anything like that before and there was nothing in his private life to explain why he would—except for having a loser brother who happened to be facing what his type calls ‘the Bitch.’”
Her eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”
“That’s the habitual offender label that can turn a standard sentence into a lifetime in jail. The SA will slap it on you if he’s had enough of giving you second chances, and I happen to know that Dan was nose to nose with it big-time back then. I couldn’t prove it, but I always bet Dan was in Brattleboro when all this happened—that he’d done the job and convinced Andy to take the fall because he’d get off light.”
“Three years doesn’t sound light.”
Joe didn’t argue with her. “It was an election year, the SA had been accused of being too easy on criminals, the old lady was a charmer, complete with bandaged head, and did I mention that Andy copped to having done it? According to statute, he was looking at fifteen years. I figured—and I swear this is what Dan sold him, too—that he’d get a suspended sentence and probation. But that’s not how the SA saw it, and for some reason, the judge let it fly, too. It was pure Russian roulette on Andy’s part, with five out of six chances of being lucky.”
Joe sighed heavily, remembering his irritation at the unusual outcome. “That’s what upset me when you said Dan had confronted you in the grocery store,” he added. “If Andy’s death does have anything to do with my quote-unquote sending him to jail, then Dan better not look into any mirrors, ’cause he won’t like what he sees.”
“But you don’t know any of that for sure,” she half asked.
There he had to concede defeat. “No.”
The pager on his belt began vibrating quietly. He groaned and removed it from his belt and saw Sam’s callback number on the display, along with the message, “ASAP.”
“I better answer this,” he muttered, getting up.
“A problem?” she asked.
“Don’t know. It’s Sam.” He moved toward the door.
“Joe,” his mother said, stopping him.
He crossed back over to her and kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll figure this out.” He pointed at the bowl. “You better hold off cooking that till after this phone call, though.”
He went into the living room to give both of them some privacy, more from instinct than any notion that his mother needed shielding.
“Hi,” he said to Sam after she’d picked up the phone. “What’ve you got?”
“Sorry to bother you, boss, but we found another dead guy with no ID and no obvious signs of what did him in, just like the first. This one’s in Brattleboro.”
Joe felt his stomach rumble. He’d stop at a gas station for a sandwich on the way.
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
Bordfem: hi
csawurm: your cute
Bordfem: thanks
Bordfem: asl
csawurm: 23 male vermont
Bordfem: kool - 14 f vermont
csawurm: whoa your 14?
Bordfem: is that bad
csawurm: Im pretty sure thats jailbait - you look older in your pic
Bordfem: well its my school pic
csawurm: what school?
Bordfem: brattleboro middle school
Bordfem: u there
csawurm: yep
Bordfem: u want to chat
csawurm: yeah but I have to go soon
Bordfem: k
csawurm: bye youngin
Chapter 8
Joe paused on the threshold, completely clad in a Tyvek jumpsuit, and surveyed the room. What crossed his mind immediately was less the scene before him—a motel room remarkable only for its blandness—and more the fact that the dead body draped across the foot of the bed didn’t seem particularly unusual.
Being in situations like this, whether they were homicides, suicides, or undetermined, had by now become a habit.
There were four others in the room