Don't Look Twice (17 page)

I
t was later—after Warren had passed out and was snoring on the couch, after Hauck had cleaned up the beer cans and the cigarette butts and flicked off
Forrest Gump
on the TV.

When he was in bed, sleep slowly washing over his brain—then it came to him.

What Warren had been trying to say.

Hauck's eyes shot open. A name flashed into his head.

Peter Morrison.

It was the summer after the one at the lake. Warren was on his way to BC. He had this girlfriend—Dot. Dottie Sinclair. They lived in a big colonial with this huge lawn out on Lake Street. Her father was a bigwig at a financial company in town.

Hauck had a job at a yacht club in Darien that summer.

He crossed a leg over his knee in bed and remembered.

That was when everything changed.

Peter Morrison
.

Peter was this tall, gangly kid with long blond hair. He wasn't into sports and had red, blotchy acne on his face. Warren always bullied him. Punched him in the back in the halls between classes as he was going by.
Tax,
he always called it, holding out his hand, and Peter would fork over a hard-earned
buck or something. Hauck always told his brother to lay off. Warren always smirked back that the weirdo liked it and one day he'd give him back his cash. It was their game.

Twenty-five years later, it was like a punch caught Hauck in the stomach as he brought it all back.

He had gotten off early from the yacht club that day. Caught a ride home. When he barged in, the house seemed empty. Their father always came home from the department at 5:30, like clockwork, every day. Mom must have been out at the market. Hauck remembered he grabbed something out of the fridge—a wedge of Laughing Cow cheese, a Fanta—and went down to the basement, which his dad had redone, to shoot a little pool or throw himself in front of the TV. It was the only one worth watching in their row house in Byron.

He heard something as he lumbered down the stairs.

Coming from the guest room.

Pop had converted a back space into a room for his brother, Mike, who had died from cancer a few years before. No one ever used it unless there was family in town.

For a second, Hauck thought it was something running through the walls—a rodent or a squirrel. Then it occurred to him maybe it could be a burglar. The little room had a small window that led out onto an alley.

He listened.

He heard voices, muffled. He went over and put his ear against the door, about to shout
“Who's in there?”
when his footsteps creaked on the tile.

Everything went quiet.

Suddenly he knew. He knew who was in there. And why. He also knew he should've just turned around.

But he felt this sudden power—this giddy, adolescent urge to
barge in and embarrass his brother. And maybe catch a glimpse of Dottie Sinclair in her bra or even better.

He yanked open the door.

Hauck's hand froze to the knob.

There was Warren, this look of horror and shame, his pants down at his knees, standing over Uncle Mike's bed.

But it wasn't Dot beneath him. And even now, years later, the recollection of it sent him reeling up in bed in a cold sweat, his stomach clenched as if gripped in a tightening vise, then crashing to the floor.

It was Peter Morrison.

Those bright blue eyes. Blond hair falling over his pimply face.

Years went by before his brother really talked to him again.

T
he next morning, Warren was just waking up as Hauck was getting ready to leave.

“There's coffee,” Hauck said. “Milk's in the fridge.”

“Jesus, what time is it?” Warren asked groggily. He picked up his Ebel watch. “Christ, I've got places to be.” He sat up on the couch in his shorts, a bit disheveled, patting around for his cigarettes.

Hauck said, “You can grab a shower if you like. You can use the one in Jessie's room. I have to take off myself.”

“Does this place come with an ashtray? Maybe a newspaper?” Warren said, pawing a hand through his unkempt hair.

Hauck went to the counter and tossed him
The Stamford Advocate
. Facing up, on the front page, there was an article about Richard Scayne, the local businessman who was embroiled in an Iraq corruption scandal.

“Christ,” Warren said, “don't you get the
Journal
or the
Times
?”

“Next time, spring for the bigger room,” Hauck said. “Listen…” He lowered himself on the arm of the couch. “Things'll work out here for you, bro. With Ginny. That financial thing. You always have a way of landing on your feet.”

Warren nodded.

“I'll check in with you later. I realize that's a bit of a risk. Twice in two days…”

Warren smiled.

Hauck tapped his brother on the shoulder. “It was nice to see you, bro. It was good to go over some things…”

“Next time, maybe we can dispense with the cross-check onto the pavement.”

“Next time, maybe you can call.”

Hauck scooped up his wallet and his gun on the counter. He turned at the door. His brother was still massaging his face in his hands, elbows on knees.

“I always knew why you came in after me,” Hauck said. “You know I would've done the same for you.”

Warren looked up. His drawn face had a glimmer of understanding on it. He edged into a smile. “You stay outta trouble, Ty.”

Outside, Hauck paused for a moment on the landing. He felt good, but through all the worry and joking last night, and the newly formed lines, there was something on his brother's face that gave him pause. The shadow of something else.

Hauck had seen it before.

It was the same look as when he had found him with Peter Morrison twenty years before.

T
hanksgiving finally came. Without providing the answer Hauck was looking for. The afternoon before, he shut down the office around two, the first break any of them had had in weeks.

Freddy Munoz knocked on Hauck's door.

“You have a good one, Freddy.” Hauck stood up and shook his detective's hand.

His eyes flashed to Munoz's watch. “New one?”

“
Happy Days
, Lieutenant. Just found it on eBay. Collector's item.” Freddy beamed. “You watch, one day it'll double.”

Hauck shook his head. “Make sure you give my best to everyone at home. Everyone coming?”

“
The whole crew.
We got my brother and sister driving down from New Haven and my in-laws up from Maryland. Went out and got the turkey last night, nineteen pounds…Giants and Cowboys on high-def. Nothing better, Lieutenant. You gonna be with Jessie?”

“No. Jessie's with her mom this year…”

“That's too bad, LT. So what about your gal? I haven't heard you bring her up so much recently.”

“Karen's away,” Hauck said. He hadn't really told anybody.
“She's with her family down south. Her dad's sick. She's been down there about a month.”

Munoz chirped a sympathetic whistle. “Jeez, that's too bad.” As he made his way to the door he turned back. “So, listen, you got plans?”

Plans…

“I'm spending the morning at the Hope Street Mission in Stamford dishing out a little food,” Hauck said.

“That's good, Lieutenant,
good.
What about after?”

“
After…
I may head up and visit my brother. I may just stick around and watch the game…”

Munoz stood there for a second, nodding. Then he shrugged. “You know, there may be some crazy departmental regulation against this…but if you wanted to come by, we got a boatload of food, LT. If you don't mind my relatives. We could open some beer. We got the plasma. You know Rosa would love to have you. Little Anthony never shuts up about you since you got him that David Wright baseball…”

Hauck smiled. He had gotten it at a community service golf outing and given it to Freddy's son, a die-hard Mets fan, for his confirmation. “I don't know, Freddy…There probably is a regulation about that somewhere. But it's nice of you to ask.”

“You sure? I mean, it's Thanksgiving, man. Everyone's gotta have themselves some turkey on Thanksgiving.”

“Say hi to the family for me. And don't you worry about the turkey, I'll work something out.”

T
hanksgiving morning, Hauck woke around eight.

The day was crisp and bright. Hauck had a coffee on the deck overlooking the sound, for a day trying to push the case out of his mind.

He threw on an Under Armour top and went out for a jog along Hope Cove and the empty marina. When he got back there was a message waiting on the machine.

Karen.

“I'm calling to wish you a happy Thanksgiving, Ty…!”

She said how the kids were down there and that her dad wanted to say hello. “We're already at work here making a carrot soup and stuffing the turkey—my mom's acting like a crazy person as usual. And we're gonna watch a little football later. Hopefully, someone here will clue me in on who's even playing, right?

“Well, you're not answering and I hope you're out there doing something very un-
Ty-like
, like maybe going to visit your brother or even having a good time. LOL, babe…You give my best to Jessie. And, oh, I almost forgot—Tobey says hi too…He says he liked it a whole lot more when you were doing the cooking!” She paused. “I'm sorry not to be with you,
Ty…I do always think of you. I hope you're well and will have yourself a nice day. I'll try to call you later.
Bye, there…
”

Hauck thought just how sweet it felt to hear the sound of her voice, even considered calling her back. He got as far as picking up the phone before something held him back and he replaced it on the receiver and went in to take a shower.

He spent the morning dishing food at the Hope Street Mission in town with Reverend Alvin Bailey, who years back was his teammate at Greenwich High. In the afternoon he just sat around and watched the Giants and the Cowboys duke it out on TV, downed a beer or two, wondering whether he should have picked up the phone and gone up to his sister's in Massachusetts. His thoughts went to the case. To what Vern had said.
Bothers me just fine!
And how frustrated he was not to be able to make a connection between Sanger and Kramer.

He turned back to the game.
For Christ's sake, it's Thanksgiving, Ty.

Around three, the phone rang again. This time, Jessie. She seemed sad to find him at home.

“I should be there with you, Daddy. I shouldn't have let you be alone.”

“No, you're doing the right thing, hon. Your mom was right.”

“You could come down here. Scott's parents are here. Everyone's in the family room playing Scrabble with the twins and looking through old albums. It's Grandparent Central here.”

“Sounds about what Thanksgiving is supposed to be, Jess.”

“So how come you didn't go up to Uncle Warren's?”

“We're all gonna be together Christmas. We'll go up and there and see your cousins. That's a promise, okay?”

“You're being a grouch, aren't you?”

“I'm not being a grouch,” Hauck said. “It just didn't work out.”

“You miss Karen, don't you, Dad?”

“Yeah. A little, baby doll.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Jess. Thanks for calling. Chin up for the old folks. You be sure and say hi to everyone for me.”

“Bye.”

Hauck leaned back on the couch thinking just how much he loved her and how maybe she was right, just a little. He watched the game until close to seven and the Giants had pulled off a pretty good fourth-quarter comeback, and a restlessness started to rise in him. About Karen (how no matter how she tried to hide it in her tone, what they had was definitely gone between them, in the past); about how his case had stalled—not stalled, more like
vaporized
. Then to how all the people in the world he felt most connected to were so far away.

You gotta get outta here, Ty
,
before you explode…

He went into the bathroom and shaved. Threw on a nice shirt over cords and a tweed jacket. He didn't know where he was heading, just out. Maybe drive up to Warren's. Knock on the door. Imagining the look of total shock.
Hey, Ty, what are you doing here?

Or up to Munoz's.
Everyone's gotta have themselves some turkey on Thanksgiving, right?

As he went out the door and headed down the stairs, it occurred to him he had no idea where he was heading, feeling alternately foolish and frustrated, his own words coming back to haunt him.

I'll figure something out.

T
he answer hit him as he drove along Elm, heading toward the thruway.

He passed the familiar sign and spun a U-ey into the parking lot. There were a couple of cars there. He turned off the engine and asked himself if he wanted to do this, giving himself a chance to back out. The little voice, the one that always got him in trouble, answered,
Why the hell not?

Everyone's gotta have turkey on Thanksgiving!

Hauck hadn't heard from her since his last time here. He knew his warning to Vega had worked.

He pulled open the wood door and stepped inside Annie's restaurant.

A vase of hydrangeas in a vase brightened the entrance.

Hauck caught sight of her through the open kitchen. She was wearing a white chef's jacket, her hair tied up in a blue kerchief. She was dotting a plate of pie with a flourish. She looked up and did a double take as she saw him.

He waved.

A waiter in a white apron came up to him apologetically. “I'm sorry, but we just finished for the night.”

“That's okay,” Hauck said. He looked toward the kitchen. “I just came by to say hi.”

Annie smiled back through the window, shrugging widely as if to say,
What's going on…?

The waiter, seeing they knew each other, said, “Sure.”

There were only a couple of tables filled. Each looked like they were finishing up. Hauck took a seat at the bar.

A short while later Annie came around, removed her kerchief, and shook out her short black hair. “So you've finally come by to give me that protection, Lieutenant…”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Hauck said.

“Happy Thanksgiving to you. I don't have to be worried, do I?” She feigned a look of concern. “You're not expecting some kind of holiday attack here, are you?”

He shook his head and laughed. “No.”

“Whew. You don't look like you're exactly dressed for duty, so okay, I'll bite. What does bring you in?”

Hauck shrugged. “How about some turkey?”

Annie screwed up her brow. “
Turkey?”

“I don't have it wrong…It is Thanksgiving, isn't it?”

Annie laughed. “You may not believe this, Lieutenant, but you may have picked the one restaurant in America that doesn't actually serve turkey on Thanksgiving.”

“You're joking.” Hauck shifted around and glanced at the sparsely filled restaurant. “You, um, may want to rethink that plan next year.”

Annie arched her brows. “And I see you've brought your stand-up routine too. Tell me, you think anyone really looking for a turkey dinner on Thanksgiving would end up coming here?”

“
I
did.” Hauck shrugged foolishly.

Annie looked at him. “Don't you have a family to go to or
something? Didn't I see a couple of kids on the desk when I was in your office?”

“A daughter.” Hauck nodded. “She's with her mom. In Brooklyn.”

“My son, he's with my folks back in California.” Annie sat next to him on a stool. “Two peas in a pod, huh? So you're looking for turkey? What a traditionalist.” She said, “Gimme a minute to look around. I'll see what I can do.”

A short while later, she came back with a neatly arranged plate that smelled sensational to Hauck.

“This is only because you did such a kick-ass job of getting those people off me,” she said. “Turkey quesadilla, with peppers and a tomatillo coulis. A side of root vegetable ratatouille. We had some sitting around to use in salads for lunch. Maybe not exactly what the pilgrims had in mind…”

“It's great.” Hauck smiled, digging in. “Thanks.”

“Not so shabby, huh?” Annie took off her jacket and apron and had on jeans and a tight-fitting tee. She had a cute, pixie-like figure and a smile like a Caribbean sunset now that it was free of worry. “Mazel tov. So now I'll bite…What exactly
are
you doing here?”

“I told you, I live nearby. I wanted to come in and try the place.”

“So you decided on Thanksgiving? At seven thirty?”

Hauck cut into his quesadilla. “It was an impulse. And this is great, by the way…”

“Tough order.” Annie rolled her eyes. “Turkey on Thanksgiving…”

She pulled up a stool. Hauck ordered a Belgian Duvel beer and Annie took a sauvignon blanc. “I don't mean to talk shop,” she asked, “but I heard on the news you still haven't caught those people.”

“No.” Hauck took a sip of beer and they clinked glasses. “Cheers.”

“Cheers. Well, whatever magic you did worked. I haven't seen hide nor hair of any bad guys since.”

“How's the Bridgeport clientele holding up?”

“A little soft.” Annie smiled. “Ran out of red bandanas. But that's okay.”

He coated a forkful of turkey in the sauce.

“Try the ratatouille.” Annie nudged him. “It's a ten.”

“Anyway, the good news is,” he said, “I'm not sure you're gonna need to get involved any deeper. When we've got someone in custody, you can come in and take a look at a lineup. You won't have to testify. Just a deposition will do. You shouldn't have to worry about having to get up on a stand.”

“I appreciate that, Lieutenant.”

They talked for a few more minutes while Hauck finished. She asked about his family. Hauck told her that he was divorced. He didn't mention Norah. She said her son was nine. Jared. Back in California. Hauck didn't probe.

“It's a little complicated. I hope to have him here soon. Truth is, I haven't always made the best choices.”

“No monopoly on that,” Hauck said.

Annie nodded. “No. I know. I had a restaurant back in the wine country that fell apart. The guy I was married to, he did some things. Both to me
and
the business. I lost everything. I had to give up custody. I had to show them I was on my feet, which was why I was such a head case not to get involved. I'm hoping to bring Jared here in December.”

“Good for you,” Hauck said.

Behind them, the two occupied tables got up and went to the door. Annie wheeled around and thanked them both. “Happy
Thanksgiving.” She waved. “See, satisfied customers all around.”

Her staff had started breaking down the kitchen. Jason the waiter went around and collected the table settings.

“I think I'd better go,” Annie said. “I promised I would break down the kitchen tonight. Only way I could get any of them to come in.”

“I understand,” Hauck said. “You were an angel. How much is all this?”

“Oh, come on.” Annie waved. “How can I charge you? After coming to my rescue. You can bring your whole department in. Christmas, maybe?”

Hauck laughed. He drank up the last of his beer and got up. “Christmas.”

“Question,” Annie said.

“Shoot.”

“What is it you go by when you're not called ‘lieutenant,' Lieutenant?”

“‘Detective' generally works.”

Annie stared back, not sure if he was teasing.

Hauck grinned from the door. “You can also try Ty, too!”