The Truth Collector (2 page)

“That’s right,” Eric said. “I gotta know before you get the rest of your money. That’s my only condition.” He eased away from the desk and towards the garage door.

“Fine,” said Malcolm. “You’ll know. But whatever you’re planning to do to him – that can’t come back on me.”

Eric shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. That’s my business. Anyway, you know how to find me. Thanks for your time.”

Malcolm held out a hand to stop him before he could slip away. “One more thing. Do you have any idea who the guy is? Any suspicions at least?”

Eric’s fingers balled up into fists. He looked at them while he squeezed, traced the lines on his knuckles with his eyes. “There’s this one guy named Craig. Craig Fielder I think. That’s the name I kept seeing when I went through her phone. He knows one of Miranda’s friends. That’s how they met I think. He seems like a nice guy – I even met him myself. Miranda says they’re just friends. But she talks about him too much, you know? She doesn’t even talk about her mother that much.”

Malcolm put his hand on Eric’s shoulder. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Eric winced a little and slipped his shoulder away. “I gotta get back before she starts calling. We’re supposed to take Nora to the park. You know where to find me.”

Malcolm motioned towards the garage door. He followed Eric over to it, hit the little button again, and the rising doors let in a wave of sticky summer air. Eric slipped out into it like one of those astronauts from a 1950s science fiction movie. He’d been holding his breath on a hostile planet and finally had the chance to get a sip of oxygen. Malcolm shielded his eyes from the sun and closed the door before Eric made it to the curb. He fanned himself with his hand, clutched at the dress shirt collar squeezing the air from his throat. His hands worked feverishly to open a few buttons, and he could smell the beer sweating through his pores. The money filled his pocket, the blood money that would probably wreck a few more lives. But it was rent money, too. Landlords didn’t care where you got it. They just cared that you had it. Malcolm turned off the little flickering overhead light and went inside.

CHAPTER TWO

All he had to do to get the rest of his money was wait. Miranda’s schedule – at least how Eric laid it out on the paper he gave him – was consistent.

There was going to the movies, out for ice cream, and play dates at the park with another young mother and her kid. Malcolm read over the list and settled on Tuesday morning. Getting a confession would be easy enough, and his tape recorder would preserve it. Then he found himself reading the list again, imagining the kind of childhood this little girl had.

More childish daydreams. It hadn’t happened, and it would never happen. Even if his mother managed to rend time, reconcile with his father, and move back across the country it
still
wouldn’t have worked out. People wouldn’t have been able to just watch a movie with him around without sharing their unfiltered opinions. The ice cream server wouldn’t be able to lie when smiling child Malcolm asked him how his day was going. No. There was always too much truth in Malcolm’s world for “play dates” and other trappings of a normal childhood. He looked down at the schedule one more time to memorize the time and place. Then he crumpled it up into a little ball and tossed it into the trashcan.

There was nothing else to do until then except arrange a ride and get more beer. Getting the ride was easy enough. All he had to do was step outside and knock on the other red door. Paul answered it shirtless, even though the morning hours were long gone. He cradled an acoustic guitar in one hand and stroked it lovingly when Malcolm spoke. Then he started nodding. Hell yeah, man. Of course I’ll do it. Just knock on the door a few minutes before you need to leave. You don’t need me to bring anything, do you? Malcolm shook his head and left him standing at the door. He walked away from the porch and felt those wide eyes burrowing into his back. They were too wide – too eager to wander through the dirty world of affairs and other human manipulations. For a moment Malcolm’s legs turned against him and he twisted back to Paul’s door. It wasn’t a great idea to bring someone else into this. Whatever this was. And he could always take the bus…

Malcolm hesitated on the edge of the porch. His hands found his pockets and landed on crisp paper – paper he could use to go buy beer. In this way the matter was settled. He shuffled down the steps and walked to the corner store where everyone knew his name.

The rest of the weekend passed without any more client meetings, phone calls, or screaming redheads. Two beer-soaked days later it was time to collect Paul and do what he did best: bring out the truth. He got into Paul’s cab half-expecting him to turn on the meter. Paul sure looked the part with his leather hat and driving gloves – he insisted on wearing them even though it was the middle of the summer. He wore a huge grin too, the only cabbie to ever wear one when Malcolm was around.

Paul asked questions and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel when they swam through city traffic. He drove fast, swerving around potholes and trucks and angry bicyclists without ever giving his mouth a chance to rest. The words poured out of him faster as they picked up speed on the highway. Not once did he ask where they were going. He just followed Malcolm’s directions turn by turn, leaving behind all the people and city blocks for sugarcane fields and bugs splattering their windshield. Malcolm lowered his window and inhaled the morning air. It was wet of course – even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Tasting it felt like rubbing yourself with a bath towel that refused to dry.

Paul stopped talking for a moment, preoccupied by the bug entrails smeared across the windshield glass. He hit the water and wipers again until most of them disappeared. Then he leaned forward and stared through the film that remained. The sugarcane fields slowly gave way to gas stations and mom and pop diners. Cars came from the other direction now, and a church steeple poked into the sky in front of them. They passed a little strip of buildings that must have been the center of the town, each building an unpowered outlet in an electrical strip that either didn’t work anymore or someone had forgotten to turn on. A minute later the buildings disappeared in the rear-view mirror, and Paul was asking questions again.

“What next?”

Malcolm glanced down at a pocket-sized notebook on his lap. He carried it everywhere – by far the most professional part of his business. “Turn right on Oleander. It should be the second intersection.”

“Great.”

They passed a little fire station and the Tattersall public library before turning onto a tree-lined street. A few kids had cast fishing lines into the pond beside the road, joking among themselves without watching their lures. Next to the pond were a couple of empty baseball diamonds and soccer fields. A little playground completed the picture of idyllic small-town life. Children raced through tunnels and along wooden plank fort parapets while mothers sat on benches in the shade.

“Pull in there,” said Malcolm, pointing at the playground parking lot.

Paul hit the brakes instead. “Really? Shouldn’t we park somewhere farther and walk?”

“We aren’t trying to be subtle. Go ahead. But back it in will you? We’re probably going to have to get out of here fast.”

“What are you going to – yeah,” said Paul. “All right.” His face was pale when he turned into the parking lot, and it grew paler when the young mothers looked over at his taxi and started talking. He backed into two spots – the lot was nearly empty – and pointed the front of the car at the exit. “They see us. I don’t know about this, man. I really don’t.”

Malcolm grabbed his arm. “Look. I normally would just ask you to wait in the car, but she’s sitting too close to her friend. I need your help on this, Paul. I need you to come with me.”

Paul glanced in the rear-view mirror, then looked down at his legs and shook his head. “I don’t know. Aren’t I already helping you?”

Malcolm squeezed his arm now. “This is easy stuff, Paul. Easy for you at least.” He slid down in his seat. “You see the woman in the purple shirt – the woman with dark hair?”

“Yeah.” Paul slid down in his seat too, mirroring Malcolm’s every movement. “What about her?”

“She’s the friend. I can't have her getting in the way. I need you to distract her. Flirt with her or put a spell on her for all I care. Do whatever you do to get so many women to come home with you.”

Paul smiled a little. “I usually have my guitar for that.”

Malcolm glanced in the side mirror. The women were still whispering, ostensibly watching their children but looking back every few seconds to check the cab. “Can you help me with this? If you can’t just take me home. I’ll have to figure something else out.”

Paul pinched his forehead like he was trying to pop a zit. He pinched and pinched and sighed. “
Fine
. I’ll flirt with the brunette so you can get whatever you need from blondie. But you’re just going to walk up there and talk to her? Where’s the sneaky shit, man? Where’s the tapping phones and stakeouts?”

Malcolm stepped out of the car and fixed his face so there was just the right amount of worry in it. The tape recorder was already running in his pocket – fresh batteries and plenty of time to record. “Just follow my lead. Look pretty and don’t talk too much. Act worried, okay?”

“What?”

Malcolm shut the car door. A few seconds later Paul cut the engine and walked fast to catch up with him, chanting an “I don’t know about this” mantra the whole way. Malcolm led them straight for the women on the park bench. They watched them come. They wore sunglasses so their eyes didn't give anything away, but their bodies were stiff, hands clutched on cell phones and purses.

Malcolm waved to the women and smiled. “How are you doing?”

They looked at him tight-lipped and terrified. The brunette woman put on a tough face, but it looked like a bathroom mirror caricature made by a five-year-old. There wasn't any hardness behind it. Here was a woman who grew up under the shade of oak trees and watchful parents. A woman with the whole community behind her – a woman who had never seen any real hardship. She held up a hand when they approached, like manicured fingernails and a giant diamond ring would be able to ward off all the horrible newspaper articles and crime shows she'd seen on TV. Here was stranger danger, real and in the flesh...

And it was getting closer fast.

“What do you want?” she said. Her other hand found Miranda's arm and held it.

Malcolm smiled wider. “Sorry if we startled you. My roommate and I are just looking for our dog. He's been gone since last night.”

The strain on the women's faces eased. “I'm sorry to hear that,” Miranda said. She kept her eyes fixed forward, leaping from Malcolm to Paul and back again. But not even her worry could rid her of her small-town manners. “We haven't seen a dog here,” she added. “We've been here since ten.”

Malcolm looked at Paul, injecting the proper amount of disappointment into his face. “Too bad. This was our last hope really.” He stared at Paul and flicked his eyes over to the brunette woman with the purple blouse.

Paul picked up the slack like they'd worked together for years. “You sure you didn't see anything?” His eyes locked on Miranda's friend. He took her hand, introduced himself, and asked her to try and remember.

Red splotches formed on the woman's upper chest near her collarbones. She held Paul's hand a few seconds too long while they made their introductions and hemmed and hawed about maybe she'd seen a dog when they first got to the park. But it was hard to say. There was a lot going on – there always was whenever she watched her kids. But one thing wasn't hard to say: Paul had his hooks in her. Malcolm smiled and nodded while the women pointed out her twins, but he hardly saw them.

His eyes were on the little girl playing by herself.

She looked back at him with a serious expression, but that just made her cuter with her brown eyes and hair in little sandy ringlets. Her face was a picture of pure innocence. She stared him down, watching, waiting for Malcolm to act. He watched her a few seconds longer. Then he stuck out his tongue and the little girl burst out laughing.

Malcolm laughed too. It rearranged his face into an unfamiliar shape. It'd been too long.

Then something tugged at his sleeve – a tiny hand not much larger than a serving spoon – and brought him back down to reality.

“What kind of dog is it?” a woman said. The woman why he was here. She hadn't moved from the park bench. Her eyes settled on him with the same intensity as her daughter's.

“What?”

“Your dog. What's the breed?”

“Oh – he's just a mutt really. There's a little lab in there and some border collie too. We didn't even know what to say on the flyers.”

Miranda watched him, her face unchanged. “Hmm. I haven't seen any dogs around here. Not today at least.”

“I'm trying my hardest to remember,” said the brunette woman, “but I'm coming up blank here. It's the kids, you know. They take all your attention. But you don't look like you'd know anything about that.”

“Wait,” Miranda said. She sat up on the bench and clutched her friend's arm. They looked at each another, exchanging information through a damn near telepathic connection that only decades of friendship could develop.

“What are you doing all the way out here in Tattersall?” Miranda said. “That's an awfully long way for a dog to come from Lemhaven.”

“We're just desperate,” Malcolm said. “That's all. When we picked her up from the shelter they mentioned she was originally from a breeder out this way. I don't know. We thought maybe she wanted to go home.”

“Who's the breeder?”

Malcolm shrugged. “They just told us she came from out this way.” He slipped a hand into his pocket and turned on the tape recorder. “We won't keep you. Thanks so much for your help.” They were sitting too close together, she and her friend. It was easier to get people alone when he did this, but today was just going to be messy. He glanced at Paul, cleared his throat…

And then the brunette woman gave him his opening.

“Here,” she said, rummaging through her purse with a pen in one hand. She handed a paper napkin to Paul. “Why don't you write down your number? You know… in case she shows up after you leave.”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Sure.” He grabbed the pen and motioned for the woman to scoot aside. She slid over and he leaned over the bench and began writing on the napkin. Malcolm slipped around the side of the bench. Miranda watched him with those questioning eyes, and he felt another pair burning into his shoulders from somewhere across the playground. He smiled at Miranda one more time and held out his hand and waited patiently for her to take it. “Thanks for trying to help.”

She offered her hand and a faint smile. “Sure. It's the right thing to do.”

“Sure,” Malcolm said, strengthening his grip. “But you know what isn't the right thing to do?”

She squirmed. Her eyes were huge now, and they grew wider every time she tried to yank her hand away and couldn't. “What are you – leave me
alone
.”

Malcolm leaned forward. “I asked you a simple question. You didn't answer it, but now you're going to answer this one. Are you cheating on your husband?”

Miranda jumped to her feet with her hand still tangled up in Malcolm's. She pulled and pulled and screamed.

Then everything started to happen at once.