Chapter Text
It was almost exactly nine A.M. when the first of the two men reached out and knocked briskly on the door of the trailer. He hadn’t even wanted to get out of the car, but he was here now, and he wanted to get this over with. A redheaded man in a threadbare blue hooded sweatshirt and jeans opened the door.
“Robert Lindell?” The first man of the two on the porch asked.
The man who had opened the door frowned. “It’s Bobby.” He said.
Detective Russell Fletchings, the second of the two on the porch and the one who hadn’t yet spoken, sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, we know Bobby, but we need your legal name for the record.”
“Record.” Bobby snorted quietly, and looked suspiciously between the two officers and their car, seeming to only now process that they were in uniform. “Marky, what’s this about?”
“It’s just Mark. Detective Mark Hatterson to you right now.” The first man said, mimicking the tone Bobby had used to announce his own name, before remembering that he was supposed to be a professional. “We’re looking for Earl Handscomb, need to bring him in. Supposedly he was staying at the motel down by Turner’s, but the manager says he hasn’t been paying for a few days. Have you seen him around? Maybe he stopped by to ask you for a favor?”
The detective did not mention that Earl’s truck had been at the motel, in case that little tidbit led to bigger clues.
“Lindells don’t harbor runaways or fugitives.” Bobby said, crossing his arms over his chest like this was something everyone should know about his family. “My grandfather was offered enough to buy heaven itself if he would let the bootleggers use the farm as a pit stop on the way to Savannah, and he wouldn’t let ‘em. Man of principles.”
Marky Hatterson let out a tired sigh. “We know Bobby.”
They did know. Everyone who had ever interacted with Bobby for longer than sixteen minutes knew about his family’s single claim to anything adjacent to fame.
“So, you were aware of the fact that Mr Handscomb is wanted for questioning?” Detective Fletchings asked, and Bobby hedged a bit.
“Might have heard something about that.” He admitted. “Not from him, just- heard that he and Wanda had gotten into something of a fight that he took too far.”
Detective Fletching had pulled out his notepad and hummed as he wrote on it. Then he looked back up to continue asking his questions. “And who did you hear this from?”
“Ran into Patricia Barnes while I was doing some shopping the other day.” Bobby shrugged.
Marky, who was not buying the story at all, huffed.
“What?” Bobby snapped, arms still folded across his chest.
“Your best friend of, what? Fifteen years? Gets himself into a scrape with his wife and a restraining order, and you, who definitely hasn’t seen him, and would never help him, heard about it from Patricia Barnes?” He shook his head. “Stick to your principles; you're no good at lying.”
Bobby narrowed his eyes. “I think I’m done talking til you come back with a warrant, or I get a lawyer.” He said, uncrossing his arms, and moving to start closing the door.
“Thank you for your time Mr Lindell.” Detective Fletchings smiled and closed his notepad.
His last attempt at civility was not enough to stop Bobby from slamming the door in both of their faces.
The two detectives walked back to their cruiser, which was parked on the patch of grass that looked only slightly more dead than all of the other dead grass around it. Fletchings got into the driver’s seat, and Hatterson was forced to walk all the way around to get in on the other side of the car.
“You wanna tell me what that was?” Fletchings snapped as soon as Marky had closed the door. His expression had dropped from the insipid friendliness he had used on Bobby, and he resembled less of a department store advertisement, and more of an actual human being again.
Marky shrugged. “I don’t trust him.”
“Yeah, no shit. Neither do I.” Fletchings said, slamming the key into the ignition. The car stuttered once, then decided to behave itself. “Do you know what’s a great way to make sure he stops talking to us? Letting him know that we don’t trust him.”
Marky huffed unhappily and looked in the rearview mirror as Fletchings reversed out back onto the trailer park’s main dirt road.
“So if he’s not at the motel, and he’s not with Bobby, where do you think we should head next?” He asked, trying to change the subject.
“We don’t know he’s not with Bobby. We don’t know that Bobby doesn’t know where he is. All we know is that Bobby says he isn’t, and that’s not very useful. Since, as you established, neither one of us wants to trust him for jack.” Fletchings pointed out as he turned right, and back out onto the asphalt of the street. “At this point we can go follow up with the wife, see if maybe he’s tried to get in touch. Other than that, we’ve got to wait to see if they find fingerprints on the truck.”
Marky already had a gut feeling that they weren’t going to find anything useful on the Chevy. He wasn’t sure why, and he’d been wrong before, but something about it didn’t seem right to him. It was the same reason he’d pushed Bobby harder than he should have. Fletchings was right, he had been out of line, but to him Bobby Lindell didn’t seem like the right direction to be looking in.
“Yeah.” He said, finally answering his partner after several seconds of silence. “Let’s go talk to Wanda.”
Detective Fletchings rolled his eyes, because he honestly didn’t know where the kid thought he was driving. When Russell’s previous partner had finally retired last year, he’d known he was going to get stuck with some younger hotshot who thought he knew everything, and would probably try to take the lead when they didn’t have to. Marky Hatterson had met both of these expectations, while not even being a very good detective. Because, if he’d been paying attention, he would have noticed that they were already on their way to the Handscomb’s.
Tate Bridge Road was only about a fifteen minute drive from Bobby Lindell’s place, but the detectives had needed to stop for gas, and the Gulf station was out of their way, so they didn’t actually arrive at Mrs. Handscomb’s home until almost nine-thirty.
Marky had gotten a bag of Doritos when they’d stopped, and eaten them very quickly, so he was left stupidly holding the empty bag. If it had been just him in the car, he would have shoved it somewhere and forgotten about it, but Fletchings would have strangled him if he’d done that, so he held onto it.
Detective Fletchings pulled into the driveway of number 17, and parked the car. The only other vehicle in the driveway was an older station wagon that Marky knew belonged to Wanda, because he’d seen her driving it here or there around town. The pair got out, and Marky shoved the chip bag into his pocket. Fletchings glared at him over the roof of the cruiser when he heard the crinkling, but didn’t say anything.
They walked up the front steps, Fletchings in the lead this time. He knocked on the door, and even just his knuckles on the thin metal panel on the outside sounded friendlier than Marky’s had been at Bobby’s place.
A woman who wasn’t Wanda opened the door.
Fletchings opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Marky recognized her.
“Maryanne Carson?” He asked, delighted.
“Marky Hatterson?” The woman tilted her head to the side and looked at him for a second.
She looked older, which made sense considering he hadn’t gotten a chance to see her in five years. She was fully dressed in jeans and a Linda Ronstadt shirt that looked like it had been in a paintball fight, and, most notably, she had shaved her head.
Although, Marky reasoned in his first shining moment of complete sense of the morning, he had also shaved his head since they’d last seen each other, when he joined the force.
“What are you doing here?” Maryanne asked, and Marky realized that he’d been staring at her.
“I’m sorry, Miss… Carson? Was it?” Fletchings said, reminding the other two that he was there. “Is Wanda Handscomb at home? We have a few questions for her.”
“Oh, Fletch, this is Maryanne.” Marky said, turning to his partner and rushing to introduce him. “This girl wouldn’t go to the spring dance with me. Said I was too…what was it?”
“I said no.” Mayanne was clearly not as interested in reminiscing as Marky was, and he took that as his cue to make acquaintances in the other direction.
“This is my partner, Detective Russell Fletchings.” He proudly pointed at him, and puffed up his chest.
Maryanne looked between the two men slowly, without her expression changing by even a fraction. Then she turned back into the house and called over her shoulder. “Wanda! There’s some cops got a couple questions for you!”
There was a brief pause, then Wanda Handscomb, still in pajama pants with her hair unbrushed, walked into view. She was holding a mug of coffee in one hand, and a book in the other. Once she came to stand by Maryanne’s side, she took a long moment, in which no one spoke, to look them over. At the same time, Marky could already tell that Fletchings was doing the same to her. He could practically feel Fletchings’ eyes snag on the line of stitches in her forehead.
“Morning gentlemen.” Wanda finally said, breaking the silence just before taking a long sip from her mug. “What can I do for you?”
There was something endearing about how close the women stood together. With Maryanne still holding the door, and standing so much taller than Wanda, she looked very protective. Which was very understandable given the faint bruises on Wanda’s neck that must have only just started to fade.
“Nothing you should be worried about, of course.” Marky scrambled to assure them before Fletchings could say something to make them skittish. “We were just following up to ask if you’d heard from Earl since getting out of the hospital.”
“You mean you haven’t been able to bring him in yet?” Maryanne said, lifting one eyebrow in a way that wasn’t pleased, and made Marky feel self conscious. Which he thought was unfair considering that he wasn’t responsible for Earl evading them. But he bravely carried on.
“We’re doing our due diligence. We’ll find him, it’s just that these things take time, and we’ve got to make sure we go through the right channels. It’s a lot more complicated than what you see on TV.”
Maryanne hummed noncommittally, but didn’t respond beyond that.
Wanda, however, did. After she finished taking another drink. “I haven’t heard from him.” She said. “Patricia Barnes, across the street-” She pointed at the house on the other side of the road, apparently in case they couldn’t find that either. “-said that she’d seen him around, trying to get into the house while I was in the hospital. But besides that, I don’t know where he’s been since I got out. Called the motel where he was staying a couple days ago, but the manager wouldn’t tell me anything. Apparently something having to do with privacy.”
“Why were you calling the motel?” Fletchings asked, looking up from the notepad that Marky hadn't realized he was writing on.
“I’ve got divorce papers he still hasn’t signed.” Wanda shrugged. “Figured if he was gonna go through the trouble of breaking my skull over it, the least he could do was actually put his John Handcock on the things.”
Marky flinched, Fletchings didn’t.
“And what time would that have been?” He asked.
“Friday morning?” She said, looking up to think, then shaking her head. “I don’t remember the exact time, you’d have to check the phone bill.”
“Do you mind if we have a look around the house?” Fletchings asked, putting his notebook back into his pocket. “Just to make sure nothing was tampered with when Earl stopped by?”
Wanda shrugged again. “Sure. Me and Maryanne looked at everything we could think of, and nothing’s missing, but if you want to look around that would probably make her less nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.” Maryanne said, stepping out of the way to let the detectives into the house. “I just don’t like the idea of you staying here by yourself when he knows where you are, and can get to you whenever he wants.”
Wanda gave the detectives a side eye where Maryanne couldn’t see it, and Fletchings nodded subtly. Marky gave her a less subtle thumbs up.
The four of them walked down the hallway and into the living room. The TV was on, and there was an open suitcase lying on the floor. Fletchings walked over to the suitcase and crouched down to look at it better. The others watched as he pushed aside some of the clothing within it with the back end of his pen.
“That’s mine.” Maryanne said.
Fletchings hummed. “You planning on going somewhere?” He asked, still poking around the case.
“I mean- yeah?” Maryanne shrugged, and her eyebrows furrowed a little. “I only packed for about a week.”
Fletchings stood back up and turned to face her. “You don’t live around here?”
She shook her head. “Atlanta.”
“You leaving today?”
“No.”
“Why’s the case open?”
“Was putting on my shoes and didn’t get a chance to close it before you all knocked on the door.”
Marky didn’t like all these questions, although he was impressed by how cool Maryanne was while under such a blatant line of inquisition. Most of the time people got jumpy when the police asked them too much, even if they weren’t remotely suspected of any wrongdoing, which made getting the answers they needed to do their jobs much more difficult.
“I don’t think our man’s hiding in the case, Fletch.” Marky called, earning himself a giggle from Wanda, and death glare from Fletchings.
“He definitely wouldn’t fit.” Wanda confirmed, apparently deeply amused.
Fletchings sighed, but dropped it, instead moving to look at the windows. He walked around the room, checking each one, before he stopped at the one nearest to the couch.
He touched the latch with the back of his pen. “Did you leave this one unlocked?” He asked.
Wanda frowned, clearly trying to remember. “I don’t think I would’ve opened it recently. But I can’t remember if it was unlocked before or after I left.”
Fletchings pushed the latch back into the locked position with his pen, being careful not to use his fingers. “Well, for now, just make sure it stays locked.”
“Of course.” She said with a nod.
“You ladies can stay here if you want.” Marky said, gesturing to the couch and the TV, which seemed to be, (confusingly for two adult women) playing a rerun of the Woody Woodpecker Show. “We’re just gonna take a quick peak around, make sure everything else is ship-shape, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”
“Of course, just shout if you need anything.” Wanda had already sat her mug back on the end table, and was getting ready to sit down on the couch.
“Yeah.” Maryanne, who up until this point had been leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, said. “We appreciate it.” Then she crouched down to start rearranging her suitcase after Fletchings’ invasive poking.
Marky and Fletchings took their time, looking around the bathroom, the bedroom, a supply closet, and finally the kitchen. Marky was the one checking all of the doors and windows, making sure no locks had been broken or tampered with from the inside, and it didn’t strike him as odd until they got to the kitchen.
“What are you looking for?” He asked Fletchings, who was leaning down to look into a drawer full of utensils. “Why am I the only one looking at the locks?”
The kitchen had obviously been cleaned recently. Except for the pan soaking in the sink and a couple of plates that must have been from breakfast, it was spotless. It smelled like lemon scented floor cleaner, and fresh coffee from the half-full pot sitting in the machine.
Fletchings closed the drawer and glared at him again before answering. “Because you’re looking for any evidence that Earl was here, I’m looking for any evidence of where he might have gone.”
“And you’re gonna find that with the butter knives?”
“I don’t need a warrant if the owner gave me permission.” Fletchings shrugged.
“Alright, well, I’m done, so unless you want to head outside and see if he left a card for a taxi service in the flower beds, I’m gonna go ask Patricia Barnes about when she supposedly saw him here.”
Fletchings didn’t answer. Marky took that as a sign that there wasn’t anything else he was desperate to do here, and walked back to the living room.
“Ok, so, good news.” He said as he reentered the room. Both of the women were sitting on the couch, the suitcase had been set against the wall and out of the way, and they looked up in unison as he started speaking. “Doesn’t look like anything was damaged, or tampered with.”
“Told you.” Wanda leaned over and said to Maryanne in a teasing voice. “It’s all safe.” Maryanne snorted and rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything.
Fletchings decided to join them. “Everything seems to be fine, nothing amiss from what we can tell.” He made a gesture like he was wiping dust from his hands.
The women stood up and walked with the detectives to the door.
“So what are our next steps here?” Maryanne asked. “Is there anything else you need us to do? Or is it just a matter of sitting and waiting until you manage to track him down?”
“Nothing left for you to worry about!” Marky said in a way that he hoped sounded bright and friendly, and not childish, the way Maryanne was looking at them was making him very desperate to prove his competence. “We’ve got it from here, and we’ll let you know as soon as we know.”
Fletchings hummed his agreement. “Thank you again ladies. And if you do hear anything from him, just let us know.”
“Of course.” Wanda said. “Thank you for all your help. I’m sure meeting you both took a load off Maryanne’s mind. Don’t want her to be too worried about me when she has to go back.”
“I know you can take care of yourself.” Maryanne said flatly. “I just want to make sure you’re not living inside a mouse trap where anybody who wants can get at you.” She turned to the detectives. “Can I use your pen?” She asked Fletchings.
He hesitated for a second, then dug into his pocket and brought it out for her.
“And a piece of paper.” She didn’t so much ask as she did raise an eyebrow at him.
He frowned, but tore one out of the back of his notepad. She scrawled on it for a second, then handed it and then pen back to him. On it was a phone number.
“In case you need it.” She said, then turned and walked back inside.
Marky was having a difficult time not being giddy. Even though she hadn’t really given it to him, he had just seen Maryanne Carson, and she had given him her number. Somewhere his younger self was off celebrating the realization of that particular dream. But he was a grown-up, and a professional, and a police officer, so he couldn’t focus on that now.
Fletchings had taken the scrap of paper and turned to walk back to the cruiser, leaving just Marky and Wanda standing on the porch.
“You have a good day.” He said with a wave. Then he turned to follow Fletchings.
“You too Marky!” She called after him. He heard the sound of the front door closing.
Fletchings was sitting in the passenger seat, looking over the notes he had taken, so Marky figured it was his turn to drive. He got in and closed the door, only to realize that he still had the chip bag in his pocket, but no keys.
“Can I have the keys?” Fletchings handed them over without comment, and Marky started the car. “So, I’m just taking us across the street.” He said, trying not to sound like he was asking for permission.
Fletchings sighed and closed his notebook. “This is a waste of time.” He said. “We’d be better off trying to get Lindell to admit he’s talked to him. There’s nothing for us to find out here.”
As Marky turned to reverse out of the driveway, he looked at Wanda’s station wagon for just a second longer than he meant to, and something in the back seat caught his eye. He paused, and looked again, only to see that what he had been looking at was a couple of garbage bags.
He shook his head, and silently thanked the Lord that Fletchings didn’t notice how jumpy he was being. Then he pulled the rest of the way out of the driveway, and just drove backward at an angle into the Barnes’. Fletchings shot him an unimpressed look for that move, and Marky just smiled at him.
They parked and got out, making the trek up the walkway, and to the front steps. It wasn’t even ten o’clock yet, and Marky was already bored of this song and dance for the day.
Fletchings knocked, they waited, the door was opened. The tedium was grating.
Miss Patricia Barnes had a look of pleasant befuddlement as she held the door open for them.
“Why, Marky Hatterson, good morning!” She said sweetly. “And Russell! What brings you two around today?”
Marky opened his mouth to answer, only to be cut off.
“Hi, Patty.” Fletchings said in a voice both fond, and completely devoid of the falsity he usually put one while doing their rounds of questioning. Marky stared at him, opened mouthed, not sure whether to be more taken aback by the familiarity, or the absurdity. “Would you mind if we popped in for a second? Got a couple questions.”
Miss Patricia Barnes beamed, apparently happier to answer him than Marky could reasonably believe anyone had ever been before. “Of course! Both of you come right in. Do you want coffee? I’ll get you coffee. Marky, do you take cream or sugar? I’ll get you both.” She chattered away without leaving an opening for anyone else to respond, making herself busy and then disappearing off so quickly that Marky could practically still hear her words hanging in the air over their heads after she was gone.
He turned to his partner. “Patty?” He asked, eyebrows raised.
Fletchings scowled at him.
The two men stood in the living room, neither one of them speaking. Marky looked around, and Detective Fletchings made himself comfortable on one of the three overstuffed armchairs in the room. There was also an overstuffed sofa, and an overstuffed footrest. All of the furniture was upholstered in bright fabrics, all of which were similar (but not matching) creamy white base colors, but then various printed patterns. Most of them in almost matching prints of flowers, although the chair the detective was sitting in had given up even that attempt at cohesion, and was covered in pastel green stripes.
The walls of the room were painted in a cream color that almost matched the large area rug, (decorated with yet another flower print that failed to match any of the furniture), and there was a dark wood coffee table with a white runner, on which sat a vase containing a large bouquet of plastic flowers.
Everything felt very starched and fussy, in a way that made seeing Detective Fletchings sitting with his legs crossed in the middle of it, with his dark clothing and stern face, seem both completely out of place, and somehow just as well suited as any of the mismatched flower prints.
Miss Patricia Barnes came into the room holding a ceramic tray, decorated with peacocks, that held three mugs of coffee, as well as a sugar bowl. She set it down on the coffee table.
“Oh, Marky, have a seat!” She said, pointing to the overstuffed sofa, which had no less than six cross-stitched flower throw pillows on it. Marky hesitated for a second before Detective Fletchings glared at him and he was forced to sit down, feeling very much like he did when his family used to visit his grandmother on Sundays. He had to stop himself from reaching up to tug at his tie as if his mother had forced him into it this morning, even though that hadn’t happened to him in over a decade and a half.
Miss Patricia Barnes didn’t seem to notice, instead handing one of the coffee mugs to Detective Fletchings. “Here you are, Russell. I only have Coffee-Mate right now, I’ve got to pick up more of the french vanilla one when I go shopping later.”
Fletchings took the mug from her. “That’s fine, I appreciate it Patty.” He took a long sip from the mug, and actually smiled to himself after he swallowed.
Marky was so busy staring at him slack-jawed that he didn’t notice that Miss Patricia Barnes was offering him a mug of his own until she cleared her throat to get his attention.
“Marky?” She asked, ducking her head to catch his eye.
He shook his head and focused on her. “Yes ma’am?”
“I didn’t know how much sugar you wanted so…” She gestured to the sugar bowl and the mug on the tray which already had cream added to it. “I figure you know what you like best.” Then she leaned over, picked up one of the two the spoons on the tray, and scooped one spoonful of sugar into the third and final mug of coffee, stirred it, then picked it up and went to sit on the armchair closest to where Detective Fletchings was sitting.
Marky took the other spoon and administered his own sugar.
“Roger out?” Detective Fletchings asked after he’d taken another drink from his mug.
Miss Patricia Barnes nodded. “He and a couple of his friends are planning on heading up to the lake to go bass fishing next weekend. Leaving Friday after work. He’s out buying patches for his tent. Apparently a mouse got into the garage and chewed a hole in it.”
Even though he wasn’t all that interested in the inner working of the Barnes’ household, Marky did still find it funny that Miss Patricia Barnes said ‘leaving Friday’ in the same tone that most people would say ‘I won the lottery’, and ‘a mouse got in’ in the same tone that most people would say ‘like I told him was going to happen’.
Fletchings, however, was better at pretending to be interested in the comings and goings of Roger Barnes than Marky. “You gonna be alone up here all weekend?”
“I suppose.” She shrugged one delicate shoulder and took a drink of her coffee.
Detective Fletchings hummed thoughtfully. “Well, you know where to call if you need anything.”
“Speaking of which.” She said, setting her coffee mug back down on the tray. “What brings you boys out here today? Not that I don’t love having you drop by, I just wouldn’t want to hold you up if it was something important.”
Marky jumped at the opportunity to get back in on the conversation. “We’re looking for Earl Handscomb, ma’am. Your former neighbor?”
“Oh- I” She hesitated for a moment, her eyes drifting out through the large window and across the street to the Handscomb's house. “Did you talk to Wanda already?”
“We did.” Fletchings nodded. “Said she hadn’t seen him, but she mentioned that you said you’d seen him poking around while she was in the hospital. Do you remember what time that was? Or what car he was driving? Maybe one of his buddies gave him a ride over?”
Miss Patricia Barnes’ eyebrows had furrowed deeply, and her mouth was hanging open slightly. She shook her head a little, as if to disagree, or maybe just out of confusion, as she looked between the two detectives.
“I-” She shook her head one last time, harder. “Yeah. Wednesday morning, I saw him walking around the front yard. Don’t remember what car he had, but he was alone. I walked over there to ask him what was going on, because I didn’t know yet, but on Monday night there was all the fuss with the ambulance, and no one told me what that was about. When I talked to Earl he told me that Wanda had fallen, and hit her head. Had to go to the hospital.” Her face grew even more solemn, and she picked her mug back up, taking a long drink from it while the two men let her sit for a moment.
Finally she pulled back and looked up at Fletchings. “She didn’t just fall, did she?” She asked, her voice stoney.
Marky opened his mouth to respond, but Miss Patricia Barnes didn’t look at him, her eyes locked on Fletchings. He was taken aback by both of their expressions, so he decided to shut up and let Detective Fletchings take the lead on this one.
For his part Fletchings hummed and took another drink of his coffee. “Any help you could give us as to some idea where he might have gone would be appreciated.” He said slowly.
This was apparently not what Miss Patricia Barnes had wanted to hear, and her eyes narrowed unhappily. “I haven’t seen him since.” She said, standing and picking up the peacock tray. Marky was forced to scramble to put his half empty mug back on it before she completely cleared it away. She marched out of the room suddenly, heading back to the kitchen and leaving Fletchings still holding his mug.
He sighed and stood up, knees creaking. “Patty-” He pleaded, turning to follow her.
Marky was left alone, not sure what to do. He didn’t want to keep sitting in the mismatched flower covered living room, but, based on the snatches of angry muttering he was hearing from the kitchen, he wanted to be in there even less. All in all, his initial impression of being a child forced to behave on Sunday morning had only grown stronger the longer he was in this house.
He was snapped out of his wallowing by Fletchings, who was coming back from the kitchen, now missing his coffee.
“Come on.” He snapped at Marky. “We’re going.”
“Did she remember what car he had?” Marky asked, standing to follow after Fletchings as he kept marching out of the living room and into the foyer, only pausing for long enough to jerk open the front door.
“Of course not!” Fletchings snapped as they both stepped down onto the walkway. “I told you this was a waste of time.”
Marky deflated as he handed the keys to the cruiser back to Fletchings, and got into the passenger seat. “So what do we do next?”
“Follow up on Lindell. After that, I really don’t give much of a damn, but we’re not going to find Earl Handscomb hanging around here, drinking coffee with paranoid dykes from Atlanta and skittish gossiping housewives.” Fletchings snarled as he started the car and threw it into drive. Marky almost slammed into the dashboard because he hadn’t had time to fasten his seatbelt before Fletchings was accelerating out of the driveway and down Tate Bridge Road.
He wanted to argue as they drove past the Handscomb’s house, not sure where to even start, but Fletchings didn’t look like he wanted to hear it, and Marky didn’t particularly feel like drawing that irritation onto himself this early in the day.
Instead he just looked out of the window of the cruiser, back at number 17, and its little shed, and Wanda’s station wagon. Something was off here, just a little bit out of place, but Fletchings was still grumbling about something, and Marky couldn’t focus. He figured it probably didn’t matter anyway, Fletchings was probably right, they should be looking at Bobby. No one else had any reason to protect him.
After all, if Wanda did know where he was, she would have told them. Why would she have any reason to hide him?
