Linwood Barclay - Parting Shot

I ran into someone on the street in Promise Falls the other day, a woman who knew me back when I was a cop here, before I left for Griffon, near Buffalo, and became a private investigator.

She said, Oh, I didnt know youd moved back. Hows Donna? And your boy? Scott, isnt it?

I never quite know how to answer questions like this. But I said, Im kind of on my own now.

She gave me a sympathetic look and nodded knowingly. These things happen, she said. I hope it was all amicable, that youre all still talking.

I gave her the best smile I could muster. We talk every night, I told her.

She smiled back. Well, thats good then, isnt it?

Detective Barry Duckworth of the Promise Falls Police was sitting at his desk when his phone rang. He snatched up the receiver.

Duckworth, he said.

Its Bayliss. Trent Bayliss, the sergeant on the desk where people walked into the station.

Yeah.

I got a live one here. Bayliss was unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

Whatre you talking about?

Guy got picked up wandering around downtown. Once they brought him in, he said he needed to talk to a detective. So Im sending him your way. Says his name is Gaffney. Brian Gaffney. But hes got no ID on him.

Whats his story? Duckworth asked.

Its better if you hear it from him. I wouldnt want to spoil the fun. Bayliss hung up.

Wearily, Barry Duckworth cradled the receiver. Maybe Bayliss was amused, but Barry wasnt. He didnt view the job quite the way he used to. A little more than a year ago, hed nearly died in the performance of his duties, and it had changed not only how he saw his work, but the world around him.

He liked to think hed stopped taking things for granted. He knew it was something of a clich, but he saw each day as a gift. Every morning, he thought back to those moments when hed nearly had the life snuffed out of him. Took him a while to get back on his feet, too. There was a stint in the hospital, even a little plastic surgery on his face.

Perhaps the most amazing thing was, in the last year hed actually lost some weight. Hed been about two-eighty fourteen months ago, but was now down to two hundred and thirty-three pounds. According to his calculations, that was forty-seven pounds. For a while hed been putting new holes in his belt and just drawing his regular pants on tighter, but his wife, Maureen, said he was starting to look ridiculous. Shed dragged him to the mens shop, like he was five years old or something, and bought him some new clothes.

But hed kept his old ones in the closet. Just in case. There might come a time when he once again found the temptations of Dunkin Donuts too great to resist.

It had been some time since hed had one of those.

And he wasnt going to lie. He missed them. But he liked being alive, and healthier, even more.

Maureen had been tremendously supportive. Shed already been trying to get him to change his eating habits. Immediately after the incident, she was so happy he wasnt dead that she spoiled him with homemade cakes and pies no one made a lemon meringue pie like Maureen but it was Barry who told her to stop. Hed made up his mind, he told her. He was going to take charge of his health. He was going to look after himself.

Which explained the banana sitting on his desk. The brown banana, which had been there since yesterday.

While Barry Duckworth knew what he wanted to do where his health was concerned, he was less sure about his career. It was in his role as a police detective that he had nearly died.

He wondered whether he should do something else. The trouble was, he didnt know what else to do.

Hed been a cop more than twenty years. It wasnt like he could go back to school at this stage and become a dentist. Okay, maybe not a dentist. He didnt understand why anyone would want to become a dentist. Hed rather attend a hundred murder scenes than have to stick his fingers into someones mouth. But an accountant, now there was a nice, safe job. No one beat your face to a pulp for being an accountant.

While Duckworth coped with the fallout of nearly losing his life, the town itself was struggling to return to normal. Hundreds of Promise Falls finest and some not so fine had died in a catastrophe the year before. People had never stopped talking about what happened, but now you could go an entire day, sometimes even two, without someone bringing it up.

The out-of-towners were the real problem. It was, on a much smaller scale of course, a bit like after the Twin Towers came down, when tourists wanted their picture taken at Ground Zero. This upstate New York locale had become the poster town for revenge, and almost daily someone could be spotted taking a selfie by the Welcome to Promise Falls sign.

Duckworth leaned back in his office chair, keeping his eye on the door to the detectives room. It opened and a man stood there, staring in, a look of bewilderment on his face.

He probably topped out at one hundred and twenty pounds. Skinny, white, early twenties, about five feet nine inches tall. Closely cropped black hair, about three days worth of whiskers on his face. He wore jeans and a dark blue long-sleeved shirt with a button-down collar. He scanned the room, his eyes darting nervously. Duckworth stood up.

Mr. Gaffney?

The man looked at Duckworth, blinked. Thats me.

Duckworth waved him in, pointed to the chair next to his desk. Why dont you have a seat.

Brian Gaffney, holding his hands together in front of him, leaning over slightly, as though trying to close in on himself, sat down. He kept looking around the room, up at the ceiling, like someone entering a cave, checking for bats clinging to the roof.

Mr. Gaffney?

Gaffneys fearful eyes settled on Duckworth. Yes?

Im a detective. He had a pen in his hand, ready to make some notes. Can you spell your name for me, Mr. Gaffney?

Gaffney did so.

And your middle name?

Arthur, he said. Are we safe here?

Im sorry?

Gaffneys head movements were brief, quick twitches, like a bird taking in its surroundings. He lowered his voice to a whisper as he leaned in closer to the detective. They might still be watching me.

Duckworth put a hand lightly on the mans arm. Gaffney examined it, as though not sure what it was.

Youre okay here, Duckworth assured him, thinking, only Bayliss would see this man as a source of amusement. Whatever Gaffney was afraid of might be imaginary, but the fear Duckworth saw in the mans eyes was the real deal.

Gaffney shivered. You need to turn the heat up.

The room was already in the high seventies. The A/C should have kicked in, but had not.

Duckworth stood, slipped off his jacket, and draped it over the mans shoulders. Hows that?

Gaffney nodded.

You want a coffee? the detective asked. That might warm you up.

Quietly, Gaffney said, Okay.

What do you take?

I... It doesnt matter, long as its hot.

Duckworth crossed the room to the table where they kept the coffee machine, filled a reasonably clean mug, put in one sugar and a powdered creamer, and brought it back to the man.

Gaffney wrapped both hands around the mug, brought it to his lips and took a sip as Duckworth sat back down and picked up his pen again. Whats your date of birth, Mr. Gaffney?

April sixteenth, 1995. Gaffney watched as Duckworth scribbled things down. I was born in New Haven.

Current address?

They might be here, Gaffney said, lowering his voice again. They might be cloaking themselves in human form.

Duckworths pen stopped moving. Whos they, Mr. Gaffney?

Gaffney blinked and said, I live at 87 Hunter Street. Unit 201.