The Unquiet

I stepped back and allowed them to enter. I noticed that none of them turned their backs on me. Outside, Ronson’s hand had drifted casually toward his gun.

“Kitchen okay?” I said.

“Sure,” said Conlough. “After you.”

They followed me to the kitchen. I sat down at the breakfast table. Ordinarily, I would have remained standing so as not to give them any advantage, but I still felt weak and uncertain on my legs.

“You don’t look so good,” said Frederickson.

“I had a bad night.”

“Want to tell us about it?”

“You want to tell me why you’re here first?”

But I knew. Merrick.

Conlough took a seat across from me while the others stayed standing. “Look,” he said, “we can clear all of this up here and now if you’ll just be straight with us. Otherwise”-he glanced meaningfully in Hansen’s direction-“it could get awkward.”

I should have asked for a lawyer, but a lawyer would have meant a trip there and then to the Scarborough P.D., or maybe to Gray, or even Augusta. A lawyer would have meant hours in a cell or an interrogation room, and I wasn’t sure that I was well enough to face that yet. I was going to need a lawyer eventually, but for now I was in my own home, at my own kitchen table, and I wasn’t about to leave unless I absolutely had to.

“Frank Merrick broke into my home last night,” I said. “He cuffed me to my bed”-I showed them the marks on my wrists-“then he gagged me, blindfolded me, and took my gun. I don’t know how long he left me like that. When he came back, he told me that he’d done something that he shouldn’t have, then chloroformed me. When I came to, the cuffs and tape were gone. So was Merrick. I think he still has my gun.”

Hansen leaned back against the kitchen counter. His arms were folded across his body.

“That’s quite a story,” he said.

“What gun did he take?” asked Conlough.

“Smith amp;Wesson, ten millimeter.”

“What load?”

“Cor-Bon. One-eighty grams.”

“Kinda tame for a ten,” said Hansen. “You worried about the frame cracking?”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“You’re kidding, right? The hell does that matter now?”

Hansen shrugged.

“Just asking.”

“It’s a myth. You happy?”

He didn’t reply.

“You got the ammo box for the Cor-Bons?” asked Conlough.

I knew where this was headed. I suppose I knew from the moment I saw the three detectives on my doorstep and, had I not felt so sick, I might almost have admired the circularity of what I suspected Merrick had done. He had used the gun on someone, but he had kept the weapon. If the bullet could be retrieved, then it could be compared with the box of rounds in my possession. It mirrored exactly the ma

“I’m going to have to call a lawyer,” I said. “I’m not answering any more questions.”

“You got something to hide?” asked Hansen. He tried to smile, but it was an unpleasant thing, like a crack in old marble. “Why you getting all lawyered up now? Relax. We’re just talking here.”

“Really, is that what we’re doing? If it’s all the same to you, I don’t care much for your conversation.”

I looked at Conlough. He shrugged.

“Lawyer it is, then,” he said.

“Am I under arrest?” I asked.

“Not yet,” said Hansen. “But we can take that road, if you want to. So: arrest, or conversation?”

He gave me a cop stare, filled with false amusement and the certainty that he was in control.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” I said. “I’m sure I would have remembered, just to make sure that I didn’t have the pleasure again.”

Conlough coughed into his hand, and turned his face to the wall. Hansen’s expression didn’t change.

“I’m a new arrival,” said Hansen. “I’ve been around some, though, done my time in the big cities-just like you, I guess, so your reputation doesn’t mean shit to me. Maybe up here, with your war stories and the blood on your hands, you seem like a big shot, but I don’t care much for men who take the law into their own hands. They represent a failure in the system, a flaw in the works. In your case, I intend to repair that flaw. This is the first step.”

“It’s not polite to disrespect a man in his own home,” I said.

“That’s why we’re all going to leave now, so that I can continue disrespecting you someplace else.”

He waved his fingers, indicating that I should stand. Everything about his attitude toward me spoke of utter contempt, and there was nothing that I could do but take it, for the present. If I reacted further, I would lose my temper, and I didn’t want to give Hansen the satisfaction of putting the cuffs on me.

I shook my head and stood, then put on an old pair of sneakers that I always kept by the kitchen door.

“Let’s go, then,” I said.

“You want to lean against the wall there first?” said Hansen.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I replied.

“Yeah, I’m a regular joker,” said Hansen. “You and me both. You know what to do.”

I stood with my legs spread and my hands flat against the wall while Hansen patted me down. When he was happy that I wasn’t concealing assorted weaponry, he stepped back, and I followed him from the house, Conlough and Frederickson behind me. Outside, Ben Ronson already had the back door of the cruiser open for me. I heard a dog barking. Walter was racing across the field dividing my property from the Johnsons’. Bob Johnson was some ways behind Walter, but I could see the expression of concern on his face. As the dog drew nearer, I felt the cops tense around me. Ronson’s hand went to his gun again.

“It’s okay,” I said. “He’s friendly.”

Walter sensed that the men in the yard had no love for him. He paused at a gap in the trees overlooking the front yard and barked uncertainly, then slowly walked toward me, his tail wagging gently but his ears flat against his head. I looked at Conlough, and he nodded his okay. I went to Walter and rubbed his head.

“You have to stay with Bob and Shirley for a while, puppy,” I said. He pressed his head against my chest and closed his eyes. Bob was now standing where Walter had been minutes before. He knew better than to ask if everything was okay. I grabbed Walter by the collar and took him over to Bob, Hansen watching me all the way.

“Will you take care of him for a few hours?” I asked.

“It’s no trouble,” he replied. He was a small, spry man, his eyes alert behind his spectacles. I looked down at the dog, and while I patted him one more time I quietly asked Bob to call the Black Point I

“Sure. Anything else I can do for you?”

I looked around at the four cops.

“You know, Bob, I really don’t think so.”

With that, I got in the back of the black-and-white, and Ronson drove me to the Scarborough P.D.