“No…”
“Clark thinks that you’re just some wide-eyed kid who wants to be a detective someday, but I’m not buying it.” Vargas crossed his arms. “I think you’re some punk who’s helping out someone in his crew. You went to the prison and met with Jay. Jay Martin told you where he dumped Stacy Shaw’s body. That’s how you went right to it. You didn’t ‘find’ it. You knew exactly where it was.”
Jack rubbed his temples. He felt as though his head was about to explode. “I was trying to help and—”
“Why should I believe you?”
Jack’s mind raced as he struggled to figure out a way to prove his innocence. “How could I have known in advance the homeless lady had the handbag? And if I did, why wouldn’t I just leave an anonymous tip? That would lead you to the handbag and then to the body. If I was trying to help Jay Martin, then why say it was his brother and not ‘someone framed him’ or something? There’s a million different scenarios. If—”
Vargas held up a hand. “Well, the facts say otherwise, but out of respect for Detective Clark, let’s just say I give you the benefit of the doubt and say you really were just trying to help out.”
“I was.”
“Then make no mistake about it, Nancy Drew: from here on out, stay the hell away from my investigation.” Vargas took his gold badge off his belt and held it in Jack’s face. “Do you see this? It’s a detective badge. See what it says? Detective Vargas.” He put the badge on the table and tapped it. “Do you have one? No. Because you’re not a detective. You’re not even an officer. You’re nobody. Get that through your head. If I catch you within ten yards of that park or anyone with anything to do with my investigation, I’ll charge you with obstruction so fast your head will spin.” He looked at the cop and gestured to Jack. “Get him the hell out of my sight.”
The policeman motioned to Jack. Jack stood and looked down at Vargas. He didn’t glare. He didn’t smirk. He just stared.
“You want to say something?” Vargas picked his badge up and buffed it on his sleeve. “Don’t dig your hole any deeper.”
Jack clamped his mouth shut and walked out of the room.
15
Unlovable
Jack and Chandler sat at the kitchen table, waiting for Aunt Haddie. It was after eleven when she walked in the back door. She looked exhausted. Normally, Jack only noticed her big smile or her bright eyes. Tonight, however, he saw the deep lines of concern on her face, the gray in her hair, and the slump in her shoulders. For the first time in his life, he realized that she was getting old.
Jack decided it was best not to tell her what Vargas had said to him at the police station. He stood and got her a ginger ale.
“How’s Mrs. Martin?” Chandler asked.
Aunt Haddie rubbed her eyes and smiled thinly at Jack as he handed her the glass. “Not good. They’re going to charge Jay with murder.”
Jack leaned against the table. He had known it was coming, but it still rocked him. Vargas’s words haunted him now. Who are you gonna believe…
“Is there anything we can do?” Chandler asked.
Aunt Haddie sighed. “Pray. That’s a start.” She patted Jack’s shoulder. “It’s late. Why don’t you stay over, Jackie? Your old bedroom’s open.”
Jack nodded.
Aunt Haddie kissed Chandler’s cheek and the top of Jack’s head. “Thank you both for trying.” She shuffled down the hallway.
“Do you think Two Point did it?” Chandler asked Jack, once she was gone.
“I don’t think so,” Jack said. “Stacy Shaw was strangled. Remember when Two Point broke his wrist trying to go down the library stairs on his bike? His left hand is still all screwed up. I don’t think he’d physically be able to strangle anyone. Besides, he’s a pansy. You know how Bobbie G calls him ‘Tommy Two Feet’ because Tommy runs away if someone says boo. Stealing and running? Yeah, that I’d buy, but killing, no.”
“Yeah,” said Chandler. “I wasn’t thinking about the hand, that’s a good point. And I agree with you about the kind of guy he is. He’s gone down a bad path, but this… yeah. It’s not Tommy.”
The two friends talked for a bit more, then Chandler excused himself to go upstairs to bed.
But Jack wasn’t ready to go to bed yet. He was tired, no doubt about that, but he knew he couldn’t fall asleep, and he wasn’t in a rush to go lie down and stare at the ceiling. So he just sat there at the kitchen table, listening to the sounds of the old house. It was familiar. It was comforting.