Drawn Into Darkness(55)

Both skewered Bernie with their attention. “Are you a detective?” the taller one demanded.

Both the deputy at the desk and the one at security stifled snickers. Bernie took no notice. Straight-faced, he motioned for the Leppo brothers to follow him and returned to his desk in the back. “I’m Bernie Morales,” he told them as he unfolded two metal chairs for them. “You are the sons of Liana Clymer, yes?”

“Yes. And you’re the one who e-mailed,” said the other brother, more soft-spoken and, Bernie guessed, the younger of the two. “We appreciate your doing that. Above and beyond, wasn’t it?”

Seating himself behind his desk, Bernie shrugged and refrained from saying it was true; he should have been finishing his reports and going home right now instead of talking with these young men.

“There is not much more I can do for you,” he cautioned them. “The chief will be in tomorrow—”

“My God, there has to be something we can do before tomorrow,” said the softer-spoken one, his taut voice hinting at emotion he was trying to hide.

Buying time to think about this, Bernie asked, “You are which one, Forrest or Quinn?”

“Forrest. The Suit here is Quinn.”

Forrest looked for a reaction from his brother, and the Suit obliged by rolling his eyes. Bernie found himself smiling. “And you are from where?”

“The Suit,” said the Suit himself, Quinn, “is from the south end of Manhattan, and the Grunge is from the north end of Joisey.”

With raised eyebrows Forrest asked, “Is that the best you can do? The Grunge?”

Brothers bickering: this was normal and good. Bernie put in, “Why your mother moved here?” Where Bernie came from, families stayed as close together as they could.

Both young men looked at the floor.

“To get away from Dad,” Forrest said.

“Divorce,” said Quinn.

Their pained reaction told him that they and their mother had perhaps quarreled about the divorce. Could it be that they had not spoken with their mother recently? Could the Clymer woman have gone missing to punish them, or to make them come to her new home? He felt sympathy for them, and glad this was not his case, so there was no need for him to question them further. Still making conversation, he asked, “You stay in your mother’s house?”

Quinn reacted strongly. “No! God, no, with Schweitzer lying dead on the floor—”

“Schweitzer?”

“Mom’s dog.” Quinn Leppo might have been a rich New Yorker, but his voice hitched like that of a boy near tears.

In true Chilean fashion Bernie let his heart take charge. “You want to do something tonight, how about if we give burial to the dog?”

Swallowing repeatedly, Quinn seemed unable to speak, but Forrest responded, startled. “We?”

“Now?” Quinn added huskily. “In the dark?”

“Why not? The cars, they have headlights. I will go with you to take the bullets for evidence. We can bury the dog in the yard.” Bernie stood up as if the matter was decided. “You have shovels?”

“I doubt it,” Forrest said with something both warm and wry in his voice. “I can’t imagine Mom buying anything so practical.”

“Mom let Dad have the house and everything in it when she moved down here,” Quinn added. “Supposedly the one who gets the house wins.”

“Not in Dad’s case,” Forrest said.

Bernie sensed a fraught topic and interrupted. “I can borrow shovels from the maintenance shed. You go ahead; I will follow in ten minutes.”

It took him more like fifteen or twenty minutes to gather everything he thought he might need. Then he headed out in his official vehicle on unofficial and unreimbursed business, what he called “missionary work.” The Leppo boys, he sensed, could use some help.

When Bernie pulled up on the front yard of the pink shack, he saw lights on inside. That, and Quinn and Forrest opening all the windows. And the front door hanging ajar. Hefting a number of helpful items in a shoe box, Bernie went to the door, grimaced at the sight and smell of what was left of Schweitzer, and produced three air-filtering masks for mouth and nose. He put on his own before he actually stepped inside the house, then handed the other two to Quinn and Forrest. The Suit, he noticed, had put aside his jacket and vest, loosened his tie, and rolled his shirtsleeves up.

Bernie handed the brothers two powerful flashlights. “How about you go see where we bury this one?” He wanted them occupied elsewhere while he dug the bullets out of the dog.

“Just not too close to the well,” he called after them as they headed out to explore the yard. Then he crouched over the decomposing canine corpse.