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“A good ol’ boy. Big guy.”
That’s Buckman. At least that’s how he looked on the MRK interrogation video. Poppy has searched the two file boxes with the case materials twice and there’s no mention of Buckman interviewing Ruby or Dash.
“Seriously, Dashiell, is there something I need to know?” She uses his full name only when she’s angry.
“I told you. No idea. I gotta get back to work. I got a couple on the hook for a Mustang.”
After the call, Poppy collects her things. She needs to get home to make her father dinner. On the way out, she passes Margaret.
“Do you ever leave this place?” Poppy asks.
Margaret smiles. “Good night, dear.”
“Night,” Poppy says. She continues to the door but stops. “Hey, Margaret.”
The woman’s eyes widen, inviting Poppy to continue.
“I have the Alison Lane file and it seems to be missing a lot of stuff. I wondered if there might be other records somewhere—like, maybe I don’t have all the files?”
“That’s not surprising.”
“What do you mean?”
“Daryll Buckman wasn’t exactly a workhorse. If you couldn’t find him on patrol, you could bet he was at Fatheads bar.”
Margaret continues: “The two boxes are what we could find after he, um, left the force.” She says the last part like there’s a backstory.
“Is there anywhere else that might have his investigation notes? Any interview tapes?”
“Sorry, dear, I’m afraid you have it all.”
Later, after cooking Hamburger Helper for her father and getting him set up in front of the television, she contemplates what she’ll have for dinner. She can’t bring herself to eat the cheeseburger mac he likes so much.
Her mind drifts back to Ruby Quinn. Ask your brother. What was that about? She’ll call Ruby tomorrow and press her. Ruby’s reaction was unusual, like she didn’t want her friends to know. Look, I already gave my statement to your office. They were going to Little Bar tonight for the reunion. Dash is supposed to go as well. Poppy can show up, ask questions. But she decides against it.
She curses Buckman, the half-assed investigator who apparently spent more time at Fatheads than working his cases—
That’s when the idea hits her and she grabs her car keys.
16
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA
On the drive home from the office, Michael Harper curses himself for ever getting involved with Shane O’Leary. But it’s too late for regrets, and it’s not like he had a choice. He’s in the soup and needs to manage it. And he’s been successful managing it so far. It’s in O’Leary’s interest to keep Michael as legit as possible. As far as the world knows, he’s just an accountant for several respectable businesses—many owned by shell companies that it would take a team of experts to trace back to O’Leary.
At the house, he finds Taylor sitting at the kitchen counter doing her homework. As far as he can tell, anyway. Books are open. A notepad nearby. But her phone—that dreadful device—is in her hand.
“Hey, sweetie.”
“Hi, Dad,” Taylor says, not looking up.
“How was school?”
“Fine.”
Fine. A word that seems to be the only descriptor for a day at school or any other experience in his fourteen-year-old’s life. He examines her. She looks so grown-up. When did this happen?
Michael considers broaching the subject of O’Leary’s kid but stops. It’s the hour of Fine, so he won’t get anywhere. He has to catch her in those rare chatty moments.