Long After Dark Page 4

  Heart racing, Harry watched, waited and rifled through several possible scenarios to come. He fully expected the cop to return with the man in black in handcuffs, a burglar or maybe worse waiting for Rose to come home, his hideous plans foiled. But several minutes came and went with no sign of the officer or anyone else. What if the two were in the midst of a scuffle? For all Harry knew they could be rolling around in the backyard, fighting for the policeman’s gun or—

  Wait, there he is.

  The officer emerged from the opposite side of Rose’s house, head cocked and studying the roof as he went. Once he’d made a full circle back to the head of the driveway, he spoke again into his shoulder unit, then approached the front door and rang the bell. When no one answered, he returned his nightstick to its position on his utility belt and started toward Harry’s house.

  Wrapping his robe tightly around him, Harry cinched the belt best he could and hurried to the door, opening it before the policeman had reached it.

  There wasn’t much left of the rain, the drizzle had become even lighter than earlier, but the world was still drenched. The houses, the trees, the street, his car, everything glistened and dripped with rainwater. Set beneath a pale sky, everything had a curiously synthetic aura, coated in its luminous sheen much the way plastic fruit looks authentic at first glance, but upon close inspection is too clean and shiny, too perfect to be real. It was also colder out than Harry had suspected, the air thinner and sharper than typical early November.

  “Mr. Fremont?” the officer asked while still several feet away.

  “Yes.” Harry gave a tentative wave. “Hello.”

  The policeman continued up the driveway, acknowledging him with a quick and rather officious nod. The closer he got the more familiar he looked. Schooner Bluffs was still a relatively small town, and while Harry didn’t know anyone on the force personally, many of the cops had been with the department for decades. This officer was no exception; Harry remembered seeing him countless times around town over the years. About six feet tall, with a large square head, small dark eyes and black hair styled in a flattop right out of the 1950s, he was a beefy man with arms like a power lifter and the tree-stump legs of an NFL fullback. Once he reached the door he extended an enormous hand concealed in a black leather glove. “I’m Officer Nicoletto.”

  Harry watched his hand vanish into the glove. “Harry Fremont.”

  “You put the call in to 911 about the man on the roof?”

  “Yes sir.”

  Nicoletto hesitated at the doorway, noticing for the first time how sick Harry appeared. He released his hand and casually wiped the glove on the outside of his thigh. “Looks like you’ve got the flu.”

  Now there’s some astounding investigative work. “Yeah, looks like.”

  “I had a bout with it last year myself. Not fun. Not fun at all.” Nicoletto swept some rainwater from his flattop and motioned over his shoulder to Rose’s house. “At any rate, I’ve conducted a thorough search of the property and I’ve observed nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Harry sniffled. He’d always found police-speak humorous. No one talked like cops did. No matter what they said it always came out sounding like they were reading from an official report. “No sign of him, huh?”

  “None.” He removed a small pad and pen from one of his pockets. “The description dispatch gave me was a bit sketchy, can you describe this person?”

  “I didn’t get a very good look at his face.” Harry shivered against the cold. “Listen, would you mind coming inside? I’m freezing.”

  Nicoletto stepped into the short foyer just inside the front door, remaining on the small rug there as Harry closed the door, then stepped around and back in front of him. “I was a little surprised when the call came in,” he said with the air of caution policemen always have. “I didn’t realize anyone still lived out here.”

  “We’re the last ones left, Rose and us.”

  Nicoletto raised a thick eyebrow. “Us?”

  “My wife Kelly and I.”

  He wrote something on his pad. “Did your wife observe this man as well?”

  “No, she’s out of town on business.”

  His pen kept moving. “Are you home alone?”

  “I am.”

  “You’re the only one who observed the man then?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you and,” he glanced at his pad, “Ms. Bassinger are the only people still living on the street at this time? The other residences have been vacated?”

  “That’s correct. By January we’ll be gone too.”

  “I see.”

  “Commercial development wins again.”

  The officer finally looked up from his pad, his expression shifted like he’d just then realized he was in the presence of a fanatical anarchist. “Sometimes these things happen in a free country with a free market.”

  “You don’t say?” Harry nervously wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. He was in no mood for a lecture.

  “Well I assume you sold your home and it wasn’t stolen from you.”

  Harry forced a smile. “Anyway, about the man I reported…”

  Nicoletto watched him a few seconds before responding, as if gauging whether Harry was going to be a problem. “You saw this man on the roof?”

  “Yes, he was there just before you got here.” Harry again described the man as best he could and relayed to the officer exactly what he’d seen, from the moment he’d first noticed him until he’d scurried away over the summit of the roof.

  Nicoletto took notes and listened intently, speaking again only once Harry had finished. “Did he attempt to burglarize the premises?”

  “Not that I saw. He just sat there.” Harry took a few steps back, coughed, pulled a tissue from his sweatpants and spit up into it. “Jesus. Sorry.”

  The cop offered a dramatic sigh. “All through now?”

  Embarrassed but too exhausted to worry about it, Harry stuffed the tissue into his robe pocket. “Yeah, I—sorry, this cough just—”

  “Mr. Fremont, are you certain it was a person you saw on the roof?”

  “Yes sir, I am.”

  “You couldn’t be mistaken?”

  “It was definitely a person.”

  “Do you wear eyeglasses or contact lenses?”

  “Glasses, but they’re only for reading.”

  “Uh-huh. Do you know the whereabouts of Ms. Bassinger at this time?”

  “No. She works in Boston, but far as I know she doesn’t go in weekends. She’s probably shopping or running errands or something, I have no idea.”

  Nicoletto turned to the bay window. “Does she live alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could someone be visiting?”

  “Her roof?”

  The cop glared at him.

  “It’s possible,” Harry conceded, “but I don’t think anyone’s staying with her at the moment.”

  “But you’re not certain?”

  “Well it’s not like she alerts us whenever she has a houseguest.”

  Nicoletto was back to jotting notes. “As I mentioned, I made a thorough search of the premises. There’s no sign of an intruder or trespasser. All windows and doors appear intact and undamaged. The cellar bulkhead is locked and intact as well. I looked through a few windows and observed no sign of anyone inside. I also observed stickers on the front and rear doors indicating the house is equipped with an alarm, so I had dispatch contact the alarm company. They report no calls from the house or any disturbances to doors or windows. Nothing’s been compromised, far as they’re concerned, and my investigation supports that.”

  “Right, but I never saw the man inside the house.”

  Nicoletto flashed a condescending smile. “Only on the roof.”

  “That’s right.”

  After another lengthy sigh he said, “The problem I’m having with someone on the roof, Mr. Fremont, is that first of all there’s no ladder or any means for a person to gain access. Secondly,
due to the rain the ground is extremely wet and soft out there. I found no tracks or any disturbances that might indicate someone jumped from the roof to the lawn or at any point had the feet of a ladder or something similar pressed into the earth.” He flipped closed his pad and returned it along with the pen to his pocket. “The only other way someone could get on the roof was if they were already inside the house and crawled out a window. Because there’s no evidence to indicate someone jumped off, it’s safe to assume that if in fact someone was on that roof, then they’d have to vacate it in the same manner they gained access to it in the first place, and that’s through a window. Were someone inside the premises unauthorized, the alarm would’ve been tripped. That hasn’t happened. You follow?”

  “I’m telling you what I saw, officer.”

  “Maybe it was something else. A large bird maybe, and at a quick glance you mistook it for a person.”

  “How do you mistake a bird for a person?”

  Nicoletto assumed the smug posture of a man unaccustomed to being argued with, and was about to respond when a burst of static sounded from his shoulder unit. He gripped the unit, quickly mumbled into it, then returned his attention to Harry. “Are you on any medications?”

  “Medications?”

  “With the flu and all.”

  “My doctor just called in some prescriptions, but no, I’m not on anything at the moment, unless you want to count aspirin.”

  Nicoletto drifted toward the front door, various keys and items on his belt jingling and clacking. “You look awfully tired, when’s the last time you slept?”

  “Couple days,” he admitted softly.

  “Well there you go. Mr. Fremont, sleep deprivation can cause all sorts of side-effects, it often results in—”

  “Listen to me,” Harry snapped, this time ignoring the warning scratch in his throat, “I’m sick and I’m exhausted. I have better things to do than to waste your time or mine, do you understand me? I saw a man on the roof and I called it in because I thought that was the right thing to do under the circumstances. I don’t know who he was or what the hell he was doing up there, but I do know I wasn’t hallucinating, I didn’t dream it, and I didn’t see it through some haze of narcotics. I saw a man. A man on the roof dressed in black. You follow?”

  “I’ll make a full report, sir, and I’ll have dispatch get in touch with Ms. Bassinger to let her know we were here, and why. Maybe she can shed some light on this. Either way, the property is secure at this time. Should you see this man again, give us a call and we’ll check it out.” The cop opened the door, letting in a gust of cold air. “If there’s nothing else…”

  “No, nothing else, thank you for stopping by, Officer.”

  “For what it’s worth, I see people suffering from lack of sleep all the time, and I can tell you it’s a real killer. You’d be surprised how many vehicular accidents are the results of operator exhaustion. Without sufficient sleep the mind and body weaken, and both can play some nasty tricks on you.” He looked back over his broad shoulder. “Try to get some sleep.”

  Harry nodded, holding in his cough as best he could. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

  The minute he had the door closed Harry doubled-over, the cough exploded from him and he hacked until his throat was raw and his head was pounding. When it was over he staggered back to the den for another tissue and collapsed into the recliner, exhausted. Through the bay window he saw that the cruiser was still parked at the end of Rose’s driveway. Nicoletto was behind the wheel holding a metal clipboard and writing up what Harry assumed was his report. After a few minutes the police car made a U-turn and was gone.

  Harry blew his nose, careful not to further irritate the raw skin beneath his nostrils with the tissue. He rested awhile, then went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. The cold liquid felt good on his sore throat but did little to make him feel better as he was still annoyed with the conversation he’d had with Officer Nicoletto. He returned to the den, stood before the bay window and watched Rose’s house awhile. No man on the roof, no coyote in the yard, nothing out of the ordinary.

  An empty street, a quiet house. A gentle rain.

  3

  “When you’re sick nothing does the trick like chicken soup.”Kenny popped the plastic lid from the Styrofoam container and slid it across the countertop to Harry. “Here, it’ll make you feel better.”

  Harry struggled up onto one of the stools at the island in the center of the kitchen and leaned over the steaming container. “Thanks, looks really good,” he sighed, “but you didn’t have to do that.”

  “After I picked up your prescriptions I had to drop off a couple suits at the dry cleaner anyway. Scully’s is right there on the corner.” Kenny rested his arms on the island countertop between them. “They’ve got great soups, figured you could use some.”

  “My damn nose is so stuffed up I can barely smell it.” He removed a white plastic spoon and a folded paper napkin from the cellophane wrap it had come in. “Here’s hoping I can taste it.”

  “When’s the last time you had something to eat?”

  Harry had to stop and think. When was the last time he’d eaten something? Was it the day before? “Yesterday, I think. Yesterday morning.”

  “Eat,” Kenny said, motioning to the soup. “You look horrible.”

  “Trust me, I feel worse than I look.”

  “I should get you to the hospital then. You’re probably dead.”

  “If I could just get some sleep.” Harry dipped the spoon into the broth. “The doctor said the codeine should help. We’ll see.”

  “Codeine always helps. When’s Kelly due home?”

  “Not until late Monday night.” He took a sip of soup. It was warm and tasty and soothed his sore throat. “Oh wow, that is good.”

  “Enjoy.” Kenny pushed his eyeglasses up higher on the bridge of his nose with his index finger. Three years younger than Harry, he was always meticulously groomed and neat, from his short, no-nonsense businessman’s haircut to his small but trim physique, when it came to Kenny Pak everything was always in place and looking sharp. Even in his casual weekend attire—freshly pressed chinos, leather tasseled loafers and a crisp oxford beneath a v-neck sweater, he looked hopelessly formal. Oddly, his rather uptight appearance in no way reflected his personality, which was actually quite laid back, relaxed and peppered with a dryly cynical sense of humor. A second-generation grandson of Korean immigrants, Kenny had lived his entire life in Massachusetts, and resided a few towns over from Schooner Bluffs with his wife Rhonda and their two children. He and Harry had worked together for years and been close friends for more than a decade, but because their wives were friendly but not close and because Kenny’s children were considerably younger than Garret, they rarely socialized as couples or families. “I can’t stay long, though,” he said. “We have to drop Sandra at dance class, then take Tommy to the mall for sneakers. You should see these things he wants. They cost more than a decent used car.”

  “It’s best you don’t hang around. You don’t want to catch this crud.”

  “I’m not worried about it. You know me, I never get sick.”

  “I can’t remember the last time I was this sick either but it got me. Just hit me out of nowhere. I felt fine and then all of a sudden—bang.”

  “Probably stress. High levels can compromise the immune system, you know. That’s a fact. Seriously, in the long-term it can kill you.”

  “Speaking of stress, did I miss anything on Friday?”

  “Bruce in Accounting threw a tantrum because apparently no one’s been filling out those new expense forms correctly. He was storming the hallways yelling at everybody and waving the forms around like a maniac. Then of course Rodney did his Bruce impersonation—you know, the one where he pulls his pants way up under his armpits—and nobody could stop laughing. Let’s see, what else. Gretchen wore that white blouse without a bra again. That was cool. Other than that it was quiet.” Kenny shru
gged. “You know how it is around the office these days. Everybody’s waiting for the ax to fall.”

  Harry nodded and ate more soup.

  “Hey, so what happened with the guy on the roof?” he asked as if he’d just remembered.

  “A policeman came by but the guy was already gone, couldn’t find any trace of him. I’m pretty sure the cop thought I was nuts.” A headache still lingered behind his eyes, but the soup was warming him, chasing away the chills, and the broth was at least temporarily easing his cough and cutting the phlegm. “But the weirdest things have been going on. I mean, I know I’m a little out of it from being sick and not sleeping and everything, but I’m telling you, strange stuff’s been happening around here.”

  “Like what?”

  Between swallows of soup, Harry told him about the curious behavior of the coyote the night before, relayed the entire story of the man in black across the street, and then explained his inability to reach Kelly either at her hotel or on her cell phone.

  Kenny pushed away from the island, stood up straight and slid his hands into his pants pockets. Harry knew this body language well. He saw it at work whenever Kenny had to explain something. The only time he ever put his hands in his pockets was when he was thinking, processing something and attempting to come to some conclusion. “OK,” he finally said, “first of all, the coyote could very well be rabid or sick or something. You should probably call Animal Control and let them know.”

  “Have you ever seen the guys from Animal Control in this town? They’re like something out of a Pink Panther cartoon. And that coyote wasn’t sick, Ken. He was terrified.”

  “Sick, scared—whatever—this is a wild animal we’re talking about, a wild animal behaving abnormally. You should probably report it. If it is rabid it could hurt somebody.” He paced about the kitchen. “As for the guy on the roof across the street, you said it looked like he was watching your house, right? So maybe he planned to rob the place and realized you’d seen him.”