A Fountain Filled With Blood

“Hey, man, do you like queers? Do you like ’em shaking their booty everywhere, demanding their rights to make out in public and wear dresses? It’s sick. It’s a sick thing. I probably wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t been so stoned all the time on Chris’s shit, but I just done what a lot of people would if they weren’t afraid.”

Russ looked down at the table. His hands seemed relaxed, except for the white pressure points under his nails. He reminded himself that wiping the floor with McKinley was simply not an option. Stay calm. Control, he told himself.

“So you hit Todd MacPherson’s video store.”

“Yeah. But we didn’t rob it!”

“You just gave MacPherson a lesson in straight pride.”

McKinley looked confused. “Huh?”

“Never mind. What did you do afterward?”

“We went back to Chris’s place. He gave us some poppers and then Jase and I each got five hundred bucks.”

“You three talk about your next hit?”

“A little. Jase thought we ought to go down to Saratoga. But Chris said to cool it, that he’d let us know. ’Cause why do it for free when we could get paid?”

“Weren’t you curious about who was bankrolling Chris?”

“Hell yeah. But he wouldn’t say nothing. Chris is way big into all that fake militia, need-to-know stuff, like he was the general and we were the grunts. Screw it. I figured Chris was probably taking his cut off the top, but why should I complain?”

“Did Chris make any suggestions as to a target? Say anything that made you think he knew something you didn’t?”

“Nah. He was mostly talking about getting out and buying some new gear with his money. He likes camping and all that healthful shit. Vitamins.”

“But he also deals?”

“Chris? Not normally. He smokes, but everyone smokes. He mostly stays away from the other stuff. He does steroids sometimes, ’cause he lifts weights.”

“Okay. What did you do after the meeting at Chris’s place?”

“Are you kidding? It was the weekend and I had five hundred bucks. I took off. Just got back this morning.”

“Have you seen the other two since Friday night?”

“Nope. Chris already had plans for the weekend, and Jase wanted to hole up with his new girlfriend.”

“Where did you go?”

“Lake George. Around. I crashed with friends, mostly.”

“You have any of that money left?”

McKinley laughed.

The door clicked open. Lyle MacAuley stuck his head in. “Burns is here. He wants to see his client.”

Russ slid sideways out of the bolted-down seat. “Elliot, I want you to give Officer Entwhistle a detailed account of where you were and who you saw this weekend. I mean a minute-by-minute account. This is going to establish your alibi, so I don’t imagine your lawyer will object.”

Actually, he figured Burns would be screaming his head off in five minutes. He just didn’t plan to be around to listen to it. He ducked through the narrow back corridor that was their supply closet and emerged by the squad room. He stuck his head in. There were voices raised by the reception desk, but he didn’t see Lyle anywhere. He slunk toward Dispatch and stuck his head in. “Lyle?” he whispered.

Lyle appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing? Why are you whispering?”

Russ tilted his head toward the sound of expensive shoes marching down the hall to the interrogation room. Lyle’s bushy gray eyebrows rose in comprehension. He thrust a manila folder into Russ’s hand.

“Chris Dessaint. Twenty-five. He’s been up on D and D, disturbing the peace, assault—a few fistfights. Small-scale stuff. He’s got a juvie record, but it’ll take some time to get that unsealed. Nothing to indicate he’s suddenly likely to step up to the big time.”

“Got a current address?”

“It’s in there. His next of kin’s listed as Alvine Harp-swell; you’ll remember her.”

He did. Alvine had been in on numerous domestic charges, both as batterer and victim, and the speed with which she ran through her partners was astounding, considering her less-than-stellar looks. Lyle went on. “There’s a bunch of Dessaints living in Cossayuharie and in Warren County. I figure he’s related to them.”

There was a rising noise from the direction of the interrogation room. Lyle jerked his thumb toward the front doors. “Paul’s waiting in a black-and-white, and Dave’s out on patrol. You better hightail it out of here before Geoff Burns gets hold of you.”

Russ nodded, tucked the folder under his arm, and hobbled down the front steps and out the door as fast as his swollen knees would let him.

There was no problem finding Chris Dessaint’s trailer in Lyon’s Gate Mobile Home Estates. There was also no problem gaining access; taking a cue from McKinley’s flight, Russ and Paul went through the tiny front door to make the arrest while Dave stood out back, weapon drawn. There was no problem with a resisting suspect. There was no suspect. The place had been cleaned out. Dessaint was gone.

Chapter Nineteen