Hocus by Jan Burke Page A

IT ?” Rachel asked me.
    Pete and Rachel had arrived not long after he got word that Hocus had called. He wasn’t looking so hot.
    “Not well,” I answered. “ ‘Hysterics’ is too mild a term for it.”
    “Understandable, I suppose.”
    “I called his sister first. Have you met Cassie?”
    Rachel shook her head.
    “Hmm. You’d like her. She was upset, but she took it better than his mom did. She offered to tell her mom, but that didn’t seem right to me. I didn’t want Bea to think I would tell Cassie and not her. Cassie went over there, though, so Bea has some company. I stayed on the phone with Bea until Cassie got there.”
    Cassie didn’t live far from Frank’s mother, and the conversation with Bea Harriman probably didn’t last more than twenty minutes. Although Bea Harriman had stoically borne the worries of a cop’s wife throughout her marriage to Frank’s dad, as a cop’s mother she felt no similar need to confine her emotions. Healthier for her, I’m sure, but it had been a long twenty minutes for me.
    I looked over at Pete. He was sitting on the couch, hunched forward over his knees, hands clasped in front of him. He was staring at the floor. Every few minutes he looked at his watch. “You’ve met Frank’s mom, right, Pete?”
    “What?”
    That was how he had answered my last three questions. I asked the question again, as I had the others. It was like listening to a radio that was losing a signal — I had to tune him in again before he could reply.
    “Sure,” he said. “Yeah, sure, I’ve met his mom.” His eyes widened suddenly. “You told her yet?”
    Rachel swore under her breath, but I simply repeated the gist of the conversation he had been too preoccupied to listen to.
    “I shoulda thought of calling her,” he mumbled.
    “Yeah,” Rachel said testily. She held out a hand and began counting off his regrets on her fingers. “You should have known something was hinky when Ross left a message asking for Frank. You should’ve gone out to Riverside with Frank. You should have checked up on him earlier. You should have told Carlson and the rest of the assholes in Homicide to quit riding Frank—”
    “That’s right, goddammit!” he snapped. He stood up and walked toward the sliding glass doors, then abruptly turned away. I knew what had happened just then — it had happened to me earlier. He had looked through those glass doors and had seen Frank’s garden. His fists were clenched now, and he looked like he wanted to punch something. Seeing him pace toward the kitchen, Henry Freeman stood up and made a hasty retreat to the guest room. Cassidy, who had just showered and changed clothes, was leaning up against the counter that separates the kitchen and the living room, drinking a cup of coffee. He didn’t flinch as Pete approached.
    In a voice that barely reached above a whisper, Cassidy asked, “You get any sleep at all last night, Pete?”
    Pete stopped pacing, unclenched his fists.
    “I didn’t think so,” Cassidy said. “Why don’t we take a stroll down to the end of the block? I haven’t even seen the water yet. I could use some fresh air.”
    Pete looked at his watch. “They might call….”
    “I doubt it. I think they’ll be right on time.”
    Pete seemed to consider the offer, then said, “I can’t. They might call.”
    “Let’s just go out front, then, sit on the steps for a while.”
    Pete looked over to Rachel. “Go on,” she said. “I’ll run out and get you if the phone rings.”
    When they had gone outside, Rachel said, “I shouldn’t have lost my temper with him. This is so hard on him.”
    “I know.”
    “Sorry. Not any easier on you.”
    “Pete learn anything more out in Riverside?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.
    “A little. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Cassidy, because I don’t want to get Pete in trouble. It’s not much, anyway. The Riverside PD was canvassing the neighborhood, trying to locate anyone who