Scar Tissue by William G. Tapply

gave her head a little shake. “Then this morning when those two detectives showed up and—”
    â€œHorowitz?” I said.
    â€œYes. And the female officer. I didn’t get her name, but she was very sweet. They rang my bell, and when they showed me their badges, my first thought was Brian. Then they asked if I knew where Jake was, and I thought: Oh, no. Oh, God, no. Not Jake, too. I asked them what was wrong, and that man with the evil smile, he said nothing was wrong, they just wanted to ask me a few questions. As if they went around randomly asking questions when nothing was wrong. But they wouldn’t tell me anything, Brady. They just wanted to find Jake. That’s all they asked me about. And I told them the truth. That I had no idea where he was, that he’d left around noontime on Sunday, didn’t tell me where he was going, and I hadn’t seen or talked to him since then. That Horowitz man kept smiling like
he didn’t believe me, repeating the same questions over and over again, where’s Jake, did he own a gun—a gun , for God’s sake—and I kept asking him if Jake was all right, and all he’d do is smile. After a while he asked if I had a photo of Jake I could give them, which I did, and then they thanked me and left, and I know goddamn well something’s wrong … .” And then the tears brimmed over and spilled down her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she mumbled.
    â€œ Does Jake own a gun?” I said.
    She shook her head. “Of course not. He hates guns. Jesus. Do you think he shot Ed, too?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said.
    Sharon patted her face with her napkin, and a minute later our waitress arrived. She glanced at Sharon, then at me, frowned quickly, and put our plates in front of us. She gave Sharon a fresh glass of wine and replaced my empty coffee cup with a full one. “Can I get you something else?” she said.
    Sharon shook her head.
    â€œNo,” I said. “We’re fine, thank you.”
    I doused my burger with catsup. Sharon picked up her fork, poked around in her salad, then put the fork down, picked up her wineglass, and took a sip.
    â€œSharon,” I said, “I know Lieutenant Horowitz. If something had happened to Jake, he’d tell you.”
    â€œHe would?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWould you ?”
    I nodded. “Of course I would.”
    â€œOkay,” she said. “So has anything happened to Jake?”
    â€œI … don’t know. Not that I know of.”
    â€œBut ? I’m hearing a but in your voice.”
    â€œSharon, look. Maybe it’s better—”
    â€œTell me,” she said.
    â€œWhat did you hear about your police chief?”
    She took another sip of wine, put it down, then dabbed at
her mouth with her napkin. “One of my neighbors called me this morning. Said she’d heard it on the news. Ed got murdered somewhere in Framingham. That’s all I know. I guess that should be a huge shock. But after what’s happened, I don’t feel like I can even react to it.” She bit her lip. “Wait a minute,” she said. “You don’t really think—?”
    â€œChief Sprague’s body was found in a motel room on Route Nine,” I said. “It’s the room Jake was renting. He was using a false name. John Silver.”
    â€œA false name?”
    I nodded.
    She stared at me. “What about Jake?”
    I shrugged. “He wasn’t there. Neither was his car.”
    â€œSo that policeman this morning with all his questions about guns, he actually thinks that Jake—?”
    â€œJake’s the obvious suspect, Sharon. Horowitz wants to find him and talk with him. I guess he was hoping you could tell him where he is.”
    â€œWell,” she said, “I don’t know.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    She held my eyes and nodded. “I would not lie to you,