looks,” Phil stated.
“You mean, like I had thousands of dollars’ worth of reasons to help Shana escape and Harry Day become front-page news again? Except I haven’t even spoken to Shana in thirty years. Not to mention she scares the shit out of me. And, by the way, I can’t walk or drive. Some great accomplice I’d make.”
“There are hand-controlled vehicles for people in a wheelchair,” D.D. said.
Hayes gave her a look. “Does this look like the apartment of a guy who can afford a custom rig? You know why I listed that stupid note? Because I could use the cash. And the first thing I’d like to do is get myself into a building with an elevator. I’m not dreaming big these days, Detective. I’m just happy I still dream.”
“Tell us about Donnie Johnson,” Phil said.
Hayes blinked. “Huh?”
“Donnie Johnson. Thirty years ago. What did you see that evening?”
“Nothing. I was in my room doing homework. I didn’t come out until after all the commotion. Mrs. Davies yelling to Mr. Davies that something was wrong with Shana.”
“Did you see Shana?”
“No. Her room was on the third floor. After the um . . . incident . . . Mr. and Mrs. Davies moved my room to the second floor, closest to them. I remember walking out into the hallway, then realizing there was blood smeared on the stairs. But by then, the front door was banging open, Donnie’s father bursting into the house . . . It scared me. All these adults, looking so out of control. I retreated to my bedroom and stayed there.”
D.D. decided to gamble. “That’s not what Charlie Sgarzi says. He claims you were jealous of his relationship with Shana. And you turned on his cousin in revenge.”
Hayes frowned. “Charlie? Charlie Sgarzi? What does he have to do with any of this?”
“We told you; we’re looking into all of Shana’s former associates. And given that she and Charlie were also once an item—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What?”
Hayes’s voice had picked up. Hostility? Jealousy? D.D. and Phil exchanged another glance, Phil’s hand once more wavering near his holster.
“Charlie Sgarzi claims he and Shana had a relationship of sorts,” D.D. said slowly. “He described them as being fuck buddies.”
“Bullshit!”
The word cracked around the tiny space.
D.D. didn’t speak again, merely waited.
Hayes ran his hand through his disheveled brown hair. Then again. “Hang on. I got something else to show you. It’ll just take a sec.”
Once more he worked his chair around, back to the paper-strewn table. But this time, he leaned down, reaching for a battered old box. He couldn’t bend over far enough to reach it. Phil got up to assist, placing the box on Hayes’s lap. Beneath Phil’s close scrutiny, Hayes removed the lid.
More papers. Hayes riffled through them before finally exclaiming, “Got it!” He waved a faded Kodak in the air.
Phil returned the box to the floor, then helped Hayes back over. The man handed over the photo immediately, as if this should tell them something.
D.D. saw four teenagers. The colors of the instant photo had run over the years, making the features of each boy appear slightly melted. She could pick out Hayes. Shaggy brown hair, a once-dark-green Celtics shirt that had become lime green with age. The two other boys weren’t familiar at all.
Then, at the far left. Gangly-looking, nearly slender, with long black hair cut short in front, long in back, Metallica T-shirt and a black biker’s jacket covered in metal studs and silver chains.
“Charlie Sgarzi,” she said.
“The Great Pretender himself,” Sam assured her. “In one of his many disguises.”
“What do you mean?”
“Charlie was the ultimate phony. I mean, these two boys, Tommy, Adam, they were into heavy metal. So when Charlie was around them, he was into heavy metal. Shana was Ms. Tough Shit, so around her, he jammed a pack of Marlboros into his back pocket. But you could also catch him in collared shirts, smiling sweetly up at his mom. Or with painted black nails and a long trench coat, hanging out with the Flock of Seagulls crowd. He adapted to his audience. Just as long as it got him a place with the in crowd.”
Phil shrugged. “So he suffered from an identity crisis. He was a teenager; these things happen.”
“But being a confused kid wasn’t what he was trying to hide.”
“Then what was it?”
“Charlie wasn’t fucking Shana. Charlie’s gay.”
• • •
ACCORDING TO HAYES, he had a radar for these things.
“Trust me, you don’t make it through the foster system without learning