you,” I said.
“Hey, we’re not Starsky and Hutch,” Clegg said, removing a gun from his ankle holster. He did that thing cops do in the movies, when they make sure their weapon is ready for action—pulling back on something, hearing a click, looking for ammo, whatever. I didn’t know shit about guns. He put on dark gloves and gave me a pair to wear as well. That got my adrenaline flowing again.
“I need you to watch the house and honk the horn if you see any lights come on. If the house is clear, I’ll come back and get you. I want you to be there with me and see this for yourself.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because if the search comes up empty, I’m going to need you to drop Carl Swain from your memory banks and spend the rest of your energy looking out for Ruby while we do our job and catch this nut bag. Sound like a plan?”
“Anything you say, Hutch,” I said.
“Screw you,” Clegg said, getting out of the car. “And if anything, I’m Starsky.”
I watched Clegg slide like a shadow across the street, then saw him work his way along the side of the house until eventually he vanished from my view around back. During my watch, the Swain home, lovely as it ever was, remained dark and uninviting. Using the binoculars Clegg brought, I tried to see if the curtains were moving, a flutter or a part, but these weren’t the night-vision variety, so I had a hard time seeing anything. I don’t know how much time had passed while I kept watch over the house, a while, anyway, when somebody knocked hard on the driver’s side window and I jumped in my seat—okay, maybe I screamed a little, too.
I swiveled my head and saw Clegg standing there.
“The back door is open, and nobody is at home,” he said. “Let’s go have ourselves a little look-see.”
I followed Clegg around back, seeing the same stuff I had seen before : the rusted, lopsided trampoline—who ever jumped on it?—the toolboxes, and of course, that ugly birdbath. The back door was shut, but Clegg turned the knob and pulled it right open.
“How’d you get it unlocked?” I asked.
Clegg flashed me a compact kit that contained a gleaming set of silver tools, the likes of which I’d never seen before. “Brought a lock-pick kit with me,” he said, sporting a pleased-with-himself smile. “You should know the closest thing to a criminal, John, is a cop.”
I flashed again on Ruby and her usually spot-on instincts.
Clegg removed two small flashlights from his back pocket and handed one to me. I followed Clegg inside, shining my light around to get a good look at the wood-paneled basement into which we had entered. It smelled musty, and I could almost feel the mold growing underneath the nappy carpeting. If ever there was a place to hang a velvet painting of a leopard in a tree or a sad clown holding a balloon, well, this was it. A patchwork couch with toy blocks for legs stood in front of a thirty-two-inch television that had a milk crate for a TV stand. A tall bookshelf on one wall, covered by a dark varnish and scratched like a well-loved Beach Boys record, was stocked with paperback novels that added to the moldy smell. An upright piano stood against another wall—a flea market purchase at best—which surely would have been out of tune had I dared tickle the ivories. There wasn’t much in the way of evidence down here. Smelly piles of clothes, empty food containers, and stacks of yellowing newspapers, but nothing that said, “Hey. I’m the Fiend.”
I heard a sound, a click of some sort, and quickly shone my light in that direction.
“Easy, John,” Clegg said, gripping my arm. “I checked the house from top to bottom. Nobody is home. Houses make noises, so don’t get freaked every time you hear one.”
“Where could they be?” I asked, whispering.
“Who knows?” Clegg said, not whispering. “Maybe our little police visit spooked ’em. Maybe Mommy and sonny boy split town for a while, until the Uretsky heat dies down. Anyway, we’ve got the run of the joint for now, so let’s have a good look around.”
Four rooms comprised the entire lower level—the basement family room, into which we had entered, usable only by a family that didn’t mind mold and filth in equal measure; a nasty bathroom that had a fetid stench all its own; a paneled bedroom with two