Part 20 (1/2)
”Naw, I doubt he meant it as any kind of ritual. Nicko was just being practical, as usual.”
Jane looked at Barber. ”You sound like you know the suspect.”
”I do. We grew up in the same town, so I know him and his brother Eddie.”
”How well?”
”Enough to know those boys were trouble from way back. At twelve, Nick was already stealing loose change out of the other kids' jackets. At fourteen, he was breaking into cars. At sixteen, it was houses. The victim, Brandon Tyrone, was the same story. Nick and Tyrone, they'd come out here together, steal stuff out of campers' tents and cars. After Nick killed Tyrone, we found a bag of stolen items hidden in Tyrone's garage. Maybe that's why they had a falling-out. There was some nice stuff in that bag. Cameras, a silver cigarette lighter, a wallet full of credit cards. I think they got in a fight over how to divide it, and Tyrone lost. Mean little b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.”
”And where do you think Nick Thibodeau is now?”
”I a.s.sumed he took off out west. California, maybe. Didn't think he'd end up as close as Boston, but maybe he doesn't want to be too far from his brother Eddie.”
”Where's Eddie live?”
”He's about five miles from here. Oh, we hit Eddie hard with the questions, but to this day he refuses to tell us where Nick is.”
”Refuses? Or doesn't know?”
”Swears he doesn't know. But these Thibodeau boys, in their minds, it's them against the world. You gotta remember, Maine is the northern tip of Appalachia, and some of these families value loyalty above all. Stand by your brother, no matter what he's done. I think that's exactly what Eddie did. Came up with a plan to get Nick outta here and help him disappear.”
”For five years?”
”Not so hard if you have help from your brother. That's why I still keep tabs on Eddie. I know where he goes and who he calls. Oh, he's sick of me all right, because he knows I'm not gonna let it go. He knows I have my eye on him.”
”We need to talk to Eddie Thibodeau,” said Jane.
”You won't get the truth out of him.”
”We'd still like to try.”
Barber glanced at his watch. ”Okay, I've got a free hour. We can head over to his house now.”
Jane and Frost looked at each other. Frost said, ”Maybe it'd be better if we saw him on our own.”
”You don't want me there?”
”You two have a history,” said Jane, ”obviously not a friendly one. If you're there, it'll put him on guard.”
”Oh, I get it. I'm the bad cop and you want to be the good cops. Yeah, that makes sense.” He looked at the weapon strapped to Jane's waist. ”And I see you're both carrying. That's good.”
”Why? Is Eddie a problem?” asked Frost.
”He's unpredictable. Think about what Nick did to Tyrone, and stay alert. Because these brothers are capable of anything.”
A GUTTED FOUR-POINT BUCK hung upside down in Eddie Thibodeau's garage. Cluttered with tools and spare tires, trash cans and fis.h.i.+ng gear, it looked like any suburban garage in America, except for the animal dangling from a ceiling hook, dripping blood into a puddle on the concrete floor.
”I don't know what else I can say 'bout my brother. Already told the police everything there is to say.” Eddie raised a knife to the buck's hind leg, slit around the ankle joint, then sliced through skin from ankle to groin. Working with the efficiency of a man who'd broken down many a deer, he grasped the pelt with both hands and grunted with effort as he peeled it down, baring purplish muscle and sinew cloaked in silvery fascia. It was cold in the open garage, and he exhaled clouds of steam as he paused to catch his breath. Like the photo of his brother Nick, Eddie had broad shoulders and dark eyes and the same stony expression, but he was an unkempt version of his brother, dressed in bloodstained overalls and a wool cap, his beard stubble already peppered with gray at the ripe age of thirty-nine.
”After they found Tyrone hanging in that tree, the state police kept ha.s.sling me, asking the same d.a.m.n questions. Where would Nick go to ground? Who was hiding him? I kept telling 'em they got it all wrong. That something must've happened to Nick, too. If he was on the run, he'd never leave without his bug-out bag.”
”What kind of bag?” said Frost.
”Don't tell me you've never heard of a bug-out bag.” Eddie frowned at them across the splayed rear legs of the deer.
”What is it, exactly?”
”It's where you keep your essentials for survival. For when the system goes all to h.e.l.l. See, if there's some kind of catastrophe like a dirty bomb or a terrorist attack, people in big cities are gonna be in a world of hurt. No power, folks in a panic. That's why you need a bug-out bag.” Eddie peeled more of the pelt, and the smell of b.l.o.o.d.y deer meat, raw and gamy, made Frost grimace and step away.
Eddie glanced at him in amus.e.m.e.nt. ”Not a fan of venison?”
Frost stared at the glistening flesh, streaked with fat. ”I tried it once.”
”Didn't like it?”
”Not really.”
”Then it wasn't prepared right. Or killed right. For the meat to taste good, the deer has to go down quick. One bullet, no struggle. If it's only wounded and you have to chase it down, that meat's gonna taste like fear.”
Frost stared at exposed muscles that had once propelled this buck through fields and woods. ”And how does fear taste?”
”Like scorched flesh. Panic sends all kinds of hormones through the animal and you taste the struggle. Ruins the flavor.” He cleanly sliced a fist-sized hunk of meat from the haunch and tossed it into a stainless-steel bowl. ”This one was killed right. Never knew what hit him. Gonna make a tasty stew.”
”You ever go hunting with your brother?” asked Jane.
”Nick and I grew up hunting together.” He sliced off another hunk. ”I miss that.”
”Was he a good shot?”
”Better than me. Real steady, always took his time.”
”So he could survive out there, in the woods.”
Eddie gave her a cold stare. ”It's been five years. What, you think he's still out there, living like some mountain man?”
”Where do you think he is?”
Eddie dropped his knife in a bucket, and bloodstained water splashed onto the concrete. ”You're looking for the wrong man.”
”Who's the right man?”
”Not Nick. He's no killer.”
She eyed the dead buck, its left leg now stripped down to bone. ”When they found Nick's buddy Tyrone, he was gutted and hanging just like this deer.”
”So?”
”Nick was a hunter.”
”So am I, and I haven't killed anyone. I'm just feeding my family, something you people are so far removed from, you've probably never even used a boning knife.” He took the rinsed knife from the bucket and held it out to Jane. ”Let's see you give it a try, Detective. Go on, take it. Slice off a chunk and see how it feels to harvest your own dinner. Or are you afraid of a little blood on your hands?”