Prayers For Rain Part 3

"Nope."

"Don't. You'd be amazed what some guys here want to find in your trunk."

I closed my eyes for a moment. Being at the top of the police department's s.h.i.t list was not where I'd planned to be at this point in my life.

"You can't be too popular," I said. "You're the one who put the cuffs on a fellow cop."

"n.o.body's ever liked me," Devin said, "but most of them are scared of me, so that's just as good. You, on the other hand, are a renowned cream puff."

"Renowned, huh?"

"What's up?"

"I need a check on a Cody Falk. Priors, anything to do with stalking."

"And I get what for this?"

"Permanent friendship?"

"One of my nieces," he said, "wants the entire Beanie Babies collection for her birthday."

"And you don't want to go into a toy store."

"And I'm still paying serious child support for a kid who won't talk to me."

"So you want me to purchase said Beanie Babies, as well."

"Ten should do."

"Ten?" I said. "You've gotta be-"

"Falk with an 'F'?"

"As in flimflam," I said and hung up.

Devin called back in an hour and told me to bring the Beanie Babies by his apartment the next night.

"Cody Falk, age thirty-three. No convictions."

"However..."

"However," Devin said, "arrested once for violating a restraining order against one Bronwyn Blythe. Charges dropped. Arrested for a.s.sault of Sara Little. Charges dropped when Miss Little refused to testify and moved out of state. Named as a suspect in the rape of one Anne Bernstein, brought in for questioning. Charges never filed because Miss Bernstein refused to swear out a complaint, submit to a rape examination, or identify her attacker."

"Nice guy," I said.

"Sounds like a peach, yeah."

"That's it?"

"Except that he has a juvenile record, but it's been sealed."

"Of course."

"He bothering somebody again?"

"Maybe," I said carefully.

"Wear gloves," Devin said and hung up.

2.

Cody Falk drove a pearl-gray Audi Quattro, and at nine-thirty that night, we watched him exit the Mount Auburn Club, his hair freshly combed and still wet, the b.u.t.t of a tennis racket sticking out of his gym bag. He wore a soft black leather jacket over a cream linen vest, a white shirt b.u.t.toned at the throat, and faded jeans. He was very tan. He moved like he expected things to get out of his way.

"I really hate this guy," I said to Bubba. "And I don't even know him."

"Hate's cool," Bubba said. "Don't cost nothing."

Cody's Audi beeped twice as he used the remote attached to his key chain to disengage the alarm and pop the trunk.

"If you'd just let me," Bubba said, "he would have blown up about now."

Bubba had wanted to strap some C-4 to the engine block and wire the charge to the Audi's alarm transmitter. C-4. Take out half of Watertown, blow the Mount Auburn Club to somewhere over Rhode Island. Bubba couldn't see why this wasn't a good idea.

"You don't kill a guy for trashing a woman's car."

"Yeah?" Bubba said. "Where's that written?"

I have to admit he had me there.

"Plus," Bubba said, "you know, he gets the chance he'll rape her."

I nodded.

"I hate rape-os," Bubba said.

"Me, too."

"It'd be cool if he never did it again."

I turned in my seat. "We're not killing him."

Bubba shrugged.

Cody Falk closed his trunk and stood by it a moment, his strong chin tilted up as he looked at the tennis courts fronting the parking lot. He looked like he was posing for something, a portrait maybe, and with his rich, dark hair and chiseled features, his carefully sculpted torso and soft, expensive clothes, he could have easily pa.s.sed for a model. He seemed aware that he was being watched, but not by us; he seemed the kind of guy who always thought he was being watched, with either admiration or envy. It was Cody Falk's world, we were just living in it.

Cody pulled out of the parking lot and took a right, and we followed him through Watertown and around the edge of Cambridge. He took a left on Concord Street and headed into Belmont, one of the tonier of our tony suburbs.