FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-FIVE

TOMMY MALONE SITS AT a restaurant a mile away from the Bowers house. His earbud is in as he listens to the sounds from the police scanner. Listening in a town like Hemingway Grove is a lot easier than listening to the chatter in a place like Chicago.

"All units, we have a home-alarm distress signal at 343 Cedar, patio door. That's 343 Cedar."

"Unit 14 responding."

"Copy that, 14."

Tommy takes a sip of his soda, pulls the lettuce out of his turkey BLT.

"Unit 14 to Dispatch. The patio door is open. We've announced our office with no response. We're heading inside."

"Copy that, 14."

"Dispatch, contact Sergeant Janowski per his direction."

Tommy perks up. Sergeant Janowski. Per his direction? Sergeant Janowski has some special interest in the Bowers family?

"Dispatch to unit 19. Dispatch to unit 19."

"Dispatch, this is unit 19."

"Sergeant, Officer Risely is responding to a home-alarm distress call at 343 Cedar and requested you be notified."

"Copy that, Dispatch. Unit 19 responding."

The plot thickens. He finishes the fries, the only thing on his plate worth eating, and sips his Coke.

"Dispatch, this is unit 14 at 343 Cedar Lane. The homeowner advises he does not wish to file a report. We're terminating."

Checkmate.

Tommy closes his eyes. He knew it. He knew it all along.

David Bowers didn't want to report this. He wanted to downplay what happened. He didn't want them to see the note. He probably wanted the cops out of that house as soon as possible.

He picks up the cell phone and dials the number.

"It's him, boss," he says. "We fucking found him."