Read Online Gone, Baby, Gone by Dennis Lehane - Free Book Online Page A

or else some dealer she owed kidnapped the little girl.”
    “What changed your mind?” Angie said.
    Poole chewed some food, nudged Broussard to answer.
    “Polygraph. She passed with flying colors. Also, this guy wolfing pork chops and me? It’s pretty hard to lie to us when we’re working on you together. Helene lies, don’t get me wrong, but not about her daughter’s disappearance. She honestly doesn’t know what happened to her.”
    “What about Helene’s whereabouts the night Amanda disappeared?”
    Broussard’s sandwich stalled halfway to his mouth. “What about them?”
    “You believe the story she told the press?” Angie said.
    “Is there a reason we shouldn’t?” Poole dipped his fork in the applesauce.
    “Big Dave told us a different story.”
    Poole leaned back in his chair, slapped the crumbs from his hands. “And what was that?”
    “Did you or did you not believe Helene’s story?” Angie asked.
    “Not entirely,” Broussard said. “According to the polygraph, she was with Dottie, but maybe not in Dottie’s apartment. She’s sticking to the lie, though.”
    “Where was she?” Poole said.
    “According to Big Dave, she was in the Filmore.”
    Poole and Broussard looked at each other, then back at us.
    “So,” Broussard said slowly, “she did bullshit us.”
    “Didn’t want to spoil her fifteen seconds,” Poole said.
    “Her fifteen seconds?” I asked.
    “In the spotlight,” Poole said. “Used to be minutes; these days it’s seconds.” He sighed. “On the TV, playing her role as the grieving mother in the pretty blue dress. You remember that Brazilian woman in Allston, her little boy went missing about eight months back?”
    “And was never found.” Angie nodded.
    “Right. The point is, though, that mother—she was dark-skinned, she didn’t dress well, she always looked sorta stoned on camera? After a while, the general public really didn’t give a shit about her missing boy because they disliked the mother so much.”
    “But Helene McCready,” Broussard said, “she’s white. And she fixes herself up, she looks good on camera. Maybe she doesn’t come across as the brightest bulb in the box, but she’s likable.”
    “No, she’s not,” Angie said.
    “Oh, in person?” Broussard shook his head. “In person, she’s about as likable as a case of crabs. But on camera? When she’s speaking for all of fifteen seconds? The lens loves her, the public loves her. She leaves her kid alone for almost four hours, there’s some outrage, but mostly people are saying, ‘Cut her some slack. We all make mistakes.’”
    “And she’s probably never been loved in her life like that,” Poole said. “And as soon as Amanda is found, or let’s say something happens to knock the case off the front page—and that something always happens—then Helene goes back to being who she was. But for now, what I’m saying, she’s grabbing her fifteen seconds.”
    “And that’s all you think her lying about her whereabouts amounts to?” I said.
    “Probably,” Broussard said. He wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin, pushed his plate away. “Don’t get us wrong. We’re going over to her brother’s place in a few minutes, and we’re going to tear her a new asshole for lying to us. And if there is more to it, we’ll find out.” He tipped his hand toward us. “Thanks to you two.”
    “How long have you been on this case?” Poole asked.
    Angie looked at her watch. “Since late last night.”
    “And you already uncovered something we missed?” Poole chuckled. “You two might be as capable as we’ve heard.”
    Angie batted her eyelashes. “Gee, gosh.”
    Broussard smiled. “I hang out with Oscar Lee sometimes. We both came up through the Housing Police about a million years ago. After Gerry Glynn got put down in that playground a couple years back, I asked Oscar about you two. Want to know what he said?”
    I shrugged. “Knowing Oscar, it was probably