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Authors: John Rickards
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“Yeah.”
“Where do you deliver to?”
“All over. Wherever the customers live. Everywhere from New Haven to Manchester.”
“You do these deliveries every day?” I said.
“Not every day, no. Sometimes I have time off, or I work at the auto shop. But most days I have to take something somewhere. Sometimes I help with installation as well.”
“Been doing it long?”
Williams shrugged. “About a year.”
“Nice job?”
“It has its good points.” He smiled faintly. Knowingly.
“Did you have deliveries to do on May twenty-first?”
He looked like he was thinking for a moment. “What day was that?”
“A Tuesday.”
“Lessee… that was the same day as the first of them, wasn’t it? No, I can’t remember. Should do; the last guy asked as well. I’ll have to check my work book.”
“You do that,” Agostini said.
Williams ducked back into the house, leaving the two of us alone for a moment. I glanced at Agostini and raised my eyebrows, flicked my eyes at the place Williams had been standing. He looked back and shrugged almost imperceptibly. Then our suspect returned.
“Yeah, I had a delivery that day, Agent Rourke. Lunchtime I had to run some engine spares out to a customer out past Pittsfield on Route 7.”
“And you left there at what time?”
“Dunno. Got home early evening, at a guess.”
“Could we have this customer’s name and address?” Agostini asked from behind me.
“Sure.” Williams handed over a scruffy notebook open to a page full of spidery writing. “It’s right there.”
“You live here alone, right?” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Is there anyone who might be able to confirm when you arrived home?”
Williams shrugged. “I doubt it. I hardly know my neighbors. No reason they’d remember.”
“Okay. How about June twentieth?”
“I dunno. What does it say in there?” He gestured at the notebook.
Agostini flicked through until he found the right page, squinting to read Williams’ scrawl. “Empty. There’s no entry for it.”
“Then I guess I was doing nothing. Maybe I was working at the auto shop. You’d have to ask my boss there.”
“Okay, we will. July seventeenth?”
Williams looked at Agostini, who skimmed forward a few pages. “Nothing again,” he said to me.
“There you go, Agent Rourke. Nothing again.”
“August twenty-third?”
“Some place called West Boylston,” Agostini said. “Two in the afternoon.”
“I don’t suppose you remember anything more about it, do you?” I asked Williams. “Since it’s so recent and everything.”
“Off the top of my head, Agent Rourke, I don’t think I remember a thing about it.”
“Is that so?”
“I do a lot of these jobs, you know. Must’ve been just the same as all the others. I don’t think about them much.”
Agostini glanced at me and then handed the notebook to Williams. The suspect nodded to my partner but didn’t said anything.
“Thank you, Mr Williams,” I told him. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything more.”
“Before we go, I don’t suppose I could ask a favor?” Agostini said, matter-of-factly. “I couldn’t use your bathroom, could I? We’ve been doing this all day. All that coffee, you know?”
Williams smiled again, lines of spittle stretching out once more at the corners of his mouth, white against his teeth. “I’m sorry, Agent Agostini. Afraid my bathroom’s full of junk at the moment where I’ve been working on the house. Until I put everything back it can’t be used.”
“No? Well, thanks anyway.” We turned to leave.
“You be sure to tell me if you find anything out about them girls,” Williams called after us. It sounded like he was smirking and he couldn’t keep it out of his voice. “It’s such a shame to see something bad happening to such pretty kids.”
As we walked down the driveway and the door to the house closed behind us, I said to Agostini, “What did you see in that notebook?”
“Just what he said
“Where do you deliver to?”
“All over. Wherever the customers live. Everywhere from New Haven to Manchester.”
“You do these deliveries every day?” I said.
“Not every day, no. Sometimes I have time off, or I work at the auto shop. But most days I have to take something somewhere. Sometimes I help with installation as well.”
“Been doing it long?”
Williams shrugged. “About a year.”
“Nice job?”
“It has its good points.” He smiled faintly. Knowingly.
“Did you have deliveries to do on May twenty-first?”
He looked like he was thinking for a moment. “What day was that?”
“A Tuesday.”
“Lessee… that was the same day as the first of them, wasn’t it? No, I can’t remember. Should do; the last guy asked as well. I’ll have to check my work book.”
“You do that,” Agostini said.
Williams ducked back into the house, leaving the two of us alone for a moment. I glanced at Agostini and raised my eyebrows, flicked my eyes at the place Williams had been standing. He looked back and shrugged almost imperceptibly. Then our suspect returned.
“Yeah, I had a delivery that day, Agent Rourke. Lunchtime I had to run some engine spares out to a customer out past Pittsfield on Route 7.”
“And you left there at what time?”
“Dunno. Got home early evening, at a guess.”
“Could we have this customer’s name and address?” Agostini asked from behind me.
“Sure.” Williams handed over a scruffy notebook open to a page full of spidery writing. “It’s right there.”
“You live here alone, right?” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Is there anyone who might be able to confirm when you arrived home?”
Williams shrugged. “I doubt it. I hardly know my neighbors. No reason they’d remember.”
“Okay. How about June twentieth?”
“I dunno. What does it say in there?” He gestured at the notebook.
Agostini flicked through until he found the right page, squinting to read Williams’ scrawl. “Empty. There’s no entry for it.”
“Then I guess I was doing nothing. Maybe I was working at the auto shop. You’d have to ask my boss there.”
“Okay, we will. July seventeenth?”
Williams looked at Agostini, who skimmed forward a few pages. “Nothing again,” he said to me.
“There you go, Agent Rourke. Nothing again.”
“August twenty-third?”
“Some place called West Boylston,” Agostini said. “Two in the afternoon.”
“I don’t suppose you remember anything more about it, do you?” I asked Williams. “Since it’s so recent and everything.”
“Off the top of my head, Agent Rourke, I don’t think I remember a thing about it.”
“Is that so?”
“I do a lot of these jobs, you know. Must’ve been just the same as all the others. I don’t think about them much.”
Agostini glanced at me and then handed the notebook to Williams. The suspect nodded to my partner but didn’t said anything.
“Thank you, Mr Williams,” I told him. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything more.”
“Before we go, I don’t suppose I could ask a favor?” Agostini said, matter-of-factly. “I couldn’t use your bathroom, could I? We’ve been doing this all day. All that coffee, you know?”
Williams smiled again, lines of spittle stretching out once more at the corners of his mouth, white against his teeth. “I’m sorry, Agent Agostini. Afraid my bathroom’s full of junk at the moment where I’ve been working on the house. Until I put everything back it can’t be used.”
“No? Well, thanks anyway.” We turned to leave.
“You be sure to tell me if you find anything out about them girls,” Williams called after us. It sounded like he was smirking and he couldn’t keep it out of his voice. “It’s such a shame to see something bad happening to such pretty kids.”
As we walked down the driveway and the door to the house closed behind us, I said to Agostini, “What did you see in that notebook?”
“Just what he said
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