No one seemed to notice as the cafeteria began to fill, people began stacking up, trays in hand, the smell of Italian herb mingling with the lingering scents of fish. Burgers sizzled on a grill as the noise of customers yelled orders over the general buzz of conversation.
Tate pulled out his phone and pretended to text, but watched the two guards from the corner of his eye.
And he hit pay dirt.
“I know. It’s a frickin’ shit show,” the shorter guy said. He was bald, his pate shining under the lights, a three-day growth of reddish beard covering his jaw, a chocolate-covered donut and bottle of pinkish vitamin water on his tray. “They never should have let that cocksucker out, if you ask me.”
Tate swallowed a smile. Obviously they were talking about Jonas McIntyre.
“But they did and he’s here.” Bodybuilder dug into what looked like a ham on rye sandwich. “But won’t be for long.”
“You think? Is that what you heard?” The bearded guy cracked open the bottle and took a sip of the pink liquid.
“Yeah. Even though the prick wasn’t wearing a seat belt, he stayed in the car and got banged up, has maybe a busted rib or two and a slight head injury or somethin’， but not much more. Lucky SOB, if you ask me. Would’ve been better if he just woulda died in the accident. Serve him right for what he did to his family. Prison’s too good for him.” He washed down another bite with a swallow of Diet Pepsi. “The way I see it, the loser should either die or end up a vegetable.”
“Geez, man—”
“It’d be cheaper for the state if he just checked out, if you know what I mean.” As if he realized he was talking too loud, he took a quick look around and wiped a bit of mustard from his chin.
“What about the other one—the woman on two?”
“The sister?” Bodybuilder asked, eyebrows drawing into one thick line.
“Yeah. Her.”
“Head case.”
“What do you know about her?”
“A lot.”
“You do? How?”
“I read, man, I read. You should try it.”
“I read.”
“The sports page doesn’t count.” Bodybuilder took another long swallow from his can. “And I’ve seen all the documentaries and specials about it, ya know. My old man? He worked for the department when it all happened, one of the deputies first on the scene up at that bloodbath. It was all he could talk about for weeks. So yeah,” he was nodding to himself as he crunched into a pickle, “I took a major interest. And the woman in 234?” Tapping a thick finger on the tabletop, he added, “Trust me. She’s certifiable.”
“If you say so.”
“Not just me. It’s all over the media. It was big news then, and maybe even bigger now cuz, ya know, the Internet and all. Anyway, a cop lost his life saving that little girl’s. Pissed off my old man. Big time.” He polished off the first half of his sandwich and said around the final bite, “The cop who died that night? He was on vacation with his family. Not even on duty. But he had to help out, ya know? In his blood.”
Tate froze.
The room seemed to shrink, the buzz of conversation receding to a dull hum as he strained to listened.
“That right?”
“Uh-huh. Tate, his name was. Some of the other guys who worked the scene afterward, checking for evidence and shit, they think he saw something.”
“You mean, he saw something other than the girl who almost drowned that night.”
“Oh, yeah. He ran through that house, saw all those bodies—man, that must’ve been something. Gory as hell. Then he took off, chased the little girl onto the pond and fell through the ice.” He picked up the second half of his sandwich and glanced around, his gaze skating over Tate. Lowering his voice, he added, “That cop. Tate? He said something to the rescue worker as he was loaded into the ambulance.”
Tate froze. Strained to listen. Even though he’d heard this story before. They were talking about his father.
“What’d he say?”
“The EMT, he wasn’t sure, but it sounded like, you know, like fee or fie . . . maybe it was fee, fi, fo, fum . . . or backwards. Who knows? It probably don’t mean anything. The cop was probably delirious. On his way out, if you know what I mean. Had himself a massive heart attack and was out of his head.” In three huge bites, he polished off the remainder of his sandwich as his partner chugged down the remainder of his pink drink.
Tate remembered the stories about his father’s death. Even now he felt a familiar pang in his chest at the memory. He slid a glance at the guy. Saw his name tag: LESTER ALLEN.