T
he old man struggled with the details. “So nobody paid Adam Rackers to kill the judge?” he said.
Billy pulled the hospital blanket higher and tucked it under his father's chin. He checked the IV drip running into his father's arm. “Judge Harmony was dead before Rackers even broke into the house,” he explained. “Brock had already killed him.”
The old man let out a low whistle. “What could drive a boy to do that?”
“The police who interrogated him say Brock doesn't really have a good answer. He found out that his dad, who acted like Mr. Perfect, had a second family, and another son. Gil was leaving June and Brock, and moving to New Yorkâthat's a potent betrayal. Gil was taking most of his money with him too. You looking for a motive? Greed, or revenge?”
“Name your poison.”
“Rackers was the key to the murder plan, but he didn't know it,” Billy said. “Two weeks before the killing, Brock got the drop on Rackers when the little thief broke into the judge's town house in
Providence. Brock pulled a gun on him. But instead of calling the police, he hired Rackers to rob the Charlestown house and steal June's diamonds, supposedly as part of an insurance scam.
“We bought Brock's story from the beginningâthat Adam Rackers broke in and then took him hostage. The first part was trueâRackers did break in, as they had plannedâbut then he fell right into Brock's trap. The rest of Brock's story was a lie. It was Brock who marched Rackers through the woods at gunpoint. Then Brock carjacked Stu Tracy, and forced Rackers to drive the car.”
“Probably was going to kill them both later,” the old man offered. His quivering hand pressed the oxygen tube under his nose. “So he could make it look like he had escaped from his kidnapper.”
“Brock's plan went off the road, literally, when Adam Rackers panicked at the wheel and drove into a tree,” Billy said. “But Rackers was killed, and Stu was incapacitated, so he couldn't contradict Brock's story. They never used their names in the car, so Stu didn't know which guy was which. That's why Brock faked a crying jag in Stu's hospital room before he had said a word. He couldn't have Stu recognizing his voice.”
“And that's why Brock couldn't let Stu live long enough to get back his sight,” the old man said. “Boy, he had everybody fooled.”
“Brock was a great drama studentâhis school said he was the best actor they had ever seen. Could have had a career. And so could Martin Smothers, I think. Martin staked out the lobby while I went up to check on Stu Tracy. He was clever enough to hold Brock there until I came back.”
The old man licked his lips and turned approving eyes on Billy. “Being an investigator suits you,” he said.
“I nearly got buried alive.”
“You haven't been to the dog track once since this case began.”
Billy thought back. “You're right,” he said, surprised that he
hadn't noticed. He shrugged. “I haven't felt the impulse ⦠. Maybe I finally caught the rabbit.”
The old man smiled. When the grin faded, he asked, “How's Stu?”
“You saved his life. And risked your own to do it.”
“Eh, not much to risk.”
“In a few days, we'll get you transferred to a better room. Something with a view of the highway, so you can feel better about not being stuck in traffic. In two weeks, you'll be home. Bo's painting some get-well pictures for the walls.”
The old man looked away. His blue eyes scanned the ceiling. “Might have been a better way to go, you think? Bleeding out after trying to help a friend.” He turned suddenly to Billy and barked with surprising strength, “I'm jealous of you and Bo, and I'm sick of hiding it.”
Billy fiddled again with the blanket. “I've seen the jealousy in your eyes. Though I don't know why. Bo loves his grandpa.”
The old man frowned and grew impatient. “Not jealous that way. Are you really as
thick
as that?” He huffed and seemed about to cry. He confessed, “I'm jealous of
you
, Billy, because you have a son who adores you ⦠and I don't.”
For the rest of his life, Billy Povich would marvel at how suddenly forgiveness had filled him, that moment beside his father's hospital bed. The old man's cheating, his selfishness, the way he had dropped his family like a day-old newspaperâthose wounds vanished that instant, as if they had never been, a weight he had dragged three decades, suddenly cut free.
He laid his ear on the old man's stomach and quietly cried. Trembling hands cradled his head.
“I finished your obituary last night,” Billy said, finally. “My best work. I have a copy, if you'd like to read it.”
The old man sputtered, “Don't have my glasses.”
“I could read it to you,
Father
.”
The old man grinned and playfully pushed his son away. “Not yet. I want to make it a little longer, before it goes in the paper.”
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
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LOOT THE MOON. Copyright © 2009 by Mark Arsenault. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin's Publishing Group.
Â
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eISBN 9781429985192
First eBook Edition : February 2012
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Arsenault, Mark.
Loot the moon / Mark Arsenault.â1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Thomas Dunne book for Minotaur Books”âT.p. verso.
ISBN 978-0-312-55576-4
1. JudgesâCrimes againstâFiction. 2. MurderâInvestigationâFiction. I. Title.
PS3601.R75L66 2009
813'.6âdc22
2009012736
First Edition: October 2009