The Day Will Come Read online

  Jordan stepped back from the window, gesturing me away from the house. “There’s a suitcase on the bed. It has men’s clothes in it.” He put his hands on his hips and let his head drop. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  “I think so.”

  “So Ricky had him plant the bomb?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think Ricky had him do anything. I think he did it all himself.”

  Jordan’s head came up. “You think he killed Genna?”

  I grunted with frustration. “I don’t know.”

  His jaw clenched, and the fire began to reignite in his eyes.

  “You got your phone?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  I held out my hand. “Hand it over.”

  “Who—”

  “Let’s have the cops come get him.”

  His eyes flashed. “We’ll get him ourselves.”

  I looked pointedly at the blood on his shirt. “You think?”

  His jaw clenched, and a battle was being fought on his face. Finally he relaxed. “I guess you’re right.”

  “Thank you. Now may I have your phone?”

  He placed it in my hand, and I stepped away from the house to again dial a number I knew by heart. An officer answered.

  “Police department. This is Officer Stern.”

  A cop I actually knew. “Stella Crown here,” I said. “Can you please have Detective Willard call me at this number?”

  “Ma’am, I can hardly hear you.”

  I faced away from the house and said it again, a little louder.

  “Oh, Ms. Crown. Can I help you?”

  “Just have Willard call me here.” Jordan supplied me with his number and I repeated it to the cop.

  “The detective’s at home,” Stern said.

  “I know. It’s an emergency.”

  “Shouldn’t you call 911?”

  “It’s not that kind of emergency.”

  She paused, obviously not sure what to do.

  “Please?”

  “All right. I’ll call him. But it might be me calling you back.”

  “Fine.” I pushed the off button and held it out to Jordan. “Put this on vibrate so Ricky and Baronne don’t hear it.”

  Two minutes later, the phone shuddered in my hand. I answered. It was Willard.

  “We found Baronne,” I said.

  “What?”

  “He’s hiding out with Ricky and his new girlfriend—the dark-haired girl from the band. Marley. They’re planning on skipping town.”

  “Where are you?”

  I gave him the address.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he said, “but can you please let the police handle it from here?”

  “That’s why I’m calling.”

  “Okay. Good. I’ll get on the horn to Alexander and you should be seeing someone soon.”

  “Thanks, Willard.”

  “I think I should be thanking you.”

  I gave Jordan the phone and we hunkered behind the fence, our eyes on the house. Realistically, it would probably be at least ten minutes till anyone official showed up. Willard had to find Alexander, who then had to relay information to the rest of the force. I wouldn’t think they’d hurry this, since they knew exactly where Baronne was.

  A few minutes later I heard scuffling, and I peeked out from my hiding place to see the shapes of two cops coming down the alley, backs bent to keep their heads below the fence. I stepped out, so they’d see where we were waiting. The cops swung toward us, hands going toward their belts.

  I held my hands up. “I called it in. We’re staying out of the way.”

  “Crown?” one of them said, squinting in the darkness.

  “That’s me.”

  He stepped closer, revealing himself as a middle-aged guy, a slight paunch above his belt. I squinted and could just make out the name Ganno on his name plate. He nodded shortly, gesturing the other cop ahead of him. “You need to leave the alley,” he said to me.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “I mean it. We’ve got the bomb squad and SWAT heading this way, and you don’t want to get in the middle of it.”

  When I didn’t move, Ganno’s face went stony, so I pulled Jordan from our spot and tugged him down the alley, away from the house.

  Ganno watched as we left, then turned to pick his way into the yard to his partner. As soon as he was out of sight, we crept back to the fence, where we saw the cops positioned by the back door.

  The sound of cars parking in front of the house sent a chill up my spine, and I pressed closer to the fence. Jordan breathed heavily beside me, his fingers clutching the wire.

  The back door burst open, sending the younger cop plunging backward down the steps. Ganno lunged at Baronne, who barreled down the stairs and over the fallen cop. Baronne avoided Ganno’s grasp and ran across the yard, stumbling on junk and rocks as he made his way toward us. The young cop rolled over, yanking his gun from his belt and pointing it at Baronne.

  “Freeze!” he screamed. “Police!”

  Baronne launched himself through the gate, a huge shape in the dim light. He stopped for a split second to check out his options, and I threw myself at his ankles. He fell heavily to the ground, and Jordan rushed him, landing on his chest and pinning his arms to the ground.

  Before I could react, Jordan was up and raising his fist. I threw myself forward to grab his arm, and latched my fingers around his wrist, scraping my nails across his skin.

  Jordan, halted mid-punch, reared back as if to throw me off, but caught himself before following through.

  Baronne, seeing an opening, scrambled out from underneath us. I grabbed his ankle again, landing him back on his face. This time Jordan got Baronne’s arms and twisted one behind his back.

  The cops from the back yard burst from the gate, guns out.

  They hesitated only for a moment as they read the situation, until the younger one came to cover Baronne.

  “I thought you left,” Ganno said to me.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

  “Get off him,” the other cop said.

  I got up. Jordan kept Baronne’s arm twisted at his back. Painful, if Baronne’s expression was any indication. His head was turned sideways on the ground, his cheek squished forward, and his eyes bulged.

  “Let him go,” the young cop said to Jordan.

  Ganno was on his radio, calling in the take-down.

  Jordan stared at Baronne’s face.

  “You killed Genna,” Jordan said. His voice was barely over a whisper. “After all I told you.”

  Baronne tried to twist his face upward, only to be rewarded with a push on the head from Jordan.

  Baronne spat dirt from his mouth. “I didn’t do anything to her. She was alive when I left.”

  “You killed her!” Jordan said, his voice now loud with desperation.

  Ganno put a hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Let him go, son.”

  I stepped toward Baronne and squatted down. “What do you mean, she was alive? When did you leave?”

  His face was red with pain.

  “Jordan,” I said. “Let him go.”

  “But—”

  “Do it!”

  He gave Baronne one last twist and dropped the arm. Baronne pulled it under himself and cradled it against his chest while the younger cop’s gun stayed leveled at him.

  “When?” I said to Baronne. “When did you see Genna?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then focused them on me. “The end of the second set. I was…heading out the back exit.”

  “That back hallway?”

  “Yeah. But she wasn’t in there. She was just at the door leading into it.”

  “What was she doing?”

  He glanced at Jordan. “Crying.”

  Jordan opened his mouth, then turned away to lean his hands against the fence, looking as if the cops were about to search him.

  “Was
anyone with her?” I asked Baronne.

  He shook his head. “Not that I saw.”

  Ganno pulled Baronne’s arms behind him, making the man wince with pain, and snapped on the handcuffs. Between the two officers, they got him to his feet.

  “And the bomb?” I asked.

  He looked at me, then pointedly around the alley. “You see my lawyer anywhere?”

  I snorted. “Not likely.”

  “Then it’s not likely I’ll be talking anymore, is it?” He swiveled his eyes toward Jordan, opened his mouth like he was going to say something, despite his bravado, but shut it again.

  Footsteps sounded from the back yard and down the alley. More cops appeared, SWAT gear covering their bodies and faces.

  “Time to go, Baronne,” the younger cop said.

  They started toward the clump of cops.

  “Hey, Ganno,” I said.

  He looked back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  He looked blank.

  I pointed at Baronne and smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The police station was cold. Not winter cold. Just…cold. I hugged myself to ward off the chill, whether it was real or in my head. I’d been sitting there about an hour and a half, and my muscles were stiffening.

  Willard had been waiting at the building when I arrived, having run down to the city after my call. Not there as a major player in the actual proceedings, he sat with me in my interviews, offering support as he could.

  I knew there was a reason I liked him.

  The Philly cops had finished with me pretty quickly, wondering mostly how I’d smelled out Baronne’s presence at Marley’s, and what exactly went down in the house when Jordan and I first got there. After they’d gone over that three or four times, I got a visit from Alexander the Slime. He greeted Willard with professional detachment, then walked me through everything I’d just told the others, as well as everything I knew about Baronne, Ricky, and Marley, as well as the band, Genna, and the bomb. I didn’t have a whole lot to tell him he didn’t already know. He finally realized he’d sucked out all my knowledge of the situation, and set me free.

  I’d lost track of everyone else. A glimpse of Ricky was all I’d seen when we got to the police station, and he wasn’t looking any too happy. I assumed Marley was there, too, the complicit little bitch. I hoped she’d learned something from the whole mess, including what happens when you steal a woman’s loser boyfriend less than a week after she dies.

  But then, Jordan was really Genna’s boyfriend. Wasn’t he?

  Jordan—Genna’s boyfriend or not—finally stumbled out of the interview room, his face gray with fatigue and grief. He walked right past Willard and me without even a glance in our direction. I followed him out the door, not sure where he was going, but certain he shouldn’t be walking around the streets of Philadelphia alone. When he reached the curb, he stopped and looked up and down the street.

  “Know where we are?” I asked.

  He sighed, raising his shoulders, then dropping them. “No.”

  “Okay. Stay here.” I watched his face, but got no response. “Jordan? You’ll wait for me?”

  “What? Oh, yeah.”

  I went back into the police station. “Give us a ride to Jordan’s truck?” I asked Willard.

  “Glad to.”

  He got directions from the first cop he found and dropped us off close to Marley’s place, where the townhouse still bustled with activity. Cops looking for evidence and money, I supposed. Willard said he wanted to see what was happening, and that he’d be in touch.

  I turned to Jordan and held out my hand for his truck keys. He didn’t argue this time.

  “You gonna make it?” I asked when we were in the cab.

  His lips twitched, and he nodded.

  “Good. Now help me get out of this place.”

  With his guidance we made it back to the Schuylkill without any problems, and at this time of night the traffic was like another highway might have during the day. Which meant we could drive the speed limit without having to brake every two seconds.

  When we’d gotten a few miles down the road I glanced at Jordan. “So what were you telling Baronne?”

  He blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. What was that about ‘how could he do it’ after all you’d told him?”

  His mouth pinched shut, and he studied the dashboard.

  “Jordan.”

  He shook his head, but said, “I’m not proud of it, okay? He…he duped me. Said he wanted to learn about sound stuff. Once we started talking, we had fun. At least I thought we were having fun. Talking about the business, the band, and stuff. It’s not often I find someone actually interested in the technical part of the whole music scene.”

  I flicked my brights at a truck coming the other way, and its lights went to the lower setting. “What did he want to know about the band?”

  “What I saw in them, how they worked together, what it was like touring.”

  I remembered what Tom had said about Mann’s interest in having the band as a headliner for Club Independence, and wondered if Baronne was using that as his ticket to get out of town and on with his life. In a strictly illegal, backstabbing way, of course. “Was he especially interested in Ricky?”

  Jordan considered it. “I don’t know. He did ask me about him.”

  “About how he got along with the other band members?”

  “No, not really. More about how I thought he played. If he was good or not.”

  So Baronne already knew Ricky was on the way out with the band and wondered if he’d be worth recruiting for himself. I guessed he’d decided he was.

  “How much did you tell him about sound?”

  Jordan made a growling sound. “Like was it enough he’d know where to put the bomb?”

  “Well. Yeah.”

  “It was enough.”

  We were silent for several minutes, and I negotiated the merge onto the Northeast Extension.

  “But why the bomb?” Jordan said. “He already had the money. Why would he want to kill people?”

  I checked my mirrors and pulled over to pass a slow-moving truck, its hazard lights blinking. I put on my turn signal and the truck lights flashed. I settled back in the right lane, my brain fizzing with a new idea. “What if he didn’t want to kill anyone?”

  “Huh? Why plant a bomb if you’re not going to set it off?”

  “Look at what he accomplished. He cleared out the whole place with that phone call. Ruined the concert. And he got away.”

  “Yeah,” Jordan said, “but why wouldn’t he have planted a fake one? Why set one that really could go off, if he didn’t plan on detonating it? In fact, why plant one at all?”

  I considered the question. “He planted a real bomb. But something changed his mind.”

  Jordan lifted a foot and rested the sole on the dashboard, leaning his head back on the seat. “What? What would change your mind if you were set on bombing something?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Maybe he realized once he got away that he didn’t need to bomb the place. He was free.”

  “But he made the bomb threat. Put the whole evacuation in motion.”

  “Maybe he was afraid the bomb would go off even if he didn’t want it to.”

  “But he had the remote, right?”

  “Right. But couldn’t something still set it off?”

  Jordan swiveled his head my direction. “I don’t know anything about bombs. Remember?”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  I flipped on my turn signal and coasted off the Lansdale exit. I paid the toll, not quite able to smile at the tollbooth operator, and made it to my street in record time, the commuters at home in bed for once instead of clogging up the roadways.

  “I still don’t get why,” Jordan said.

  “Why what?
”

  “Why plant the bomb to begin with? Let’s say he never planned to detonate it, or even if he did. Why? Why not just take the money and run to New York to start his new band?”

  I pulled into my lane and swung the truck in a U, leaving the nose pointing toward the road. “How about revenge?”

  “Revenge? For what?”

  I took a deep breath. “Baronne and Mann were friends. Best friends. Musicians. And Mann didn’t believe they’d ever make it as a band. He gave up on it long ago, without even trying to work things out with his partner.” I unlatched my seatbelt, and it slapped back into place. “Perhaps Baronne couldn’t forgive that. That lack of faith.”

  Jordan shifted in his seat. “You sound pretty convinced about that theory.”

  “Do I?” I could feel Jordan’s gaze on the side of my face, and my eyes locked on Nick’s Ranger, sitting like a thorn in my driveway. “I guess I’ve learned something about that in the past week.” I opened the door and stepped out.

  Jordan scooted over to the driver’s seat and held the door open to look at me. “Learned something about what?”

  “About what happens when people don’t believe.”

  The flash of pain in Jordan’s eyes sent my heart to my throat. “Jordan, I wasn’t talking about—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I know.” He slammed the truck’s door shut and sped out the drive.

  Chapter Thirty

  The first thing I thought when I woke up Saturday morning—Lucy’s wedding day—was, Holy cow. It’s raining.

  The raindrops tapped on my roof, and I stumbled out of bed to peer out the window. The dusk-to-dawn light illuminated the steady, feathery rain, and I felt a confused tumble of gratefulness and irritation. Could God not wait one more day to send it? Or was this God’s way of telling us something profound, that I wasn’t getting?

  Nick was sprawled on the sofa in the front room, the afghan on the floor, along with his shoes. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his jeans. I studied him, listening to the rain pound the metal roof above that section of the house, and wondered if it was the last time he’d be sleeping on my sofa. I left him, not sure I had any chance of choking down breakfast.

  Lucy was already in the kitchen, leaning on the sink, her nose inches from the window. I grimaced, not sure I was ready for the tears I was sure I’d see because of the rain.