Page 37 of Whistle

“Heading home.” He pointed in the direction of Lucknow. “Work a late shift in Bennington. Like, restocking shelves at the Price Chopper.”

Harry thought he recognized him. “You ever eat at the diner?”

“Lucknow Diner? Yeah, breakfast sometimes. I got a second job at Jermyn’s Lumber, start there at like ten this morning, so I’d really like to get home.”

“So what’d you see?”

“I’m driving, and, like, I can see the butt end of this coyote pulling on something, and I didn’t think much of it, like, maybe he found some roadkill and was having a midnight snack, like, you know, no big deal, what do I care, right?”

Harry nodded.

“But then he lifts up something that looks like an arm. And I’m like, holy shit, is that what I think it is? I was just about even with it at this point, so I stopped and turned to, like, shine the lights on it, which was when the coyote ran.”

“You got out?”

Bill nodded. “I walked over and saw what was there and was like, fuck me, that looks like a naked dead guy, so that’s when I called you. Well, not you, but, like, the police.” He showed a Motorola flip phone that had been in his palm all this time. “Why would a guy be running around naked out here in the middle of the night? You think, like, a car hit him? Because he looked all smushed, you know?”

“You see any other vehicles as you were coming this way? Someone taking off in a hurry?”

“Nothing.”

“You mind if I take a look in the back of your truck?”

Bill Tracy blinked. “What?”

“You could say no, and demand that I get a warrant, and we could hang around here for a couple of hours till we get one.”

“You thinking I dumped that there?”

“I’m not thinking anything, Mr. Tracy. I just want to have a look in the back of your truck.”

The man sighed, then waved his arms in a be-my-guest gesture. Harry turned the Maglite back on and shined it into the uncovered pickup truck bed. There wasn’t much in there beyond some dead leaves. Nothing that looked like blood. Then he walked around to the front of the truck, shining the light into the grille, across the bumper. Finally, he opened the driver’s door and had a good look inside. A couple of Big Mac containers, some candy wrappers, a torn condom wrapper.

“Okay, thank you, sir, for your cooperation,” Harry said, backing out and closing the door. He fished out of his pocket a card. “You think of anything, you give us a call.”

“I can go?”

“You can go. And if you wouldn’t mind keeping what you’ve seen out here under your hat for the time being, I’d be most grateful.” Harry didn’t have high hopes here.

“Gotcha. Can I ask you something?”

Harry waited.

“You guys find lost pets?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“Okay.”

Bill Tracy was heading for the driver’s door when Harry said, “Why?”

“Uh, well, my girlfriend’s cat, like, went missing about a week ago, but she does let it wander around the neighborhood, but the guy who lives next to her, his dog’s gone, too, and he always keeps him tied up.”

Which made Harry think about Dell Peterson’s pet goat.

Eleven

It made sense to Harry that, several hours later, Bill Tracy would have been the one to leak the news about the body out on Miller’s Road. He most likely popped into the diner before his next job just busting to tell someone—maybe Jenny—about what he’d discovered, how he’d been the one to call the cops, how he was right there when it all happened. How often did you get a chance to be a minor celebrity at the Lucknow Diner?

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