Rescue

Indians.“
    “Sometimes easier that way.“
    “It is. Most folks wouldn’t believe that, but it is.“
    Pettengill’s office had a lower ceiling than the outer area. The floor was carpeted but didn’t look vacuumed, with dog hairs I could see and grit I could feel as I walked on it, even in dress shoes. On top of his desk were a small sun-bleached American flag and a brighter New Hampshire state flag, both with mag netic bases. Between the flags was a blotter, some paperwork and pencils, and an opened bottle of Dr. Pepper, the sixteen- ounce size. There were two guest chairs in front of the desk, both old wood, just the backs padded in brown leather.
    Pettengill said, “Before you get comfortable, you might show me some ID.“
    I took out my holder and handed it to him. He went to the chair behind his desk and sat down, copying the information from my license onto a pad of yellow-lined foolscap. Then he pushed the holder back across the desk to me. I put it away and chose one of the chairs.
    Pettengill set his pencil down so it wouldn’t roll. “Okay, what do you have?“
    “I helped a young woman named Melinda and a boy named Eddie with a flat on 93 down near Boston last Thursday afternoon. A redheaded guy in a blue pickup pulled over, too. He seemed interested but then moved on. I think the woman’s body was found in the Fort Point Channel that night.“
    “You think?“
    “Face and teeth were smashed in.“
    Pettengill nodded. “Fingers?“
    “Intact.“
    “Go on.“
    “There was no sign of the boy near the channel, but the car I saw them in was parked by where the body was found, only the plates had been switched.“
    Pettengill considered that. “And one of the plates led you to Elton.“
    I was impressed. “That’s right.“
    “Just who’s your client in all of this?“
    I thought of PFC Duquette and Eddie Straw. “I’m not sure.“
    Pettengill considered that, too. “Describe the woman and the boy.“
    I did.
    “And the redheaded guy in the pickup.“
    Again.
    Pettengill rubbed his chin like he was trying to remove makeup. “Would you like some Dr. Pepper?“
    “A little early for me.“
    A nod. “Reminds me of what used to be my favorite drink.“
    “What was that?“
    “Canadian Mist and Coke. Call them ‘blabbers’ around here, account of you have more than three of them, you start blabbing about near anything.“
    “But it’s not your favorite drink anymore.“
    “Uh-unh.“
    “What is?“
    “Dr. Pepper.“
    My turn to nod.
    Pettengill’s hand brought the soda bottle close to his lips, then stopped. “You see, I liked those blabbers just a mite too much.“
    “There a reason you’re telling me this?“
    “There is. The driver of your pickup sounds an awful lot like Lonnie Severn.“
    “You know him, then?“
    “From back when the blabbers and me were constant companions. I’ve been sober two years, four months, and... huh, I’ve lost count of the days. Bad sign, means it’s been too long since a meeting.“
    “AA?“
    “Yeah. Works for me.“
    “And for this Severn , too?“
    “No. No, I got him to attend a couple meetings around here, my regular one, and another over to Bristol, but the program didn’t seem to be right for him.“
    “The man I saw didn’t strike me as being under the influence.“
    “Oh, he wouldn’t have been. At least, I hope not. No, Lonnie found his own way. Found it through Jesus.“
    Pettengill watched me for a reaction. I don’t think I gave him one.
    He took a swig of the Dr. Pepper. “I’m not sure exactly how religion’s helped Lonnie, but he’s doing all right for himself. Got a good used trailer out of town a ways, nice new pickup you saw. Straightened himself out.“
    “I think I’d like to talk to Lonnie.“
    “Maybe. First things first, though. Who belonged to the plates on the car you saw?“
    “One was an older woman from Manchester who had them boosted off her car in a mall lot.“
    Pettengill watched me some more. “Who was the Elton one?“
    “Oswald Finn.“
    “You had the name already, you have the address, too?“
    “Yes.“
    “So you could have found Oz Finn on your own.“
    “Probably.“
    More nodding. “I’m wondering how come you stopped in to see me first?“
    “Professional courtesy, Chief.“
    “Meaning, you’re not licensed in New Hampshire .“
    “That’s right.“
    “An honest answer. I like that.“
    “Just reciprocity. You recognized the driver of the truck and told me his