Free Repairman Jack [07]-Gateways by F. Paul Wilson Page A

rattled inside.
    Locked…that piqued his curiosity. But this was his father’s, not his, and probably locked for a good reason. He should put it back, he knew he should, but…
    What would his father keep locked up when he was the only one in the house?
    Jack looked at the little keyhole. Eminently pickable. All it would take was—
    No. Mind your own business.
    He put it back on the shelf and returned to the main room. He repressed a shudder. Time to visit the cops.
    Jack found the phone book and looked up the address of the local police station. He’d planned to call them for directions, but why not see if he could learn what he wanted over the phone. Anything to avoid setting foot in a police station.
    He dialed the number and was shuffled around until he wound up with Anita Nesbitt, a pleasant-sounding secretary who said she’d see what she could do for him.
    “I’m assuming I’ll need a copy of the accident report for the insurance,” he told her. “You know, to get the car fixed.”
    “Okay. Here it is. I’ll put a copy aside and you can pick it up.”
    “Any way you can mail it?”
    “I suppose. We have his address on the report. How is your father, by the way? I heard he was pretty banged up.”
    “Still in a coma.” A thought struck him. “Was anyone else injured?”
    “Not that we know of,” she said. “It was hit and run.”
    Jack swallowed. Those last three words sent a wave of unease through his gut.
    “Hit and run?”
    “Yes. It’s under investigation.”
    “Save your stamp and envelope,” Jack told her. “I’m coming down to pick up that report.”

14

    Dusk had arrived and the air was cooling enough to bring out the mosquitoes as Jack reached the mustard-yellow building with a two-story center flanked by single-story wings that served as Novaton City Hall. A skeletal clock tower, too modern for the rest of the building, loomed over the high-columned entrance. A green roof, front portico, and awnings completed the picture. A sign said the police station was toward the rear on the left side.
    Steeling himself, he stepped inside and asked for Ms. Nesbitt. The desk sergeant directed him to her office. Walking down the hall, passing cops moving this way and that, he felt like Pee Wee Herman at a Klan rally. If anyone peeked under the sheet…
    He hoped no one asked for ID to prove his relationship. His father’s last name was not Tyleski.
    Ms. Nesbitt turned out to be a plump and pleasant little woman with glossy black skin, short curly hair tight against her scalp, and a radiant smile.
    “Here’s the accident report,” she said, handing him a sheet of paper.
    Jack took a quick look at it; he meant to read it later but his eyes were drawn to the diagram of the accident site.
    “Where’s this intersection?” he said, pointing to the sheet. “Pemberton Road and South Road?”
    She frowned. “They cross in the swamps on the fringe of the Everglades, way out in the middle of nowhere.”
    “What was my father doing out in the middle of nowhere?”
    “That’s what we’re hoping you could tell us,” said a voice behind him.
    Jack turned to see a young, beefy cop with buzz-cut hair. His massive biceps stretched the seams of the short sleeves of his uniform shirt. His expression was neutral.
    “This is Officer Hernandez,” Anita said. “He took the call and found your father.”
    Jack stuck out a hand he hoped wasn’t too sweaty. “Thanks. I guess you saved my father’s life.”
    He shrugged. “If I did, great. But I hear he’s not out of the woods yet.”
    “You’ve been keeping track?”
    “We’d like to talk to him, get some details on the accident. Any idea what he was doing out there at that hour?”
    Jack glanced down at the report. “What hour?”
    “Around midnight.”
    Jack shook his head. “I can’t imagine.”
    “Could your father have been mixed up in something he shouldn’t have been?”
    “My dad? Into something shady? He’s like…”
    Like who? Jack