Free Blood Ties by S. J. Rozan Page A

all I know you knew all about this and came out here to cover it up.”
    I stared. “Then why did I call you?”
    Sullivan considered. “Because you’re an idiot?”
    â€œThat’s true, but it’s not what happened. If half the kids in Warrenstown were here, they’re all as likely to know what happened to Tory Wesley as Gary is.”
    â€œHe’s the one who ran away.”
    â€œHe said he didn’t run away. He said he’d gone to New York to do something important.”
    â€œYeah,” Sullivan said. “Like run away.”
    â€œIf that’s it, why was he still in New York three days after he left home?”
    Sullivan nodded thoughtfully, but he didn’t answer the question.
    â€œHe may not have even been here,” I said.
    â€œWe’ll check that.” A cop wearing surgical gloves carried a bag of trash, now evidence, from the house, dumped it in the back of a tech van. It would go to the lab, along with a dozen or so other bags, to be checked for prints. A lab director’s nightmare.
    â€œAnd we’re tracking down the other kids,” Sullivan said. “Starting with your buddy Morgan Reed. We’ll find out who was here.”
    A fresh fall breeze shivered the leaves.
    â€œI want to work together on this,” I said. “You want to find out what happened to Tory Wesley. I’m looking for Gary.”
    â€œCould be we’re looking for the same thing.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” I said, though a part of me was saying, hell, sure it could.
    Sullivan was silent. Then, “No,” he said.
    â€œNo, what?”
    He turned to face me, spoke quietly. “What do you want me to say, Smith? That I don’t think Tory Wesley died in her sleep, that I think someone who was at that party killed her and I think it may have been Gary?” He shook his head. “Until someone proves otherwise, Gary Russell’s a suspect. You’re his uncle. Drop it, go back to New York, keep out of my way.”
    â€œYou don’t really think I will?”
    He looked over the lawn again. “You licensed in this state?”
    â€œSo far I’m not doing anything you need a license for. I’m just driving around asking questions.”
    â€œYou carrying?”
    â€œNo.” I opened my jacket to show him: nothing. I don’t have a New Jersey carry permit, so the .38 I usually wear in a shoulder rig was back at my place. I had a .22 strapped up under the dash in the car, but he hadn’t asked about that.
    â€œGet out of town,” he said.
    â€œSullivan—”
    He shook his head. “You’re Gary’s uncle. You find him first, I’ll never get my hands on him.”
    â€œYou don’t know that that’s true.”
    He gave me a sideways look, didn’t answer that. “You’re looking for a runaway. I’m looking for a killer. Whether they’re the same or not, my investigation takes precedence.”
    â€œI’m only interested in Gary.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said, and it sounded like it might be true. “But you’re in a bad position.”
    â€œGary’s in a worse one.”
    â€œI’ll find him.”
    The wind gusted, stronger now. Leaves and shadows skidded around the unmoving trunks of trees. Sullivan slipped a cigarette out of his pocket. I offered him mine, for the light, but he took out a lighter, used that.
    â€œI could refuse,” I said. “To leave. As long as I’m not breaking the law—”
    â€œI’ll arrest you,” Sullivan said calmly, breathing out smoke. “You’d beat it, but I could keep you out of circulation a couple of days. That might be all I’ll need.”
    Or, I thought, I could drive to the next town, take out my cell phone, and call every kid in Warrenstown. Out of Sullivan’s jurisdiction he’d have trouble making his threat stick. But there was no