Diane Harrington arrived at twenty past eleven, in a white SUV that swung onto Maple Court like it was annexing it, and by the time she had crossed Mike's lawn in heels that punched little divots in the grass, the police tape Stein had authorized — actual police tape, across the Callahans' driveway — was already the only thing standing between Diane and the porch.
"Michael Callahan!" she announced, to the porch, the street, and the general public. "I want to know what you have done to my son."
Mike came down the porch steps as far as the tape and no further, because Stein had asked him to stay behind it too. "Morning, Diane. Your son's car is being impounded. You'd have to ask the detective about the rest."
"My son's car. My son's car was parked—" She found the word and loaded it. "—legally, on a public street, and you — you have been persecuting that boy for six weeks. Photographing him. Writing letters designed to entrap him. And now you've staged —" her hand swept the whole dreadful theater of it, "—this. A setup. You put something under that car. Everyone in this neighborhood knows you have it in for Tyler."
Behind Mike, on the porch, Sarah came out and set a hand flat on the small of his back, the way she had been grounding him since they were twenty-two, and stood beside him in the doorway with her chin up. "Diane," Sarah said, in the tone she used on difficult parents at school conferences, "everything on this driveway this morning was recorded by two cameras and photographed by the Columbus police. If you believe something was planted, the detective will be thrilled to take your statement. She's right there."
Diane's gaze found Stein, who was at that moment supervising the loading of a bagged license plate into an evidence tote with the calm of a woman shelving books. Something in Stein's competence seemed to register with Diane as an obstacle, and she re-aimed at Mike.
"You will hear from my lawyer," she said. "Entrapment. Harassment. Defamation. I will own this house. I will own that driveway you care about so much, and I will park Tyler's car on it every day for the rest of my life, just to teach you the meaning of the word neighbor."
"Mrs. Harrington." Stein had come up quietly, notebook in hand, gloves off, voice at a level that made the whole street lean in. "I'm Detective Rachel Stein. Your son is not under arrest at this time. He's been asked to come to the station to answer questions about a vehicle, and I want to be precise: the vehicle is the subject of a theft investigation involving cars reported stolen in three states. If you have information about where Tyler got the Porsche, who sold it to him, or where it's been kept, this is a very good morning to share it."
"He's twenty-three years old and he works at a dealership," Diane said. "He bought it legitimately. He has papers."
"Then his papers will be the best news I've had all day, and I'll tell him so myself." Stein held out a card, and after a moment Diane took it the way you take a thing you intend to throw away later, with two fingers. "One more thing. He shouldn't leave town. None of this is a statement about his guilt — but if he has any other sets of keys, or storage units, or another vehicle registered to him, the single most helpful thing he can do today is tell us before we find them on our own."
The silence that followed had a texture. Rosa, at her fence, studied the middle distance with heroic neutrality. Tom Weaver's newspaper had not advanced a page since eight o'clock.
Diane turned back to Mike, and for one second — he would tell Sarah about it that night, and she would nod, having seen it too — the performance thinned, and underneath it was not a villain but a mother who had driven over in a fury because fury was the only gear she trusted, doing math she did not like.
"This isn't finished," she said, quieter. "You think you've won something here, Michael. You haven't. Lawyers. Tomorrow."
"Drive home safe, Diane," Mike said, and meant it, which surprised them both.
She crossed the lawn — around the tape this time, not through it — got into the white SUV, and drove away at precisely the speed limit. From the porch, Emma said what the whole street was thinking.
"She's going to go home and call a lawyer," Emma said, "and the lawyer is going to have the worst day of his life."
"Emma," Sarah said. "Inside. Both of you. Detective Stein still needs the camera files, and if I know this street, Rosa is about to arrive with food, because this is now officially a Situation, and Situations get casseroles."
Chapter 15: The Other Driveways