Harry sat silently as he was updated on the events that took place in the cove earlier that day. He resisted the urge to interrupt or ask questions. After making an unexpected getaway from DC, the flight home wasn’t the usual relaxing interlude before a few days off.
Harry flew home because Ivan was arrested. He’s sure it’s his fault. He isn’t able to let it work itself out while he’s in DC. With Clayton Olson in the picture, Harry needs to try to undo what his carelessness has brought about.
As unsettling as his sudden flight home is, as he prepares to take the heat for his screw up, imagine his response when he finds out a homicide detective is camping at the cove, and he’s offering his services in solving the Cove Campground’s murder.
Once he is listening to a description of that day’s events, Harry decides, he doesn’t need to mention that he was supposed to advise Ivan of Mason’s arrival. It doesn’t appear that Ivan is responsible for Mason’s death, and Harry didn’t do anything wrong, which was a relief.
McCoy doesn’t know why the senator flew home, but he’s made suspicious by it.
“You fly yourself, Senator, or do you have a pilot on staff?” McCoy asked, looking into Harry’s sudden appearance.
“I fly myself. One of my great joys. I couldn’t be a politician if I had to stay in that den of thieves endlessly. I need to have my feet on cove soil as often as I can. As it is, I abandoned my obligations to the budget committee to come home. I wouldn’t have done them any good. I needed to find out what I could do here.”
“Do tell, Senator,” McCoy said, sensing there was a lot more to the story.
“I want Ivan out of jail,” Clay said angrily. “Can you get him out of jail, Harry? He’s not going anywhere. He didn’t do this.”
Harry was at a loss for words. He’d do anything Clay asked him to do, but there were things he didn’t want to be accused of doing. Applying political pressure on the legal system involving his man in the Gulf’s lover fell into that category.
“I wouldn’t do that,” McCoy said. “He’s been arrested. Let that play itself out. The state’s attorney will have his own opinion on who he wants charged in this case. There may not be enough evidence to hold Ivan. We might get what we’re after without it costing you political capital. It isn’t what you should be doing, Senator?”
“He told you about his history with Mason?” Harry asked, to make sure McCoy knew.
He did. It complicates matters. That history puts Ivan high on the list of suspects. His alibi is solid but it presents issues.”
“If he has as alibi, why isn’t that enough to clear his name?” Harry asked.
“His alibi consists of three people, Clayton, Dylan, and myself. We can account for every minute that morning. He was with one of us at all times. A good prosecutor won’t simply roll over. That’s why catching the killer is essential. It gets Ivan off the hook without a doubt.”
“That will take time. Ivan is in jail,” Clay said.
“Let’s see what the prosecutor does. With Ivan in jail, the killer might become careless. He may be thinking someone else is going to take the rap. It could make him easier to catch.”
Clay didn’t like it but he saw the wisdom in it. He wouldn’t push too hard for now.
Harry listened carefully to McCoy. He sounded like he knew what he was talking about.
Clay trusted Harry would do all within his power to help Ivan. He was impatient to get Ivan home. He’d go along with Harry and McCoy for the time being. He didn’t like it, but if McCoy did what he said he’d do, he’d catch the killer and rectify the situation.
Clay could read Harry like a book. He’d already done more than Clay expected he’d do. As angry as he was about Ivan’s arrest, he felt better once Harry was home. He wouldn’t sleep that night, knowing where Ivan was, but his feelings of desperation had passed. Something was being done.
Dylan was the one who hated that his father had been arrested. Clay leaving him at the house made him feel even less connected to the events that took place that day. This was what Dylan had feared since his father’s return home. He’d given Daddy-O the benefit of the doubt back then, but it came with a warning. ‘Leave me again, and it’ll be the last time you leave me.’
This was a lot like being left, and Dylan was having difficulty with the idea he could not get to his father if he needed him. For five years, Ivan kept his word. He wasn’t going anywhere. He was invested in the cove, in Clay, and in Dylan’s life.
His father had been home for five years, and he was out of reach. Unavailable was unavailable. The fear of it was just as real as was his father’s absence. He’d been absent for Dylan’s first ten years. The first time Dylan saw Ivan, he loved him. That love had limitations. There was always the fear that Ivan could, at any time, go absent from his life again.
Dylan knew Ivan was his biological father since Clay had told him when he was five. Clay explained to him what that meant. He explained, “Regardless of that, I’m your father,” and he showed Dylan his birth certificate and the marriage license. Clay was Dylan’s father and he was married to Dylan’s mother.
Even at five, Dylan understood that. There was something Clay couldn’t explain. Ivan’s absence.
Dylan had a father and one was enough for anyone, although when Ivan came home, having two fathers was an even better deal for him. It doubled the love and his feeling of security.
Ivan was gone. Dylan’s worse fear had come to pass, and he had no feeling that Ivan was coming home any time soon. He’d had only one father for most of his life. That didn’t mean he liked the prospect of having only one father again. He loved both his fathers, and Ivan was out of reach.
Dylan came close to losing his father a week earlier. It scared him and he stayed close to him, because he was afraid. Instead of being a hero that rescued the girl from a burning plane, Dylan felt like he nearly lost his father. He could have lost him, and now he had.
Clay had no feeling that Ivan might not come back to their life they shared. As vivid as Ivan’s ten years away was for him, he came to believe in Ivan and he believed in their love. No matter what took place, Ivan would return, and Clay would be waiting for him. It’s what lovers do.
Dylan wasn’t thirty something. He was as smart as anyone, but he wasn’t able to fit these pieces together. Ivan was home for five years. He was gone for ten. That was simple math, except to Dylan, Ivan had just been gone. He was now three miles away in a cell. He was just as gone. There was no one to explain his absence. His father hadn’t done anything. Dylan was with him the entire time.
He only had the past to go on. Until he grew up, even the things he knew were subject to change. He trusted his father to protect his best interests, but those interests had become flexible. The presence of people in his life was flexible.
Clay would stay away from Ivan’s house, and he’d discourage Dylan from going to Ivan’s. Except for assisting with the morning trash pickup, he’d be discouraged from hanging around the shop. On the night Harry came home, Dylan was in the company of Aunt Lucy, and they did the kind of things they’d been doing for most of Dylan’s life. It was no secret that Clay left the house without his son. He returned to the Conservancy house late.
Harry being home did exclude Dylan from some activities. He was usually told what was going on, but these were unusual circumstances. Being excluded, when he got to spend time with Aunt Lucy, wasn’t a hardship, but Dylan still was left to wonder what was going on.
Dylan did notice that his father came home to the Conservancy house and not Ivan’s. He’d sleep in his own bed that night and Dylan would go back to sleeping in his own room. Clay had been sleeping at Ivan’s since he returned from the summer’s research trip. There was little doubt his fathers had missed each other and Dylan thought he understood their need to be together as much as possible.
In some ways it made him feel good seeing how close his fathers had become. It had to be harder on Clay than it was on him, but there was no way for him to know. Clay hadn’t talked much about what was going on, but neither of them knew what was going on until Ivan’s arrest. That’s when everything changed. Dylan decided he didn’t like change.
His fathers were in love and Dylan understood their need to be together as much as possible, After being separated, the need increased. Since Ivan returned, and after they’d gone to war with each other, they realized they were still in love and they’d steadily become closer. Clay trusted Ivan to do what he said he would do, and they were happy together. No matter the circumstances, Clay knew that Ivan was coming home, and they would be together when he did. The idea of living without Ivan in his life was unthinkable to Clay. They were together and they were meant to stay together.
Dylan missed Daddy-O and they’d been close for a while. The thing about the research trip was that they stayed so busy there wasn’t time to miss home. When he got home, it was nice to be back. While he wouldn’t admit he was homesick, he was by the time they were ready to go home.
*****
Once they finished at the shop and Tag closed up for the night, Clay returned home.
Mama met him at the door and sat him down at the kitchen table, where she served him the dinner he had no appetite for earlier. Clay ate. He always ate when Mama put food in front of him. It was fragrant and tasty, and never failed to entice him. The day had finally turned in a better direction and Clay got his appetite back. Eating Mama’s food was a treat.
Pop came in and sat across the table from Clay. He nodded at his son. Clay nodded back. Mama sat beside him, once she had all the food back on the table. Lucy came in to kiss her brother’s cheek. She sat on the other side of her brother. These were the people who’d stood beside him for his entire life. They’d gone through a lot together and they were as close as a family got.
Dylan was the glue that kept them all together these days. Once again they’d pitch in to make sure Dylan was taken care of in good times and bad. Dylan came in and stood with his back against the wall, watching his family. He’d eaten more pie than anyone, and he’d eaten plenty at dinner. Clay had slipped out while Aunt Lucy kept him busy, and Dylan wasn’t surprised his father went out.
No one had much to say. Clay felt like crying, but he wouldn’t do it in front of his family. He had so much to be thankful for, he needed to consider that. Harry was home and he’d put into motion a plan that would free Ivan and get him home. Clay felt good about that, but nothing had been resolved. There was a lot left to do, and having his family around him was a good ending to a bad day.
Mama got up to get a piece of blueberry pie to put in front of him, and she went back to bring him a frosty glass of milk.
It was Clay’s favorite dessert.
Mama’s blueberry pie was to die for. Whatever she did to bring out the blueberry’s flavor was classic. It was neither too sweet nor too tart.
“Blueberry pie! I didn’t get blueberry pie,” Dylan said.
“You ate half the cherry pie,” Mama reminded him. “I baked this pie especially for your father.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Clay said.
“I can’t have one piece?” Dylan asked.
“You’ve had all the pie you’re going to get today, young man.”
“You can have a pie tomorrow,” Clay said. “I don’t mind sharing.”
Dylan smiled. Everyone was here but Ivan.
Clay pushed himself back from the table. He looked at the people gathered around him. He looked at Dylan who kept his distance from everyone. Clay wasn’t able to read his son’s mood.
Dylan’s distance worried Clay. He didn’t ask about his father or where Clay had been, but he knew everything was about his father now. Clay had little interest in anything but Ivan’s welfare.
“I love you guys too. Mama, it was a meal fit for a king. Thank you for feeding me. Ivan ate every bite. He savored every bite.”
Clay said it without considering that Dylan was there.
“You saw my father? You didn’t take me?” Dylan said, leaving no doubt how he felt about it.
“Gerald isn’t going to let you see him. You’re... under age,” Clay explained.
“I want to see my father,” Dylan said in a soft voice that explained his feeling on the subject.
“I know, Dylan. I’m doing my best.”
Dylan pushed himself up to a standing position and turned to leave the kitchen. Clay shook his head.
He had lost Ivan and now he was losing his son, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
“It will work itself out,” Pop said. “Is that detective going to work on the case?”
“Harry cleared it with the governor. There wasn’t any discussion. Harry told the governor what he wanted and I didn’t hear anything that sounded like a disagreement. They’re calling McCoy’s people in Chicago to get permission for him to work on the murder.”
“A good idea,” Lucy said. “No one here is qualified to investigate a murder case. It’s Ivan’s best chance to get out of this. I think you might consider letting Dylan take the day off tomorrow. I don’t think he’s going to learn anything at school. In his frame of mind, he just might go to war with his English teacher. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“You’re the congresswoman, Luce. Whatever you say works for me,” Clay said, not needing to give it much thought.
“I’d give the boy a lot of room, Son,” Pop said. “I know this has to hurt you every bit as much as it hurts Dylan, but Dylan’s a boy and you’re a man. I’d go easy on him.”
“I hadn’t thought about it, Pop. Thanks. You’re right, of course.”
“He’s a smart kid. He’ll figure it out in a day or two. The trick is not to pressure him. Once Gerald steps aside, McCoy can allow Dylan to see his father and he’ll hardly remember when he couldn’t.”
“I’m too close to this. I can’t seem to get my feet under me,” Clay said. “I’m scared, Pop.”
“It’ll be easier tomorrow. Get a good night’s sleep and you’ll feel a lot better.
Lucy patted her brother’s arm and Mama gave him a hug.
“Time for bed. I’m exhausted,” Clay said, standing up and heading for his bedroom.
*****
Angus McCoy set his alarm for five on Friday morning. He put the clock under his pillow so it didn’t wake Mildred. He was awake before the alarm went off. There were things he needed to attend to.
He was up and dressed and standing on the path that opened up into wilderness 2. As the night sky lightened, McCoy let his eyes adapt as his eyes examine the campsite. He looked at the tent, remembering the bare feet that started it all.
Standing on the path that opened up into wilderness 2, McCoy waited for the light to brighten the campsite. He wanted to see it the way the killer saw it.
He remembered the placement of the body. He could see the knife that took Mason’s life. It had an unusual handle that was handcrafted. It was probably Asian. It wasn’t a single knife. It would have been one of a set. The set might all be the same size or it might consist of knives that went from smaller to larger. When he found the killer, he was likely to have the incomplete set of knives.
The murderer wasn’t likely to have come onto the campsite before five thirty. Even with a flashlight, visibility was too limited. He waited for enough light to do what he came to do. The killer may have watched Mason start his fire and prepare his coffee pot.
He could have rushed Mason and stabbed him outside the tent. He didn’t because he knew Mason was a dangerous man. He knew to wait long enough for Mason to drift back off while smelling the morning coffee brewing. It was the last thing Mason ever did.
That’s when the killer made his move. He crept up to the side of the tent, easing up the tent flap to see inside. He needed to see what position Mason’s body was in. Judging by the position of the feet, the perp had a pretty good idea of where to put the knife. He planted it dead center into the middle of the vic’s chest. McCoy was sure the man was confident in what he was doing.
Had he killed before? McCoy would know that once he found him.
Mason didn’t have time to cry out. A muffled cry might or might not have been heard. If it was heard, even with McCoy listening for the trash buggy, he would have concluded it was just another sound in the night. Some bird’s squawk or the sound any animal might make in passing.
McCoy was awake a while before he heard Ivan and Dylan on the beach collecting the trash. If he’d heard a sound from wilderness 2 it was nothing that alarmed him, but he didn’t remember any unusual sounds.
McCoy contemplated what happened on wilderness 2 at the same time the morning before. The killer struck, withdrew from the tent, kicked over the coffee pot and the fire, spreading it so the underbrush caught fire by the time he reached his car.
He’d have driven away within minutes of Mason’s murder. McCoy heard no cars on the road once he came out of his tent. The killer would have been gone by the time Ivan and Dylan parked behind the shop a few minutes after six. It was neat and clean.
McCoy wanted to see the campsite at the time the killer was there. With too little light, he only needed to see enough to know where Mason was when he carried out his plan.
McCoy clicked on his flashlight to walk onto the campsite. The path that led to where the cars were parked was interrupted by some trampled grass and broken brush that he followed out to the parking lot. Cars were neatly parked directly above the beach campsites. One was Mason’s car.
He walked back down the path onto wilderness 2 and he took the path that opened onto the beach. He used his flashlight to make sure nothing had been dropped around the campsite. He found nothing out of the ordinary.
McCoy walked out to the road. There was no room for the car of the killer, unless he parked with two wheels on the paved surface. Could he have parked in the Conservancy driveway? Did he park on the shoulder where it widened nearer the driveway? There were tire impressions where the shoulder widened. Using his flashlight, he was sure he could get good tire impressions.
McCoy could see the killer parking on the shoulder. The parking lot was further and there was a path that took you from the road to wilderness 2. If the killer had done a dry run in the daylight, he would have been able to plan the route that gave him the easiest access to where he was going.
McCoy was still hampered by too little light, but he’d go over the same ground once it was light. Seeing the scene the way the killer saw it was something McCoy had learned to do while in army investigations. You needed to see it the way the killer saw it. You might learn something when you did.
He’d need to make a trip to the closest hardware store to get what he needed to make plaster copies of the tire impressions before it rained. He’d do that later in the day. If he was lucky, one of the impressions he copied would match the car of the killer, once he found him.
McCoy walked along the highway. He located where the fire trucks had stopped on the pavement. A massive number of footprints allowed him to see where the hoses were laid out and the new path that was made from the fire trucks onto wilderness 2, where the fire was fought. The odds of finding footprints from the killer were slim. He’d look closer to the tent and maybe he’d get lucky.
McCoy continued walking until he reached the back of the shop. He located a pile of cinder-blocks he’d seen at the rear of the shop. Picking up two, he took them back to where he intended to make tire impressions. He set them down to keep anyone from pulling off the road there.
He was sure the sheriff didn’t have any idea of how to take a plaster cast of tire impressions and footprints. It was the kind of evidence that could tie a killer to the crime scene. It was the kind of evidence juries loved and it was easy to understand.
McCoy breathed in the cool, fresh morning air. God, it was good to be back at work again.
Standing on the side of the road, he heard the trash buggy start a few hundred feet away. He couldn’t see it because of how the road curved, but he knew that was where the shop was. Ivan would have driven past this spot to go to the shop before picking up the trash yesterday. Had Ivan seen a car parked here? Would he remember seeing a car?
McCoy used the road to walk to the shop. He’d heard Clay’s car passing while he was standing on wilderness 2. He checked his watch. It was five minutes after six. Mason was already dead by this time the previous day.
The trash buggy went down the beach to campsite 10 a few minutes before. There were two cars parked behind the shop. Tag would have come to do the trash with Dylan. Clay would be inside. The coffee would have been made, and McCoy needed a cup.
The bell jingled as McCoy went in. It no longer interested him. He had bigger fish to fry. The light was on in the back of the shop and it made Clay look larger sitting behind Ivan’s desk.
“Morning, McCoy,” Clay said. “Catch the killer yet?”
“Morning, Clay. I’m working on it. How are you holding up?”
“I just spent a sleepless night in an empty bed.”
“I’ll get him back to you as quickly as I can,” McCoy promised. “I’m working, but I’m not officially on the case yet. I expect to hear something from the senator today. There’s plenty to do here. I don’t think the sheriff has been back to the crime scene since he was here yesterday morning. I’m waiting for it to be completely light and I’ll go back over to go through the tent and Mason’s personal belongings.”
“Doesn’t surprise me you haven’t heard anything yet. I expect to see Harry later this morning, but he usually sleeps in after flying in from DC. We kept him here pretty late, so don’t expect him to show up too soon. You seem to know what you’re doing.”
“I aims to please. Work, investigating, feels good,” McCoy said. “I haven’t taken any time off in years.”
“Are you good at what you do, McCoy?” Clay asked. “You told me you were a cop. You didn’t say if you were a good cop.”
“I’m a good cop. When I’m done being a cop, I’m going to become a private investigator. Not in Chicago, though. Some place warm, Mildred likes California. I like what I’ve seen of Florida. The people are about as friendly as folks get.”
Clay laughed.
He’d heard stories about Chicago winters, but he was from Tulsa, and he had experienced a few memorable winters he was glad were behind him.
“He’ll only be locked up for a few days. I plan to talk to the state’s attorney about his alibi. I’ll give him the information on what I can prove about his whereabouts at the time of the murder. An alibi is crucial. You and Dylan form part of Ivan’s and I can testify to some of it. Most prosecutors aren’t going to charge someone who has a solid alibi. I’ve got to figure, with me being assigned to the case by your governor, that a prosecutor is going to listen to what I have to say. I can’t tell you what the feds are going to do. If the feds come in, all bets are off. Mason was a Company man.”
“Why would they want to get involved in a local crime?” Clay asked.
“Mason was a fed. I don’t know his status, but the Company is going to look unfavorably on him being killed. They might want to have something to say about the investigation.”
“What do you do then, McCoy?”
“I’m on the job, Clay. I’ve been asked to investigate this case. I will do my investigation and I’ll find the killer. The feds will do whatever they damn well please. The crime took place right here.”
Clay sipped his coffee, looking at the homicide detective in front of him. It was early, but McCoy was hard at work. Clay began to feel like this cop might be the guy to solve Mason’s murder.
“Coffee, McCoy?” Clay asked.
“I thought you’d never ask. I’d love a cup of coffee,” McCoy said, taking a seat in front of the gigantic mahogany desk.