by Tim Garvin
“I’m in complete control. Because I am clear that no one could shoot down a helicopter going a hundred and fifty miles an hour. With a rifle at night in a storm. What I worry is, I’m the last sane person in this fucking building.”
Besides, Cody Cooper has the missiles, Seb could say. But couldn’t.
A Fishless Kid
Cody handed his credit card to the gas jockey, a thin kid with an earring, who swiped it through his smartphone dealie. The kid said, “If you want a paper receipt you got to go up to the office.”
Cody said, “Don’t need one.”
The kid gave back his card, then handed him the phone. He said, “Just sign on the line. With your fingertip.”
Cody signed on the phone and returned it. Then he took out his wallet, fished out a five, and handed it to the kid.
The kid hesitated. He said, “Really?”
Cody said, “For watching the boat.” Cody had forgotten groceries at Walmart and left the boat at the dock while he pedaled to the 7-Eleven.
The kid took the money. He said, “Wow. Thanks.” He unzipped one of his fancy jean pockets, slid the bill in, rezipped. He said, “So what are you going after?”
“Blues. Specks. Anything.”
“Specks are speckled trout?”
“Yeah.” Cody unwrapped his bowline from the cleat and nested his grocery bag in the bow.
The kid said, “I’m from Nevada. I never caught one fish. I never even seen one. Maybe in a grocery store. Just fish pieces though. I might have seen a guppy.”
Cody snugged the boat alongside the dock and stepped in. He said, “You never saw a fish in somebody’s boat?”
“I just started yesterday.”
“Well, you’ll see one pretty soon. They look just like they do in the movies.”
The kid laughed. “One day I’ll go fishing, I hope.”
Cody shoved the boat away from the dock. He said, “I’ll take you fishing someday.”
The kid said, “Really? That would be cool.”
Cody pulled the cord, and the motor purred to life. He said, “If I’m not in prison.”
The kid grinned and waved, and the boat nosed into the bay. Once out of the no-wake zone, he cranked it onto the plane. He had hauled the boat out on the Dover ramp, dried it with his rags, then sprayed it pink, using up all three cans in an unblotchy double coat. Which Charlene might like, if she got used to it. Then he sank the bike beside the ramp. Now, if anyone saw him through binoculars, they would see a straw-hat guy in a flapping raincoat and pink boat with a fishing pole. And not a fearful fugitive.
It was low tide. Now it was either lurk in the creeks or head for the islands and ocean inlets. Peener and Elton might cruise the creeks, and he would be trapped if they found him. So head to the islands, go half a tank south, fish the sandbar holes. At dark, turn north, pass the old wharf to reconnoiter, pass it several times, then haul up and make a fire and cook his weenies, a fisherman taking a break.
His talk with the kid gave him a good feeling, like his talk with the Walmart greeter, the sharing of vibes. Like with Seb Creek. Except with the kid he had made that dumb prison remark. If the cops decided to question all the gas guys, which they would, the kid could say, come to think of it, there was this guy that made a prison remark. He would take the kid fishing though. After all, take a kid fishing once in a while.
For some reason, even after Seb Creek braced him in the parking lot, Cody trusted him. A coincidence, said Creek. With his hog-smelling clothes and off-the-wall tale about his dad and a dead kid and Hugh Britt. Creek had said, your dad set it up, and Cody had been so fuddled he hadn’t asked anything.
He hadn’t been fishing in five years maybe. Since before his homeless days. He had been plenty on the water, planting grass and flytrapping, but with no thought of fishing, and no inclination. Now he planned to fish all day, a day of boat-sitting and anticipation, in calm nature. Definitely, he would take the kid fishing. He would take Keisha and the kid, and joke around all day, be a big brother, make sure the kid went to college and felt confident. He let himself smile at his hokum, but the smile didn’t penetrate. The wind whipped coolly around Cody’s face. He inhaled it and sighed it out.
At Compass Inlet, he could see the horizon of sparkling ocean. He steered to the right and headed south to lose himself in the back-island sandbars.
Tea Break
The motorcycle squad was six deputies. Four were out riding funerals. The other two had been kicked downstairs to occupy the storage room beside the gym. Suit-and-tie federal agents, each with an open laptop, had taken over their desks. McAllister stopped at the first desk, occupied by a young agent intently paging through a screen.
McAllister, using a redneck drawl, said, “You finding anything, friend?”
The agent, a young guy with a comb-over and sharp nose, looked up, his gaze stopping in midair halfway to McAllister, face curt. He said, “What?”
McAllister gave Seb a should-I-fuck-with-this-guy eyebrow raise. Seb grimaced. McAllister said, “I need Lowry.”
The agent looked back at his screen. “He’s in one of the interview rooms.”
As they started away, Seb glanced at the agent’s screen. In one corner was a photo of a statuesque white vase, one of Mia’s. He looked over the agent’s shoulder at the URL—FairchildStudio.com. The agent darted him a sour look.
Seb followed McAllister down the hallway, then turned a corner to the investigations squad area, which had two interview rooms. Both doors were closed, the red lights above the doors illuminated. Between them was the door to the audiovisual control center. McAllister looked through its small window and knocked.
A moment later, the door opened inwardly. An agent leaned into the jamb and said, “What’s up?”
Behind him, Seb could see another agent and a sheriff’s deputy seated at the long narrow table gazing at a bank of screens. The agent wore headphones.
McAllister said, “Where’s Lowry? This is Detective Creek.”
“Interview two.”
McAllister pushed the door and shouldered past the agent. He said, “Can you get him on the horn?” Seb followed him, acknowledging the agent and their transgression with a perfunctory smile.
The agent closed the door. He took his seat, the only empty chair. He said, “I’ll interrupt, but you’ll have to wait for a lull.” He fitted a pair of headphones and returned his attention to the silent screen.
The screen on the right showed a large unshaven man in his twenties. A scarlet birthmark descended over his receding forehead like a wound. He sat head-tilted and open-mouthed. Then he seemed to rouse himself and began to speak with long lolling nods of emphasis.
The screen on the left showed Mia. She wore a sleeveless green top, and gazed evenly across the table at her unseen interrogator. Her elbows were propped on the tabletop, hands interlaced before her face, fingers extended like antennae.
McAllister looked at Seb. He said, “You know how to hit the audio?”
Seb said to the deputy, who sat between the two agents. “Chris, hit the audio on two.”
The deputy glanced at Seb, then at the agent to his left. He made a dismissive grimace and flipped a switch on the console.
Lowry’s voice said, “… Defense Authorization Act, Ms. Fairchild?”
As the agent turned, halfway removing his headphones, McAllister clapped him on the shoulder and said, “No sweat, buddy. NCIS has need-to-know.”
The agent reseated his headphones and turned back to the screen.
On the screen, Mia said, “I know that you can detain me, but I know that you won’t. As much as you may think the National Defense Authorization Act gives you that right, I trust you also know that lawyers on both sides would sue in a heartbeat, which is why it’s not done.” She reached below the table and brought out a smartphone. As she thumbed it, she said, �
�So fifteen minutes, Mr. Lowry. Then I leave this room, and you must either let me go or arrest me. I have been honest and truthful with you, and you have been devious and bullying with me, without giving me even the courtesy of telling me why I am here.”
McAllister looked at Seb. He made a wow face and said, “I am also deeply in like.”
The left-side agent held a console button. He said, “Agent Lowry, I’ve got Detective Creek in the control room.”
“Detective Creek? Detective Creek is here, Ms. Fairchild. Will you give me a minute?”
Mia nested one hand inside the other. She said, “I’ll give you fourteen.”
They heard the sound of a door opening and closing. Then the door to the control room opened. Lowry said, “Let’s talk out here.”
Seb and McAllister joined him in the hallway.
Seb said, “You wanted to see me?”
Lowry said, “I need you to sign a written report. We’ll write it, you sign it. We pretty much got the picture. You saw Miss Fairchild and Mr. Beagle last night on the barge, correct? And informed Sheriff Rhodes about that this morning.”
“I did. I should have called last night, but it didn’t occur to me.”
“See Craig in our office area. Now I’ve got to—”
“Did she say how she knows Kelly?”
“Detective, I don’t have time—”
“Did she say why she has the ammonium nitrate?”
Lowry inhaled patience. He said, “She has an explanation. Now if you don’t mind …” He started to turn.
Seb gripped his arm. Lowry brushed the hand off, but stopped.
Seb said, “Thing is, you got a crap theory going, don’t you? Which I expect you know, in the back of your mind. Because your theory is, first, some guy makes an insane plan to shoot down a chopper with a rifle and steal missiles, and two, he actually does it. In a hurricane wind at night. That’s crazy, and believing it makes you crazy. This is some kind of impulse crime. Probably kids. And what the hell would she have to do with any of this?”
McAllister said, “Seb, let this man work. He’s only got twelve minutes left.”
Lowry frowned at McAllister, then turned to Seb. “That’s why we investigate, Detective Creek.” He turned toward the door.
Seb said, “You’re out of your depth, bro.” As Lowry opened the door, Seb caught a glimpse of Mia. He said, “Mia, I’m out here waiting. I’ll see you in twelve minutes.”
Lowry turned, glared, and closed the door.
McAllister and Seb returned to the motorcycle squad room where Seb dictated his statement to one of the agents, then signed a printed copy. As he and McAllister turned into the corridor outside the interview rooms, Mia emerged, with Lowry behind her. She gave Seb a distracted glance and walked past him toward the elevators. Seb followed, glancing over his shoulder at McAllister, who offered a wan, good-luck shrug.
Seb caught up with her, touched her arm. Her head turned toward him a fraction. She offered a flick of smile. They reached the elevator, and Seb pushed the down button.
He said, “You’re kind of freaked, I guess.”
She studied the elevator door. He heard her long in-draw of breath, her long exhalation. She said, “I am.”
He said, “How about this—we go across the street and get a nice window table at Debbie’s. Have a cup of coffee. Or lunch, if you want.”
She didn’t reply. The elevator doors opened. They boarded and started down. She said, “I think I’ll just go home.”
The doors opened. He walked with her to the main door, opened it for her, and followed her onto the sidewalk.
He said, “Did you drive? You need a ride?”
She said, “I drove. With an escort of four FBI cars.”
He said, “There’s Debbie’s, right there.”
Mia sighed again. She said, “Okay.”
They took the window table he and Prince had occupied. The same young waitress approached with two glasses of ice water. He said, “I’m getting to be a regular. Two coffees. Thanks.”
The waitress smiled and nodded.
Mia said, “I’ll have hot tea.”
The waitress said, “Got it,” and strolled away.
Seb gazed at Mia, who sat with her hands in her lap, looking down at the table. The table felt wide, like a chasm. He wanted to reach, to lift her chin, to lay a hand against her cheek, but saw she was in a vortex. She had been assaulted. He made his voice light. “You’re probably thinking, damn, I meet this cop, and next thing the FBI picks me up.”
Her eyes flicked to his face, then to the table again. She said, “I haven’t gotten that far. But now that you mention it.” Her voice was flat. Nothing was funny.
“So what happened?”
“What happened is, a dozen FBI agents arrived at my studio and asked to search it. Which I permitted. And my home. They were not neat.”
“They’re sort of freaked. They’ve got a deadline. From the White House actually.”
Now she looked at him, without friendship, from the vortex. She said, “What were they looking for? They would not say.”
“Right, they wouldn’t say. They can’t.”
“Do you know?”
He hesitated. He felt her cool gaze as pain. He said, “I do know. The sheriff and I are the only ones right now that know. I mean of the local guys.”
“Did you tell them to search my home?”
“Of course not. No, no.”
“Then why did they?”
“Something went missing, and they’re looking for it. They’re completely on the wrong—”
“Something to do with the helicopter crash?”
He looked at her. His mouth opened.
She said, “I’m guessing, Seb. I didn’t take it, whatever it is.”
He said, “Christ, of course you didn’t. I was just surprised you could guess that. No, that makes sense. Military helicopters, right?”
“Otherwise, you might suspect me?”
“I definitely do not suspect you, Mia.”
“And they think Grayson Kelly took whatever it was?”
“Yes. That’s the theory, and—”
“And because I know Grayson, then I’m part of it.”
“Right.”
He felt her gaze like a cage, enclosing him. She said, “You must ask me how I know him, Seb. Do you know that I have some fertilizer that can make a bomb?”
“I know that you are completely and absolutely innocent, Mia. I do.”
She lifted her head from table-staring, sat straighter. She said, “No, you can’t know that.” She shook her head slightly, turned her gaze to the window, to the street, where there was light and space. She said, “I see you can’t know that. It’s fine.”
He had the impulse to reach for her hands, but they were lost to him, hidden in her lap. Besides, she would resist. He said, “I do know, Mia.”
She turned from the window, offered an effortful glance at his face, then again looked down. She said, “No, you can’t. I met Grayson because he has the storage compartment across from mine. He sleeps there sometimes. He mentioned he wanted to go fishing, and I told him Jimmy rents boats. The ammonia fertilizer was in the compartment when I rented it five years ago. Left by the previous occupant. I didn’t have a pallet, so I put my clay on top of it, in case water ever came in.”
“Who was the previous occupant?”
“A farm store. But the records only go back three years.”
“They’ll get to it. They’ll find that out.”
“Did they tell you I was arrested in Ohio?”
“They did, yes. I’d like to hear all about that sometime. That must have been …”
A pained look crossed her face, stopping him.
She said, “Seb, look. You’re a nice guy. But right now I’m …”
“I know. I know.”
“Please don’t say that. Maybe you know, but don’t say it. I’m not good company right now. Besides my house is a mess. And I just found out they cut open every bag of clay in my storage compartment. I’ve got to get some tubs.”
“Listen, let me help. I’ll—”
“I don’t want help. And really, I don’t even have time for tea right now. Do you mind?” She stood. As he slid his chair back, she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Please. I’m going. Just stay here. That would be a favor. Thanks.” As she walked toward the door, the waitress, bearing two mugs, lifted her face in question. Mia made a strained smile, shook her head, and left.
The waitress put the coffee in front of Seb. She said, “Should I take the tea back?” Then she saw his expression and stood straighter.
“Take the coffee back,” he said. “I’ll take the tea.”
Sadness Is Deeper
Seb blew on the tea for a few long seconds, then drank it in three draws, still too hot. He dropped a ten on the table and walked outside. When Mia left, he had been stricken and hadn’t turned to see where she was parked, and now quickly scanned the street and the public lot to his right for any sign of a Jetta. She was gone. He would get moving. Later he would think it through, when to call, what to say, maybe just drop by again. How much time to let go by. When she left, it was like grief. Tell her that.
He walked to the deputies’ lot. As he opened his door, his eyes fell on a magnetic sign on the white car beside his, landman realty. Press DeWitt would be inside, giving his statement. He slipped his phone free and dialed Bonnie, the detectives’ secretary.
“Investigations. Can I help you?”
“Bonnie, it’s Seb. Did a guy named DeWitt come in to give a statement today?”
“Barb took it. He just left. Want me to catch him?”
“No, I’m outside right beside his car. I’ll see him in a minute. What’s he wearing?”
“A blue coat and some kind of cool hat. And a cool mustache.”