by Doug Allyn
“That’s right,” Calderon said, looking at me for the first time. “We’re only half brothers, Jimmy and me, same mother, different fathers. Jimmy never had any contact with his real father. He came up here to find him.”
“Who’s his father?” Charlie asked.
“A man named Walter McClain.”
“Then he made a trip for nothing,” Charlie said. “The only Walter McClain I know’s in his early thirties.”
“He did ask about Walter,” I put in.
“You talked to my brother?” Calderon asked, surprised. “When?”
“Last Wednesday,” I said, glancing at Charlie for an okay. “I own a little bar/restaurant and he stopped in for... information, mostly. I told him he’d probably find Walter at the plant. And he drove off in that direction when he left.”
“Well, we can’t do any more here tonight,” Charlie said. “Maybe we can get a line on his movements. The McClain place is on the way back to the station anyway. Where can I contact you, Mr. Calderon?”
“No place, I mean, I’m not staying anywhere yet. The cabby dropped me here. Can I catch a ride into town with you?”
“No problem,” Charlie said. “Climb aboard. Passenger side, please. Mitch needs the backseat to change.”
“That was a nice bit of diving you did back there,” Calderon said over his shoulder without turning his head. He was riding shotgun in Charlie Bauer’s county Blazer. I was in the backseat. I’d shucked my diving gear and climbed back into faded jeans and a sweatshirt.
“Just another day at the office,” I said.
“You learn in the military?”
“No, I grew up underwater. My dad owned the Crow’s Nest and rented boats and diving gear. He taught me. After high school I got a job with Exxon out on the Texas gulf for a while, doing underwater maintenance off the oil platforms.”
“I didn’t know they hired women for that kind of work.”
“They don’t hire women,” I said evenly. “They hire divers who can do the job. The money was good, but the platforms aren’t much of a life. My son was in boarding school, and I could only see him on weekends. So we moved back up here.”
“I can see why,” Calderon said absently, “it’s beautiful country, what I’ve seen of it.”
“What did you do in the navy, Mr. Calderon?” Charlie asked.
“Flight crew. The last few years I worked in an air/sea rescue squadron out of Norfolk. Which means I’m aware of the odds against recovering my brother’s... body. If he went into that river.”
And that chilled the conversation until we pulled into the long circular drive of the McClain estate. It’s a Tudor-style manor, three stories, twenty rooms or so, overlooking the north shore of Thunder Bay. In Detroit or Grosse Pointe it would have been surrounded by spear-tipped steel fencing, but up here neighbors are all you need.
I expected Charlie to tell us to wait in the car, but he didn’t. Calderon flanked him while he rang the buzzer. Chimes tinkled like Waterford crystal somewhere within.
The door was opened by an over-the-hill surfer, or at least that was my first impression. He was tall, tanned, a bodybuilder type, mid-fortyish with a shoulder-length mane of dark, tousled hair. He was wearing a white cable-knit sweater, white slacks, and deck shoes, no socks. No underwear either unless I was greatly mistaken. His sleepy gray eyes had all the intensity and intelligence of a cocker spaniel.
“Yes?”
“I’m Sheriff Bauer, to see Mr. McClain? I called ahead.”
“Of course, please come in.”
We followed the surfer down a tiled entry hall into a modest-sized living room, comfortably furnished with wine-toned leather sofas and a half-dozen chairs. The McClain family was all there, what there is of it. Walter, a pudgy jock-gone-to-seed with thinning sandy hair — he was wearing the vest and dress pants of a business suit, a Wall Street Journal on his lap. A solid citizen. But I noticed his fingertips were raw, nails chewed to the quick.
His wife, Hannah, stood behind his chair, wary as a doe in a rainstorm. She was a rangy blond stunner, half a head taller than Walter, a local girl, nee Luebner. Her family were woodcutters, cedar savages, a ragtag army of kids and dogs and pickup trucks and chain saws. I had vague memories of her from high school, a quiet girl, self-conscious about her diction, I think. But she got good grades and made the state finals as a distance runner. When she married Walter, the local gentry clucked that he’d married beneath himself. Personally, I thought he’d scored a terrific catch. I wasn’t so sure she had.
She was dressed casually in a teal designer sweater, slacks, and pumps, yet seemed uncomfortable, as if she feared Charlie’d come to haul her back to Shacktown where she belonged. Or maybe she hoped he would.
Walter’s mother, Audrey McClain, was in her wheelchair near the fire. She was tiny, and frail as smoke, probably fiftyish but her debility made her seem older. Her gleaming platinum hair contrasted with a simple blouse of raw silk, black, with matching skirt, a string of pearls at her throat.
Her finely sculpted face must have been truly lovely once. To me she still was. Her shoulders were humped from arthritis that forced her to cock her head when she looked at you, like a kitten listening. Her eyes were catlike too, curious and alert. Her body was bent, but her spirit was unbroken. Rumor said she had a tongue like a horsewhip when crossed. I didn’t doubt it.
“So, Charlie,” she said. “Come to haul me away for my sins at last, have you?”
“No, ma’am, there’s been an accident. A young fella’s gone missing. I’m trying to trace his movements hoping to get a line on him.”
“Who’s missing?” Walter frowned. “And why come here?”
“His name’s James Calderon. He’s this gentleman’s brother,” Charlie added nodding at Ray. “Thing is, he apparently came to town looking for you, Walt. May have gone out to the plant. Did you talk to him? Would have been last Wednesday, most likely.”
“Wednesday?” Walter blinked uneasily, glancing at his mother. “Yes, I talked to him a few minutes. He didn’t make much sense. Said something about being my brother, but one of the punch presses was down on the shop floor and I was busy as hell. Told him to take a walk, I didn’t have time for games. He got a little pushy, so my Uncle Gordon showed him out. That was about it.”
“He said he was your brother and you didn’t take time to talk to him?” Charlie said, his tone neutral.
“What was I supposed to do? Let fifty guys stand around at ten bucks an hour while I shoot the breeze with some clown I never heard of? It was all a crock anyway. He was looking for a handout.”
“Actually he wasn’t,” Audrey said, cocking her head to gauge Charlie’s reaction. “Or at least he didn’t ask me for anything. He just wanted to meet his father.”
“He came here to the house?” Charlie asked. “When was that, Mrs. McClain?”
“Wednesday afternoon, around two, I think. He apparently got our address out of the phone book.”
“Mother,” Walter began, but she cut him off with a wave.
“Don’t lecture me, Walter. I know I shouldn’t have let him in, but it was Ross’s day off and I was bored. And he seemed harmless enough.”
“What happened?” Charlie prompted.
“At first he said he was a friend of Walter’s from out of town, which I knew wasn’t true. He was far too interesting to be a friend of Walter’s. He asked a few questions about the family, to confirm things, I suppose, and then he told me straight out that he was Wally’s half brother. That my late husband had an affair with his mother, and he was the result. He even had pictures.”
“What kind of pictures?” Charlie asked.
“Nothing pornographic,” Audrey said drily. “Just snapshots of Walter and... a very pretty young woman, dark eyes, and dark hair. Walter always had excellent taste. One picture was a group shot with a young boy, this gentleman here, unless Tm greatly mistaken.”
Calderon nodded, but said nothing.
“When I ex
plained that Walter senior died in Viet Nam, he... Well, he was very disappointed, naturally. We talked awhile, had a drink or two, and then Megan Lundy stopped by to talk about the Arts Council scholarships. And so I... gave Mr. Calderon some money, and he left.”
“You gave him money?” Walter echoed.
“Not a lot of money dear, a few hundred. His airfare, more or less. He’d come a long way for nothing. I felt it was the least I could do. We can afford it. Or rather I can,” she added pointedly.
“That’s not true,” Ray Calderon said slowly.
“Mr. Calderon,” Charlie began, “I know this isn’t easy for you, but—”
“Easy’s not the issue,” Calderon said coolly. “I don’t know how much of what this nice lady just told us is true, but I know the last part isn’t. Her husband didn’t die in Viet Nam. He was never there and Jimmy knew it. What’s going on here, lady? What are you trying to hide?”
“I’ve heard about enough of this,” Walter said, rising, his face flushing. “Charlie, you’re out of line bringing this man to my home. I want him gone, now. If you’ve got any more questions, call my office during business hours. Or talk to my attorney. Is that clear? Ross, would you see these people out, please.”
“There’s no need to be unpleasant, Walter,” Audrey McClain said sharply. “And since I’m the only one who can help, why don’t you and Hannah go on to your Chamber of Commerce meeting? I’ll be fine,” she said, waving off his objections. “If Charlie hauls out a rubber hose I’ll have Ross throw him out. Or try. It might be fun to watch. You go on. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Your mom’s right, Wally,” Hannah McClain said suddenly, speaking for the first time. “We’re already late, and you’re supposed to talk about the plant expansion. We’d better go.”
Walter hesitated, whipsawed between the two women in his life. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “But dammit, Charlie, keep this short, understand? Mom’s been known to overestimate her stamina.” He turned and stalked out without another word. Hannah and Audrey exchanged a wry glance of shared amusement and irritation. And then Hannah followed her husband out.
“Well,” Audrey said, taking a deep breath, “Ross, I think I’d like a whiskey sour. Anyone else? Coffee? Tea? Something to eat, perhaps?” No one spoke. “Then just get mine please, Ross. And Ross? Take your time. And knock before you enter, dear.” The weightlifter nodded mutely and trudged off. He left the door ajar. Charlie closed it.
“Please sit down, all of you,” Audrey said. “Looking up at you is giving me a stiff neck.”
“Mrs. McClain, perhaps tomorrow would be better,” Charlie said.
“No, I’d like to get this over with. To help this young man if I can. None of this is his fault, and he’s quite right, Walter didn’t die in Viet Nam. Wally’s a bit touchy on the subject of his father, as you may have gathered. It was only a minor scandal back then, lots of young men deserted to avoid the war. And later, when my father-in-law told people Walter died in Viet Nam, no one bothered to contradict him. Or dared to. Old Harvey was a formidable man. By now I imagine most people believe it actually happened. Wally may half believe it himself. But... you’re right, Mr. Calderon,” she said, swiveling her chair to face him. “Your brother didn’t buy the family cover story. He even showed me a photostat of an army warrant. Which surprised me. I thought President Carter’s amnesty took care of all that.”
“The amnesty was for draft resisters,” Calderon said. “Not deserters. Or thieves.”
“Thieves?” Charlie echoed.
“There was a — misunderstanding about some money Walter took from his unit when he left,” Audrey sighed. “Not much, a few thousand. And I believe a man was injured in a fight over it. My father-in-law offered to repay the money when the military police made inquiries. I was quite ill at the time. I don’t know if he actually did so.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered, ma’am,” Calderon said grimly. “It wasn’t just the money. When Captain McClain got orders for Viet Nam, he skipped out with his outfit’s payroll. A sergeant tried to stop him and got shot for his trouble. Nearly died. The army would still like to talk to your husband about it.”
“Then they’ll need a... channeler? Is that the word?” Audrey said. “Walter may not have died in Viet Nam, but he is dead. My late father-in-law tried very hard to locate him after the amnesty. Police, detectives, attorneys, the works. They found exactly nothing. In the end we took legal action to have Walter declared dead so Walter junior could inherit the business. And it was not a step we took lightly.”
“Having him declared dead may have simplified your situation,” Calderon said. “It wouldn’t matter to the military.”
“Your brother said something along those lines,” Audrey said, craning her neck to see him better. “He thought Walter came back here all those years ago. Is that what your mother told him?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, she may have thought so, but it simply wasn’t true. Wherever he ran to, it wasn’t here. He went off to the army and never came home. Like so many others.”
“There’s a big difference between those others and your husband, Mrs. McClain,” Calderon said. “He was never in combat. Why are you so sure he’s dead?”
“Because a small army of detectives found no trace of him. But also because of the money,” she said. “Walter was never any good with money. Never had to be. I wasn’t surprised when the investigators told me he took some. He probably meant to pay it back. The family could afford it. The point is, the few thousand he took wouldn’t have lasted him for long. But he never asked for more. We’ve never heard from him again. Ever.”
“Or so you say, ma’am. No offense, but he was your husband, after all.”
“You seem like an astute young man,” Audrey said, her voice chilling a bit. “Your brother showed me a picture of your mother. She was lovely. If you were Walter, would you have chosen to run off with her? Or come home to this?” she said, indicating herself and the chair with a flutter of her hand.
“But he... didn’t run off with my mother.”
“Well, perhaps we made the same mistake, she and I. We were apparently both pregnant when he left us, and I can tell you from my experience that Walter, like most men, had no patience with pregnancy. Perhaps he replaced your mother as she replaced me. Who can say? And I’m afraid that’s really all I can tell you, Mr. Calderon. Your brother left here late in the afternoon. It was raining hard, he was a bit upset, and we’d... well, we’d had several brandies together, drowning our sorrows. Perhaps I shouldn’t have let him go. But I was more than a little upset myself. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, ma’am,” Calderon said. “For all of it. Thanks for... well, for telling me.”
“That’s quite all right,” Mrs. McClain said, “but if you don’t mind, I’m a bit tired now.”
“Of course,” Charlie said, rising. “We’ll see ourselves out.” He strode quickly to her chair, bent down, and gave her a peck on the forehead. “If you think of anything else that might help, anything at all, please give me a call.”
She nodded. “I will, dear. You take care. Miss?” she said suddenly, turning to me. “You’re Shannon Mitchell’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said, surprised that she knew.
“I wonder... could you stay a minute? I’d like to talk to you. Please.”
“I don’t know,” I said, glancing at Charlie for advice, but his square, freckled face was professionally neutral, unreadable. As usual.
“I’ll see that she gets home, Charles, you go ahead,” she said, waving him off. A woman used to being obeyed. Charlie nodded and walked out, pointedly motioning Calderon ahead of him. Ross the surfer came in a moment later, carrying a whiskey sour on a small silver tray.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, taking the glass, sipping the liquor greedily. “Now, would you please bring one of the cars around and wait out front? Miss Mitchell will need a lift into town shortly.”
Ross glanced at me a moment, then nodded and stalked off, closing the door after him.
“I knew your father,” she said, swiveling her chair to face me, cocking her head with that kittenish tilt to look me over. “You favor him a bit, tall and dark. Much prettier, of course, though he was no slouch in that department. Before my accident I used to sail a lot. I bought equipment from him and he gave me a few pointers. Though not the sort of pointers he gave a good many local girls. A pity.”
Surprise must have shown in my face.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked. At my age, I only regret the fun things I missed doing. Like your father. I understand you inherited his business. Are you with the sheriff’s department too?”
“No, I just dive for them occasionally.”
“Good, then there’ll be no conflict of interest if I hire you to do a small job for me.”
“What kind of a job?”
“Let’s call it babysitting, of a sort. Mr. Calderon is upset and he’ll be making inquiries. As an outsider, he’s liable to blunder around upsetting people. Frankly, I’d like to minimize any fuss, for my son’s sake. I sympathize with Mr. Calderon, of course, but I have my own family to think of. So I’d like you to help him with his inquiries, but try to see that he’s as... discreet as possible. You understand, I’m sure.”
“I think so,” I said. “You want to pay me to keep Calderon discreet. And I take it I’m supposed to be discreet too?”
She hesitated, trying to read my face.
“Actually,” I said, “I think I can save you some money, Mrs. McClain. I’ll help Calderon if he needs it because, as you said, none of this is his fault. And I won’t carry tales about what was said here because it’s no one else’s business, including mine. What’s more, it won’t cost you a dime.”
“My, my,” she said slowly, with a mischievous grin. “I believe I’ve pushed one of your hot buttons, as the kids say. I meant no offense, Miss Mitchell.”
“None taken,” I said. “Was there anything else?”
“Yes. Please come and see me again, just to talk. The only visitors I get nowadays are old friends, and I mean old friends, or people with their hands out. I could use a new friend.”