The Blood Red Indian Summer

by David Handler

  She sat herself down, blinking at him in surprise.

  “What in the hell did you think you were doing calling in the Major Crime Squad in the absence of a complainant?”

  “I have a bad feeling about this one. Something very nasty has been going on in that house. Kinitra’s afraid to speak up. She needs me to look out for her. That’s what a resident trooper does.”

  “I do not need a lecture from you on the job specifications of a resident trooper. It so happens I’m the man who has administered the entire program for the past eleven years. You have involved Major Crime Squad investigators despite the clear and obvious absence of a crime. You have squandered precious investigative man hours—”

  “Woman hours.”

  “To follow up on nothing more than a—a cowboy hunch.”

  “Cowgirl hunch.”

  “Desiree, you’re lucky I don’t pick up the phone this very minute and have a talk with Yolanda’s captain. I can guarantee you he knows nothing about this little adventure and he will not be pleased to find out she … why in the hell are you grinning at me like that?”

  “Because this is the first time you’ve acted like you in I don’t know how long. I’ve tried everything. Honestly, Daddy, I was at my wit’s end. And the answer’s been staring me in the face all along—I just had to go rogue.”

  “This is not funny, Desiree. There are rules. And those rules—”

  “Exist for a very good reason, I know.”

  “I cannot believe you roped in Yolanda.”

  “She was free to say no. She’s her own woman.”

  “Nonsense. She looks up to you. And who in the hell is Toni Tedone?”

  “Their first she on Major Crimes. They call her Toni the Tiger. You’ll like her a lot.”

  “That’ll be the day.” The Deacon despised the Tedones with every fiber of his being. It was Captain Richie Tedone of IA who’d tried to squeeze him out when he went in for his heart surgery. The asshole would have succeeded, too, if Des hadn’t squeezed back. “I should apprise their captain of what you have them doing. You’re just lucky that, technically speaking, I’m still on medical leave.”

  “You could still pick up the phone. Why don’t you?”

  He looked out at the lake. “Because I happen to agree with you. This one smells nasty.”

  “Jamella has genuine doubts about Tyrone.”

  “With good reason.”

  “He says he’s cleaning up his act.”

  “Not a chance. Men don’t change. They are who they are. He’s been Da Beast for his entire adult life. He’s made millions of dollars being Da Beast. He relishes it. This suspension by the NFL is nothing more than a minor bump in the road for him.”

  “You haven’t met him, Daddy.”

  “Don’t have to. I’ve known his kind since I was a boy in the schoolyard.”

  “He’s complicated.”

  “He’s a bully. There’s nothing complicated about it.”

  “What did you and Calvin talk about while we were inside?”

  “Calvin’s failure to assume responsibility for his own life. He’s filled with regret. And he knows more about this matter than he was willing to let on.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Calvin has spent a big chunk of his life in the yard. A man like that always holds on to a choice morsel or two of information. Information is power.” The Deacon thumbed his chin thoughtfully. “He’s also frightened.”

  “Of?…”

  “A few months ago the man was scuffing around the streets of Houston. Now he’s living in a waterfront mansion. If Jamella leaves Tyrone over this mess, he’ll be back out on the street again. He’s feeling vulnerable. And a little bit ashamed. It’s no fun for a middle-aged man to be dependent on his daughter.”

  “Are we still talking about Calvin?”

  The Deacon fell silent. He’d always been emotionally walled off. It had driven Des’s mother so nuts that she’d finally left him after twenty-five years of marriage.

  “Daddy, you can go home tomorrow. And back to work whenever you’re ready. The doctor has cleared you. The only thing holding you back is your own uncertainty. Which I totally get. But you’ve still got game.”

  “I couldn’t even hold off that piece of dirt Richie Tedone. You had to step in and save me.”

  “Which I was glad to do.”

  “There was a time when I would have eaten Richie Tedone for breakfast.”

  “You were sick. You’re not sick anymore. You’re fine.”

  “Sure, I’m fine,” he said in a hollow voice.

  “Just let me change my clothes lickety-split, okay? You ready to go?”

  “I don’t feel like company this evening, Desiree. Think I’ll just stay here and watch some TV.”

  “But you’re all dressed.”

  “So I’ll get all undressed.”

  “Please don’t do this to me, Daddy. The Bergers have flown all the way up here from Florida to meet you. They’re nice people. And you like Mitch. Please come to dinner with me.”

  He looked down at his big hands. “Sure, okay.…”

  Des darted into her bedroom with her stomach in knots. Changed from her uni into a white silk blouse and tan linen slacks. She was trying to decide whether or not to dab on lipstick when her cell rang. It was Yolie.

  “What’s up, Miss Thing?”

  “Just had a surprise visit from Jamella and her father,” Des informed her. “She’s afraid that Tyrone’s the father of Kinitra’s baby.”

  “Well, that’s fairly damning.”

  “Yeah, we thought so, too.”

  “By ‘we’ you mean?…”

  “My father and me.”

  Yolie let out a gasp. “The Deacon know I’m working this with you?”

  “I’m afraid so. But he’s cool. Well, not cool but he won’t say anything to your captain. What’ve you picked up?”

  “Toni tracked down Lonnie Berryman through the University of Georgia Athletic Department. I just spoke to him on the phone. He told me Kinitra has been leaving him like twelve, fifteen text messages every day. Keeps telling him how much she loves him and wants to be with him again like when they were together in Glen Cove. Except, hear this, Lonnie swore to me they never were together. He told me he spoke to her for a little while at a pool party. She played him some of her music. And that was that. He never went near her. Just thought she was a cute kid. And now she’s practically stalking him. I asked him if he’d submit to a DNA test should it become necessary. He said he’d be happy to comply. Has no reason not to. The man sounded credible—unless he’s a lying dog.”

  “Which is always a distinct possibility. What else?”

  “We just caught up with Stewart Plotka and Andrea Halperin having themselves a drink by the pool at the Saybrook Point Inn. She jumped all over me when I asked Plotka where he was last night. Demanded to know why the Major Crime Squad was interested in his whereabouts and whether there was a criminal investigation underway and if so, what kind. I told her it was an unofficial inquiry. She told me I could unofficially go to hell. After some more warm, fuzzy sparring she decided to cooperate. Realized it was the only way she might learn something. Plus Plotka has nothing to hide. Or so she’s been led to believe. The two of them had dinner together last night right there at the inn. She went up to her room after dinner and worked until bedtime. Plotka hung out at the bar by himself and tried to hook a hottie. The waitress there, a good-looking blonde, told me Plotka kept bragging to her that he’d be coming into a lot of money soon. She was incredibly not interested. Thought Plotka was total scum.”

  “This is a girl with keen instincts.”

  “Plotka left the bar at about eleven. He told me he went straight to bed. But he has his own car parked out there in the lot. A Toyota Camry. The guests can access their rooms directly from the parking lot. Don’t have to go in and out by way of the front desk. Meaning he could have slipped out and driven to the Grantham place. Burro
wed through that hole in the fence, gone after Kinitra and then returned to his room undetected. Toni’s at the New Haven newsroom of Channel Eight right now running their footage of the party for license plates. Maybe she’ll turn up Plotka’s Camry. She tried to get a guest list out of cousin Clarence but he wasn’t very helpful.”

  “I smelled reefer smoke when I got there. He’s probably afraid that this could lead to a drug bust—which is the last thing in the world Tyrone needs right now.” Des dug a pair of sandals out of her closet and stepped into them. “Plotka’s media savvy. I don’t believe he’d park his car in full view of the news cameras. He’s not that dumb.”

  “He’s that something.”

  “Are you liking him for it?”

  “Let’s just say I object to him using up our planet’s air, water and non-renewable fossil fuels.”

  “But other than that, you’re a fan.”

  Yolie let out a laugh. “Oh, yeah. Other than that, I am crushing on him huge.”

  * * *

  She drove her cruiser, the Deacon riding shotgun. He sat there straight and solemn in his gray flannel suit, big hands flat on his thighs, gaze fixed straight ahead. Didn’t say one word until she turned off Old Shore Road onto Turkey Neck.

  “Since when is this the way to Big Sister Island?”

  “I just have to make a quick stop, Daddy. It won’t take long.”

  The usual mob of news crews, paparazzi and gawkers were clustered outside the Tyrone Grantham estate. The through-traffic was at a standstill despite the presence of the trooper who was trying to move drivers along.

  The Deacon watched him with keen-eyed disapproval. “Does that trooper actually believe he’s helping matters by standing in the middle of the road?”

  “I don’t know, Daddy. Would you like to ask him?”

  “No,” he said stiffly. “Just drive on if you can. Paying a call on Mr. Grantham?”

  “His next door neighbor.” Des inched her way past the Grantham place and pulled into the driveway of Justy Bond’s waterfront home. Two cars were parked out front. She parked alongside them and shut off her engine. “Couple of questions I need to ask, okay?”

  “Whatever you need to do, Desiree. I’ll wait right here.”

  “You will not. You’re coming with me. You were a big help just now with Calvin.”

  “Don’t patronize me, young lady.”

  “I’m not. I would never do that. But you don’t seem to realize how much gravitas you bring to the table. Please join me, will you?”

  He climbed out of the car, glowering at her. “Now what are you grinning about?”

  “This is epic, Daddy. I dreamt about this moment when I was a little girl but I never actually thought it would happen.”

  “What would?”

  “You and me—we’re actually working a case together.”

  “We’re not ‘working a case.’ You’re playing a hunch and making a supremely clumsy effort to pump up my ego. You’re not fooling me, you know.”

  “Daddy, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I swear, sometimes you’re just like your mother.”

  “Um, okay, is that good thing?”

  Bonita was swimming laps in the pool, her stroke steady and strong, the water gleaming on her tanned flesh. A shirtless, broad-shouldered June was down on the dock buttoning up the Calliope for the rainstorm that was forecast for later that evening. The sky was definitely turning grayer.

  When Bonita noticed them there, she swam to the shallow end and got out, looking trim, toned and fabulous in her white bikini. “How nice to see you again, Trooper Des,” she said with a complete absence of warmth.

  “Bonita, this is my father, Deputy Superintendent Mitry.”

  She raised a speculative eyebrow at him. “Pleased to meet you.”

  He studied her curiously. “Don’t I know you from those commercials? You used to be the Bond Girl.”

  Bonita let out a throaty laugh. “You have a good memory. It’s been a while since I retired. These days I’m what’s known in polite Dorset society as a trophy bimbo.” She fetched a beach towel and dabbed herself dry. “Justy’s not here, I’m afraid. He’s got a regional dealership pow-wow up in Hartford. Probably won’t come rolling home until after eleven.”

  “Actually, we’re here to speak to June.”

  “In that case you’re in luck.” Bonita glanced down toward the dock at him. “He’s like a mother hen with that boat of his, I swear.”

  Des and the Deacon started their way across the lawn toward him. No more than a hundred feet separated the Calliope from the dock where Da Beast was moored, looking long, low and positively obscene in the water. Tyrone Grantham’s little strip of private beach was plainly visible from there, too. The very beach from where Kinitra had taken her near fatal swim late last night.

  “Hey, Des,” June said brightly as he scampered fore and aft, securing the Calliope’s lines.

  “June, this is Deputy Superintendent Mitry. Also known as my father.”

  “Glad to know you, sir. What can I do for you?”

  “I understand you’ve been sleeping out here on the Calliope lately,” she said.

  June’s eyes flicked across the lawn toward Bonita, who was now stretched out in a lounge chair. The Deacon followed his gaze, his own eyes narrowing fractionally. “Well, yeah,” June acknowledged. “Mitch … told you about that?”

  “He told me you were prepping for an epic sea voyage. Wanted to get used to sleeping aboard.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. I’m sailing her down to the Florida Keys.”

  “June, there was an incident next door late last night. I wondered if you might have heard something.”

  “I heard their party, if that’s what you mean. It sounded outrageous. Tons of people, great music. Did my dad call you and complain? Because they quieted down real fast at around eleven o’clock. I’m guessing that’s when you showed up.”

  “You’re guessing right.”

  “He was out of line, Des. The party wasn’t that loud. Besides, people have a right to enjoy themselves, don’t they?”

  “I was interested in something that happened later on.”

  June lowered his eyes, swallowing uncomfortably. “Later on?”

  “Maybe two, three o’clock in the morning. It was a warm night. I’m guessing you had your hatch open. Wondered if you might have overheard an altercation between a man and a woman on the beach over there. Did you have the hatch open?”

  “Yeah, I did,” he murmured.

  “Were you on board alone?”

  “Callie didn’t stay over. She was pulling an all-nighter at the studio.”

  “You didn’t answer the question, son,” the Deacon pointed out. “She asked if you were alone.”

  June reddened. “Yeah, I was alone.”

  No wonder June was no good at selling cars. He was one sucky liar.

  “And I think I did hear something going on over there—now that you mention it. A couple woke me up some time in the middle of the night. I don’t know when. But it didn’t sound like any altercation. More like they, you know, snuck away after the party and were getting busy on the beach.”

  “Did you hear anything besides them getting busy?”

  June frowned. “Yeah, I heard someone spashing around in the water. I think it was her. Yeah, it was definitely her. Because the guy called out to her.”

  “How did he sound? Was he angry?”

  “No, more like he was afraid she’d drown or something.” June’s eyes widened. “Did somebody drown?”

  “Nobody drowned. Did you get a look at either of them?”

  “No, I was below deck. Just woke up for a second and then went right back to sleep. I’d completely forgotten about it until you mentioned it.”

  “June, do you remember if he called her by her name? Or used a term of endearment of any kind?”

  June pondered this for a moment. “He called her ‘girl.’”

  �
��Can you tell me anything about his voice?”

  “Not really. Just that he sounded … black. Not that I’m trying to racially profile him or anything. It was just the impression I got.”

  “Understood. Did you get any kind of impression in regards to his age? Was he young? Educated? Not so educated?”

  “I really didn’t get any kind of read on that. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. You’ve been a huge help, June. Thanks.”

  “No problem. And, hey, please thank Mitch, will you?”

  “For?…”

  “Callie’s been conflicted about some things. She told me he’s been helping her sort them out.”

  “That’s my man.”

  Des and the Deacon started back across the lawn now toward the patio, where Bonita lay stretched languorously in that lounge chair, her long, lovely legs crossed at the ankles.

  “June’s not in some kind of trouble, is he?” she asked them.

  “Not at all,” Des assured her. “I was just asking him if he heard a disturbance down on your neighbor’s beach late last night—perhaps two or three o’clock. Were you up that late by any chance?”

  “Why, no. That party of theirs was so out of control that I took an Ambien. As soon as you quieted them down, I went to sleep and stayed asleep.”

  “And how about your husband?”

  “He drank an entire bottle of Scotch and conked out, too.”

  “How do you know that?” the Deacon asked her.

  Bonita batted her baby blues at him. “How do I know what?”

  “That he drank an entire bottle of Scotch and conked out. You just said that you were asleep.”

  “Well, I don’t know it. But that’s what he does every single night of the year. Why would last night be any different?”

  “No reason at all,” he said to her politely. “Lovely home you have here.”

  “Why, thank you, Deputy Superintendent Mitry.”

  They took the bluestone path back toward her cruiser.

  The Deacon was a very patient man. He waited until he got back in the car, closed his door and fastened his seat belt before he turned to Des and said, “How long has that boy been sleeping with his stepmother?”

  “You don’t miss a thing, do you?”