Forever Man

by Brian Matthews

  He and Kevin had been ushered into the doctor’s office by the man’s secretary, Ms. Li. After sitting down with Kevin in his lap, he’d received the bad news.

  “What you’re telling me,” Jack had said, “is that Kevin has something more than autism? Von…something?”

  “Von Kliner’s Syndrome,” Dr. Westwood answered. “It’s a rare subset of autism and even less understood. So much so that we don’t have defined treatment protocols.” The man paused before continuing. “I know this is hard to hear, Mr. Sallinen. Your son is going to need significant assistance throughout his life: special education, behavioral therapy, psychotropic medications. Maybe even placement in a group home as an adult.”

  “Group home?” Jack said, tears standing in his eyes. He hugged Kevin tighter. “You know money’s not an issue. I’ll pay for any treatment that will help cure him.”

  “Mr. Sallinen, if you’re going to be the best support for your son, there’s something you have to understand, right here and now: there is no cure. Sure, you can afford the best help available, and that’s a wonderful asset for both you and Kevin. But as long as you continue to search for a cure and not focus on his care, you’ll be allowing him to fall even farther behind developmentally.” His expression had grown somber. “I doubt he’ll ever be able to hold a job. Or even get married.”

  The news rocked Jack to his core. What the doctor had just described…it wasn’t a life. It was purgatory; a living hell. To be hidden beneath layers of autism—no, his son deserved better.

  Wiping at his eyes, Jack said, “I understand. But I want you to know that I will do anything to help Kevin. No matter the cost. Anything.”

  Westwood held his gaze for a moment. Reaching into his desk drawer, he pulled out a business card and handed it to Jack. “I have an associate. He knows more about von Kliner’s than most. Has had considerable firsthand experience. He knows the dangers, the risks, of the condition. You may want to get in contact with him at some point. He may be able to help.”

  Jack had looked at the card. It was white with embossed black letters, but it provided no title. “This Darryl Webber,” he said, lifting his eyes to Westwood. “Is he a doctor?”

  “No, more of a behavioral specialist. But a good one.” The man had smiled for the first time. “I think you’ll like him.”

  Jack had slipped the card into his wallet. Afterward, he would pull it out. Agonize over it. He’d refused to accept that there was no cure, that he had to turn to “behavioral” solutions. Finally, weeks later and increasingly desperate to help his son, he’d pulled it out.

  Sometimes he wondered if he’d made a mistake.

  “Listen, Jack,” Webber said, his voice surprisingly friendly. “You did the right thing by calling me. I may be the only person standing between your son and the old man.”

  “Owens is locked up. He can’t get to Kevin.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable with that thought. I doubt Owens’ stint as public enemy number one is going to last. That old man’s crafty. He can spin lies better than a D.C. politician. Pretty soon he’ll have Morris convinced he’s the savior of the world. Once he’s set free, our job becomes decidedly more complicated. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “And how’re we supposed to do that?”

  “First we go get your son, then we take out Owens.” He said this casually, as if he were ordering burgers and fries at the drive-thru.

  “You mean kill him?” Jack said incredulously. Owens was locked in a jail cell, in the middle of a police station, surrounded by cops, and Webber thought he was going to waltz in and put a couple bullets into him? “That’s your big plan?”

  “Yeah, I know,” Webber said, nodding. “Sounds almost impossible, given where he is. But that’s why I worked so hard to put him there.” His fingers tapped the steering wheel. “The whole shebang hinges on Carlton Manick. He has to get you, me, and your kid into that cell for a minute or two. That’s all I’ll need. Owens will have nowhere to hide. It’ll be like fish in a barrel, Jack. Fish in a barrel.”

  Jack could see about half a dozen flaws with Webber’s plan. Like how they were going to get out after killing Owens. But, given what he’d witnessed of the man’s strange powers, he was willing to discount most of them. One, however, wasn’t going to fly with him.

  “We’re not taking Kevin in there. It’s too dangerous.”

  Webber squinted, his eyes flashing darkly, like chips of obsidian in the sunlight. “Are you giving me shit again?”

  Jack swallowed hard. “When it comes to Kevin, yes, I am. He’s all I have in this world, and I’m not going to risk his life for you or anyone else.”

  “He is, huh?” Webber drew on his cigarette. “What about your other boy?”

  “Fuck him. Kevin’s the only one that matters.”

  “Now I know why reality TV is so popular,” Webber said with a roll of his eyes. “You’re a real douche, Sallinen.”

  “Fuck you very much,” replied Jack succinctly. “Are we all square on this? You and Dirty Harry can go do the deed, but Kevin stays out of danger?”

  “Sorry, but after Owens is finally dead, we can’t waste time going back for the kid. So, like it or not, he’s going in with us.” His voice grew sharp, lethal. “Or if you prefer, I can send your fat ass back where you were. Leave you there and just take your boy. Now, are we all square on that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But explain this one to me. If we get to Kevin first, why even bother with Owens? By the time Morris lets him go, we could be long gone. That old man wouldn’t stand a chance of finding us.”

  Webber’s face grew hard. “Because ‘that old man’ has been a problem for a long time, and I want to be the one who gets rid of him. Besides, he and I have a score to settle.” Webber pointed to the puckered scar that ran along his jaw. “Owens gave me that.”

  Jack stared at the scar for a moment, then met Webber’s eyes. “Who is he, anyway?”

  “He’s one of the most dangerous men in the world,” Webber said with complete aplomb. He pointed to the hall. “After this little party is done, round up Denny and Carlton. We need to move quickly.”

  Jack nodded. “I’ll let them know. Should we meet back at the hotel?”

  “That’ll work.” Webber dropped his half-smoked cigarette at Jack’s feet. “One more thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell them to bring guns.”

  Two rows down and four spaces over, J.J. Sallinen crouched behind a truck. He listened to his father and the stranger talking.

  Tears streamed down his face. He watched his father head back into the hall. The stranger gunned his truck and pulled out of the parking lot.

  Fuck him. Kevin’s the only one that matters.

  J.J. wiped away his tears as he headed for his car.

  Two can play at that game, Dad.

  Chapter 16

  Izzy Morris pulled her cruiser into the space reserved for the Chief of Police. In the rear-view mirror she could see Katie Bethel sitting in the back seat, a blanket from the trunk wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes were red from crying. For now, though, her tears had given way to a depressed silence. She’d taken the news of her mother’s death hard; despite the woman’s many problems, Jennie Bethel had been the only person left in Katie’s life.

  “Ready?” Izzy asked the passenger seated next to her.

  “You sure this is a good idea?” replied Gene Vincent.

  “Well, Katie doesn’t have anywhere else to go. Besides, both of you have spoken to Owens. It may help to have different opinions. This guy….”

  “He’s a little different, isn’t he?”

  “More than a little. He’s the key to all of this. I can feel it. I just need him to explain how.” She paused. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Natalie’s my goddaughter,” Gene said. “I know it’s only a ceremonial thing, but it still means something to me. And Nat does, too. S
o, yes, I’m very sure.”

  “Thank you,” said Izzy, touched by his words. She turned to face Katie. “Come on, honey. We’re going inside.”

  Katie nodded without answering, joining the other two as they entered the police station.

  Izzy led them down a long hallway with two doors on the right and one on the left. She stopped at the second right-hand door and poked her head in. Sten Billick sat at his desk. He was going over some notes.

  “Bring Owens to the interview room.” She turned to leave but stopped. “Wait, make it my office. And no cuffs.”

  “Not a good idea, Chief,” Sten said as he closed the file.

  “I’ve gotten nowhere with him. If I’m going to find Natalie, I need to try something different.”

  Izzy saw Sten’s eyes shift to Gene and Katie standing behind her.

  “You’re bringing them?”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Not bringing in civilians, for starters.”

  “It’s not your daughter’s life on the line, Sten,” she said quietly.

  “Yeah,” he said, checking and holstering his gun. “It’s not. Be there in a few.”

  While Sten went to retrieve Owens, Izzy and Gene brought in two chairs from her office and set them along the wall with the window overlooking Asher Street. Gene and Katie sat while Izzy slid into the chair behind her desk. Together they waited for Bart Owens to arrive.

  Less than a minute later he walked in, followed by Detective Billick.

  “Have a seat,” Izzy said, indicating the chair opposite hers.

  The old man’s eyes traveled from her, to Gene, then to Katie, where his gaze lingered for a few moments, and then back to Izzy. “Thank you.” He sat down across from her.

  Sten moved to stand behind Owens.

  Izzy said, “I’ve brought in a couple of people you know. They’re going to sit here and listen for now. Is that okay with you?”

  Owens shrugged. “It’s a little odd, but I have no objections.”

  “We’re going to do this differently,” Izzy said. “Maybe something a little less confrontational will help the cause. You up for it?”

  “As much as I can be.”

  “Is that a yes or no?”

  “I’ll do my best,” Owens replied.

  “It’d help if you stopped being so damn cryptic.”

  “A lot will depend on your questions,” Owens said. He crossed his leg, folding his hands on his knee. His long, brown fingers were unadorned with rings.

  “Let’s start with an easy one,” Izzy said. “Are you married?”

  Owens shook his head. “No, not currently.”

  “So, you were married at one time?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It was a long time ago. She’s passed on.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “See how easy that was. Next question: how old are you?”

  Owens hesitated for a fraction of a second: “Fifty-four.”

  “And we were doing so well,” Izzy said, sighing. “Now you’re lying.”

  “Check my driver’s license. I’m telling the truth.”

  “I thought we were going to cut through the bullshit?”

  Owens moved his hands from his knee to fold them across his chest, a classic defensive posture for a person with something to hide. He must have realized this, because he unfolded his arms and placed them on the arms of the chair.

  “Age is a sensitive topic for me,” he said. “I will tell you this much: I’m a little older than fifty-four.”

  “How much older?”

  “Next question,” Owens said with a shake of his head.

  “Goddammit, how hard can it be to tell me your age?”

  Owens expression hardened. “Please don’t do that.”

  “What?” Izzy asked.

  “Blaspheme.”

  “You’re a musician and a priest?”

  “I had a very religious upbringing.”

  “And where was that?”

  “Sorry,” Owens said with another shake of his head.

  “So your past is off limits?”

  “I’d like it to be, yes.”

  Frustrated at getting nowhere again, Izzy paused to collect her thoughts. She did a quick mental run-through of this morning’s questioning.

  “Earlier you said you were here to protect Kevin Sallinen. Protect him from what?”

  “There’s a man who’s also come to your town, like me. He’s after the boy.”

  Izzy shook her head. “I’ll need more than that.”

  “His name is Darryl Webber,” said Owens. “Mid-thirties. Light-colored hair. Has a scar running right about here.” Owens used a finger to trace a line along his left jaw.

  “That sounds like the stranger who showed up at Maddie Cain’s house.” Izzy described her visit to Jimmy’s wake.

  “So you know him?” This question came from Sten.

  “I should.” Owens said. “I’m the one who gave him the scar.”

  Izzy asked, “How did you know this Webber was here in the first place?”

  “A friend of mine, a colleague of sorts, had been keeping an eye on him. When Webber left New Jersey, my friend tracked him here.”

  “Why isn’t this friend here helping you?”

  “Different people, different specialties. He observes.”

  “And your specialty?” she asked.

  “I protect.”

  “All by yourself?” Sten said, his mouth twisted in disbelief. “You must be tougher than you look. I searched you when you were arrested. You had no weapons. No body armor. No cell phone to call for backup. What are you, Special Forces? SEAL? Or do you beat the bad guys off with your guitar?”

  “Trust me,” Owens said. “I’m capable enough—”

  “What’s the matter with you people?” said Katie Bethel. She wiped at fresh tears with the edge of the blanket. “Don’t you understand that my mother is dead. Somebody killed her. Now, why don’t you cut the crap before somebody else dies?” She wrapped the blanket tighter, then addressed Bart Owens. “It’s obvious you know more than we do, sir. So rather than play guessing games, why not just tell us? Okay?”

  Gene Vincent gave a low whistle of admiration. Sten Billick actually cracked a smile, however briefly. Izzy didn’t know if she wanted to jump up and hug Katie or have her leave to spare her any further pain.

  Bart Owens turned slightly in his chair so he faced Katie. In a voice heavy with regret, he said, “I don’t understand why your mother was killed. As far as I can tell, she didn’t have anything to do with this. And if I’d been there, I might have been able to save her. But I’ve made mistakes. Now you’re paying the price. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Help us,” Katie said flatly. “Then I’ll forgive you.”

  “Jenny wasn’t alone in that park,” said Izzy. “Chet Boardman was with her. He’s missing.”

  “My mom and Mr. Boardman had a history together,” added Katie, blushing. “Dating and…things.”

  Owens shifts his attention to Gene. “Wasn’t he one of the men thrown out of the Lula that night?”

  Gene nodded. “That’s him. The other guy was Denny Cain, the dead boy’s father.”

  “Okay, let’s try and put some pieces together.” Izzy picked up her pencil, started making notes. “We know for sure that Webber’s here. He’s been seen with Denny and Chet, so it’d be a good guess that they’re involved somehow. If those two are involved, then….” Her voice trailed off as a realization hit her.

  “Izzy,” Gene said, inching forward on his chair. “What is it?”

  “That son of a bitch.” Izzy threw her pencil on the desk. “I bet he knew what was going on all along.”

  “Who?” said Sten, Gene, and Katie in unison.

  “Jack Sallinen.”

  Izzy called a break at that point. She had someone bring coffee and sodas into her office. The tension in the room had slowly built as they had disco
vered some of what had been going on underneath their noses.

  “Okay,” Izzy said after everyone had settled down. “I need to get this straight in my head. Simply put, Webber’s here to get Kevin, and you’re here to stop him.” The last part was directed at Bart Owens.

  “Yes.”

  “Does he plan on killing the boy?”

  “No, I don’t believe so,” Owens said. “Not unless….”

  “No more secrets. We’re talking about a boy’s life here.”

  Owens sipped at his coffee. “Not unless Webber believes I’ll get to him first. Then he may kill the boy rather than let me have him.”

  “What do you mean ‘have him’?” Izzy protested. “Neither of you is taking him. And what’s so special about him, anyway?”

  The old man’s eyes dropped to his coffee. “I’m not exactly sure.”

  “Stop it,” Izzy said, irritated. “Stop jerking us around. What is so special about an eight-year-old, autistic boy?”

  “Do you have that drawing the boy made?” asked Owens.

  Izzy pulled her notebook out of a desk drawer. She slid the drawing out and laid it in front of Owens.

  “See the lightning bolts? Webber had a nickname, a while ago. Lightning. And the raindrops aren’t raindrops, they’re tears.” Owens touched the mark under his left eye. “I’m in the picture, too.”

  “Okay,” Gene said, joining the discussion. “Kevin Sallinen drew a picture of you and Webber. But since he’s never met you—and we can assume he’s never met Webber or he’d be gone, right?—he drew representations of both of you. How could he possibly know anything about you or Webber? None of this makes sense.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Owens. “I’m afraid I don’t have all the answers.”

  Sten Billick leaned over Owens’ shoulder and pointed to the animal. “What’s that thing?”

  “I’m not sure, Detective,” said Owens. “But I have a suspicion.”

  Sten looked on expectantly.

  “I think,” Owens said, “that’s what’s been doing the killing.”

  There was a moment of quiet, then Izzy said, “What is it?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” said Owens. “But you’ve seen what it can do. You’re going to need help, Chief Morris.”