by Mark Stone
I leaned up, a shot of pain running through me. I winced, but didn’t yelp or anything. After all, I had my pride.
Good thing too, because no sooner had I adjusted myself than Dr. Rebecca Day came walking in, a clipboard in her hands.
“Oh good,” she said, giving me a curt half smile and looking back down at the board. “I was wondering how much longer you were going to sleep. Boomer expressly forbade me from leaving before I talked to you.”
“You know Boom?” I asked, smiling a little, even though it hurt.
“Everyone knows Boom, Detective Storm,” she answered. ‘He doesn’t exactly blend in, does he?”
“That he does not,” I admitted. Looking over at my still sleeping grandfather, I asked, “Is he okay to sleep like that? I can give him my bed if I need to.”
“Your grandfather’s perfectly fine,” she answered, pursing her lips at me. “If he needed to be in a hospital bed, I’d put him in one. I know what I’m doing, Detective.”
“More than I can say for myself lately,” I answered, looking down at my gut, bandaged up securely.
“Seems to me you’re doing just fine,” she said, circling the bed. “I heard you took down a home invader all on your own.”
“Is that what they’re calling him?” I asked, more than a little disappointed. This guy wasn’t just an invader. He came to Charlotte’s house for a reason, and I was hoping Boomer might have gotten to the bottom of what that reason might be by this point. Still, Rebecca was a doctor, not a police officer, and all she likely had to go on was town gossip. It wouldn’t have told her anything beyond the surface of what was happening.
“As far as I know,” she said. “Why? Should they be calling him something else?”
“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “So, Doc, what’s the damage?”
“Not as much as there could have been,” she said, writing something down on that clipboard of hers. “The knife missed all of your vital organs. You have some scratches and inflammation in your throat, which would explain any discomfort you might have there, and I’m going to want to keep you here for a few days, but you’re not going to need to repent anytime soon, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“Never been afraid of the Lord, ma’am. It’s the rest of the world that can be scary,” I answered.
“I can relate to that,” she said and there was a darkness in her tone that made me think there was more to her than met the eye. I brushed it off though. I had more than enough to think about without having to go looking for stuff.
“Afraid I can’t stay here though,” I said.
“The hell you can’t,” my grandfather said from beside me.
I turned, stunned that he was even up, because as far as I knew he was still snoring.
“You’re going to do what this lady doctor says. She’s smart,” he said, sitting upright.
“Thank you, Mr. Riggs,” Rebecca answered. “Though, in the future, just “doctor” will do.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that,” I muttered. “But it doesn’t matter what either of you say. I have a case to get back to, one I’ve just started cracking.” I looked back to Dr. Day. “You said yourself, it missed all my organs or whatever. I’ll take it easy. Promise, no fist fights for a whole day. I’ll even come back here at night so you can sleep easy.” I looked back to my grandfather. “Both of you, but I can’t just drop this. I have work to do.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Boomer’s voice came from the doorway.
Looking forward, I saw my best friend come in. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept all night. It made sense, given that he had a high profile arrest to deal with, not to mention my stabbing and locking up the guy responsible.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, sitting up even straighter.
Boomer looked from me to the others and nodded. “Can you guys give us just a minute.”
Rebecca nodded and headed toward the door. “Other than being as hardheaded as a mountain range, your friend is just fine,” she said to Boomer and exited.
“You talk some sense into my boy,” my grandfather said, before shooting me a look that could wilt flowers and heading out the door.
“What’s going on Boom? Give me some good news,” I said.
“Good news is the guy you caught last night is a drug dealer. He has three warrants on him, issued out of Marco Island and he’s about to go to jail … for a very long time.”
“I don’t mean that,” I answered. “What was he doing there? I went to see Charlotte after you sent me off. We talked and I—” My eyes moved to the floor. “I left and came back. He must have still thought I was there. That had to be why he broke in.”
I shook my head. “Or he was just looking for a place to crash. Drug dealers are usually drug takers. Was he high? Did you have him tested?”
I really thought this was connected to me, but I needed to make sure every option was looked into.
“You know toxicology reports aren’t that quick,” he said. “And that’s not the point.”
“The point is we’ve got him and, if he is connected to the other murders like you think, then we’ve got Peter Storm against the wall. Put some pressure on this guy, threaten him. Hell, have Ethan Sands offer him a deal. Drop a charge or two. He’ll give you the information you need to convict that pompous asshole.”
“I’m sure he will,” Boomer said. “But what if it’s not true?”
‘What do you mean?” I asked, my heart pumping a little faster at his words.
“I had Emma work through the scene, Dill. She looked over the body and she assured me that the angle of the wounds came from someone hitting him with a left hand.”
“So?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“So, you snapped his shoulder back at the church and made it impossible for your brother to use his left arm during the time Emma tells me Rusty was killed.”
My body went rigid. “Maybe he’s lying,” I said. “Maybe his arms isn’t really hurt. I mean, I thought I heard a snap, but that could have been anything.”
“It’s true, Dil. I had Rebecca pull up the x-rays. It couldn’t have been Peter Storm. He didn’t kill Rusty.”
“But the glove!” I objected.
“The glove is his,” Boomer admitted. “Which means someone wanted us to think it was Peter.” He swallowed hard. “I’m afraid that isn’t enough to keep him though.” He looked at me seriously. “And if it is planted, Dilly, I can’t proceed in good conscious. You know that.”
“Of course I know that, Boom,” I answered. “I don’t want to railroad somebody, even someone like Peter Storm. I just want justice.”
“Then I’m afraid you might have to wait a little longer.”
“Boomer, what are you saying?” I asked, my jaw tightening and my gut burning.
“I talked to Ethan Sands. They can’t press charges with this. He’s being processed out right now, Dil.” Boomer shook his head. “Peter Storm will be out of jail within the hour.”
21
Boomer looked over at me with more than a little salt in his stare as we pulled into the parking lot of the police station and county jail. I knew what he was thinking; that I was being hardheaded and too bullish about getting to the bottom of this thing. He probably thought I was wearing blinders when it came to this investigation, that the way I felt about Peter and the Storms in general was coloring everything I did.
Maybe he was right, but it didn’t change anything. Facts were facts. Lionel Sheets had my number in his phone when he died. Peter Storm showed up at the crime scene, using a key card he wasn’t supposed to have, and then Rusty was found with his glove in his hand. Forensics aside, that was a heap of evidence I couldn’t ignore. Regardless of what Boomer might have to say about it.
I went for the door as Boom put the car in park. He put a hand on my shoulder though, stilling my movements.
“I want to talk to you for a second before you going running in there like a kid kicking over a sandcas
tle.” Boomer said sternly.
I turned toward him, my gut burning as I moved. Rebecca Day warned me against moving around too much, something about popping stitches. Still, I had to do what I had to do and, with Peter Storm being released in minutes, this might be my only chance to talk to him.
“I get it,” I sighed. “You don’t think he did it. You don’t have to beat a dead horse, Boom.”
Boomer shook his head. “Not what I’m talking about.” Boomer blinked hard and took a breath. “The old man told me about his cancer. I guess he figured now that you knew there was no reason to keep it a secret. Kinda silly to keep something like that to yourself in the first place if you ask me.” He shrugged. “The point is, I’m sorry, Dill. I know this must be hard on you.”
“I’m fine,” I said, nodding and moving back toward the door. I didn’t have time to be soft right now.
“Wait,” he said, squeezing my shoulder. “If ten years on the force, of seeing people live through the worst moments of their lives has taught me anything, it’s that there’s a world of difference between thinking you’re alright and actually being that way.”
My jaw tightened, though I couldn’t afford to let myself think about what he’d just said too hard. I was alright, and if I wasn’t, I damned sure would be when I solved this case and brought justice to the people who deserved it.
“I told you I’m fine, Boom. Stop treating me like I’m goddamned china, okay. I just need to talk to Peter.”
“The charges have been dropped,” Boomer reminded me. “He’s being processed. So don’t go in there accusing him of things you don’t have proof of.” Boomer shook his head. “I only brought you here because I knew you’d come anyway, and I didn’t want you getting yourself killed in the condition you’re in.”
“Fair enough,” I answered, and pushed the car door open.
“You found out about the kid, didn’t you?” Boomer asked as I was half out of the car, my gut aching.
I stopped short, Isaac’s face flashing through my mind. He was both part of me and a living reminder of the biggest betrayal of my life.
“I hope you understand why I couldn’t say anything,” Boomer said and, with that, a flash of anger ran through me. I turned my head back toward him but not the rest of me. The twisting would just hurt too much.
“You know something, Boom. I really don’t. That kid is my nephew. He’s my blood.”
“And she’s the love of your life,” he answered.
“I know that, Boom.” I shook my head. “Do you have any idea how many nights I almost called her on the phone? How many times I almost flew down here just to see her? She was my girl, Boom. She was my girl, and now she’s my nephew’s mother. I’m trying to wrap my head around it. I’m trying to move past it, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to.”
“Maybe I know you better than you know yourself then, because I think you’ll get there,” Boomer answered.
“That’s not the point.” I said, laying a hand against his dashboard. “That kid is family. Whether I loved her or not, whether I wanted to be with her or not, whether she hurt me or not, I’d have been there for him.”
“I know that,” Boomer said. “And that’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“What?” I asked, turning around, pain be damned. The look on my face must have been a doozy, because Boomer gaped at it.
“You had a life up there by the time she had him, Dil,” Boomer answered. “Charlotte didn’t tell anybody he was Peter’s. I mean, he looks like him. So there were whispers, but that’s all. She didn’t even admit to me whose kid Isaac was at first. By the time she did, you had gotten promoted to detective.” He nodded. “She asked me not to tell you. Hell, she asked me not to tell your grandfather. She had told Peter about Isaac and he told her to get rid of it, to have an abortion. When he was born, he didn’t even sign the birth certificate.”
Flashes of my own mother, of what she must have had to go through and what Charlotte had populated my thoughts. I sighed and did my best not to let them overtake me.
“That doesn’t have anything to do with me,” I answered.
“But it does,” Boomer said. “You’d have given up your life for that kid. You’d have dropped everything you had up there and come running back here, and I couldn’t let you do that.”
“It wasn’t your choice!” I shouted. “It was my life, Boomer. It still is. I can do what I damned well please.”
“And that’s what you were doing,” he answered. “For the first time since forever, you were doing what you wanted. Your life belonged to you. You were happy, Dil.”
“There’re more important things than being happy,” I said, thinking of my grandfather and what my life would have been like if he hadn’t been there for me. “It was my decision, not yours.”
“It was hers too, Dil,” Boomer said. “He’s Charlotte’s kid, and she knows you better than you know yourself. She told me she didn’t want you wasting your life because of the choices she made.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “She was a single mother with no one to help her and a head every bit as hard as yours. I respected her wishes.”
I blinked, looking at Boomer for a long time and then down at the floor. “I don’t agree with what you did, Boomer. I don’t agree with what she did either, but I do understand it.” My eyes locked onto the police chief. “We’ve been best friends for almost thirty-five years, man — since we were crawling around in diapers and thumping girls’ ears on the school bus. I wish you’d have told me the truth about things back when they happened. You didn’t, and that hurts. But it’s not going to change you and me, Boom.” I shook my head. “Not by a country mile.” I looked up at his hand, still on my shoulder. “Now get your damned paws off me and let me take care of business.”
“Okay, Dil,” he said, smiling as he pulled away. “Good to know.”
^
By the time I made it into the police station, Peter was being issued his belongings. His arm was in a sling and he wore a five o’clock shadow, having not been able to shave since he was brought in last night.
He looked up at me as I entered and I could tell from the expression on his face that — not only had his hatred for me not died down at all — but he wasn’t the only one who looked like crap. I guess we had both seen better days.
“I don’t need the rest categorized in front of me. Just please hand me my things,” he said, turning back to the officer who was in the process of issuing his belongings.
Peter grabbed his stuff forcefully and turned toward the door. His lawyer was beside him, leaning in and whispering something into his ear as marched toward me.
“You’re blocking the door,” Peter’s lawyer said, standing in front of his client.
“There’s a reason for that,” I said, looking past him and into Peter’s eyes, eyes that looked like mine, that looked like Isaac’s. “I want to talk to you.”
‘That’s not going to happen,” the lawyer said. “My client has had a very trying night, and at this moment, he is considering whether or not to sue the police department you work for. So he won’t be speaking with you anytime soon. And, if you were smart, I’d suggest you keep your distance.”
“I don’t work for this department,” I answered. “At least not officially, and I’ve been accused of being a lot of things. Smart’s never been one of them.”
Peter chuckled. “He has a point there.”
“Stop,” the lawyer whispered, turning back to him.
It was too late though. I saw an opening in his armor and I was going to take it.
“You never spoke to me when we were kids,” I said, looking past the lawyer again and talking directly to Peter. “You walked past me in the halls at school. You saw me around town, and never once did you talk to me.”
“That’s enough, Detective Storm,” the lawyer said, but I wasn’t listening.
“You don’t want to talk to a police officer? That’s fine. I get that.” I pulled my badge out
of my pocket and tossed it on a nearby table. “I’m not asking for that. I’m not asking you to give a testimony, but I saw your son last night, Peter. I looked into his eyes and then beat back an intruder who brought a knife into his house.”
Peter’s eyes went wide, like he didn’t know this had happened. That was strange, maybe he wasn’t involved.
I pulled my shirt up to reveal the bandages around my midsection.
“I took a knife for that kid, for your kid. So I’m asking you for a conversation. I’m asking that, for once in your life, you look past the crap we grew up with and the garbage our father probably put into your head, and treat me like a person.” I took a deep breath. “I want to talk to you, Peter. I want to talk to my brother.”
He blinked at me as the lawyer spouted crap I didn’t listen to. All that mattered was what he was going to say and, as he finally opened his mouth, I discovered that what he said was, “Fine. Let’s go.”
22
Peter couldn’t drive given the shape of his arm, and he sent his protesting lawyer off into the night, leaving me to get behind the wheel of his Lexus.
It was strange, sitting next to this man whom I’d hated for so long, driving silently as though there was some quiet ease between us.
I went toward Storm House, but he directed me to pass it. Instead, I pulled into a smaller and quainter, though still nice, gated community. The man at the gate didn’t even stop me as I neared the hulking white structure. He simply smiled and waved as it opened. I thought I heard the words, “Have a good night, Mr. Storm,” through the window.
“I don’t suppose he was talking to me,” I muttered in what I strangely realized was an attempt to break the tension. Was I actually nervous about this?
“He’d better be, given the rate they pay him to do absolutely nothing,” Peter answered, though he didn’t look at me.
He had a point. I could tell from the look of this place, trimmed neat grass, smiling neighbors, and upscale soccer moms power walking in the mid morning sun without fear, that this community was probably all but devoid of crime.