Long Shadows: A Mystery Thriller (Winton Chevalier Book 1)

by John Oakes

  “Thanks a million,” he said when he found her. He handed her back her keycard.

  “It was helpful?”

  In truth he wasn’t sure what to make of his findings, but he nodded. “I think so. Maybe.”

  Wendy looked to either side, and leaned in. “In the old days, they used to give the most awful hazings to rookies and new sergeants. Was Lucas in line for a promotion or something?”

  “No. Quite the opposite from the way Corbin tells it.”

  “Oh, well.” She gave a sad smile.

  “Thanks for your help, Miss Wendy. Means a lot, since I hardly recognize this place.”

  They hugged again.

  “I’ll be praying for your father. And, Winton, dear, stay safe. Don’t go getting in over your head.” Wendy looked at him fondly. “Your family needs you.”

  Winton paused at the door and nodded to her, then left.

  SIX

  Winton had his hands in his pockets and his gaze on the colorless well-trod carpeting as he walked back to Corbin’s desk. He didn’t see the man turning into his path around a corner.

  “Whoa there.”

  Winton flinched when he heard the sudden jangle of keys, and saw shoes. “Shit, sorry.”

  The man had raised his arms wide to keep his balance after stopping short. “Look at that,” he said. “Didn’t even spill my coffee.”

  The man was well-built, wore a civilian shirt and tie, and was balding on a big head. Winton had seen this man before. “Hey, you were at the hospital yesterday.”

  “Guess I was. And now you’re here.”

  “Yeah. Been a while since I’ve seen the place,” Winton said. “Just sticking by Corbin until we head in for Dad’s operation.”

  “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Winton.” He put out a hand. “Winton Chevalier.”

  The man tucked his files under the arm holding his coffee and shook. “I’m Captain Remus. Luther Remus.” There was a glint in Remus’ eye as if he took some fascination in speaking with a dwarf. Winton normally didn’t hold it against people, but something about Remus’ look was unsettling.

  “How come I’ve never met you?”

  “I moved here from Baton Rouge a while back after an injury. Took a desk job.”

  “You seem healthy.”

  “Well, ain’t that the thing of it?” Remus scrunched up his nose, making lines break out all over his spotty face. “Now I’m feeling better than ever, and there’s no way out of the suit and tie. There just ain’t no going backward in life, is there? It’s relentless.”

  “Truer words…” If Remus was new to the department, why had he been the one sent to visit his father on behalf of the department? “So, are you Lucas’ boss? Or…”

  “No. I’m not really anyone’s boss right now. I liaise with the joint narcotics task force.”

  “I see. So who is his superior?”

  Remus’s expression hung between blankness and a smile. “Well, I think that would be Sergeant Kessler.”

  “Thanks. Sorry for not looking where I was going.”

  “No harm done.”

  They went in separate directions, but the question bubbled up again. If Remus wasn’t Lucas’ boss, then why had he been the one to come discuss his whereabouts with Roland? Why had Remus sent those two officers to search Lucas’ cruiser? He looked back at the disappearing figure, opened his mouth to call out, but something in him stilled his tongue.

  Winton needed a little more perspective. He found Sergeant Kessler by asking around in the old bullpen where his father had worked when Winton was a boy. It’d had a face-lift since he’d last seen it, but the general buzz of activity around the scattered desks hadn’t changed one bit.

  Sgt. Kessler stood at her desk wearing the blue uniform blouse most common in the department. Her equipment-laden belt stood out, looking heavy and cumbersome on her petite frame in an oddly intimidating fashion. Her dark hair was pulled back in an unceremonious tail, yet her face bore the subtle touches of makeup: eyes shaded to enhance her dark features, brows shaped to impart a certain malevolence. Before meeting Missy, who was very into all things “beauty,” Winton wouldn’t have noticed, but now that he understood more about these things, he appreciated the authority the look imparted.

  When her subordinates stepped away from her desk with their assignments, he approached.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, not looking up from her papers.

  “I’m Lucas’ brother. Winton Chevalier.”

  She looked over her sheet at him, showing surprise not at his stature, he was almost sure, but at the mention of Lucas.

  “Lucas Chevalier, you say?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “He ain’t here.”

  “Isn’t that the issue, though?”

  “Issue? Not my issue.” Kessler’s voice had a Yankee touch, not the Jersey-esque twinge South Louisiana sometimes reflected, but Long Island, maybe Philly.

  “But he works under you.”

  She finally looked at him, brows pinched. “Hey fella, why are you here?”

  “I’m trying to find my brother. He hasn’t been answering his phone for two days.”

  She closed a binder. “I was told he had paid leave days he had to take. Union rules. I can do without him for a while. It’s a break, to be honest.”

  Winton smiled. “I’m guessing you and Lucas don’t get along.”

  She huffed a laugh, and a smile pulled her thin lips apart. “Nah. Not really.”

  “You’re all business, and Lucas is—”

  “A jackass?”

  “I was gonna say a bit of a charmer. A good time guy.”

  “Yeah, call it what you want, but he’s pushed his luck too far. It’s out of my hands. All I know is brass is deciding what to do.” She stacked binders in a file box.

  “Oh? Is he in real trouble?”

  “Hard to say. Probably good he took them leave days. If he ain’t here, he ain’t making himself more trouble.” Kessler picked up her file box and walked off.

  “Thanks for your time,” he said, but she probably didn’t hear.

  Winton sat in silence next to Corbin’s desk, listening to his breathing, every other exhalation catching on something in his nasal cavities and making a sort of whistle.

  Winton held his hands in his lap, moving his dextrous fingers so that a quarter rolled over his knuckles and back. Though he looked back on his days as a working magician with a bit of disdain, he still kept his skills sharp so he could impress. The love of the illusion had never left him. Now he simply got to blend it into his daily life where and when it gave him joy to do so. He occasionally liked to bust out a quick set for his foreign guests in one of his resort’s public congregating spaces. While they marveled at his skill, he marveled at how easily illusions translated across culture without need of an interpreter.

  Usually, thinking about the resort and his work would give him joy. He ought to be missing it by now. Winton pondered why thinking about all his friends and staff made him feel like a pit was growing in his stomach instead.

  Something really was wrong with Lucas, and no one was doing anything about it. No one except for him, as his father had claimed. When he thought about trying to find his brother, he felt his courage sapped by responsibility for his budding family and for the dozens of lives relying on the resort — and thereby his careful management of it — for their livelihood.

  Only cold fear and unanswered questions filled him.

  Winton was intelligent. Puzzles usually drew him like a hipster to a flea market. However, something in him wouldn’t let him consider the pieces he’d been given. Why? Simple. Because they might lead into the dark places his father had spoken of, places Winton doubted he could enter.

  Winton was strong enough to juggle the resort and a marriage and even kids, even on the hard days, but he simply wasn’t built for the world of shadows. He was civilized and mature. Civilized people like him knew the darker world existed but c
ouldn’t quite imagine it. Would it stretch his reserves too far? He knew his physical limitations, too. He’d made peace with them long ago. The reality was he might be less equipped than even Corbin to handle himself in a rough situation. He really had no idea.

  The fear got to be too much, and the notion that Lucas might just be on a lark felt warm and inviting. Yes. It had to be a possibility. Winton pushed the dark thoughts away and convinced himself that Lucas would pop back up completely unaware of the worry he’d inflicted. Then he’d joke around like he always did, and soon everyone would have to forgive or forget.

  “Hey,” Corbin said. “Daddy’s gonna be fine.”

  Winton stopped rolling the coin around his fingers and pulled himself out of his reverie.

  He’d been so consumed with these issues, he hadn’t spared a thought for his ill father. Winton had been blessed with two supportive and loving parents. That much he could be thankful for. He wouldn’t have made anything of himself without them. His father was his rock, even though they were somewhat distant and had always struggled to see eye-to-eye. He didn’t get sentimental about it, but it was true. Time running out or not, nothing would change how he’d been raised. But the thought of his mother being alone, that was what really stung him. He didn’t want to imagine DeeDee as a widow. She was doting, and a good, caring woman. Loneliness would punish her for those good traits, and might push her right into an early grave.

  “I prayed about it,” Corbin said, clicking a pen and squaring forms into a neat pile. “Daddy’s going to be fine. God loves him.”

  Winton was too distraught to respond with one of his especially dry comments, the ones that he knew to be acerbic but that Corbin always took at face value.

  “Let’s go then,” Winton said.

  When they got into Corbin’s van, Winton spotted an adapter. “Mind if I charge my phone?”

  “If it fits.” Corbin pulled out onto the street toward the hospital. “Hospital’s only two minutes away, though. Won’t get much of a charge.”

  “I’ll live.”

  Winton plugged Lucas’ phone in and felt hope kindle inside him when it showed sign of charging. By the time Corbin parked in the hospital ramp, the phone had booted up.

  “Let’s go. Momma’ll be waiting on us.”

  “Leave me for a sec. No, leave the car running. I’ll bring you the keys.”

  Corbin made a snorting sigh. “Just don’t dally, Win. Momma needs us.”

  The door slammed shut and Winton got into the phone. He looked through the calls and texts for anything significant, but nothing jumped out. Next, he looked through Lucas’ recent photos. There were a lot of pictures with girls and friends, a sunrise, a tree, a boat, pics of him posing in the mirror.

  “Please no dick pics, Lucas. Please…”

  Winton scrolled far enough that he was certain nothing further back could have anything to do with Lucas’ disappearance. He searched the photo data to see if there were any geo-tags, but Lucas didn’t have that setting activated. Winton opened the maps app and found directions from New Orleans to an address outside Baton Rouge.

  1717 Destin Drive, Monticello, Louisiana, just outside Baton Rouge.

  Winton turned the screen off, and squeezed a hand over his mouth. There had to be a chance that was where he could find Lucas.

  Before he could bolt north, though, he knew he had to play the dutiful son. Perhaps he could get some thinking in while he did so. He donned his sweatshirt, slipped Lucas’ phone in its pocket and locked the van.

  His family had camped on a row of seats in the waiting area. His Aunt Debbie and Uncle Drew were there, along with their middle child, Cara. They were huddled together praying with his mother and brother. Cara was the first to spot Winton. She smiled and held a hand out, inviting him into the circle of prayer. A wink betrayed she was joking.

  He inclined his head with half-lidded eyes. A coy smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. Winton sat nearest he could to his mother and opened Lucas’ phone again.

  “Winton, if you can’t pray, then at least stay off your damned phone,” his Aunt Debbie said. Like her brother Roland, she had straight posture, but used it to haughty effect. “This is one of them foxhole moments, where even you atheists should know to ask the Lord for help.”

  “Who said I was an atheist?” Winton squinted up at her.

  “Leave him alone,” Cara said. “God isn’t gonna kill Uncle Roland just ‘cause Winton didn’t pray.”

  “Well, I don’t know that,” Aunt Debbie said. “I’d like to have all our bases covered, if it’s all the same to you. I mean, we aren’t Catholic anymore, but look, DeeDee still brought her rosary.”

  “Yeah,” Winton said. “Then let me draw a pentagram on the floor and slaughter a pig. I could pray to our ancestors. Cover all those bases, too.”

  “Oh hush.” Aunt Debbie stood straighter. “Don’t you even go joking about that witchcraft.”

  “Who knows, Aunt Deb.” Winton was intent on having a little fun to cheer him up. “I’ve been practicing magic all my life. Maybe I got some special powers I never exercised before.”

  “Yeah, Mom.” Cara spoke earnestly. “Maybe Winton being a dwarf means he has special spiritual power. Let him draw the pentagram, please. Maybe a horned goat head, too.”

  “Oh well, now y’all are just egging me on.” Aunt Debbie put her hands on her hips, breaking the circle of prayer.

  “Would you all shut up!” Corbin boomed. “This ain’t a time for jokes, or… or…” Corbin had turned a shade of pink. “Or for your nonsense. Or for joking about devil worship. It ain’t right. It… it—”

  The whole waiting area looked in their direction as Corbin fumed. It’s said that one should always fear the anger of a quiet man, and in that moment, Corbin had brought such an anger to bear. Winton almost felt bad, seeing what quiet distress his brother was suffering under the surface.

  “Oh, Corbin, sweetie,” DeeDee said. “Sit down before you blow an o-ring.” She swatted at his arm until he sat. In a lower tone, she chided him, “I don’t want your hemorrhoids flaring up again.”

  Corbin leaned his head on her shoulder, and she stroked it. “How about we all keep praying in our own way,” DeeDee said through a forced smile. “In Baptist ways, or Catholic ways, or,” she turned to Winton, “or even positive thoughts.”

  “Wait,” Aunt Debbie said. “Wait a second.” She eyed the rosary in DeeDee’s lap. “DeeDee, are you still Catholic?”

  “Well, Debbie dear, I never stopped being Catholic.”

  “But, you came to my church. We talked about this.” Debbie, placed the back of her hand in her palm. “Christ is the priesthood. Mary and all that is just idolatry.”

  “Dammit, woman, y’always do this,” Uncle Drew grumbled in his thick bayou baritone. “You can’t force people to think like you or live like you, and you never listen. God dammit. This is the jet skis all over again.”

  “You love the jet skis,” Aunt Debbie insisted.

  “I ain’t jet skied a day in my dad gum life, and I don’t intend to. You saw them youngins out having a gay old time when we went to Padre, and ever since, you think they’re the damned fountain of youth. But Kawasaki ain’t in da bidness of rejuvenation and DeeDee ain’t gonna stop being Catholic attah sixty damn yeuhs.”

  Cara pulled Winton away to a table where there was coffee and dry cookies, stifling a laugh the whole way. “How you really holding up, cuz?” she asked. Cara was ten years younger than Winton, but they’d always connected, ever since she was little. Either they’d both received the same set of smart-ass genes, or he’d helped mold her into one. Either way, their mutual first-rate smart-assery made them a fitting pair in their family.

  “Been better.”

  “You look good. Like, just all around better.”

  Winton shrugged. “I went gluten-free.”

  She laughed. “I can’t tell if you’re joking. Ah, Winnie Pooh bear, I miss having you around. You’re the only one in
the family who makes sense to me.”

  “Good to see you too, Care Bear.”

  “They say the surgery is supposed to take four hours. That’s if it goes real simple. You gonna make it here that long?”

  “Definitely not.” It occurred to Winton that he could get to Baton Rouge and back in that time. “Hey, Cara, those acting lessons doing any good?”

  “I’d say on the path to stardom I’m somewhere between Honey Boo Boo and Jennifer Lawrence.”

  Winton smirked. “How about you use some of that skill to extricate me for about three hours, and I’ll help you with rent money next time you’re destitute.”

  “Whata you gonna do with three hours?”

  “Looking into something.” He wanted to tell her about Lucas, but figured the less anyone knew the better. “It’s important. I promise. I’m not just shirking family.”

  “Not that I’d blame you, Win. But all right. How dramatic you need it to be? More J-Law or Boo Boo?”

  They smiled to one another and edged back toward the family. Cara faked a phone call from a friend who desperately needed cash to get her car out of impound. She clutched the phone to her chest. “Winton, is there any way you could help her? I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

  “Now’s not the time for that,” Aunt Debbie said. “Family.”

  Cara made a face as if the rationale was completely obvious. “You said we should pull out the stops. How is doing our Christian duty gonna hurt our situation?”

  Aunt Debbie went a little cross-eyed and for once had no response. With that, Winton stood and clasped his mom’s hands. “You gonna be okay?” he asked with a tilt of his head. She squeezed his hands and smiled through watery eyes. “So glad I raised you right.”

  Instead of bolting, he held her gaze for a moment. “Me, too, Mom.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “It’s all gonna be okay.”

  SEVEN

  Five minutes later, Winton walked out of the hospital, his phone in hand, ready to look up bus schedules. He figured there had to be a daily Greyhound service to Baton Rouge, but when he looked, he saw that the bus for that day had already departed.