“How long did you and Bobby know each other?” Penfield asked.
“Since first grade. We were both born and raised here. We aren’t no come-heres.”
“When did you discover Bobby’s secret?” he asked.
Buddy hesitated.
Then he said, “He don’t have no secret, not one that I know about.”
Penfield thought the answer had come a full second too slowly. Buddy was no accomplished liar, and it had taken him too long to process the lie. He’d also added the disclaimer “Not one that I know about.” It was a lazy attempt to make his lie more believable.
“Did he tell you, or did you figure it out for yourself?” Penfield asked.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.”
“The man’s dead. Now you got to drag his reputation through the mud?”
“We’re not trying to do that. We’re not even judging him. We don’t care what he was, but it’s still a secret and a big one at that. Chances are, you got one secret, you probably have others, too. I’m betting you know what those are,” Penfield said.
“He didn’t tell me nothing.”
“Were you ashamed of him?” Emma asked.
“He was my friend.”
“Did Bobby have someone? Someone he might have been close to?” Penfield asked.
Buddy didn’t respond.
“Mr. Butler, we’re trying to find the truth of who killed Bill Tatum and my partner. Maybe Bobby killed his father. Maybe it was someone else on that boat. If there’s someone out there who might have heard something from Bobby, we really need to talk to him,” Emma said.
“I don’t even know his last name.”
“Then what’s his first one?” Penfield asked.
Buddy hesitated again.
Then he muttered, “Danny.”
“How did they know each other?” Penfield asked.
“Bobby met him at some bar. He’s a bartender or something. I think it’s in Hampton. I don’t even know the name of the place.”
“Did you ever meet this Danny?” Emma asked.
“No. I don’t know nothing about him other than what I just told you.”
Buddy looked away again. Emma turned to Penfield, and he nodded. She turned back to Buddy, who was still looking back at the docks.
“Thank you, Mr. Butler,” Emma said.
Buddy turned to her.
“You’re not gonna say nothing to anyone else, are you? Bobby was a good man.”
“We won’t tell anyone,” Emma said, but it was a promise she might not be able to keep.
Penfield walked Emma back to her car. They stopped by the driver’s door and watched Buddy Butler as he pulled his truck out of the parking lot. Emma turned back to Penfield.
“What’s your bet on whether this Danny guy knows anything?” Emma asked.
“If they were together, then he probably knows a lot. People have a way of telling their lovers things they’d never tell anyone else. You did get a chance to go through Bobby’s phone, didn’t you?”
“There was nothing out of the ordinary. No odd text messages or emails. No calls to anyone we couldn’t identify. There certainly wasn’t anything that would have indicated he was in some kind of relationship with someone other than his estranged wife. He barely even communicated with her anyway, at least not by that phone.”
“Which backs up her claim that their marriage had been over for a while.”
“Exactly, and it also explains the total lack of negative messages between the two of them. The handful of texts between them were pretty innocuous. I wasn’t able to make sense of that at first.”
“Maybe he had a second phone that he used to contact Danny,” Penfield suggested.
“Why, especially if you and your wife have broken things off? What’s to hide at that point?”
“Unless you used that same phone to plan two murders,” he guessed.
“Maybe Bobby and Ben’s killer did all their communicating in person. Maybe they didn’t want to risk someone seeing a message they weren’t supposed to see.”
“I still don’t understand the connection to Ben Hall. What the hell did he have to do with this, and why was that word carved into his back?” Penfield asked.
Emma looked out to the bay. She still didn’t have an answer to that question, and if she admitted the truth to herself, it was really the only question that mattered to her. She couldn’t care less about the Tatums, but they seemed to be the only path to discovering who’d killed Ben.
She turned back to Penfield. He also seemed lost in thought.
“How hard do you think it’s going to be to find this bar? There’s got to be a ton of bars in Hampton, if that’s even the right city.”
“You narrow it down to gay bars. I’m sure Bobby didn’t drive all that way just for a beer.”
“If we do find Danny, and he doesn’t know anything, I don’t know where to turn to next.”
Penfield didn’t respond. He knew she was right, but he had no comforting words to add.
“I’ll make some calls and see if I can track the guy down,” Emma continued. “I’ll let you know if I find something.”
Emma said goodbye to Penfield and walked back to her car. He watched as she backed out of her parking space and left the marina. Penfield thought about leaving as well, but instead he headed back to the dock. He walked to the boat named Sally. The bloody water was still floating across the boat’s deck. Penfield wondered what would become of the deadrise.
Two of the three people who worked it were now gone. He didn’t know if Charles Ray would continue with his family’s legacy of being a waterman, or if he would give it up and search for a new way of life. Those thoughts raised questions about his own situation. He was earning nothing by helping with the Tatum investigation. In a way, it was just a distraction from him facing his own problems.
Penfield looked out toward Mobjack Bay. The wind had picked up even more, and the waves were even choppier as they smashed against the dock’s algae-covered pylons. A seagull squalled overhead, and Penfield glanced at the sky. He saw a single bird flying in a wide circle, its wings stretched out as it used the strong updraft of the wind to stay high above.
Chapter 12
The Black Flies
Henry Atwater stepped into the tall brush. He felt his feet sink into the mud, and the next second his shoes filled with cold water. He wanted to turn back, but he had to move forward. The boy was out there. He knew it from the depth of his being. He walked down the shoreline for what felt like a mile. The gray water was completely devoid of boats, and all he could see was the dark outline of the trees on the other side of the river. The sun had set behind them, and the red and orange glow in the low sky made it appear as if the woods were on fire.
Finally, he heard the voice of men in the background.
“Atwater, come here!” one of them yelled.
Atwater made his way around a sharp bend in the coastline. Several large trees had blocked his view, but now he saw three men dressed in police uniforms. One of the men held a shovel.
“Where is he?” the man with the shovel asked.
“I don’t know,” Atwater replied.
“You have to know. You saw him. He’ll die if you don’t find him.”
Atwater walked around the marshy area. He sank to the middle of his shins, and he struggled to climb out of the mud that seemed determined to hold onto him.
He kept waiting for the answer to come to him. Where was the boy? He had to be here. Atwater looked over to a tree and saw a thin, frayed rope wrapped around the base of the trunk. That was the marker. There was no other explanation.
“He’s over here!” Atwater cried out.
The three officers walked over to Atwater and began to dig in the soft soil. The dirt turned to thick, heavy mud as they dug deeper into the earth.
“Are you sure this is it?” one of the men asked.
“It has to be. He’s here
. I know it,” Atwater promised.
The men dug for several more minutes. Soon the hole was a few feet deep. Atwater felt the first drops of rain fall on his head and shoulders. He looked up and saw the dark clouds above. Thunder boomed in the distance, and then the sky opened. Rain fell in thick sheets, and the wind blew hard off the surface of the river. The tall reeds around them began to all bend away from the water.
The men continued to dig until one of the shovels finally struck something hard. They cleared away the surface and found a wooden lid. It took several more minutes of frantic digging until the edges of the wooden box were exposed. One of the officers shoved the tip of the shovel under the edge of the lid. He pried the shovel back. Atwater watched at the black handle of the shovel bent under the man’s weight. He was convinced the shovel would break when he heard the wooden lid finally groan and creak as it popped free.
The three officers all reached under the lid and pulled it away from the box. One of the men reached into his back pocket and removed a flashlight. He shined it into the box, but there was no one there.
“Where is he?” one of the officers asked.
“He should have been there,” Atwater said.
“What did you do to him?” another officer asked.
“I did nothing. Someone got here first. It has to be.”
“You did this. You killed him,” the third officer said.
“No. I swear. I didn’t harm the boy.”
One of the officers grabbed Atwater by the arm. He yanked him hard toward the box in the mud.
“Don’t do this,” Atwater pleaded.
The man ignored Atwater and pushed him into the box.
“Don’t do this.”
The other two officers lowered the lid onto the box. The sides of the box shook as they pounded the nails back into the makeshift coffin. Atwater heard the smack of the mud being shoveled back onto the lid. He was being buried alive. The last thing Atwater heard was the muffled sound of the thunder in the distance. He pressed his hands against the lid, but there was no way he would be able to free himself.
Atwater opened his eyes. He saw the shadow of the rain rolling down his bedroom window. He heard the thunder a moment later. He rolled onto his side and looked out the window. The rain was pouring. His subconscious mind must have picked up on the sound and set the stage for his latest nightmare. It had been an odd combination of the time he’d found Penfield as a boy, along with his latest premonition of death. The dream felt so real, and he struggled to calm his shaking body.
He sat up on the edge of his bed and reached for the glass of water on his nightstand. He swallowed it in three long gulps. He debated whether to call Penfield and ask him if he’d gotten involved in the case. He assumed he had since it didn’t seem likely Penfield would have accepted his warning.
Atwater was about to lay back down when the side of his face started to itch. He scratched at it, but the itching only grew worse. Then he heard a buzzing sound as if some insect was flying around his head. He tried to swat the bug away, but the buzzing only intensified. The itching continued to increase and then the bug stung him on the face. He turned on the light to find the bee that was still buzzing around him. The sound got louder and louder as if there was a giant hive just above his head, but he didn’t see anything.
He walked quickly into the master bathroom to escape the insects. He turned on the light and looked into the mirror to see how badly he’d been stung. That’s when he saw them: a swarm of black insects were devouring one side of his face. He screamed and tried to swat them away, but they wouldn’t move. He turned on the faucet and splashed water on the insects, but it had no effect. He looked at the mirror again and saw the bones of his jaw through the eaten flesh. His face was rapidly vanishing before his eyes.
Atwater screamed and opened his eyes again. He was no longer in his bathroom. He was leaning back in a chair in his living room. He quickly touched the side of his face that had been devoured by the black insects. Everything seemed to feel fine. He turned toward the large window beside him and checked his reflection in the dark glass. His face looked as it always did. It had been nothing but another nightmare.
Chapter 13
Danny Keller
Penfield looked at the clock on the car’s dashboard. It was a few minutes before nine in the evening. Emma had called him a couple of hours earlier. It hadn’t taken her very long to locate Danny. There were only two gay bars in Hampton, and she’d discovered a Danny Keller worked as a bartender at the second one. His shift was due to start soon.
The rain had started on the drive over to the bar. Penfield turned the wipers on and off to clear his windshield. He glanced around the parking lot but still didn’t see Emma’s car. He reached across to the passenger seat to grab a bottle of water he’d tossed there earlier. The stretching movement caused the pain in his side to flare again.
His phone vibrated on his lap. Penfield looked at the display and saw it was Emma.
“Hello,” he said.
“I’m in the bar. Are you close?”
“Just outside. I’ll be right in.”
Penfield ended the call and turned off the car. He opened the door and stepped out into the pouring rain. He broke out into a slow jog toward the bar’s front door, but the pain in his side flared again. He slowed down to a walk, afraid that the pain rushing through his abdomen and down his leg would cause him to fall over. He stopped just outside the door and tried to push the pain away. He didn’t want Emma or anyone else to see him like this. Despite the cold weather, he found that he’d broken out in a sweat. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his coat. He took long, deep breaths and counted to ten. The pain slowly subsided.
Penfield opened the door and entered the bar. The place was packed, despite the lousy weather and it being a weeknight. The cacophony of voices and loud music blended into an earsplitting buzz. Penfield took a quick glance around the room but heard Emma’s voice before he actually saw her.
“Hey there,” she said behind him.
Penfield turned around. He saw Emma was still dressed in her business suit.
“Did you find him yet?” he asked.
Emma looked over to the bar.
“There’s only three bartenders. One of them has to be Danny Keller.”
“Let’s go see what he knows.”
They walked over to the bar. It was jammed with customers, all vying for a bartender’s attention. Penfield nudged his way past a couple of people and leaned forward as one of the bartenders walked near him.
“I’m looking for Danny Keller. Is he here tonight?” Penfield asked.
The bartender nodded toward one of the other bartenders and continued his way to the cash register. Penfield turned to Emma and pointed to Danny. He was of average height and had a good physique that he showed off with a tight T-shirt and jeans. Penfield guessed his age at around twenty-five, which would make him a good ten years younger than Bobby Tatum.
“That’s him,” Penfield said.
“Got it.”
Emma walked to the other side of the bar. Danny finished mixing a drink and turned to Emma.
“What can I get you?”
“I’d like a few minutes of your time,” Emma said.
“I’m kind of busy right now, lady.”
Emma reached into her pocket and held up her detective’s badge.
“That wasn’t a request.”
Danny turned to one of the other bartenders.
“Be back in five,” he said.
“Now?” the bartender complained.
“I’ll bring him right back,” Emma promised.
Danny walked from behind the bar.
“Is there a place around here that isn’t so loud?” Emma asked.
“In the back.”
He led Penfield and Emma to a small office in the back of the bar. They entered, and Danny shut the door behind them. The sound immediately morphed into a dull throbbing.
“What’s this about?�
�� Danny asked.
“We want to talk to you about Bobby Tatum,” Emma said.
Danny didn’t respond, but Penfield studied his reaction.
“You’re worried about him. Why?” Penfield asked.
“Look, I don’t know what he told you, but it wasn’t my fault. The guy wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“What are you talking about?” Emma asked.
“That’s why you’re here, the fight?”
“What fight?” Penfield asked.
“He came in here the other night. Things got a little heated, and one of the bouncers had to escort him out.”
“You mean they roughed him up,” Penfield said.
“I didn’t see what happened once they got him outside. I didn’t want to see.”
“When you said he wouldn’t leave you alone, what kind of history did you two have?” Emma asked.
“What’s going on?”
Emma glanced over to Penfield. He nodded. She turned back to Danny.
“Bobby was arrested for murder,” she said.
“Oh my God. Who did he kill?”
Emma ignored his question.
“We’re trying to get background information on him. A friend of his told us you were dating Bobby. Is that true?” Penfield asked.
“We weren’t dating. The guy came in here from time to time. We hooked up once. That was it.”
“How long ago was that?” Emma asked.
“Maybe a month. He started coming here a lot after that. I told him he got the wrong idea. I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”
“But he was,” Penfield guessed.
“Sometimes they just can’t get the hint.”
“How well did you know him?” Emma asked.
“Not well.”
“Did you know he was married?” she asked.
Danny laughed.
“Yeah, I knew it, but half the guys in here are.”
“Did he talk at all about his family?” Penfield asked.
“He never said anything about them. I think the only thing I really knew was that he was from Gloucester, and he was a fisherman or something. He was a good-looking guy, but what happened between us didn’t mean anything.”
Dead Rise: An Alex Penfield Novel Page 9