“I beat it when I heard the siren. I know how it makes me sound, but my kids have got no one but me.”
“But the next morning, when you came to my hotel—if the whole point was to stop me from finding Dad, why tell me about Tricia?”
“I knew the minute I said it that it was a mistake, the stupidest thing I could have done, but like I said, I’m no criminal. My mind doesn’t work that way.” Jace wiped his brow, gripped his knees. Still, Caroline could see he was shaky. She almost felt sorry for him.
“Does Farley know?” she asked.
“Yeah, but he thinks you hit a brick wall. He thinks maybe it was a genius move, my sending you there.” Jace glanced at her. “Dad’s nomination isn’t the only thing on the line, Caro. Farley said he’d have my job, too, if I didn’t get rid of you.”
“Get rid of me?” Caroline repeated. “Like how? Murder? Is that what happened to Dad? Did they kill him?” Shock thinned her voice. She felt unhinged.
“No! Dade just wanted you the hell out of Omaha, away from my dad and the Tillman campus. Those guys, even Dade—they wouldn’t go that far. Not now, not back then.”
“How do you know? Like you just said, you ran me off the road, for God’s sake!”
“I was out of my mind, not thinking straight. I feel awful—”
“Yes. You’ve said.” His reassurances did nothing for the tension coiled tightly in her stomach. “Tricia told me about an investigative reporter, Kip Penny?”
“I know who he is. So?” Jace looked cautious, as if he were uncertain of her motive in bringing up the reporter.
“So I talked at length with him this morning.”
“Does he know where Hoff is?”
“No. But he seems to think there’s still a lot Dade and his cronies could lose. They could have been involved in bank fraud, Jace. Did you know that?”
He might as well have said yes aloud, given how quickly he averted his gaze.
“Did you know Dad disappeared right after Kip said he was going to alert the FBI?” Her panic at the timing, at its potential meaning, wanted to stand up in her gut. She shoved it down. She couldn’t allow it or the conclusion it would lead her to—that this double-dealing bunch of crooks had murdered her dad to shut him up for good. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t targeted Kip too. He wasn’t the one who had gone after the hard evidence, the banking documents Kip had insisted he’d needed. Without those, the reporter was no threat to Farley Dade and his gang of thugs, and they’d logically left him alone. She fisted her hands, feeling her nails bite into the soft flesh of her palms. She would not, could not, lose it.
“It was a long time ago, Caroline.” Jace was trying to placate her. “There’s no way the feds would come after Dad or any of those guys now.”
“But your dad, Farley Dade, and his gang of boosters—they did go after my dad back then, right?” She locked Jace’s gaze.
“No,” he said, “they didn’t.”
“How can you be so sure?” Frustration knifed through her voice.
“Because Dad and Farley hired a private investigator at the time to look for Hoff. Even you would have to agree that’s not something you do if you killed the guy. And no, before you ask, the PI didn’t find him.”
“You know that for a fact.” Caroline felt the tiniest thrill of relief. Jace was right. You wouldn’t pay money to have someone hunt down your murder victim.
“The investigator’s name is Bill Devlin. His brother, Joel, is a police detective, and at the time he was working missing persons in Omaha. Joel did some digging off the record. Cops didn’t have the tools to hunt down a person back then like they have now, but Joel did what he could. He put out a description of your dad. I think there was even a photo of him. It went all over the US, and a few tips did come in, but none of them panned out.”
“What would have happened if they had, if they found Dad?” Caroline asked over the darker thrust of renewed disappointment. It had been the same with the investigator Lanie had hired. It was as if her dad had vanished into thin air.
“I don’t know. They would have wanted to be sure he didn’t talk—and no, they wouldn’t have resorted to violence, I’m telling you.” He cut her off before she could speak. “They would have tried to reason with him, tried to pay him off, probably, but I swear to you they wouldn’t have killed him. It would have been too risky, and if they got caught—they wouldn’t go that far. You’ve got to trust me on this.”
Caroline looked away. Anything might have happened. For all she knew Jace was lying. She wanted to shake him. She wanted to threaten him the way he had her. She could do it too. Call the Omaha police on him for causing her accident. Unlike her situation with her husband, she had no loyalty whatsoever to Jace.
He spoke again before she could. “There’s more. Don’t freak on me, okay?”
She jerked her gaze to his. “Just tell me.” She was angry now and glad for the heat of it, grateful for how it settled her nerves.
“A while back, maybe a year or so ago, when Dad heard about his nomination, he got hold of Bill and asked him if he’d take another look for Hoff.”
Caroline’s heartbeat slowed. “He found my dad?”
“Not exactly. It’s weird. I don’t really understand myself what led Bill to this person. Guy lives in Kerrville, drives a semi. When Bill showed the guy Hoff’s photo, he said he knew Hoff, that he gave him a ride. They got to be friends after that, I guess.”
“Are you serious? Where is he? Here? In Houston?” Caroline’s voice seemed separate from her and far away.
“No, he’s in Texas, but out in the country, near a little town—” Jace got out his wallet, took out what looked like a business card, and handed it to her. “Turn it over.”
She did and read the information written there: Lone Pine, and beneath it, south of Lampasas. Caroline looked up at Jace. “I’ve never heard of Lone Pine, but Lampasas is in the Hill Country.” She felt light headed, breathless. If she’d had to stand up, she doubted she could have managed. After everything she’d been through, to think he was here in Texas . . . it was almost more than she could take in.
“Is that close?”
“It’s northwest, about a four- or five-hour drive.” She put her fingertips to her temples. “I can’t believe . . .” She found Jace’s gaze. “He’s been here all these years?”
“If it’s really him, I guess so.”
“His second wife—Julia—she and her son, Harris, live out there, in Wyatt, not far south of Lampasas.” Caroline took a moment, trying to settle her mind, work out the significance of her dad being so close to his second family, if there was a significance. Lanie had said Julia had promised to call if she heard from Hoff, but there was also the chance that he would have requested that Julia not contact his family. “Did Bill talk to the man?” she asked Jace.
“He went there. The location—it’s not like a formal address.”
“What do you mean?”
“The way Bill talked, the place is pretty far off the road, back in the woods. He said it was run-down, more like a shack. No water or electricity, nothing like that. He knocked on the door, and when no one answered, he walked around on the property, but he never saw anyone.”
Caroline didn’t know what to make of the images Jace’s words painted in her mind. She didn’t even know how to think about them. She let her gaze drift. The swing set was empty now. The woman and her children who had been there were gone. In fact, the whole park was deserted. It was colder, Caroline realized. A wind had come up. She huddled in her sweater.
Jace said, “Bill waited in his car, hoping someone would show up, but they never did. He had to leave.”
“So he doesn’t know if the guy living there was my dad or not.”
“Not positively, no, but he stopped at a café north of Lone Pine in Lampasas on his way to catch his flight out of Dallas. He had the guy who identified Hoff in the first place—the truck driver—come and meet him there. Bill showed him the photo
again, and he was positive it was Hoff, although that’s not the name the man goes by. There was a waitress there, too, and a couple other folks looked at the photo—they all agreed it was Hoff—”
“What name does he go by?” Caroline was almost afraid to ask, afraid to feel the fizz of excitement brewing in her brain. It was hard to breathe.
“Ray Berry.”
“Raymond Berry?” She sat upright, disbelieving, unable now to stifle the surge of her hope.
“You know the name?”
“My dad’s favorite football player of all time was Raymond Berry.”
“Wide receiver for the Baltimore Colts back in the day, right?”
“Yes. He and Johnny Unitas were one of the greatest pass-catch teams in football history. Dad always said Raymond was the epitome of the character and discipline it takes to play the game. My God . . .” She was dumbfounded, nearly paralyzed with the wonder of it.
“You really think this guy could be Hoff?”
Caroline looked at Jace. “Dad used to say we were partners, like Unitas and Berry. I was Unitas; he was Berry.” Her voice caught; her eyes burned with tears. It was so right, so perfect, the exact name her father would have chosen to create a new identity. She stood up. “Where can I reach Bill?”
“That’s his business card you’re holding. His contact information is on the front.” Jace stood up too.
She turned the card over. Bill Devlin, it read, along with his Omaha-based address and phone number. She glanced at Jace. “Thank you, I guess.”
“I’m really sorry, Caro, for coming after you.” Remorse graveled his voice. “I let Dade get to me—”
“You should go to the police in Omaha about him, Jace. This whole thing with the recruits, even if it was twenty-plus years ago, he’s obviously still invested in covering it up. Suppose he doesn’t stop at threatening your job?”
Jace looked off into the middle distance.
“If the police had their eye on him there, I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder. It’s the least you can do. I won’t pursue charges in regard to the accident,” she added, and she felt it a fair bargain. She didn’t know whether the threat of violence from Dade was real or not, but it would be a relief to know he was under scrutiny by law enforcement either way.
“Yeah, okay, I can do that.” Jace looked away, brought his gaze back. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How when you want to do the right thing, the fallout is never contained. There’s always some kind of bullshit collateral damage. Innocent folks who’re gonna get hurt.”
Thinking of Rob, Caroline could have said she knew all about it, that honesty had a price, a dark side. Instead she wished Jace well. What he’d done, she thought on her way to her car, as bad as it was, at least he’d owned it. He’d taken steps to make it right—if everything he’d said was the truth, and if she wasn’t a fool for wanting to believe him. She thought of Kip’s suggestion that she involve the police. She’d said the same thing to Jace. Maybe the time had come to take her own advice, no second thoughts or second-guessing.
Inside her car, she keyed the ignition, turned up the heat, and pulled her phone and Steve Wayman’s card from her purse.
16
Harris—Saturday, January 13
You weren’t followed, were you, hon?”
Harris turns from the window above the parking lot, where he’s left his truck, and looks around at Cal. Her drapes are some god-awful pattern, brown with orange flowers, but they’re thick, so although it’s afternoon on a bright, sunny day, the light in her apartment is shrouded in darkness; her round face is a puzzle of shadows. Still, he can tell he’s upset her, showing up out of the blue. He tries to reassure her. “If I was, I lost them coming into town.”
He took the turnoff for the old rail yard on the outskirts of Greeley as he came into town, having remembered the yard from his high school days. It was where kids went to drink and smoke dope. Mess around in the railcars that were abandoned there. He parked between two of them, rusted walls hulking on either side, waited, and saw nothing, heard nothing other than the muted sound of traffic from the highway, the wind blowing through patches of dry waist-high grass.
“I’m surprised to see you,” Cal says, backing toward the La-Z-Boy recliner in the corner of the living room and sitting heavily. She parks her cane between her knees. “But I guess this ain’t a social visit. You don’t look too good.”
“Yeah, pretty much feel like shit.” Harris wipes his face. “I’m sorry to show up out of nowhere. I tried calling, but your number isn’t working.”
“I got a new one. In my business it pays to change it up every so often.” Cal motions Harris to a seat on the couch. “Switch on that lamp there, if you want.” She gestures toward the end table.
He says it’s fine.
“Too much light hurts my eyes these days,” Cal says.
“How have you been?” Harris asks.
“Fair to middlin’,” Cal answers. “Got diagnosed with diabetes. Now along with everything else I got to watch what I put in my mouth. But you didn’t come to talk about my health. What can I do for you?”
“I wish I could say nothing,” Harris laughs. The sound isn’t funny.
“Hon, don’t we all. You should see all the pills I got to swallow these days. Everything that’s wrong with me has just ruined my life. My daughter won’t let me keep the grandkids no more. She says she can’t trust me. Like it’s my fault.” Cal heaves herself from the chair. “Like I asked to be in this world of hurt.”
Harris watches her leave the room. Has he asked for this? Does it even matter? He puts his head into his hands.
“I’ve got Oxy, forties, or morphine tabs,” Cal hollers.
From the bedroom, Harris thinks. “Whatever,” he calls back.
She brings him the Oxys and a glass of water.
He swallows them dry, chases them with water. Pulls cash from his pocket, handing it to her. Forty bucks he got earlier from the ATM. He was afraid to withdraw more, although given the state of his marriage right now, he has a lot more to answer for than where he spent forty dollars. “Give me whatever this’ll buy?” He looks up at Cal.
She nods, disappears, and comes back with a small plastic vial. “There’s four in there. I’m doin’ you a deal.”
Harris thanks her and gets up.
“You need anything else, you call first, okay?” She gives him her new cell number, and he programs it into his phone. “Don’t come by here no more. I’ll meet you. I don’t want to give my daughter any more reasons to keep the grands from coming here.”
“I’m sorry,” Harris repeats.
“It’s all right. But them kids mean the world to me. I just want to get back right so she’ll let me keep ’em, you know? I just want to be a regular grandma that bakes cookies with ’em and snuggles with ’em on the couch. Simple stuff like that.” Her voice quavers.
“Sure,” Harris says without enthusiasm. He goes to the window and cracks the drape, searching the parking lot again for a sign of anything unusual, even though he knows he’s making Cal nervous.
“You see anything that shouldn’t be there?” she asks.
“No. Probably just paranoia.” He tries a smile, and on a whim he goes to her, brushes her cheek with a kiss.
She smiles up at him, pleasure pinking her face. “You be safe now, you hear?” she says. “And don’t be such a stranger. Folks like us have to stick together.”
He wants to say he’s nothing like her, that her comparison sickens him, but the stone-cold truth is that they are alike, both of them afflicted in the same sad way. At the door, he turns to salute her, fingertips to his brow. “Thanks,” he tells her, and closing the door, he walks quickly to the stairs, heels ringing on the concrete. Already he feels better, steadier. He feels filled with purpose, as if he might yet get out from under the pile of shit that’s buried him.
He’s beneath the window of Cal’s apartment, his foot resting on the driver’s-side running board of his truck
, when the dark-colored sedan stops behind the truck bed. Before he can fully register that it’s very like the vehicle that followed him earlier, the driver cracks open the car door. Harris sets his foot on the pavement, steeling himself. Maybe, if he’s lucky, it’s just some stranger looking for directions. He lets the truck door close, prepares to say he can’t help them. That’s his last coherent thought before he registers it’s not some stranger who’s blocked him in.
It’s Kyle; it’s his son.
Harris’s knees loosen. “What the hell—?” he begins.
“Yeah, Dad!” Kyle rounds the front of the car. He’s red faced, shouting. “What the hell! You tell me, okay?” Pinning Harris to the side of the truck, he thumps Harris’s chest. “Tell me, Dad. What the hell, because I’d really like to know.”
“Whose car are you driving?” Harris asks like it matters. But even as he speaks, the knowledge is sinking like an ax blade into his brain—that it was Kyle who followed him, who fooled him deliberately by driving someone else’s car.
“I know everything, Dad.” Kyle grabs a fistful of Harris’s windbreaker, jerking him forward, shoving him back. “I know you’re on dope, that you’re buying it off Gee. Gee! Of all goddamn people! What the fuck, Dad? You’re the athletic director, the fucking coach. You’re all the time preaching about ethics and morals, making the right choices, being a leader!”
Harris can’t answer. He feels sick. Even if there were an answer, he’s lost the power to speak. When Kyle slugs Harris in the chest again, Harris doesn’t react. He doesn’t look at Kyle but beyond him. Something draws his gaze up, and he sees Cal looking down on him from her window. The curtain flicks shut the moment their eyes meet. He’s on his own. She can’t help him. He thinks of a story she told him once of how she got her name: Calliope. Her mama, she said, loved the circus, everything about it, including the music. His life is a circus, Harris thinks.
“You’re on something now, aren’t you?” Kyle jerks Harris by his jacket. “Aren’t you?”
“What do you want me to say? That you’re right, I’m on something? Okay. Yeah. I am.” He sounds defiant, like a kid would sound, like he’s got a right to a defense. What a joke.
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