All Through the Night (16 page)
S
unday morning, Wayne joined Julio and Victoria for another dose of church. He spent the afternoon and early evening working on the new computer Tatyana had left with him. The laptop had a high-speed remote linkup, which he used to troll the Web for everything he could find about Eric Stroud and Teledyne.
Toward sunset, Jerry arrived at Wayne’s cottage with Foster and Julio in tow. They prepared and ate a shepherd’s pie and reheated biscuits like they’d been dining together for years. Wayne took a call from Tatyana after dinner, walking the cell phone she’d left him out into the trees for privacy. Not that it was needed. Tatyana was in a breathless hurry. She asked about his day, reported that she had to fly off that night for an all-day conference, asked if he’d meet her at the airport the next evening, and hung up.
Wayne remained outside with the sunset’s last glimmer for company. He walked down to the bayside. Wind briefly touched the palms lining the waterfront. They dimpled the water with remnants of the day’s storm. Two dolphins appeared, their fins rising and falling in musical cadence. They were close enough for Wayne to hear the sigh from their blowholes. He stood there until the darkness erased his ability to follow them, then returned home.
Home.
The guys were gone but had left the lights on for him. A natural gesture among men comfortable enough with each other not to need farewells. He saw Julio on Victoria’s porch, the kid’s face glowing in the light of a single lamp. He was hunched over a book in his lap. The lady was nowhere to be seen. Wayne entered his cottage and closed the door, wishing he could shut out his questions and his fears so easily.
He slept well and did not dream. He awoke the hour after dawn—a long night for him. When he descended his front stairs, he saw Julio on Victoria’s porch, waiting for him.
Together they jogged through veils of mist, the damp air a mere myth of morning coolness. The palms and live oaks were half-formed sentinels who measured their passage in stately silence. Wayne let Julio set the pace. When they arrived at the massive new housing development, the young man stopped and huffed over his shoes. Wayne patted his shoulder and ran on. When he returned forty-five minutes later, Julio turned from his inspection of bulldozers scarring the earth. Wayne pushed them a little harder down the community’s front lane, challenging by example. Julio kept up with him. Huffing hard, sweating harder, but determined.
They found Foster and Jerry casting lures off the bank. Wayne and Julio stretched under the loblolly pines for almost twenty minutes. The air was scented with sap and the ground cushioned by years of needles. Cardinals sang the only words the morning required.
Julio’s first words of the day were, “Miss Victoria, she wants to fix us all breakfast.”
Jerry was reeling in his line before Julio was finished. “I smelled something mighty fine on the way down here.”
Foster kept his back to the others, staring out over the water. “I’ll pass.”
“Say that again.”
“What, a man can’t want a little peace and quiet for a while?”
Jerry shook his head, then turned and walked away, gesturing for Wayne and Julio to follow.
Wayne waited until Julio had peeled off to go shower to ask, “What’s going on between Foster and Victoria?”
“All I know is his side, which has got a lot less to do with Victoria than with what the man left behind in Philly.” Jerry followed Wayne up his front stairs and into Wayne’s cottage. “Foster and his wife ran a half-dozen dry cleaners they’d bought using money they raised from all the family. He lost his wife to something awful and pretty much fell apart. His nephew went from managing one shop to top dog. When Foster was ready to come back, his nephew wasn’t ready to let go. The family backed the nephew.”
Wayne stepped into his bedroom and kicked his shoes into the closet. “What does this have to do with Victoria?”
Jerry replied through the open door, “Foster never got that far, and the lady ain’t saying.”
Wayne showered and dressed and returned to the living room. He was on the verge of asking what had landed Jerry in the retirement center, until he saw the man’s face. Dark and stolid and unblinking. Stiff as the man’s big body. Ready to deflect with a cop’s expertise. So all Wayne said was, “Ready?”
On the way over to Victoria’s, however, Wayne had an idea. “I’ll be right with you.”
Wayne headed back down to the water alone. Foster was where they had left him, throwing his lure toward the green island he would never reach. Wayne stood behind him for a time, giving the older man a chance to send him away. When Foster said nothing, he offered, “When Tatyana called last night, she asked me to take the Ferrari to the Orlando dealer.”
The hand reeling in the lure hesitated, then kept winding.
Wayne said, “I’m thinking we should make a day of it. Drop you off at the airport on the way. Come back after I see about the car, you and me take Julio to Disney.”
Another cast. “How do we get home?”
“We could ask Jerry to follow us in the truck. Or Tatyana said she’d rent us a car.”
The frenetic rewind slowed. “That could work.”
“Maybe you ought to join us at Victoria’s, tank up before we take off.” Wayne let that hang for a moment, then patted the bony shoulder and turned away.
Victoria was there on her little front porch when he returned down the path. But her eyes were fastened upon the empty path behind him. “He’s not coming?”
“I guess not.” The door squeaked softly as he entered her porch. “What’s between you two?”
A look he had never seen before came and went in that softly seamed face. “All people have walls between them and God. Same wall, different reasons.”
“We were talking about you and Foster.”
“That’s right. We were.” She seemed to teeter slightly as she reentered her little home. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”
But Wayne was halted in the doorway by the sight of his sister seated on Victoria’s sofa next to Julio. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you. Having breakfast.”
“Sorry. Dumb question.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I was planning on coming by later.”
“Saved you a trip.” The hand holding her fork rose and touched the spot on her cheek. “Wow. An apology and a smooch on the same day. Somebody must be doing some heavy lifting in your life.”
Julio’s plate was piled to the brim. His fork made a continual arc between the dish and his mouth. “Don’t look at me.”
Her thoughtful expression refocused upon the young man. “You’re doing good too, you know.”
Julio’s fork paused in midair. “You talking nice to me?”
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
“Wow. A miracle.” He beamed at Victoria. “Guess what you been telling me is right after all.”
Victoria handed Wayne a plate, utensils, and a paper napkin. “You bet your life, son.”
Wayne took the seat next to his sister. “How you been?”
“Never better. The kids are fine, the hubby’s happy, Julio is down here behaving himself, my brother kisses me hello. God is good.”
Victoria said, “Amen.”
Eilene asked, “Where’s Tatyana?”
“She called me last night from the airport. She had to go somewhere and do some work.”
Eilene smiled. “Good old Wayne. The best there is at passing on life’s little details.”
“I was wondering if I could ask you something.”
Eilene glanced at Victoria and said, “About angels.”
Jerry snorted. Wayne looked over. His dark friend kept his eyes on his food. “That’s right,” Wayne said.
Eilene reached into the briefcase at her feet. She came up with a worn Bible. “Here’s the deal. I can walk you through the pages. But it won’t do you any good unless you’re willing to listen to more than just me.”
“So you think this guy I saw could be, well …”
“I don’t know the answer to that. And neither will you, long as you let the past stand between you and what’s inside this Book.”
He worked through a couple of bites, chewing on more than the food. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“I’m hearing what you’re saying.”
She clearly had not been expecting anything as easy as that. “Will you pray with me?”
Wayne let the words hang there between them while he finished his breakfast. Long enough to go through all the times he had avoided that issue with his father. As in, slipping into his seat after the blessing had been said. Refusing to say the words himself, turning his father’s request into an argument about eighteenth century tribal missionaries in Hawaii and South America. Sparking the sort of standoffs that had ruled his homelife. Enduring his father’s frigid disapproval. Responding with a pretense of not caring at all.
Finally Wayne set his plate on the coffee table, wiped his hands, and asked, “Will you say the words?”
Eilene blinked at him, but could not speak.
“Here. Let me.” Victoria perched at the edge of her chair. “Let’s all bow our heads.”
Wayne heard the voice more than the words themselves, a gentle wash asking for wisdom and healing and a lot of other things he rarely named, much less figured he deserved. When Victoria was done, no one else met his eye. Not Jerry, nor Julio, and certainly not his sister.
“Three miracles in one morning. I don’t know how much more I can take.” Eilene fumbled in her briefcase and came up with a sheet of paper. She passed it over without looking at him directly. “These are some verses you may want to take a look at.”
“Thanks, sis.”
“Do you have a Bible?”
Victoria offered, “I can loan him one.”
“Okay. Fine.” She was breathing in little puffs of shock as she rose from her chair and stuffed her Bible back in her briefcase. She patted Wayne on the shoulder as she passed, then hesitated in the doorway, turned back, and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. The arm not holding her briefcase wrapped tightly around his neck. She kissed him a second time, then turned and walked from the home.
Wayne didn’t know what to expect as he returned down the path. He didn’t walk on air, he didn’t feel like he’d made some major breakthrough, he didn’t feel much of anything. Julio walked beside him in silence until Wayne said, “You know what’s strange? You say you don’t like the quiet, but when we’re together, you don’t have much to say.”
Julio shrugged. “I guess when I’m around you, I don’t feel like I need to.”
“I like that. I don’t know why, but I do. Thanks.”
“You know, I never prayed before. I guess I didn’t pray really then. Miss Victoria, she said the words and all. But it felt sorta like I was there with her.”
Wayne was going to say something back. Something about how he’d spent a lifetime avoiding what he’d just done. For reasons that right now didn’t mean much at all. How maybe what had happened was he had outgrown the reasons, or something.
But that was the moment the waterfront came into view, and what he said was, “Run get Jerry.”
“Where’s Foster?”
The signs were all too clear. A boat had dug a channel into the bank. A jumble of footprints marked a scuffle. The broken pole was half in and half out of the water. The line hung limp. The water was as empty as the bank. A loon cried a mournful warning.
Wayne turned and said, “Hurry.”
J
ohn’s Island security chief Officer Coltrane showed up about two hours later, in response to a call Wayne had placed. Wayne felt an illogical wash of relief at the sight of the big-bellied officer. The chief had given Wayne no reason to believe he might be an ally. Nor did he show anything in his expression. Even so, Wayne hurried over and said, “Thanks for coming. A lot.”
He nodded a hello to the lone Vero Beach cop standing at the waterfront. “What’ve we got here?”
“Possible abduction,” the cop answered. “But nobody saw anything.”
“Who’s the possible vic?”
“One Foster Oates, aged seventy-four, resident of the Hattie Blount Community for seven years and nine months.” Wayne guessed the Vero cop had to be in his late twenties but looked even younger. “Mild diabetic. Pacemaker. Widower. I’m thinking he might have wandered off.”
“He was kidnapped,” Wayne said. “The signs are clear enough. Or were, until you walked over them.”
Coltrane studied the waterfront a while, his gaze sweeping further and further until it came to rest where Jerry stood by Holly. “You folks live here too?”
“Six years,” Jerry replied.
“You been here a while too, ma’am?”
“Yes,” Holly replied. “Coming up on forever.”
Just beyond them, Eilene stood holding Victoria’s hand. Coltrane asked, “And you, miss?”
“Eilene Belote. I serve as occasional pastor.”
Victoria said nothing. Something about the way she continued to stare out over the water, her face lined with far more than age, kept the officer from asking about her. Beyond them stretched a semicircle that had gradually grown until it included almost everyone else in the community.
Jerry said, “Foster Oates is not the wandering kind.”
Holly added, “Foster has been on the community board for two years. He is extremely capable and very alert.”
The young cop shook his head and kicked at the narrow strip of sand lining the bank. He was hot, he was bored, and he showed a rising irritation over being surrounded by old people.
Jerry’s voice hardened. “That’s a crime scene you’re messing up there.”
The cop glanced over, his expression lost behind his shades. He kept kicking the earth.
Coltrane asked Jerry, “You a cop?”
“Thirty years. Orlando. Retired from Homicide.”
Coltrane turned to the young cop and said, “Why don’t you take a step or so back there, son.”
The young officer bristled. “Whose jurisdiction is this?”
“Yours. Which means if it does turn out to be a kidnapping, and there’s been a transport of the vic across state lines, you’re gonna have yourself a time explaining to the fibbies why you dug a furrow in their evidence.”
The cop did his best to stomp across the pine-cushioned ground. “I need to go call this in.”
“You do that.” Coltrane waited until the cop was out of range to say, “Tell me what you think happened here.”
“This is tied to the surveillance on Easton Grey,” Wayne said. “We messed up their operation. This is payback.”
“That why you called?”
“Partly. You see how the local cop is treating this. They’re going to shut us out. We can help here. Jerry’s got more time on the force than that punk’s been alive.”
“And you?” Coltrane stripped off his aviator shades. His eyes were tight and hard and pink-rimmed. “You good at what you do?”
“The best.”
He used both hands to slip the shades back behind his ears and settle them tight against his forehead. “We found bugs in almost every room of the Grey home. Four in his office. And cameras. Ultra high-tech stuff. Sent one off to the lab in Miami, got a call from the FBI agent in charge. Bottom line, this ain’t your basic beachside surveillance.”
Wayne asked, “Can you help us here?”
In response, the officer reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a cell phone. He hit a couple of buttons, waited, then said, “This is Coltrane. Our patrol boat back in the water? Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Swing on across the bay and pick up two fellers from the Hattie Blount Community. They’ll be waiting for you by the shore. They’ll tell you what they need.” He listened a second, then hung up. “Most likely this won’t do anybody any good. But we ought to just check out the local marinas and boats fishing off the island, see if they spotted anything.”
“Thanks,” Wayne said. “A lot.”
“I called that Mehan feller over in Naples. The detective said you were either a good man to have on your side or a felony waiting to happen. He couldn’t tell which.” The chief tilted his chin so that Wayne could see his distorted reflection in Coltrane’s sunglasses. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see how this dance turns out.”
The John’s Island patrol boat was a twenty-one-foot center-console with twin one-fifty Evinrudes. They covered the local marinas and all the boats within a five-mile radius in less than two hours. Jerry carried a photo of him and Foster on a boat from happier times. No one had seen him, or noticed any sign of a struggle on another boat. Fishermen were a private group who kept to themselves. Wayne had expected nothing less. Even so, he felt hollowed out and defeated when they returned. He thanked the patrol officers the best he could, but he knew they also felt they had wasted half a day on sunshine and empty waters.
Many of the community gathered at their return. Wayne held back while Jerry gave them the news, or lack of any. He waited until everyone had dispersed except for Holly, Victoria, and Eilene. He walked over to where they stood, flanked on one side by Julio and the other by Jerry.
Jerry said, “Still no call.”
Eilene said, “We’ve got volunteers manning the phone around the clock. Both Foster’s home and the community.”
Wayne directed his gaze at Holly. “I can leave if you want.”
“Leave?” Victoria sounded bereaved. “Leave and go where?”
“It’s your call,” Wayne said. “Whatever you decide, I understand.”
Eilene said, “This is not your fault, Wayne.”
“If what Jerry says is true about these things being connected, it might be. Or what I did yesterday trying to help Tatyana could have stirred them up.”
Holly bit her lip and did not speak.
“You can’t leave,” Victoria said. Her unsteady voice turned it into an abject plea. “Who would look after us?”
Wayne felt hundreds of eyes, as though even the folks who had returned to their homes were still watching. “There’s a chance if I leave, they’ll let Foster go.”
“Not much of one,” Jerry said. “More likely, you go and they think this is a lever they can keep using till they’re done.”
Victoria said, “Holly, tell him.” When the community chief did not respond fast enough, Victoria’s voice rose higher still. “Daughter, do it
now
.”
Holly blinked. Her voice was very weak. “Stay.”
Wayne nodded. It was hardly a resounding vote of confidence, but it was probably all he deserved. He said to Jerry, “We have to move.”
“I’m coming,” Julio said, and when Jerry looked over, he added, “He’s my friend too.”
“Let him help,” Victoria said. “But first we have to pray. Everybody, hold hands. Eilene, you say the words.”
The second time around was easier, though the feel of Jerry’s huge mitt in his own was odd. Not bad. Just odd. Wayne could not recall ever having touched a man that way. The sound of his sister praying for him brought up images of him waking in the Santa Fe park, watching a sunrise and feeling like her prayers were the only reason he made it back. Only this time he heard her words more closely and felt the impact more intensely, such that the feel of Jerry’s dry skin brought comfort. Standing alone, the moment would have been too weighed down with a lifetime of wrong moves.
Wayne rammed his truck through the afternoon I-95 traffic like the other vehicles were nothing but stationary obstacles. Jerry glanced over a couple of times, leaning across Julio to take in the quivering speedometer, but he said nothing. When they pulled up in front of Julio’s apartment house, Jerry said, “You don’t have to do this, Julio.”
“I told you, man. I want to help.”
“The first sign of trouble, you get out. Don’t play a hero.” Jerry squinted into the midafternoon glare. “Nothing worse than a partner who won’t call for backup.”
Julio shifted in the seat next to him. The word Jerry had used hung in the air between them. Partner. Wayne said, “Let’s hear you tell us the plan.”
“I already told you twice.”
“So tell us again,” Jerry said.
“I ask around. I don’t talk to nobody but friends. I see if anybody knows anything about somebody holding an old man. This ain’t rocket science.”
“And what are you gonna do if you hear something?”
He held up the phone and showed them how fast he could get her number up on the screen. “Call Tatyana’s cell.”
Jerry said, “The first breath you feel on the back of your neck, you phone in. We’ll pull you out. If we’re out of town, you call my buddy on the force. I already spoke to him.” Jerry’s eyes looked translucent in the sunlight. “Give me his name, Julio.”
“Clarence.” Making a big deal of the repetition. “Detective Clarence Hattley.”
“You got his number. He knows you’re out here and he’s looking too.”
“I heard you the first time. Now let me outta the car.” When Jerry didn’t move, Wayne opened his door and slid out. Julio was back into his barrio gear—floppy jeans and unlaced sneakers and a big silver-plated chain banging on his neck. Julio offered Wayne his fist. “Later,
jefe
.”
Wayne slipped back behind the wheel and said, “I was going to take him to Disney today.”
Jerry watched the kid slip around the first line of buildings and said, “There’s nothing the kid can find that my buddies won’t turn up first.”
“You’re probably right.” Wayne restarted the truck. “But if he does find our man, think of the world of apologies you’re gonna have to make.”
Tatyana came through the Arrivals portal and took aim straight at Wayne. “Do you have any word?”
“Not yet.” A time like this, he should be focused as tight as a laser. But his throat became clogged by the look of her, standing there in a suit that shimmered softly, grey with a hint of something the airport’s muted light almost masked, maybe blue. All the people who passed glanced her way.
Jerry asked, “Who told you about Foster?”
“Easton phoned just as we were taking off.” She looked like she wanted to weep. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Tatyana.”
“I got you involved. All of you.” She took a breath and said the inevitable. “Maybe you should resign.”
“No.”
“But Foster—”
From behind them, a man barked, “Can we get a move on here?”
The pressure that had been building behind Wayne’s eyes all day long tightened another notch. “Hello, Jim.”
The bullish man Wayne had last seen retreating from the conference room snarled, “Try any of your tricks on me today and I’ll have you locked up.”
Wayne asked Tatyana, “What’s he doing here anyway?”
“He’s working on the Teledyne project.”
“Which means I’ve got a lot bigger problems to worry about than one missing geriatric.” Jim Berkind snapped his fingers. “Let’s
move
, Kuchik.”
