Even the Wind: A Jonas Brant Thriller (22 page)

 
``So what’s going on with David and the kids?’’

 
``They can do without me for awhile.’’

 
``Really?’’
 

 
Brant looked over the rim of his wine glass, appraising his sister.

 
``Don’t give me the cop’s evil eye, Jonas. I’m not a little girl.’’

 
``I didn’t say you were.’’

 
``I can see it in your eyes. You are so goddamned righteous sometimes. You’re judging.’’

 
``I’m not judging,’’ Brant said, his voice raised slightly in protest and defense.

 
``Oh, you are and you know it.’’

 
Brant poured another glass of wine for his sister.
 

 
``Here, this’ll calm you.’’

 
``What makes you think I need to be calm, Jonas?’’

 
Marcellus pressed her lips together. A utility truck rumbled past on the street outside, its red lights strobing.

 
``I said I wouldn’t do this, but I’ll speak to him if you want.’’

 
``Who? David?’’

 
Brant nodded.
 

 
``And what are you going to do, Jonas? Are you going to fix things?’’

 
Brant shrugged, regretting the offer immediately.
 

``You don’t have to bite my head off,’’ he said finally, his voice betrayed by his irritation.

 
``This is my mess. I’ll fix it.’’

 
Brant held his arms out in supplication. ``Look, I’m sorry. It was just a suggestion. Dumb idea.’’

 
``Yes, it was.’’

 
Marcellus sipped her wine. He reached for her hand and squeezed. A peace offering.
 

 
The icy look on Marcellus’s face began to thaw.
 

 
``I need to leave early tomorrow. You okay to take care of Ben?’’

 
Marcellus nodded acceptance. A smile began to form.

 
``Where are you going?’’

 
``Sailing.’’

The wind blew hard and steady. Blue skies and a smattering of ragged white clouds replaced the previous night’s rain.
 

 
He woke early and went for a run along Storrow, starting at the overpass and making his way back toward the city with Back Bay on one side and the Charles River on the other. Daybreak glinted off the rippled surface of the Charles. Over the river and along Memorial Drive, the wakening sun bathed the MIT campus in glorious light.

 
Brant sucked deep, filling his lungs with life-affirming breaths. He was upset with himself and angry. He hadn’t known what to say to Marcellus. It was a tricky relationship. Always had been. And she’d been right about him wanting to fix things. He shook his head, admonishing himself before pressing on, pumping his arms and legs.
 

 
On his return, he had a shower and ate breakfast. A bagel washed down with black coffee. He ate at a table in the front room beside the bay window. Sunlight streamed in, dappling the carpet and washing the room with the cheeriness of morning.
 

 
He left shortly before 8 and made good time. He was driving against the traffic. Most of the volume was entering the city, but he was heading south. He tuned the car’s radio to a local news station. There’d been a shooting in Dorchester the previous night. A seven-year-old kid had been shot and killed while riding her bicycle home from a church service. A meeting of clergy, community leaders and police was planned for later in the day at a church in Roxbury. To discuss what, Brant wondered? To talk about how they could protect young people from killing each other as sport? To strategize a way to keep guns out of the hands of children? To protest the violence that had become so commonplace? He shook his head in disgust at the needless and endless violence and changed the station.

 
The sailing center was on Pleasure Bay. He pulled into a parking lot beside a drab-looking building of concrete block painted white. The bay was flat and gray. A concrete wall stretched the perimeter. A narrow wedge of grass led to a sliver of beach.
 

 
Carswell’s boyfriend was named Greg McNaught. He’d been a sailing instructor for five years.
 

 
Brant found him sorting life jackets beside a wooden shed. An American flag fluttered in the breeze.

 
``Not much is it?’’ he asked, looking out at a half dozen white sailboats bobbing in the water at the foot of a concrete dock.

 
The boats were training dinghies. Short and squat with the mast set at the front of a blunt bow, they were single handers built for learning.

 
``I’ve never sailed before,’’ Brant said in reply. ``These are for kids?’’

 
McNaught nodded. ``They’re called Blue Dragons. We’ve had these for a couple years. They get beaten up pretty badly during the summer.’’

 
McNaught was shorter than he’d expected. He had unruly sun-bleached hair and a couple days of stubble. He wore sunglasses on a blue neoprene lanyard around his neck. His lips were covered in metallic sun cream. His hands were those of a much older man — veined, spotted and callused.
 

 
``We get all kinds of groups out here during the summer. Schools, churches, community centers. You name it and I’ve probably taught them. It’s good for the kids. The city can be tough when their parents don’t give a shit and they don’t have school to keep them occupied. This gives them an outlet. As I said, it doesn’t look like much, but we serve a good purpose.’’

 
``Where do you get your funding?’’ Brant asked.

 
``That’s the thing.’’ McNaught took a lifejacket from a large nylon bag and placed it on a wooden saw horse to dry in the sun. ``We get it from all over. Some from the city, a bit from the state. We’ve got a couple donors. I don’t know how we make it, but every summer we seem to have just enough to cover expenses for the season and then a little bit more.’’

 
``You’ve been doing this a long time?’’

 
McNaught nodded. ``Long enough. I’ve been teaching here a couple of years. I used to live in Florida. We had an academy down there.’’

 
``We?’’

 
``My ex. Her father was a big time real estate guy. Bagged it in after he made a couple million and headed south for the sun and the beaches. He set his little princess up with a school of her own.’’

 
``You didn’t get any of it in the divorce?’’

 
McNaught smiled. ``Ah, no. Daddy’s lawyers did a pretty good job of making sure that didn’t happen.’’

 
``And here you are.’’

 
``And here I am. Here, can you hold this open for me.’’

 
McNaught handed Brant the nylon bag of lifejackets.
 

 
``What am I supposed to do with this?'' Brant asked as he took the bag.

 
``Hold it open, will you. I want to dry them out before the first class gets here. Some idiot left them out last night."

 
``You seem to be doing okay. I was told you weren't handling Ms. Carswell's death very well.''

 
``You mean her murder?"

 
``Yes, her murder,” Brant said, correcting himself.

 
McNaught shrugged. ``Don't get me wrong. Thing like that, kicks you in the gut, you know? But I'm doing okay. I was just surprised. You never expect that to happen to someone you know. So you're investigating her murder?''

 
Brant nodded. ``I’m head of the team."

 
``You don't sound like the guy I spoke with on the phone yesterday.''

 
``No, that was another officer. John Clatterback.''

 
McNaught shot a wry smile. ``Funny name. Don't think I've ever heard that one before. So you work with him?"

 
``That's right. What can you tell me about Ms. Carswell?"

 
``What do you want to know?''

 
McNaught had finished with the lifejackets and moved to the sails. The sails and masts had been laid out in a line on the grass. He kneeled and began uncoiling a length of rope.

 
``You knew her well, did you?’’

 
``Not really. We’d only been going out about six months.’’

 
``Still, that’s fairly long. You must have spent a lot of time together.’’

 
McNaught shrugged for a second time. ``It was an on and off kind of thing. I got the sense she didn’t really want a commitment. She was pretty dedicated to her work. Always talking about the lab. It was endless. She was into it deep. Did you talk to any of her coworkers at the university?’’

 
``University? She was working at a place called Genepro when she was killed. That name never came up?’’

 
McNaught furrowed his brow. ``Not that I recall. She told me she was a researcher on some project at Tufts. At the school of medicine. Afraid I don’t know anything about Genepro.’’

 
``But you were a couple? I mean you were together?’’

 
``I suppose so. But as I said, Allison really kept her head down. She was very intelligent and she was dedicated. But she could be pretty evasive. She didn’t tell me much about what she was researching. I just know it was some kind of biomedical stuff.’’

 
Brant took a notepad from his pocket. ``Did she speak much about her family or her upbringing?’’

 
``I know she has a mother and father somewhere in upstate New York. She didn’t say very much about them. I figured there was bad blood there so I didn’t pry. I knew she was religious. It’s not my thing, but she was into her Bible. I got the sense it was the Catholic thing that caused the problems with her parents.’’

 
``In what way?’’

 
McNaught had unfurled a sail and was searching through a bag for something. A smile crossed his face as he found what he’d been looking for.

 
``What is it?’’ Brant asked when McNaught had collected several strips of thin fiberglass.

 
``Battens. We usually lose a couple every session. You were asking about Allison’s beliefs?’’

 
``You said she’d had problems with her parents over religion?’’

 
``Not her religion. The baby.’’

 
Brant stopped scribbling and glanced up at McNaught, fighting to keep his look from betraying his surprise. ``You knew she’d had a child?’’

 
``Knew? I was there when she gave birth. I mean right there in the room. It was a tough delivery, too. She was screaming like a banshee.’’

 
Brant couldn’t believe his luck, couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

 
``You said you’d been seeing her for about six months. Maybe I’m not understanding the timeline. When did you meet? When did you start going out?’’

 
``Timeline? What do you mean?’’ McNaught stared at Brant, perplexed. ``Oh, I see. You think I was the father. No, no. Not at all. She was pregnant when I met her. That would have been November last year. She had the kid in March. Late March. I have no idea who the father was and she didn’t tell me. It’s one of the reasons we stopped seeing each other. She was always evasive that way. I could never get a straight answer out of her. Eventually, I just got tired and told her to go screw herself. I mean, the last thing I wanted was a kid, right? We saw each other for the last time in June.’’

 
``So you don’t know who the father is?’’

 
McNaught shook his head. ``Sorry, can’t help you there. Is it relevant to her murder? Do you think the guy came back and killed her for some reason?’’

 
``It might be relevant. We’re still working it out. Ms. Carswell seems an enigma. Did you know she kept a gun in the side table by her bed?’’

 
McNaught smiled as he shook his head in mock despair. ``Lieutenant, nothing shocks me these days. Yeah, I’m surprised to hear that. I guess you can add that to the puzzle. More I think of it, more I realize she was one screwed up chick. Know what I mean?’’

 
``Did she have any friends? Anyone she spent time with?’’

 
McNaught bit the inside of his cheek as he considered the question. ``You mean outside of work?’’

 
``That’s the general idea.’’