No Safe Place (Joe Hunter Thrillers Book 11) (20 page)

I had to press the intercom button to hail Andrew Clayton. Ironically he’d changed the code on the electronic gate since I’d left, which was a lot like closing the stable door after the horses had bolted.
He buzzed me in, and I waited until the gate was fully open before driving onto his grounds. Proceeding along the crushed shell drive, my tyres depressed them deeper but still cast up fragments by the handful. As I neared the house the flag on the lawn was fluttering in a stiff but hot breeze from the nearby bay. In daylight the house was as impressive as it had been the first time I saw it, but like my own little beach house it no longer looked like a home. I wondered if Andrew, or especially Cole, would ever be happy there again after it had been visited by violence, and bore the indelible stain of Ella’s slaying. Andrew had mentioned getting the door pane fixed, but a glazier had yet to arrive.

He must have spotted my arrival from the sitting room window, though I couldn’t see him. The windows only reflected the blue of the sky. The door opened on cue as I turned off my engine and got out the Audi. Andrew stood on the raised porch, at the head of the steps, looking down at me. His spectacles also reflected the sky and I couldn’t read his expression. His mouth was still, turned neither up nor down. I’d considered what he wanted to speak about on the way over, and now wondered if he’d discovered my pilfering act. The keys I’d lifted from the kitchen drawer burned a hole in my pocket. I’d formulated a white lie to cover the theft, whereby I could claim I’d used the keys during my security rounds, and had forgotten to replace them, and hand them over now: one reason I’d called by in person. If he didn’t ask about them…well.

‘Thanks for coming,’ he said.

‘I thought it best,’ I replied, but remained noncommittal.

He held up a can of Budweiser. ‘Get you a beer?’

‘I’d better not,’ I replied with a nod towards my car. ‘Not when I’m driving.’

‘Something else then?’

‘I’ll take a cold drink, if you’ve got one?’

‘Chocolate milk?’ he said with a smirk.

‘Water’s fine.’ I moved for the steps. ‘Or a coffee if you’ve got a pot on.’

Clayton didn’t move from the porch. ‘Go round back,’ he said, ‘I’ll bring you something.’

We shared a lingering look, and now I was closer and at a better angle I could see his eyes. His lids pinched a couple of times. He was no longer my employer, but he still wished to be the boss. I mentally shrugged. No matter. I walked round the house while he went back inside.

He’d pulled some garden furniture from the garage. Now there was no apparent threat to him and his property he had probably deemed it safe to do so. There was a table with wooden benches and a parasol that cast a good blot of shade. I sat, and from there had a view of the house to one side and the pond to the other. Ordinarily the shimmering pond, over which skated fluttering insects, would have won my attention, but I canted my head to watch for my host. A dribble of sweat ran from my hairline and I knocked it away with a finger. After the thunder and lightning storms, the temperature had risen steadily and was now ten degrees beyond comfortable for me. I’d done some acclimatizing in the years since I’d made Florida my home, but some days were just so hot it reminded me I still had northern English blood.

Clayton sauntered across the lawn towards me, carrying a tray on which he’d placed a coffee pot and cup, and another couple of beers for himself. There was no milk or sugar for my coffee, but that was fine, and actually the way I preferred to drink it. He looked uncomfortable carrying the tray, as if perhaps he’d have preferred ordering me to play server instead. He plonked the tray down unceremoniously. I waited while he seated himself on the bench opposite before reaching for the pot and tipping out a good measure of coffee. I didn’t drink though.

‘What are you waiting for,’ he asked, aiming his can at me, ‘an invitation?’

I’d entertained some suspicions about the preparation of drinks in the Clayton household, not least recalling the gritty substance I’d noticed in the bottom of Cole’s drinking bottle that time. When Ella was attacked, Andrew’s alibi stood on the fact he’d gone up to Lake Tarpon with his son, but I’d wondered about its validity. A few tranquilizers dropped into his juice would have sent the boy into dreamland long enough for Andrew to leave him in the car while he returned to the house to murder Cole’s mother. After the deed was done Clayton could have easily driven up to his fishing cabin, put the boy to bed, and on waking the kid would have been no wiser about the lapse in time, or where his father had been in the meantime. I thought about other times I’d noticed the boy looking groggy, and thought perhaps his dad had continued feeding him a knockout drug to keep him manageable at bedtime. That damn bottle had become a fixture in Cole’s hand.

It was a wild theory, I admit, but it had been in the back of my mind long enough to ferment into a firm suspicion I wouldn’t shake until I knew otherwise. I’d look a fool if I drank something that didn’t agree with me.

Clayton snorted. ‘Want me to taste it first?’

‘Why would you need to do that?’

‘Just wondered why you’re turning your nose up at it like that. From what I’ve seen you’re a bit of a caffeine freak.’ He shrugged, as if my reticence to drink was below his contempt. ‘Suit yourself. Drink, don’t drink. Maybe I hawked a lugie in it before I brought the jug out here.’

And there it was: an admission that he was pissed with me about something, and I no longer thought it was because of the keys I’d filched.

‘I’ve given you reason to spit in my coffee?’ I asked.

‘For the record, I haven’t.’ He aimed the can at me again, and it was beginning to annoy me. ‘But I sure was tempted.’

‘You weren’t happy with my work? You paid up. If you expected more from me I’ll give you a rebate.’

‘I should get a full fucking refund,’ he said.

I didn’t answer.

He aimed the can at me a third time. ‘You were supposed to be here to protect Cole. OK, so you did what was asked of you, but that wasn’t the only reason you were here. You were here to snoop on me.’

Again I didn’t offer a straight answer. ‘Where is Cole?’

‘He’s at school. Where’d you think?’

I thought that after the death of Parker Quinn, Clayton might have kept him away from school for a few days, to allow the boy time to come to terms with his latest shock. But perhaps it was best that Cole was at school, surrounded by his friends, rather than brooding in his room where his grieving would be all the darker. And that he wasn’t around to witness things now.

‘I was only checking it was safe to speak bluntly.’

‘Be as blunt as you want,’ he said, and gave me a sneer. ‘I fucking intend to be.’

‘Good. I hate when people pussyfoot around.’

He placed his beer can on the table. He stood slowly, stepping out from behind the bench while I remained seated. ‘You’re a real piece of work, ain’t ya?’

‘So I’ve been told.’

He thumped his chest with a curled fist in what I guessed might have been one of his prefight rituals from back in the day. His posturing also had an effect on his vernacular, and again I supposed his behaviour harked back to when he faced off against equally vulgar young bravos. ‘So? Come on, asshole. Out with it. You’ve something you wanna fucking say bluntly. Do it now. Man-to-fucking-man.’ He punctuated the last with another gorilla-like thump to his chest.

Without rising to the challenge, I only looked at him steadily. ‘You told Rink you wanted a word with me. I thought it’d be something more erudite than “fucking”.’ I sniffed at his attempt at intimidation.

‘You’re a sanctimonious asshole, aren’t you?’

‘I’ve been told that before too. You asked me if I’d been snooping on you. Well, the answer’s yes and no.’

‘I didn’t ask, I knew. You think I’m fucking stupid?’

‘Would a stupid man need snooping on?’ I countered. ‘That’s why my answer is primarily “no”.’

‘So you think I’m only a bit stupid?’ He rolled his tongue against his bottom lip.

‘I was here to protect Cole. But I was here with an open mind on whether you might be the one dangerous to him.’

‘Son of a bitch! You think I’d harm my own son?’ He took one step around the table, and I pivoted so I could keep my gaze fixed on him, but also to discretely move my feet out past the table leg.

‘Relax, Clayton. I already decided you’re no threat to Cole.’ I picked up my coffee and swigged it down in one. As I set down the cup, I again stared at him. ‘I’ve got to ask you, though. Cole? When did you find out he really wasn’t your boy?’

‘What the fuck?’ He curled his fists. I held up a hand to stall him.

I slid out my SIG and placed it flat on the table next to the coffee pot. He eyed it spuriously.

‘Don’t worry about the gun,’ I said. ‘It was getting uncomfortable prodding my back when I’m sweating like a pig.’

He took off his spectacles and placed them on the table too. He dashed perspiration from his eye-sockets with both hands, swiped his hands out so the droplets arched from his fingertips. He didn’t lower his arms all the way, making him look like he’d an invisible rolled carpet beneath each armpit.

‘Well?’ I asked.

‘Cole’s my son.’ His words were cold.

‘There was a time when I thought that maybe Parker Quinn was more than an uncle to the boy, but that wasn’t it. Want to tell me about Royce Benson?’

‘The fuck with him.’

‘So you do know him?’

He seethed with poorly restrained anger.

‘So why lie about him when I asked? You described him down to the tattoo on his hand. You know, if you’d mentioned his name after he punched you, two guys might still be alive.’ 

‘Don’t fucking dare try to blame Parker’s death on me.’

‘I’m not. But if you’d come clean about Royce in the beginning, then maybe he could’ve been stopped before he got to Quinn. Hell, if I’d known I was after the wrong man I wouldn’t have bothered Tommy Benson, and he wouldn’t have run into the traffic.’

‘To hell with Tommy-fucking-Benson. He was working for that other piece of shit, wasn’t he? I’ve no fucking regrets about him!’

‘He was being used,’ I said, and couldn’t keep the recrimination out of my tone. ‘You knew all along Royce Benson was behind this. Why the hell didn’t you tell the police?’ I held up my hand to stall him, because I’d my own theory. ‘You didn’t want anyone to know he was Cole’s real father.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘You know, the more times you use that word, the less effect it has on me. And you can stop the denial: you’ve more or less admitted he’s the real dad.’

‘No! He was just a fucking sperm donor. I’m Cole’s dad!’

‘I’m not denying you’ve been a father to him, and yeah, it does take more than fathering a child to be a real dad, and you beat Royce hands down there. But is this what it’s all about? Royce murdered Ella because he was denied access to his own son?’

‘What do you mean Royce killed Ella? Are you nuts? It was the home invasion gang-’ He came to an abrupt stop, as if only then realising the truth. ‘Hold on! Royce murdered her? He set it up to look like…son of a fucking bitch!’

‘Quit the lies, Clayton. You suspected all along. What bothered me is why you didn’t tell the police, and put a stop to things. What has Royce got over you that he’s made you keep his involvement a secret?’

Clayton stared down at me, his mouth working. Finally he swept an arm to one side. ‘I want you to leave.’

I didn’t move.

‘Now. Get up, and get the fuck off my property before I throw you off.’

‘That day at the gate,’ I went on, ‘you knew it was Royce. You went out to speak with him in the middle of a storm. What did he want that was so important that you did that? Is he blackmailing you or something?’

‘I’m not answering another of your damn questions,’ he snapped. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are anyway? You’re not a cop.’

‘I’m not. But I can have them over here like that.’ I snapped my fingers to clarify. ‘In fact, if you don’t speak to me, I’m duty bound to call Detective VanMeter and tell her what I’ve learned.’

‘You’ve learned fuck-all, man.’

‘I’ve learned enough to know I’m right. Royce Benson is Cole’s genetic father, he’s probably the one who murdered Ella, and Quinn, and has been behind the harassment of you, and setting things up to make you look like a murderer – and yet here you are, protecting him, like you’re too afraid to come clean about him.’

‘You calling me a coward?’

‘I’m calling you a misguided fool,’ I clarified. ‘I’m not calling you a coward, no, but I do believe you’re afraid of him, or what it will mean to your son if he ever finds out the truth about his real father.’

‘I’ve asked you to leave.’

‘I’ll come back with the cops.’

‘The fuck has anything of this to do with you?’

‘I signed on to protect Cole. I’m not finished doing that yet.’

‘Fuck you. Cole doesn’t need your protection. I’m his dad, I’ll be all the protection he needs!’

‘You can’t protect Cole
and
Royce,’ I said. ‘What happens when Royce comes back to finish things good and proper?’