"It was not exactly dark, but a kind of twilight or gloaming. There were neither windows nor candles, and he could not make out where the twilight came from, if not through the walls and roof."
—Childe Rowland
"The voices melted into the twilight and were mixed into the trees, and when I thought of the words they too melted away, and were mixed with the generations of men."
—William Butler Yeats
NATHAN BYRNE WALKED up the steps of the police station and stopped before the polished steel and glass doors. An icy wind swept past him, sending debris flying down the street. He looked over at the coffee shop he'd just left. The commuters were starting to show up. He'd missed them by inches.
The sergeant at the desk was grinning wildly, waving a paper at him as he came inside.
"Hey, Nate, been waiting for you. Got a good one. Guy lost in the woods. Then he was taken, you know, by a shiny silver something or other. His fishing partner saw the whole thing."
"Detective Byrne to you," Nathan said, knowing it was a futile demand. "What the hell are you talking about, Manny?"
The sergeant couldn't stop smiling. "It's all in here," he said, handing the paper over. "Captain says you're the one to look into it."
"I'm not Missing Persons, as you and he know. So give it to someone else."
"No can do. Captain wants to see you right away. Soon as you arrived, he said."
Nathan studied the sergeant. He sighed and folded the piece of paper carefully and then shoved it in his pocket. "Right." As he walked away he added, "Wipe that hyena grin off your face or I might think about doing it for you." He heard the smothered laugh all the way down the corridor to the captain's office.
It was a nice office, a thick rug on the floor, pale ivory walls, and windows that let in daylight. His own ancient desk in the small room he shared with seven other detectives didn't have the same ambience at all, he thought. He knocked on the half-open door.
"Nathan, come in, come in." The captain was tending to a plant on the windowsill. Unsuccessfully, if the plethora of dry leaves that covered the floor nearby was any sign.
"Waste of time," he said, gesturing to the near lifeless plant. "My wife insists I need something green around. More trouble than it's worth. So, what do you think? How's it looking? I want you out there right away, but tell me what you see now, based on the report."
"I haven't read the report," Nathan said. "I just got here."
"Then read it now, for God's sake, man!" The captain moved away from the window and sat down in his soft, high-backed chair.
Nathan pulled the paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and began to read. When he finished he looked up at his superior. "It looks like a straightforward, run-of-the-mill case for Missing Persons, same as I told the sergeant."
"Did you look at the name of who went missing? What, is it too early for you to figure this out? Do I have to do that for you?"
Nathan stared at the man. It was unusual behavior for the captain. He reread the note. This time the name jumped out at him—Henry Jacobson. Their very own local hero. A man who'd saved three children from an elementary school fire a few years back. He also just happened to be the captain's wife's uncle, mad as a hatter in the opinion of some, owing to an early ingestion of mercury from his work in a coal plant. Wasn't mercury the same chemical used by hatters for making hats back in the 1800s? Nathan wondered. Now where had he picked that up? The captain's wife adored the man, and the captain loved his wife.
"I want you on it full-time."
"Wait a minute, I have five cases I'm working, and three of my detectives are out sick with the flu. Not to mention I have to be in court today. I promised Stamworth."
"He's a lawyer. He'll handle things just fine. I already told him to leave you out of it for now. Paulson's going to follow up on your caseload for a while and he'll temp the squad. Nothing for you to do but find Henry. This isn't a debate," the captain added. "I want a report every hour." He spun his chair around and faced the window, his usual method of dismissal.
As he left, Nathan couldn't resist adding one comment.
"You know, Colin, this isn't the kind of work I should be doing."
Still focused on the view of the city beyond the window, the captain answered him. "Captain is the rank. Captain Oberson to you. Don't forget that next time."
As Nathan closed the door behind him he saw Oberson picking up more dry leaves off the floor.
Teams were already packing up when Nathan arrived at the site where Henry Jacobson had gone missing.
"Detective Byrne," a voice said behind him. It was Ames, the officer in charge of the scene.
"They told me you'd be coming out. We're done, for the most part, but I can show you what we have so far." Although he'd been out there for hours collecting evidence, his uniform looked as if he had just put it on.
"How'd you keep so clean in this muck, Ames?"
"Oh, changed, sir. Always do. Once the heavy work is done. Don't like a mess."
Nathan nodded, repressing a desire to comment.
The area was idyllic, the river flowing over rocks, a soft wind high in the trees, green moss on the banks. It was cold, but everything was tranquil and contained.
"Two fishermen, right? One of them moved downstream when this all started?"
"That's what he said. Then he rushed up to help his partner reel in what they thought was a prize trout, and all they came up with was some piece of metal stuck in the rocks underwater. The tracks are clear enough where they stood on the bank. We haven't found anything else—except that one partner went missing in the middle of the river."
"Yes. Unlikely, wouldn't you say?"
"I would," Ames said, his expression serious.
"So where is the one who didn't drown, get abducted, or whatever it was?"
Ames pointed toward the cars lining the dirt road, where Nathan had parked his own. "That would be Parker Morris. Over there in the truck. Hasn't said anything to anyone except over and over that his friend Henry was gone."
"You know who Henry is, right?" Nathan added.
"Yes. I do. They pulled me away from my day off—it's my son's birthday. Emergency, they said."
Nathan nodded again. "Where's this metal object?"
The sergeant looked surprised for the first time. "Why, I—there wasn't any. That is, no one on the team has reported finding it. I figured he'd imagined it, that fisherman, or wants us to think he saw something. I mean, what this is about, I don't think it's something they saw in the river."
"You think they went at it for some reason and Henry lost?"
"Maybe. Before I go I'll check that spot in the river again, just to be sure."
"Fine, Ames, you do that." Nathan started toward the cars.
"Detective?" Nathan turned around. Nan Seymour stood behind him with an annoyed look on her face.
"They take you away from something good, too, Nan?"
"Like, the first date I've had in six months. We were having brunch in a bookstore, not my first choice, but at least we were somewhere. He'll disappear before I get back."
"Speaking of disappearing."
"Right. We don't have a body. You can trust me on that. I'm done now," Nan said, her eyes glancing over the scene as the last evidence bags were being hauled over to the crime van. "If I may ask, what are you doing here, Nate? You're homicide. This is just a guy lost in the woods."
"Henry Jacobson is more than a lost fisherman."
"Ah, yes, that did register. Related to one of the sainted Obersons. That still doesn't explain you. Oh, wait. You're the prize, aren't you, so the wife feels everything possible is being done for her dear uncle. Well, no traces of a crime as far as I found."
"I was just going to interview the partner."
"Well, I'd love to stay and watch, but I've got to examine those precious bags full of nothing but mud and leaves right away. A medical examiner's life is always exciting. I'll let you know what I find, you being in charge of this one now. Your lucky day." She laughed and walked away.
Parker Morris was sitting sideways in the driver's seat of the small truck, his feet on the ground. He was old, with wispy gray hair, wearing a yellow vinyl jacket and hugging his knapsack against his chest. The man was trembling, more from fear than the cold, Nathan guessed.
Morris gave a start when he saw Nathan approach. "I've been here for hours. I was just playing a game, for heaven's sake!" he said, his voice rising. "Henry wasn't buying it, I mean he went to look and then he was gone. So what's going on? You're the detective, I know you are. You have to find him!"
"I need you to come with me down to the station. We can talk there. I want to hear the whole story and it's cold out here."
"Who's looking for Henry? Where did everybody go, tell me that!"
"We're doing what we need to do, Mr. Morris," Nathan said in a soothing voice. "There's a crew sweeping the river downstream, and we have four officers tracking your friend's usual routines. If he's wandered off, or he's hurt, he might go to a familiar location. I can explain it all better down at the station. You can come in my car. I'll have Sergeant Ames follow in your truck."
Morris looked around doubtfully before getting up. He stood there with bewilderment in his eyes. Nathan beckoned to Ames, who got in the driver's seat of the truck and started up, waiting for Nathan to lead them out.
Morris didn't speak on the way downtown. He just hugged his knapsack and stared straight ahead. If he was guilty of anything, he was likely to give it up right away once they started the interrogation.
As he drove, it occurred to Nathan that the job wasn't giving him the same thrill it used to. Being assigned to this case didn't help. He was tired, but he'd slept just fine the night before. How long had it been since the job had made him feel good? He was still making a difference, he knew that, and the tour of duty right then was atypical. There were plenty of real cases to solve, things to fix.
No, it was something else. He sighed. He considered himself a reasonably self-aware man. The source of his discontent ought to be apparent to him, but it wasn't. Nothing you'll look at, Nate, right? The thought came with the image of Jennie's face rising in front of him. No, he wouldn't go there. He wasn't ready for that.
When he turned into the police station parking lot, Morris seemed to become more alert.
"This it?" he asked. Still clutching the knapsack, he went up the stairs and into the station without protest.
Nathan had him checked into one of the interview rooms and went to get some coffee. As he lifted the pot that was, as usual, almost empty, Andy Paulson walked by and smiled.
"Solved the B&E at the Caine Center for you, Byrne. Owner acted in self-defense."
Nathan set the pot down and stared at him. Then he remembered. The captain had given Paulson his roster of cases. The man was a kiss-up first-class. Whatever he was doing to fix the cases fast, Nathan knew there'd be shortcuts that would blow up later.
"Yesterday the medical examiner said the victim was shot in the back," Nathan said. "Where I come from, that isn't self-defense."
"You have it wrong. In fact, I've found a few things you got wrong in other cases, too, but I'm clearing the decks for you. Anyway, owner is the real vic in this. He's a candidate for a heart attack and lucky he didn't get one with the scare he had. Hey, don't believe me. Ask your pal Anna at the morgue—she made the call." Paulson turned toward him at the door as he headed out and smiled again. "I'm taking care of you," he said.
Nathan poured coffee into his cup, took a sip, and grimaced. He threw it away and sighed. What he needed to do was finish this farce by finding Henry Jacobson and getting his real work back before Paulson wrecked everything.
Just as he started toward the interview room where they'd put Morris, a sergeant who had worked the scene out in the woods approached him.
"Hey, Lieutenant, we've got a woman out here says she's a witness to what happened to the missing guy."
A witness? It could mean he had the quick break he wanted to close the case, or it could be a spanner in the works that would drag the whole thing out.
"Have someone sit with our guest in there," he said, pointing his thumb at the interview room. "I'll see her first."
"I can stay with him." As he opened the door he glanced at Nathan. "She's one hell of a looker," he added.
As he walked down the corridor to the station lobby, Nathan felt the tiredness roll over him again. It was deeper than fatigue. There was no good reason to stay on the job, and no good reason not to. He was at a stalemate. He'd passed forty a few years ago. Maybe early retirement wasn't a bad idea, after all. But he knew better. If this job wasn't what he wanted, he didn't want a vacuum of time, either. He wouldn't last two years at home doing nothing. Be lucky if he lasted two months.
The front desk was in chaos, two men in business suits trying to attack one another, three officers pulling them apart. The desk sergeant had come around and cuffed both men by the time Nathan reached them.
"Put both of them in a holding cell—just make sure they aren't in the same one," the sergeant said to the officers, dusting off his hands and retreating back behind the desk.
"Nice going, Manny," Nathan said.
"Pain in the butt, the both of them. Ran red lights, rammed each other. Don't ask . . . looks as if they were both at the same sales convention over at the Beaker. Racing each other like teenagers. Once they cool off, I'll send them packing."
"There's supposed to be someone out here waiting for me, and I—"
Nathan stopped. A woman was sitting on the bench against the back wall. The room seemed to fade around him. Her hair was black, in waves down to her shoulders, and her skin was unusually pale, almost translucent. She turned her head and looked at him and he felt as if he'd stopped breathing. Her eyes were deep black, like her hair. She seemed to be gazing right through him, yet he also had the feeling she was aware of him as intensely as he was of her. She smiled and a current of emotion he couldn't identify rushed through him.
She stood up and walked toward him, holding out her hand.
"Hello, Detective Byrne. I am Naliv," she said.
Her grip was strong and sure. The room came back into focus and he remembered what he was there for.
"Your last name?"
"Just Naliv, if you do not mind."
He did mind, but he let it go for the moment. "You reported that you saw something happen out at the river?"
"Yes."
"You're a friend of Parker Morris and Henry Jacobson?"
"I do not know those names, but I did see two men out there. I know that one of them is missing. I think I can help you with that."
"All right. I need to hear everything. If you'll come with me." He turned around and started back down the corridor. Her step was so soft that he looked back in spite of himself to see if she was following him. When he opened the door to the second interview room he was dismayed to see that whoever had been there last had failed to clean up. An empty pizza box and crumpled soda cans littered the table.
"Hold on," he said. He grabbed everything and threw it into the wastebasket and wiped the table down with a leftover napkin. He indicated a chair for her to sit in and he took one for himself on the other side of the table. Just then he heard a clicking sound that seemed to increase rapidly, until he realized it was rain against the window. To his surprise the sky was dark and the streetlights had come on. Good thing they'd covered the crime site already—assuming it was one. The tiredness washed over him again.
"Perhaps it is because you do not take time to feel," Naliv said. She sat watching him.
"What?" he said, startled.
"This sudden weariness you experienced just now. It happens because you do not take time to know what is going on. You do not take time to experience your life. You are always trying to catch up to it. Or to forget it."
Where had that come from? What the hell did this stranger know about him? He took out his notepad and tried to ignore what she had said.
"Just what is it you think you saw in the woods that will help our case, help us find the missing man?" he asked her.
"I cannot help you find him. I can just tell you what happened." Her voice was rhythmic, with an accent he couldn't name.
"First, tell me who you are, and what you were doing near the river."
"I have only come here recently. I arrived there, at the river, where I was supposed to be. I know that the two men were fishing. They moved apart. One of them got his line caught on a rock in the middle of the river."
"Yes, we know all that," Nathan said. "What do you mean where you're supposed to be?"
"And then," she said, as if he hadn't spoken, "the first man pretended to see something in the water. His friend doubted him and went to check for himself. What he found was an object that was not intended to be there. It was a mistake, a serious mistake. I am here to retrieve it."
Nathan stopped taking notes and stared at her.
"I'm not unaware of how this must sound to you, but it is the truth. What was in the water was left there inadvertently. No one should have seen it or located it. I am so sorry this had to become an event for you."
An event? What was she talking about? Something that was classified? Some kind of device, something dropped that was supposed to be top secret? Ridiculous, Nathan thought. He was losing it. The nearest military base was over in the next state. There was as much chance of any kind of secret government maneuver occurring in their town as there was of Henry really being abducted.
"I'd like to see some identification." Why hadn't he asked for that right away? Shape up, he told himself. She was just a witness, and maybe not even that. So far, she wasn't making any sense.
"I do not have anything like that on me," she said. "Let me tell you what I saw. When the second man—the man you are seeking—disappeared, he came to us. We understood immediately what had happened and that we had to take action. That is why I am here. We can give him back to you, but we need the device. We need you to give it to us."
Nathan threw down his pen and leaned back in his chair. If he didn't know better he'd say he was having some kind of dream and he'd wake up, find himself at his desk, his face stuck to a piece of paper and drool on his chin.
Take the short road, he thought.
"We didn't find anything out there. No 'object.' I have the sergeant's report and the medical examiner confirmed it. All they saw were a few tracks and camping gear. Nothing else."
The woman focused on the window.
The drops of rain looked dazzling in the reflection of the streetlight. More beautiful than he'd noticed in a while.
"We do have a limitation," she said. "We cannot determine where the object is now. We need you to help us do that. We need to find it. It is the only way we can return your friend to you. I assure you of this."
"Who is 'we'?" Nathan asked, against his will. She had to be a nutcase. He was sweating, and his mouth was dry. Maybe he was close to having a heart attack. No. Stress, that's all it was.
"Please," she said. "Just believe that there is no reason to delay this. We are glad to return your friend to you. We will do him no harm while he is with us, but we must have the device back."
Play along, Nathan decided. What else could he do? He didn't seem to have the strength to stand up or get someone else to come into the room for confirmation. He felt himself in deep water, as if he were swimming below the sea and couldn't find the surface.
"Right. So, let's say I do find this object of yours. It's evidence. I can't just hand it over to you. It's not how we do things. I'll say it again, I need your full name and address."
Naliv smiled. "When you find the device, I will know. I have linked with you. I know your name is Nathaniel. I just wanted to be sure you would look for it. I will be with you when you are successful." She looked around as if searching for something and shook her head.
"Thank you," she said, standing up and holding out her hand again. Nathan felt once more the strength of her grip. He noticed that her black hair seemed to shine even under the fluorescent light, falling onto her shoulders now like strands of silver.
"You do realize we need to be able to reach you. You're a witness," he said.
"Not exactly," she said. "Can you hold me here?"
"No," he said.
The next moment she was at the door and gone. Everything was silent, empty, like a vacuum, it seemed to him.
No one had seen her leave, when he asked.
"Lieutenant? You want to interview that fisherman guy now? He's real edgy." The sergeant was standing outside the door of the interview room where Morris still waited.
"What? Yeah, I'll go in now."
As he entered the room he nodded back at the sergeant. "Hey, listen, check with Manny. Find out if he got any ID on that woman who claimed to be a witness."
"I thought you just interviewed her," the sergeant began.
"I did. Just check, okay?"
Morris was sitting hunched over still wearing his yellow jacket, an untouched soda can in front of him. Nathan could hear the rain coming down even harder, the wind pushing at the glass.
"I want to go home," the man said plaintively.
"Soon, Morris, soon. How about you tell me what's going on, and who Naliv is," Nathan said as he sat down in a chair beside him. Keep it friendly, he thought. The guy was wired. Calm him down and finish the damn interrogation. The day had already been long enough and he was missing lunch.
"Who? Don't know any Naleef. What are you doing about Henry? It's raining, and cold. He's probably already frozen to death. You've left him out there to die!"
"Have you got someone you can call?"
Morris shook his head. "There's just Henry. Everybody else is dead."
"What?" Nathan sat up, interested.
"Well, look at me. I'm 76, same as Henry. Everyone I know has passed on, just about. Except Henry. And that niece of his, the captain's wife."
"Ah, I see," Nathan said, leaning back in the chair again. The whole morning had turned out to be a bust.
"So, can I go?"
"Just run your story past me, okay?"
"I already gave it twice, to the sergeant here and that sergeant out in the woods."
"Sergeant Ames, yes, I know. I just need to hear it for myself. Then we'll see about what you can do next."
Morris sighed. He rubbed his face with his hands and clutched at the knapsack again.
"It's what I already said. Henry and I go fishing every weekend, usually over at the pier. This time we wanted to do some fly fishing on the river. He'd never done it before, and he was no good at it, kept messing up my line. So I went downstream a little ways, where his line couldn't reach mine and I could get some honest fishing in. Well, he hooked one and yelled for me to come see, pleased as could be. He knew I'd be surprised he'd done something right."
Morris stopped and stared at the wall where police bulletins filled an old cork board. He moved his head slowly from side to side.
"So I put my own rod in its cache on the bank and went up to where he was. He was pulling on the line, his rod bent so far I expected it would break, and he kept saying something was stuck. The old fool thought a fish was stuck in the rocks. Like that could ever happen. I told him I'd check on it, and went out to the spot. I didn't see any fish or anything, of course. Then I—"
This time he stopped and looked down at his hands.
"Keep going," Nathan said.
"I pretended like I'd seen a shark or something—ran over to him and told him to get out fast, just like something was chasing me. He usually fell for it, but this time he didn't and he went over there himself, into the middle of the river. He just stayed there awhile, looking in the water, and after a bit he moved in a circle around the spot, peering in. I thought maybe he was going to try to fool me, get back at me somehow, only he didn't say anything. The next thing, he just looked around, for all the world like he's admiring the scenery, and he was gone!"
"What do you mean, gone?" Nathan insisted.
"Blast it, how many times are you people going to make me say it? He was just plain gone! He was there, and then he wasn't. I waited, but I got afraid. I called his name, but nothing. That's when I went and got help. Only none of you have been any help at all. He's probably dead by now. Only friend I have."
"What about Naliv?"
"I told you before. I don't know anyone called that. Can I go? I want to go home."
"Fine," Nathan said. "The keys to your truck are at the front desk."
Morris got up so fast the chair scraped across the floor with a loud, screeching sound. "Only, you'll let me know you hear anything about Henry, right?"
"We'll be talking with you soon enough," Nathan said. He watched Morris walk with a halting gait down the corridor to the front entrance, still holding the knapsack as if it were a lifejacket.
This is the end of the first chapter. Thank you for giving time to reading it. I welcome your comments, indeed.
If you would like to read the whole book all at once, you can visit an external link to Amazon from my Magic Hour page here at Wattpad : https://www.wattpad.com/story/25223175-the-magic-hour