WHEN HE OPENED the door to his apartment the stillness hit him. It felt like a dead thing. He hung his raincoat on a hook near the door and kicked off his shoes. In the kitchen he put leftovers in the microwave and went into the living room and turned on a lamp. The soft light made him feel better. He poured out a glass of wine, determined to think about nothing at all.
That wasn't so easy. What was it about her? Naliv, what kind of name was that? Maybe Russian, Eastern European. That could account for the accent and the formal way she spoke. He swallowed the wine and poured another glass. It was too expensive to guzzle down, but for once he didn't care.
How long had it been since he'd cared about a woman? Not that he cared now. Georgia had left a long time ago with most of his worldly goods and his best friend. He'd always been aware that he was the victim of the classic cliché. That still rankled him more than the actual fact she'd left at all.
There was Jennie. Again he pushed the thought away. Not now.
He sat down to his lukewarm supper, finished it quickly, and threw the container into the trash. Hands in his pockets, he paced the floor, and finally stopped and looked out the window. The rain had stopped. The streetlights left the wet road in amber light.
"Who are you, Naliv?" he said softly into the room.
Nothing she'd said to him made any sense. She wasn't a viable witness. She'd just shown up at the station. He had no real proof she'd been at the scene, and he hadn't managed to find out anything about her. "Like she had me in a trance," he said into the glass, "only that's no excuse."
When his cell phone went off he let it ring several times before picking up. "Yeah, Byrne," he said finally.
"Well, Detective Byrne, it's your friendly medical examiner with a late bulletin."
"Nan. What do you have? Something I can use?"
"That's for you to find out. I need a shower after grubbing through this junk and debris, that much I know. At least the bodies I get are in one piece most of the time. Here's the thing. I found trace elements on some of the leaves they packed up. Nothing I've identified yet. The only part that matters is that it showed up on the stuff they collected from the east bank, where the guys were fishing. Where they had their camp. I'm analyzing it now. If I had to guess, and I don't do that, it could be cleaning fluid, or some kind of solvent."
"That's it?"
"That's all there's likely to be till the analysis is done, but I'm not expecting any surprises. Seems an obvious outcome, doesn't it?"
"You mean that the whole river story is made up, that something happened between them on shore."
"Yes, and I'm assuming that already occurred to you ages ago. That's exactly what I'm thinking. Happily I don't have to prove it, you do. Gotta go."
"Another date?"
"Oh, sure. No, that happy camper has bolted away. My job is such a turn-on to the men I meet. Try as I can to prevent it, they always find out. The call to the woods gave me away, didn't it, yes indeed. Now I really have an agenda to keep, so bye, bye. I'll let you know when the results come in."
"Wait, Nan. Different issue. Did you tell Paulson that the Lewis case is self-defense?"
"Andy's such an eager fellow, isn't he, in his climb to the top? No, I didn't. You should know me better than that. What I told him—and what is in the report update I sent him at his request—was that the bullet entered on the right side at a downward angle of sixty degrees, meaning Lewis shot the burglar invading his home from halfway down his staircase just as the man was turning away from him, probably trying to escape, since silver and jewelry weren't in evidence, or any other pretties. Andy seems to think it was a fair fight because even though the victim had no weapon, he was after all where he didn't belong. I'd call him an idiot but that's just me. Are we done here?"
"Sorry. Thanks."
"By the way, the guy wants your job. It's his baby for now, and he has no doubt he deserves it permanently. I know you didn't know that," she said, laughing as she rang off.
Nathan started to pour himself another glass of wine and stopped. He had a sudden visual of the fisherman he'd interviewed. Had any of the officers checked out Morris' knapsack? He'd been with him at the riverside and in the car and at the station and Morris had carried it the whole time. The man had held on to it like it was his baby, his arms wrapped around it. As if he was protecting it. Or more likely, hiding something.
He punched in the speed dial for Ames. The shrieks of an unhappy child greeted him at the other end when Ames picked up.
"Detective Byrne? Listen, I'm just—could you wait just a minute, sir?"
Nathan heard a series of clicks and then Ames was on the line again, the background noise gone but a faint echo surrounding his voice. "I'm in the cellar, sir. Quiet here. What can I do for you, sir?"
"Morris—the man we brought in from the river—he was carrying a canvas knapsack. Did anyone search it?"
There was silence on the other end. "Knapsack?" Ames repeated. "Why no. I think I can fairly say, no."
To his credit, he didn't try to defend himself, Nathan thought. Ames knew the oversight was serious.
"Okay. Never mind. I never did, either."
"Is it—do you think—"
"Sergeant, we'll fix this in the morning. I'll talk to you then."
Poor Ames, he thought as he hung up. His night at home with the family, crying baby or not, had just gotten worse.
The thought struck him instantly. What was he doing? This couldn't wait until morning. It was a case, and time was everything. What was the matter with him? He called the front desk.
"Address for that Morris guy?" Manny said when Nathan asked. "Got it right here. He lives over on Isleton, 2013 East Isleton. Want some backup?"
"No. I just need to ask him a few more questions."
On the drive over, Nathan thought again how the man had held on to the knapsack, and wondered for the fifth time that day if he was losing it. It was something he shouldn't have missed. He thought about calling Morris first, but he'd rather surprise him with a visit. Henry's friend or not, he knew more than he had told them, and no one had challenged him on that.
"Damn it!" he shouted at the windshield, but in his voice he felt a frustration that came from a lot more than failing to check out a man who might have killed his best friend. Pay attention, he reminded himself. Be ready.
At 2013 Isleton all the lights were on. It looked like a Christmas tree. Nathan used the brass knocker and heard it reverberate through the house. Morris peered out through one of the glass panels that flanked the door, and Nathan heard several clicks as locks were removed. Morris made a circular motion with his hand. Nathan turned the doorknob and it opened easily.
He entered into a foyer, wall sconces lighting the oak wood floor.
"It's about that pack of mine, right? Thought you might be by, would figure it out," Morris said, his voice resigned. "Fact is, I was sure someone would've asked me about it when I was down there in the station."
"Someone should have," Nathan said. "As yet, though, I haven't figured out anything."
He followed Morris, who walked into the living room and took a stand near a fireplace set with logs but unlit. A green sofa was beside him.
"I do know you're lying to me with this story of yours."
Morris looked at him. "You're a man with the best years of his life still happening. You don't know anything."
"I need to see the knapsack," Nathan said.
"I'm not hiding it. It's right there," Morris said, pointing to a chair in the corner that was covered in blue velvet. The dirty yellow canvas looked incongruous on it. "Go on. Look inside. I don't want to anymore. Henry's gone for good. I know it now. Has to be."
Nathan walked over and picked up the knapsack. It was heavy.
"What is it?" he said.
Morris shrugged and sat down on the sofa, where he compulsively smoothed the worn nap over and over with his hand.
Nathan pulled a pair of latex gloves from the coat pocket where he always kept them, put them on, undid the straps of the knapsack, and pulled back the canvas flap. He lifted out the object that lay inside and held it up, looking over at Morris in surprise. As far as Nathan could tell, it was nothing but a large river rock. Why would the man carry it around with him as if it were something precious?
Suddenly he understood. It was the weapon. It had to be. Morris had used it to strike at his best friend, probably not intending to kill him, and in shock, kept the evidence. Nathan almost felt sorry for the old man. He seemed to have shrunk in size just in the last few minutes.
"You'll have to come with me," Nathan said.
"Uh huh," Morris said, his head still down, his eyes now fixed on the floor. "You going to find Henry? You have to find his body. I can't stand thinking he's just going to rot in some part of the river, or maybe all tangled up in the branches that hang out over it in places, you know? You going to keep looking for him?"
"Yes, we are. That much I can promise you." Nathan went over to Morris and took his arm. There was no need to use the handcuffs, he was certain of that. "Come along now."
Only then did Morris look up, his eyes going directly to the knapsack and resting on the rock that Nathan had left on the chair.
"What's that?" he said.
Nathan followed his look. "It's what killed Henry, isn't it?" he said, keeping his tone level.
"What the hell are you getting at? What'd you do to it?"
"Calm down!" Nathan said. "It's what it is, Morris. You know that as well as I do."
"That's a goddamn rock. That's not what I took out of the river! You brought it here! Trying to fool me into saying what isn't true?"
"I didn't bring anything. This is what was in the knapsack. You saw me open it. You had it with you all day before now."
Morris was an old man, but almost as tall as Nathan, and whatever was setting him off had gotten the adrenalin going in him. Nathan held in a sigh. He'd need the handcuffs after all, along with some backup. He stepped back a few feet and took his cell phone out of his pocket.
"Manny—hey, you ever plan on going home? Yeah, that backup. Send Ames here. Yes, I know he's off duty. Tell him I want him to secure things, so he'll need to stay here after I leave." As he talked on the phone he watched Morris, who had gotten up and began pacing back and forth. Nathan stayed between Morris and the chair and its contents. He snapped the phone shut and let the man pace a few minutes longer, watching him closely.
"You think I'm crazy, don't you," Morris said, stopping and facing Nathan. "Why, you even think I did something to Henry! Maybe hit him on the head with that rock? I'm not stupid. I know how a cop's mind works. Always suspicious. You don't know what you're talking about, you hear? We came over together, Henry and me, on a freight ship! Yorkshire boys, all the way to here from Sheffield, expecting good things to happen. Not much came of any of it, but we always took care of each other. You're dead wrong. Dead as Henry must be." Morris ran his hands over his face and then, startled, looked up as the rotating blue lights from Ames' car flashed through the window. Nathan wished he'd thought to warn Manny to have Ames cut the lights when he came in.
"I'm telling you the absolute truth," Morris said, his face drawn and his eyes brighter than they should be. "Only, you don't believe me, do you! What was in the river is what made Henry disappear, and I got it and put it in my knapsack and left that spot as fast as I could. I told that police sergeant what happened." He took a step toward Nathan. "So where'd it go?" he said, his voice rising as he moved closer to the chair, staring at the dirty knapsack and the river rock beside it.
Ames was in the doorway, his gun in his hand.
"Put that away, sergeant. Morris isn't armed. He's going to come with us just fine." Nathan went over to the old man and cuffed him, feeling somehow that what he was doing didn't make sense, but for the life of him he didn't know why. Morris seemed to crumble when the handcuffs went on, as if all the energy had drained out of him.
"Get him in the car," he told Ames. "Then you can secure the house. Forensics can wait till morning. I have what we need for now."
"What's that?" Ames asked, looking around the room.
"The murder weapon," Nathan answered, pointing to the knapsack and the rock.
"It's not bagged."
"It will be, sergeant, in about sixty seconds," Nathan said.
"We don't have anything big enough."
Nathan felt an intense irritation. What was that about? Not the hour. Not the old man. It must be Ames. The literalness that marked the man drove him nuts. But no, it wasn't really Ames, either. He brushed the feeling away and focused on the situation.
"Trust me, it'll be fine. I'll put it back in the knapsack. I'm wearing gloves, see?" Nathan waved his hands with their latex skins. "Just get him in the car. I'll be out in a minute."
With Ames and Morris out of the house, Nathan took time to study the rock again. He couldn't see any blood, but the river water could have taken care of that. Still, if there was something to find, Nan would find it. It was such an awkward weapon. He could see it happening, some sudden rage possessing Morris, and his picking up the nearest thing he could find and using it, then coming to his senses, probably horrified at what he had done. A lifetime of friendship, a few seconds of rage. It made no sense, but he thought about how often it was an outcome he'd seen, maybe a hundred times over the years. Repressing another sigh, he hefted the stone, laid it carefully back into the knapsack, and took the yellow canvas bag out to Ames' car.
Morris was in the back seat behind the grille. The blue lights were still flashing but no neighbors had come over to see what was going on. It seemed odd, but what didn't, just now, he thought. Here he'd been sure Oberson was using him on a trivial case and it turned out to be a homicide after all, right up his alley. Yet he didn't feel any thrill in finding that out. The story didn't really seem to have a good side.
"Tell you what," he said to Ames, making a sudden decision. "You take him on down. I'll finish up here instead and follow."
"Yes, sir," Ames said, reaching out for the knapsack.
Nathan stepped back. "No, I'll hold on to this, bring it with me when I'm done here."
Ames looked at him curiously. It was against protocol not to bring in the evidence along with the suspect, but he wasn't going to question anything his superior wanted to do. That wasn't his job, or his inclination.
"All right. I'll get him booked and ready for you to interview."
The night was cold, with fog settling in. The house was still burning lights in every room. Nathan wished he'd grabbed his winter coat instead of his raincoat.
"I won't be long," he told his sergeant. "Just going to shut off all these damn lights and tape the doors. You be sure to put in the paperwork for forensics. I want them here at daybreak."
Ames had gotten back into the driver's seat. To Nathan's relief he shut off the blue strobe.
He stood in the driveway until Ames' car was out of sight. Back in the house he went from room to room checking what was there and shutting off the lights one by one. Nothing seemed particularly out of order. It wasn't a clean house, it had a smell to it, but it was tidy. The furniture was expensive, too, but old. An old man's house, Nathan thought, and suddenly he saw himself a few decades down the road living the same way, a clone of Morris. He pushed the image away.
It took another half hour to finish surveying the house and to tape the entranceway. He pressed the switch on the inside knob to lock the door before shutting it, but then realized he had to leave the deadbolt free and swore when he remembered he hadn't taken the key from Morris. Forensics would need it. Hell, what was the matter with him?
He walked down the driveway to the street where a halogen streetlight sent out its harsh white glare. How he hated that invention, so ugly, uncompromising. Give him the old sodium lamps any day, even with their shadows.
Nathan looked back at the house. It'd be awhile before Morris saw it again, if ever. With all the lights out he felt its emptiness like a live thing.
"You're one dissatisfied, morose bastard, Byrne," he muttered as he opened the car door and slid inside.
The fog had thickened. He drove slowly and met only a few other cars, even near the ramp to the highway. His preference was to take a back road whenever he could, and after spending eight years in the same city there wasn't a cutoff he didn't know. He decided to take the route past the local vineyard, knowing its hills would likely be above the fog layer. It was also a shortcut to the station.
Ten minutes into the drive he couldn't see anything at all. Shifting down to second gear, he calculated how far he had to go. Four miles to the station, but only one to reach the hills. As long as he didn't meet anyone or hit a deer, he'd be fine, even if it took him an hour. They'd know at the station that the weather was holding him up. Ames had probably just missed the worst of it.
Nathan glanced over at the knapsack on the seat beside him. Odd how Morris kept hugging it to himself the way he had. Normal behavior would have been to throw the stone back in the river, where there'd be no chance of any traces surviving and most likely it'd never be found. Only a certain kind of man keeps the weapon he's used to kill his best friend, like a souvenir. Morris wasn't the type. In Nathan's book, he didn't read like a killer at all. But then, provoked, anyone had it in them to kill. Of that he was entirely certain.
"You are wrong."
He almost swerved off the road before braking and coming to a full stop. Outside the glass he saw the fog surrounding the car, his headlights hardly penetrating the thick mass that swirled before them.
He forced himself to take a deep breath and looked behind him. There was nothing there. The voice had sounded in his ear. He'd have sworn he felt the exhaling of air against the side of his face as the words were spoken.
He waited, but there was nothing else. Shaking his head with impatience at his own folly, Nathan started up the car again and moved forward. He was already on an incline and a few minutes later the car crept out of the fog into a star-filled night. He was in the hills.
It had seemed peculiar to him, people setting up a vineyard in that part of the country, but the grapes flourished in a landscape where flooding wasn't unusual. For now, he was just glad to see the rows of vines in the ambient light. The branches were bare in the November cold, the vineyard dormant, waiting until the warmth came again, all of it waiting to unfold.
He was exhausted, but he'd have to grab sleep at the station if he wanted to be around when the crime scene crew showed up. That was fine with him. At least at the station it'd be noisy, and he'd have less time to think. Lately, his train of thought in general hadn't been inspiring. If he went home, it'd be worse.
He opened the side window and breathed in the crisp, clear air. "So let's find out what you did, Morris, old boy, and close this out. It's depressing me, okay?" he said into the night. He looked at the clock above the car radio. In fifteen minutes he'd be there and his first act would be to tell Manny to go the hell home.
"You will not be able to do that," the same voice said. Nathan swerved again and found himself riding the bank until the car hit a tree that had grown sideways on a massive boulder fronting the road. The tree buffered the impact. He was shaken, but seemed to be unhurt.
"You must come with me," he heard her say. He had no doubt this time whose voice it was.
This is the end of the second 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