Steve Hamilton - Misery Bay

“That’s what the agents said, yeah. I haven’t seen it myself. They won’t let me go near the place.”

“Whoever it was, he was probably looking for the film. It was his film, not your father’s…”

“Wait, hold on.” He took out his cell phone and dialed. I knew he was calling his son. He held up his hand to me while it rang and rang. Eventually, he closed it.

“Tell me who else could have gotten into that basement,” I said. “Not just today, but I’m assuming this goes back a while. Probably the last three months.”

“That’s what the agents wanted to know,” he said. “We spent the whole morning making up a list.”

“How big a list are we talking about?”

“Anybody who’s ever worked for Grindstone knows how to get into that house. Hell, anybody who’s even been there. It’s like the resident party house for anybody in Bad Axe who knew my father.”

I flashed back to Connie taking me into the house that day, and how he took the key off that hook under the front porch.

“So how many people did you come up with?” I said.

“It was like forty, fifty people? Those were just the ones I could think of. The agents said they were going to start working through them today.”

“While you kept working on your little project here.” I pulled the rope down from the tree and threw it aside.

“They told me to stay out of the way, so I am. Now where the hell is my son?”

“You’re probably the only one who can figure this out,” I said, “so keep thinking. Out of all those people on the list, who is he closest to?”

“I don’t know. I can’t think. My mind is just going around in circles here.”

I ran back the scene in the apartment, trying to remember everything his girlfriend had said. I had a gut feeling that there was one more question I should have asked her. Meanwhile, Connie was running through every name he could think of.

“Brian, no. Craig, no way. Zack, no. Wait, Zack? No.”

“Hold on,” I said. “Whoever this is, he had to have access to a camera, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He went back to the list in his head.

“Like that Bolex in your son’s apartment. Delaney said he never let anybody touch it. Is that right? Nobody else could have used it?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“So did this person take a camera from the basement?”

“Maybe,” he said, waving his hand at me like I was a pesky fly. “I’m trying to think here, okay? No, to answer your question. I don’t think so. My father would have noticed that. He would have freaked out, probably, if one of his beloved cameras was gone.”

“Unless he gave one to somebody.”

“That didn’t happen very often, believe me. He’d give you a bag of weed or a thousand dollars cash if you needed it. But one of his old cameras?”

“He gave one to Sean, right? And he gave one to you…”

“No,” he said. “Will you let me think, for God’s sake? He never gave me a camera.”

“Wait a minute, Sean told me a Wiley kid gets a camera as soon as he’s old enough to hold one.”

“My father wasn’t even around when I was a kid, remember? I never got to do any of that stuff with him.”

“So who else is Sean talking about?” I said. “If it was just him, he wouldn’t say it that way.”

I thought back on it. Sitting in that sandwich shop, the first time I had met him. Yes, that’s what he said. A Wiley kid gets a camera as soon as he’s old enough to hold one.

“What about your sister?” I said.

“Corina? No. No way. I think it’s more of a recent thing. Just the grandsons. Now shut up for one minute, okay?”

He was still sitting on the ground. I was kneeling next to him. The water on the lake was gently lapping against the shore and I wanted to pick up the tripod and put it back on his neck. Just the grandsons, he says.

“What other grandsons are you talking about, Connie? Are you telling me Sean has a brother?”

“No, Corina’s son. Bobby.”

“Your nephew.”

“My half-nephew.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and rubbed my forehead. I counted to three.

“Your half-nephew,” I said. “Bobby. What’s his last name?”

“Bergman.”

“That name is familiar. Where have I seen that name?”

“Hell if I know.”

“Hold on,” I said. “The court records in your father’s room. The man he assaulted was named Bergman.”

“Darryl Bergman, yeah. Bobby’s father.”

“The loser your sister married…”

“That’s why my father beat the hell out of him, yeah. I think he felt bad that Bobby had to go through the same shit he did as a kid.”

I waited for the quarter to drop. Connie just sat there looking up at me.

“Your nephew…” I said.

“Half-nephew.”

I had to close my eyes again.

“Wait a minute,” he said, finally getting it. “Are you serious? Bobby Bergman? There’s no way.”

“Why not?”

“This kid’s a marshmallow. He’s afraid of his own shadow. He couldn’t kill a mosquito, I swear to God. Now, will you just leave me alone for a minute?”

“Did you mention him to the agents, by any chance?”

“Of course not,” he said. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m telling you, there’s no way. That kid’s like a beaten dog.”

“Maybe there’s more to him than you think,” I said. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

“I don’t know. Like four years ago? Yeah, right after the fire.”

It took me a moment to process those last words. It took him the same moment to realize what he had just said. We had both been in that same basement, watching that same film. We had both seen the same scene. The same fire.

“Oh my God,” he said, his face turning white.

“What fire, Connie?”

“The fire that killed his father. Bobby was eighteen then. Sean was seventeen. He came down to stay with us for a couple of days. Hardly said a word the whole time.”

“Came down from where?”

“From up north. He lived in Houghton then. I think he was getting ready to go to that college, the one in Houghton.”

“Michigan Tech.”

“Yeah,” Connie said. “That’s the one. Michigan Tech.”

“Is he still up there?”

“I don’t know. I guess. Probably.”

“Does Sean still talk to him?”

“Maybe. Once in a while. He always felt bad for him, I know that.”

“Unlike you, who couldn’t give a damn about him. Your half -nephew.”

“Screw you anyway,” he said, “but wait, are we really both thinking-”

“Yeah,” I said. “We’re both thinking we just figured out who your son went to see.”

“Hold on.” He rolled over to get up. I could see his pants were soaked.

“We don’t have any more time to waste,” I said. “Do you have an address for this kid?”

“Why would he go see Bobby? That’s insane! We have to find him!”

“Connie, do you have an address or not?”

“No! He wasn’t even in college yet. I have no idea.”

“A phone number? Anything?”

“No!”

“Okay, then I’ll just start heading up there. I’ll call the agents on the way.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“The hell you are,” I said. “You’ve got a movie to finish, remember? Sorry to mess up your new ending, by the way. It looks like your father might not have been a murderer after all.”

When I got back on the road, I picked up my cell phone and called Agent Long. All those times I’d been tempted to call her, this sure as hell wasn’t the conversation I had in mind.

“Listen carefully,” I said. “Did an agent talk to Sean Wiley this morning?”

“Alex, what’s going on?”