J. Jance - A more perfect union

I nodded. "For today anyway." I changed the subject. "Amy tells me you've been tracking after the boat fire."

"The explosion happened last Tuesday, just before midnight. A forty-two-foot fiberglass cruiser named Boomer. The missing man's name is Logan Tyree."

"I know."

"How do you know that?" Peters demanded.

"I stopped by Harbor Station before I came over here."

"Has anybody besides us made the connection yet?"

"Jim Harrison said Kramer and Davis are tracking after it. They had already been to the marina by the time I stopped there this morning."

"Oh," Peters said. He sounded disappointed. "I thought maybe we'd beat them on this one."

"We may have," I said. "I talked to Tyree's neighbor, an old codger named Red Corbett. He says Davis and Kramer are calling it an accident-faulty equipment. Corbett says that doesn't jibe with the Logan Tyree he knew."

"How's that?" Peters' curiosity was aroused the same as mine had been. I told him briefly everything Red Corbett had told me. He listened in silence. When I finished, he nodded slowly.

"It sounds like Kramer's up to his old tricks again."

"What do you mean?"

"Doesn't it seem a little odd to you that they've already decided it was an accident?"

"Corbett didn't tell them everything he told me."

"Because they didn't ask. Kramer's in the market for quick fixes, Beau. That's how he made such a name for himself in robbery, how he got on a fast track for promotion. He's left behind a trail of cases that got closed on paper, whether the close was for real or not."

"I thought maybe this was just a mistake."

"Mistake my ass!" Peters flared. "There's no mistake. Believe me, I've seen it before. You could wallpaper your house with his paper clears. They don't mean a goddamned thing but they look real good in the record books."

"But what about Manny?"

"You know Manny. He's easygoing. He'll take the line of least resistance, and that doesn't include standing up to Kramer's constant pushing."

"So what do you suggest we do?" I asked.

There was a long silence. Finally Peters looked over at me. "Would you consider checking this out on your own without anyone being the wiser?" he asked.

"I suppose so," I replied.

"Then do it," Peters said. "If there's anything to what that old man said and if Logan Tyree really was murdered, I'd love to see Paul Kramer take it in the shorts."

"Consider it done," I told him. "It'll be a pleasure."

Amy and the girls came back into the room just then. I was reluctantly drafted into the hem-pinning process. My job was to help the girls hold still while Amy measured the hem with a yardstick and stuck pins in the gauzy material.

"Did you know Amy made our dresses all by herself?" Heather asked.

"Yes, I did," I said, "and it doesn't surprise me. She's a pretty talented lady."

When we left the hospital, I took the girls to McDonald's for Big Macs. They promised they wouldn't tell their dad. Big Macs are not on his health-food list. Afterwards, Heather wanted to go down to Myrtle Edwards Park to feed the ducks. Myrtle Edwards is only about three blocks from Belltown Terrace. I knew from things the girls had said that they went there often with Maxine.

For me the problem with Myrtle Edwards Park was that I hadn't been back there since that unforgettable day when I had married Anne Corley in a simple sunrise wedding. I didn't want to think about it.

In the end, I caved in and went only because I didn't want to have to explain to Heather and Tracie why I couldn't go. I sat on a bench overlooking the water and tried not to think while the girls played tag and climbed up and down the rock sculpture.

When we got home to Belltown Terrace, it was time for dinner. I barbecued hot dogs outside on the recreation floor. I was standing over the grill, but my mind was still on Anne Corley. Heather came dashing up to me just in time to see me wiping my eyes on my sleeves.

"What's the matter, Unca Beau? Are you crying?"

She had me dead to rights, but I didn't admit it. "No," I told her. "It's nothing, just the smoke."

Satisfied with my answer, Heather went skipping off to the sport court where she and Tracie were playing badminton.

"Damn you, Anne Corley," I said aloud.

She broke my heart, goddamnit. In the process she made me a homeowner again and gave me back a barbecue grill.

I dropped the girls off at their apartment downstairs and dragged myself home. My foot was killing me. I noticed it the moment I was alone in the elevator. A bone spur is one of those nagging, ever-present ailments that slips into the background when you're busy but comes throbbing to the surface the moment you're not fully occupied. I figured a Jacuzzi and an early out would do me a world of good. That was not to be, however, at least not as early as I would have liked.

The phone started ringing as soon as I put my key in the lock. It was Captain Powell, boiling mad and ready to chew ass, mine in particular.

"Just who the hell do you think you are, Beaumont?" he demanded. "Ten minutes ago I had a call here at home from the Chief who had just spoken to the mayor. It seems the Dawsons had dinner guests tonight-Mr. Goldfarb and his assistant as well as some other friends of the mayor. It was supposed to be a small reception to celebrate finishing the location shooting."

I had some idea of what was coming, but I decided to play dumb. "What does that have to do with me?"

"They're not done, goddamnit. According to Goldfarb, you're the one who held them up."

"Me?" I couldn't believe I had heard him right. "I held them up?"

"That's what Dawson said. That you screwed them around all afternoon on Saturday and then walked off the set today. They're going to have to pay a king's ransom to rent Lake Union Drydock for a half-day tomorrow."

My first instinct was to fight back, to tell the captain to cram it, but something told me that maybe Powell wasn't playing with a full deck. "Wait just a damn minute here, Larry. Did anyone happen to mention the body?"

"Body?" Larry echoed, sounding surprised. "What body?"

"Nobody told you about the corpse we fished out of the lake Saturday afternoon?"

Powell exhaled a deep breath. "No, they didn't. I've been out of town, haven't had a chance to glance at the paper. Maybe you'd better fill me in, Beau."

By the time I finished telling Powell about Logan Tyree making an unscheduled appearance on the set of Death in Drydock, the captain was already apologizing.

"Sorry about that, Beau. Either His Honor failed to mention it, or the Chief neglected to pass the word. I don't know which. Excuse the fireworks. Who did you say is handling the case-Davis and Kramer? I'd better get in touch with them and see if they can tell me anything more before I get back to the Chief. Thanks for letting me know."

He hung up the phone. I sat there looking at it, aware that I hadn't told Powell everything he ought to know. I hadn't mentioned my misgivings, that maybe Logan Tyree's accidental death wasn't. But then, aside from the vague ramblings of a talkative old man and my own gut-level hunch, I had nothing solid to tell him. Captain Powell has reamed me out more than once for what he calls my "off the wall" hunches.

I was still staring glumly at the phone when it rang again, making me jump. I picked it up. "Hello."

"Guess who?" There's a good deal of interference on the security phone in the lobby. I couldn't quite make out my male caller's voice.

"I give up," I said.

"It's me. Derrick. Guess who's with me?"

If I still owned a television set, I could have tuned to the building's closed-circuit channel and had a bird's-eye view of whoever was down in the lobby, but I didn't have one and I was far too tired to play games.