by Donna Doyle
Mason, who had been enfolded in hugs by his grandparents, didn’t hear his mother’s words.
“I’ll take care of it,” Troy promised Mia. “We’ll start a search for him. You go inside and enjoy having him back, safe and sound.”
“Thanks, Troy,” she said. “And you, too, Kelly,” she added. “Thanks for finding him.”
Kelly smiled. “I’m glad he’s back. Troy is right; you go inside and enjoy him. He doesn’t know that there was danger.”
“See if he’ll tell you anything about what happened,” Troy said. “Let me know. I want to know as much as possible.”
“I will. I don’t know why Eddie’s here in town. I hope you find him. In the meantime, we’ll be keeping a really close eye on the kids.”
“It might not be a bad idea if you move back in with your parents for a little while,” Troy said. “If that key really does get into your apartment, we have a lot of questions for Eddie Kavlick when we find him.”
As the family went back into the house, Troy’s phone rang.
“Officer Kennedy?”
“Yes,” he responded to the unfamiliar female voice.
“Sean Claypool’s body has been found. We’ll need you to come and identify the body. Officer Kennedy?”
“I’ll be right there.”
“What’s the matter?” Kelly asked. Mason was now inside the house with his family, and Troy and Kelly were alone on the porch. “Troy, what’s wrong?
Troy’s face had turned to stone as if all expression had drained from his eyes and features. He was staring at the phone. Kelly didn’t think he had heard her.
“Troy?” she reached over to touch his arm. “Troy, what did they say? What’s wrong? Is it your friend?”
He nodded, his jaw tight. “They found him. They want me to identify him.”
“But—”
“I have to go. You can get home okay?”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No, I can’t—I have to do this on my own.”
“I’m coming,” she said, striding toward the police car as if his consent were irrelevant.
“Kelly, this isn’t something for you to get involved in.”
She stood by the car, waiting. “I’m coming. I didn’t get to meet him when he was alive.”
She had no business intruding into this. He didn’t want her to come. He needed to be alone so that he could control his emotions and do his job.
He opened the door. “Kelly—”
She was inside before he finished her name. With a sense of resignation and, inexplicably, relief, Troy shut the door and got into the car on the driver’s side.
They were silent on the way to the morgue, but Kelly’s silence was like a cushion, allowing him the space he needed to try to assemble his thoughts the way a policeman, not a friend, would do. But try as he did to maintain a professional manner, images of Sean throughout their years continued to probe into his equilibrium. Army memories, a lot of those. Sean had been a good soldier. Someone who could be counted on to do what needed to be done and to do it with efficiency and a steady aim. But he was also someone who liked a good time, the one who livened up the weekends with his relentless mirth and ability to lose himself in the pleasure of the moment. Now he was gone.
But first things first. Eddie Kavlick had abducted Mason Shaw and that had to be addressed before anything. Kelly stayed in the car while Troy drove to the state police office to initiate the process, explaining what had happened.
The officer taking the information was the same one who had called him with the request to identify Sean. But she didn’t refer to that as she noted the information regarding Eddie Kavlick.
“We’ll be in touch when we find him,” she said.
He nodded and returned to the police car, turned the key and headed in the direction of the morgue. If Kelly had questions, she wasn’t asking them. She knew, somehow, that this wasn’t something that Troy could talk about. And so they drove in the darkness, silent but not separated by the quiet, even though she had never met Sean.
She stayed in the car when Troy went inside. There was nothing she could do for him there, and she knew it. Whether she could do anything at all remained to be seen. As she waited, she castigated herself for being so absorbed in the events of her own life that she had failed to be there for the others who needed her. She had not answered Rev. Dal’s call about the break-in, and she knew how troubling that was for all members of the church, but especially for its pastor. She had not pressed Troy about meeting his friend Sean Claypool, and she should have. She ought to have met him. Now, she would never get the chance. That part of Troy’s past, an important part, she guessed, was forever gone and replaced by grief which would eventually recede, but not without guilt. Sean Claypool had come to Settler Springs to renew his friendship with Troy. And to die. Whether it was a car accident or something like that, she didn’t know. That seemed the most likely, although the episode at the bar remained puzzling. Still, that was done with. She wondered about the funeral arrangements. Would Troy have to have his friend’s body sent back to Texas, where he lived? Or would Sean be buried here? Death was not merely a ritual, it was a passage, but it required planning and organization, tasks which would lie hard on the family back home. He had family here . . .
She was so lost in thought that she was startled when the police car door opened and Troy entered.
“It was him.”
Of course, she realized. Troy had been hoping against hope that the body belonged to someone else. Even though, as a policeman, he knew that such a hope was futile.
“Was there identification on him?”
Troy nodded. “Everything. Wallet, driver’s license . . . they just needed someone . . .”
He stopped talking before his voice broke. Kelly’s hand, warm and comforting, touched his fingers on the steering wheel.
“What happened?”
Troy inhaled sharply. The oxygen felt harsh in his lungs, as if he’d breathed too hard to bring it inside. “Gunshot.”
“What? Who found him?”
“They don’t know. Someone called 9-1-1, said there was a man slumped over the steering wheel in a car.”
“A car? Did Sean rent a car while he was here?”
Troy shook his head. Kelly’s questions helped to replace the chaos of his thoughts with the orderly habits of his job. “No. I picked him up at the airport. He used my Suburban if he wanted to go anywhere, and he found out that he had enough family members in town who were willing to pick him up and take him anywhere he wanted to go. The Krymanskis . . . they made this a homecoming for him.”
Troy brushed his hands over his eyes before tears could escape. “I don’t know about the car. They’re checking it out. They have a lot of questions.”
“They want to find out where he got the car and why he did it?”
“I only have one question,” Troy said, as his voice took on a tone she’d never heard before, with a primal undertone that stripped his words from pavement to gravel. “I have to find out who killed him.”
17
Who Killed Sean
“He killed himself with your gun.”
Troy had been summoned to the police station mid-morning on the following day by Chief Stark, who had given no explanation for his order. Troy showed up in jeans and a tee-shirt and something akin to a prayer that he would not show vulnerability in front of Chief Stark.
Now he stared. “My gun?”
“Claypool killed himself with your gun. How do you explain that?”
“If you tell me who used his key to open the squad car and the compartment to steal my Baretta, I’ll try to figure it out. He didn’t kill himself, by the way.”
“I saw the report. His fingerprints were on your gun. He put your gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. You’ve been a cop long enough to know that you always keep your weapons locked up. Just because you were issued a new weapon didn’t mean you should have gotten careless with the old o
ne. I told you to keep it in the car.”
“Speaking of cars,” Troy said, “who owned the car that Sean was killed in?”
“He must have stolen it,” Chief Stark said. The habitual façade of geniality was absent from his face. Instead of the caring policeman who visited the schools to tell kids that they could trust a police officer because he was there to help them, his visage was tight, the anger corralled behind the bland, middle-aged features of a man who showed a mask to the world but had taken it off in front of Troy. “Stolen it to kill himself in. You should be relieved he didn’t do it in your SUV. Messy.”
Kyle, seated in his scooter working on a report, looked up. His expression was uncharacteristically watchful as he listened to the conversation, his eyes intent upon Chief Stark.
“Who owned the car? Who used his key to take my gun out of the squad car? Who used my gun to murder Sean Claypool?”
“You’re not listening, Kennedy. He blew his brains out. He was a veteran with emotional problems. It’s a familiar story. I’m not knocking anyone who serves this country; there’s no bigger supporter than me when it comes to our boys in uniform. But there’s no excuse for veterans who come back home, get into fights, take drugs, commit crimes—”
“Who’s Eddie Kavlick?”
Troy knew that he’d scored a hit from the sudden silence. Chief Stark wasn’t expecting the question. Nor, Troy suspected, was he expecting to hear the name.
After a few moments, Chief Stark recovered his poise. “I don’t know who Eddie Kavlick is. Do you have any other random names you want to try out on me?”
“Maybe. But for now, Eddie Kavlick will do for a start.”
“I don’t like your attitude, Kennedy.”
“Someone with a key unlocked the squad car, unlocked the compartment, took out my gun and used it to kill Sean Claypool, then doctored the crime scene to make it look like a suicide.”
“Look, Kennedy,” Chief Stark attempted to sound concerned. “I know you’re upset over your friend’s death. Anyone would be. Suicide is something that is hard to accept.”
“So is murder. At least, it is for most of us.”
Troy walked out of the police station and drove to the Page home where he was grateful to find Leo at home.
“Troy, I didn’t get a chance to thank you last night for bringing Mason home,” Leo said as he opened the door.
“No thanks necessary. I’m glad he’s safe. He’s at school?”
Leo nodded. “Millie filled their teachers and the principal in on what happened so they can keep a close eye on the kids. And she’ll be there to pick them up.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to mess with Millie. Do you have a minute?”
“Sure, come on in. Millie gave me the dickens over not being here,” he admitted when he and Troy were in the sunlight kitchen, seated at the breakfast counter.
Leo rubbed his jaw ruefully. “She said I had no business being off in a sulk when the kids need me. I guess I didn’t handle the suspension very well. I’m thinking of getting some work doing security. I don’t want to owe the council any favors. I’d rather work and earn my pay.”
“What about police work?”
“If they ask me to come back,” Leo said, “I’ll come back. “But in the meantime, I need to stand up. People in this town know me. They know I didn’t force Shaw to confess to murder. If people don’t know that, I can’t change their minds. Millie says I’m too old to be worrying about what people think. She’s right.”
He poured coffee for the two of them. “She usually is right,” he admitted.
“Yeah, she is. Leo, I think Chief Stark got a friend of mine murdered.”
“What?”
“You remember that my friend Sean Claypool was flying in from Texas to visit.”
Leo, his coffee forgotten, was watching Troy intently. “Your Army buddy. I remember.”
“Yeah. Sean was doing well. Starting a landscaping business in Texas, not using anything, he was stable. He’s related to the Krymanskis so he was doing a lot of visiting while he was here.”
“Your friend . . . that’s the murder that you’re talking about? He’s a Krymanski? I remember Claypools from way back.“
“His mother was a Krymanski. Sean and his dad moved to Texas when he was ten after his parents split up. But he reconnected while he was here. Then, the other night, there was a fight at Outlaws. Chief Stark shows up and arrests Sean. No one else, just Sean. But no one had called the police.”
“You’re sure no one called? It’s been a wild time lately with everyone in town for the Memorial Day shindig.”
“I’m looking forward to June,” Troy said. “Sean didn’t start the fight, I talked to Stush. No one called the cops. But Stark showed up—and you know he doesn’t show up for night work—and he called on Sean by name, even though there was no way he’d have known him. He arrested him. I bailed him out. Sean was okay. Not suicidal.”
“Suicidal?”
“Stark says Sean killed himself. With my gun.”
“Troy, you’re going too fast for me now. What’s all this?”
Leo stirred sugar into his coffee, but his eyes didn’t leave Troy’s face. As succinctly as he could, Troy tried to deliver a timeline of the events from the bar fight up to this morning’s conversation.
“New guns . . . I thought the idea was for us to cut back on expenses,” Leo commented. “And your Baretta turns up missing from the squad compartment. I suppose Stark said you forgot to lock it.”
“Stark said a lot of things. Sean didn’t kill himself. He was shot and killed.”
“But the evidence suggests suicide?”
Troy exhaled slowly. “That’s what it suggests. But it’s a lie.”
“Why would anyone kill him? He’s a stranger in town, you’re the only one who knows him.”
“Well, me and a whole bunch of the Krymanskis. But he and Skip Krymanski made plans to go up to the lake this weekend. That doesn’t sound like someone who’s going to steal a car and shoot himself in it.”
“No.”
“Mia told you about Eddie Kavlick?”
“Yeah.” Leo shook his head in self-disgust. “Great cop I am. My grandson talks to a stranger at camp and I dismiss any thought of danger.”
“You weren’t expecting it.”
“You think he’s involved with your friend’s death?”
“He’s involved in something. When Chief Stark showed up at Outlaws, he just arrested Sean. But Stush said Eddie started the fighting. Stark never interrogated anyone, never asked witnesses what they’d seen. He just hauled Sean into jail. For no reason.”
“Except you.”
“Huh?”
“You’re the reason, aren’t you? You didn’t accept Lucas Krymanski as the killer of that girl that was found in the alley. You challenged Stark in front of an audience on his first day back on the job. You don’t defer to him and he knows what you think of him.”
“So he kills a friend of mine?”
“I didn’t believe, not for a long time, that Chief Stark was bad news. It took me a long time to reach that conclusion. You were already there. Stark knows it. You need to look out for yourself, Troy. He’s back in his job and he’s not going to tolerate anyone getting in his way.”
“Are you telling me to back off?”
“No, I’m not. Mia is vulnerable and so are the kids. I don’t know how it all ties together. Maybe it doesn’t, maybe it’s not neat and tidy. But something’s rotten around here, and you and I both know it. Kyle knows it too.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not sure,” Leo admitted. “But watch your back.”
18
The Memorial Day Program
When Saturday came, Troy went out to run on The Trail alone. The Memorial Day program was taking place that afternoon, and Kelly had a lot of work to do in preparation for the program. It was an overcast day; rain threatened overhead from the clouds in the gray sky. The weather su
ited his mood. It had been a bad week. Calling Sean’s father to break the news had been painful. Telling Skip Krymanski in person had been difficult. Sean’s dad was incredulous at the news that his son had committed suicide; Sean, he said, had been at a great point in his life, happier than he’d been in years, with his life finally on a solid foundation. Skip Krymanski had taken the news with a profanity-laced tirade. There was no way, Skip said, that Sean had killed himself. And Troy knew it, Skip had yelled, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Troy with a hostile gaze.
Troy kept his thoughts to himself. He couldn’t take the risk of revealing his suspicions and putting anyone in danger.
Sean’s death shouldn’t have happened. Knowing that—and realizing that Leo could very well be correct in his assumption that Sean had been killed for no other reason than as a warning—Troy felt that if he were Arlo, his hackles would be up by now. It was time for him to investigate under the radar and that meant finding out more about Eddie Kavlick.
“He abducted a little boy,” Troy said to Trooper Davies. “He’s not someone who should be out on the street.”
“But we only have the child’s word for it,” Davies pointed out. “There’s no direct link.”
Troy wanted to keep Mia Shaw out of it, which meant that he had to stretch a few of the links that did connect Kavlick to the abduction and, he hoped, to Sean. “Eddie Kavlick was in the bars for the past few weeks,” he said. “He got into fights. Ask around; there must be fifty people who could identify him.”
“That doesn’t make him a kidnapper. Look, Troy, I understand how you feel about a kid’s safety. I feel the same way. But the kid is back home. For all we know, he got scared because he knew he was supposed to be home earlier, and he made up a story.”
As Troy ran, he replayed the conversation in his mind. Was Davies one of Stark’s men, a source in the state police who kept the Settler Springs police chief informed on matters that were of particular interest to the Starks? Then he’d have to try another one of the troopers. Maybe the female officer who had contacted him about Sean on the night his body was found; maybe she was clean; Stark was unlikely to have any enlightened ideas about opening up the boys’ club of men in blue to a female. He’d have to find a way to ask her without being obvious and without alerting Stark that he was searching for a killer.
