Our Fathers (Conner Beach Crime Series)

by John Chabot

  "If I miss this test, it could ruin my average." Hardly.

  "I could get kicked off the team." Gross exaggeration.

  "You're ruining our lives!" An outright lie, but they knew from experience that in an argument like this, you get few points for accuracy.

  For a short while, they had been the center of some attention. Some of the kids wanted the gory details, but lost interest when they found that neither Ben nor Christy had any. Interest picked up slightly when the loudspeakers in their classrooms came on, made deep throated scratching sounds, then summoned them to the principal's office. It would have risen several notches higher if it were known they were to be questioned by the police.

  Christy had the dark hair and sharper features of the Carlsbergs. She had quick, intelligent eyes and a studious appearance that was not just the result of her glasses. From somewhere in the genetic grab bag, she had also inherited a firm roundness that, at sixteen, turned heads, but that later on promised a never-ending struggle against hippiness.

  When she went through the frosted glass door at the end of the hall, she saw the principal talking to an odd looking pair. One was a stumpy little man with heavy dark eyebrows and not much hair. He seemed to be in charge. The other was a young woman, not that much older than Christy. She was tall, a bit skinny, something like a model, but not pretty enough for that. Despite her age, she seemed a bit stern, official. And then she had it. The police. Her eyes lit up as she thought this might turn out to be all right after all.

  The principal gave her one of the solicitous smiles he usually reserved for parents, saying, "Christine, this is Lieutenant, uh — Chervenic, is that right? — and Detective Wilder." He switched on his serious expression. "They'd like to ask you some questions about your uncle. I talked to your mother about this. She has given her permission. Somewhat reluctantly, perhaps, but I assured her I would be here in case there was any, well . . ." He didn't seem to know how to go on, so he stopped.

  Christy and Mickie went into the principal's office, while Harry waited for Ben to show up. The principal was a little perturbed that he wasn't there already, but Christy knew it was because he had stopped off at his locker. He hated carrying books around — said it made him look like a geek.

  She was glad when Mickie avoided the chair behind the big, formidable looking principal's desk. Instead, they went to a round table used for informal conferences, with half a dozen chairs around it. Christy put her things on the table, sitting straight and alert, eager to see how it would be done. "Am I a suspect?"

  The detective smiled and lost her sternness. "Of what?"

  "Well, murder, I suppose."

  "We're not sure about that. We're just gathering information. And if it does come to that, I don't think you'd be very high on our list."

  Christy let her disappointment show. Mickie asked, "Are you confessing?"

  "Me? No, I didn't do it."

  "Well, we might as well get that part out of the way. Where were you on Saturday night?"

  "What time?"

  "Say between ten and twelve."

  "At a party. A birthday party for Tina Bauer. Actually, her birthday was on Thursday, but they had the party on Saturday. They even had a band. She's kind of a snot, but the party was pretty good." She stopped and then asked, "Is that when he died? And we were dancing and fooling around. It just seems . . ." Oh God, she thought, I'm starting to sound like Mom.

  "Were you with anyone special during that time?"

  "You mean with one guy?" She rolled her eyes in disgust. "It started that way. We've gone out a few times. I think he had some drinks before the party. Every time we started to slow dance he tried to — you know."

  Mickie nodded, smiled encouragement, but said nothing.

  "Well, I didn't really mind him trying, you know, but God — he's such a klutz at it! Anyway, he got mad and left. Or maybe he went out and barfed in the bushes, I don't know. After that I just hung out with some friends."

  "Did you leave the party at any time?"

  "Just when it broke up, a little after twelve."

  "How did you get home?"

  "With a friend. Her boyfriend has a car. I rode with them."

  "Did they take you straight home, or did you maybe stop someplace? Like for a hamburger or something?"

  "Hah!" She did the eye-rolling thing again. "They couldn't wait to get me home. Talk about a fifth wheel."

  "Do you drive?"

  "I can. I don't have my license yet, but Wes is teaching Ben and me how. Ben isn't quite old enough to get his learners permit, but Wes says he might as well know how. He takes us out on the back roads so we can practice." She remembered whom she was talking to and asked, "Is that illegal?"

  "Probably, but isn't that how everyone learns?"

  She grinned. "Everyone I know."

  "What did you think of your uncle?"

  "You mean Matt? I liked him. We all did. He asked us not to call him 'Uncle Matt'. Just Matt. Uncle Robert asked him where he'd been, and he started telling us stories about people he'd known and things he'd seen. All over. Greece, France, Japan. He'd been everywhere."

  "Did he say what he was doing there?"

  "No, he never did. I think Ben asked him. He said he was in imports, but that doesn't really say much, does it? I didn't say anything, but I got the impression he sort of slid around that question. And I noticed Uncle Robert got that real uptight look when he said that about the imports. I didn't care, though. It was fun just listening to him. I'm not sure I believe all the stories, but that's all right. He was nice."

  "Your mother said he was joking about leaving you something in his will."

  "Oh, that. I don't know if he was joking or not. We were all laughing at something. Diane made a joke about his being our long lost rich uncle, and he said something like, Well, I'll have to leave you something in my will, won't I? Then Ben, my very subtle brother, asked him what it would be."

  "Did he answer?"

  "I don't think he was ready for the question. I don't think he'd even thought about it. It was a joke. But he looked kind of thoughtful, and then he smiled. It was a funny smile, like he'd just thought of a secret. And he said, 'I'll leave you something I can't use anymore.' And Ben, of course, asked what it was again, and he said he wouldn't tell us, but that it was about this long and this wide."

  She held her palms eight or nine inches apart, then used her thumb and fingers to show another three inches. "He said there'd be one for each of us. Ben asked if it was money. He said no, but it was paper. Diane asked him if they were valuable. It was like playing twenty questions."

  "What did he say to that?"

  "I think he said that would depend on what we did with them."

  "What then?"

  "Then Mom came in and said dinner was ready."

  "No more was said about it?"

  "Not really. Uncle Robert said he couldn't stay. He was supposed to be in Asheville, I think. Diane left with him — she had some stuff to do for school. I don't think Matt meant to stay either, but he was kind of trapped. He didn't really eat, anyway. Just took little helpings and pushed it around."

  "Did you have your uncle's address at the beach?"

  "Not the address, but he told us about it. It would be easy to find."

  "Did you ever go to visit him there?"

  "No. He said he wasn't going to be there. While we were eating, Mom said she wanted to get everyone together for a real Sunday dinner, but he said he had to go to Boston and didn't know when he'd be back."

  Her face became very sober and she said, "He didn't go anywhere, did he? Not to Boston, anyway."

  "I guess not."

  "Have you talked to Wes and my mother?"

  "Mr. Stoneman? Yes, we've talked to them."

  "What do you think of them? I mean as a couple. Do you think they'll get married?"

  Mickie floundered for an answer of some kind. Before she could come up with anything, the girl said, "I wish they would."

  "Y
ou like Mr. Stoneman?"

  "He's all right. Mom likes him. A lot." She studied Mickie for a few seconds, wondering how she would take it. "It would sure be easier on her. She could stop all the pretending and just go to bed with him."

  She looked to see if she had shocked Mickie, and was disappointed when she saw she hadn't.

  Harry asked, "Mr. Stoneman is teaching you to drive?"

  "Yeah. We don't use his car, though — the Caddie. He's not stupid. He says we'll be driving Mom's car, so we might as well learn in it."

  "You drive pretty well?"

  "Better than Christy. She drives like an old lady."

  Ben Campbell had brown eyes with none of the green of his mother and uncles. Probably his father's legacy. He was stocky and strong for his age, obviously into athletics, and had more than his share of vitality. He couldn't sit still, kept changing positions in his chair. At fifteen, Chervenic thought, his appetite must be awesome.

  "Ever take the car out yourself?"

  "Hey, I don't even have a learner's permit."

  "I know, but you wouldn't be the first. Or the last."

  "That's a fact. But Mom would kill us if she ever caught us doing that. Besides, she keeps the keys with her." He grinned and said, "She's not stupid, either."

  "Did you ever see your uncle's place?"

  "Matt's? Nah. I wanted to go by, you know, just see what it was like, where he lived."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "No wheels."

  Harry remembered, just barely, what it was like to be fifteen. Almost grown, almost a man, adventurous, eager to explore, to go, to do — and grounded in a world where everything was somewhere else.

  "What about Saturday night? Where were you then?"

  He made a sour face. "Home. Alone. Mom went somewhere with Wes, and Christy was at some dumb party." You could see the thought hit him. He grinned and said, "I don't have an alibi."

  "I guess not. What did you do?"

  "Not much. Watched some TV. Put on a movie."

  "Did you call anyone? Anyone call you?"

  He thought. "No. No alibi at all." That seemed to please him.

  Harry closed his notebook and considered how he would go to the next subject without making Ben feel like a fink. The wide brown eyes told him that straight on was probably best.

  "Ben, I'm going to ask you a question, and I hope you won't take it the wrong way. Do you know of any problems your mother or Mr. Stoneman might be having regarding money? Any unexpected expenses, anything like that?"

  He needn't have worried. Ben just shrugged and said, "If you listen to Mom, we're all heading for the poorhouse, wherever that is, but she's always talked like that. If they still had poorhouses, Mom would have reserved a room for us. I think Dad had a lot of insurance though, and we get money from the store."

  "How about Mr. Stoneman?"

  "Are you kidding? He's a lawyer. You know what they say about lawyers."

  Harry knew he was supposed to ask what. "They say a lot of things about lawyers. Which one?"

  "That they make a dollar more than doctors and only two dollars less than God." He smiled broadly at his own joke.

  Harry asked, "You think it's true?"

  "Wes is the one who told me."

  "You like him?"

  "He's okay. You can talk to him, anyway. You know, stuff you couldn't ask your mother about." He tried to picture it, shaking his head. "Mom would have a cow. You can ask him stuff and not get much bull. For a lawyer, anyway."

  "When did they get home?"

  "I don't know. Maybe midnight."

  "Do you remember what was on when they came in?"

  "Sure. I was watching 'Aliens'. It's on tape. Wes didn't come in though."

  So no way to check the time. "How did your mother seem? Worried? Nervous?"

  Ben's expression changed from open to suspicious, but he shrugged again and said, "Mom went on a little about not wanting me to watch violent movies, but I think she was just out of shape because Christy wasn't home yet."

  "Were you still up when your sister came in?"

  "Yeah. It was only about ten minutes later."

  "Do you know how she got home?"

  "Probably with Bill Prohosky. He's seventeen, but he's in Christy's class. I think he flunked third grade. Anyway, sometimes he gets his parent's car."

  Harry was about to ask another question, but Ben wasn't through with that one. "How can girls be so dumb about guys? Prohosky is such a jerk. He doesn't play any sports, none of the guys like him, and he thinks he's the coolest thing that walks because he's a year older. Would you believe it, this guy wears shades at night. I mean, Christy is really smart, and this guy couldn't learn to multiply."

  "You don't like him."

  "He's a dork. Everybody knows. I told Christy. She just rolled her eyes," — he gave an exaggerated imitation — "and went out with him anyway. How can she be so dumb?"

  Harry had sometimes wondered about that himself. "I know what you mean. But look at it another way. Suppose you liked some girl, and your sister told you she was spiteful and snotty and none of the girls could stand her. Would you listen?"

  Ben looked doubtful. "You think it's the same thing?"

  "I think so, yeah."

  "I don't know. How can you listen to anyone who's dumb enough to go out with Bill Prohosky?"

  Give it up, Harry thought. Nobody learns until it's too late.

  Kelly called that night. "Terry, I just heard this afternoon. Is it really true?"

  "Yeah, it's true all right."

  "My God. How awful. I had no idea. You know me, I hardly ever watch TV. Then a policeman came by at work and wanted a statement. I didn't know what he was talking about. I must have sounded like I was trying to deny it or something. They even took my fingerprints."

  "I know, they took mine too."

  "What for?"

  "Elimination, I think. They probably have a bunch of prints from the scene. They eliminate Matt's and the people who admit to being there, and then see if any are left."

  "I felt like a criminal. They don't think we did it, do they?"

  "I hope not. It's just that we were with him a few hours before he was killed."

  "So he was murdered? They said they weren't sure of that."

  "I am. I found him."

  "Oh, no, Terry. They didn't tell me that. Are you all right?"

  "Yeah, I'm, okay."

  There was a little silence, then she said sympathetically. "Poor Terry."

  That made him laugh. He answered, "Yeah, poor Terry."

  "I wish I could reach through the phone and touch you."

  "Me too. It's been, what — two days? — and I miss the hell out of you, Lady."

  There was a longer pause. Then she said, "I'll be down Friday evening."

  "I thought you couldn't make it till Saturday."

  "I can't. But I will." She paused again, then burst out with, "Damn it! It's a matter of priorities. If they don't like it, to hell with them."

  CHAPTER 14

  He had not shrunk much with age — he was now in his late sixties — and was still a large, well-fleshed man in good condition. He had a full head of silvery hair, very blue eyes, and looked more like an Irish politician than a retired cop.

  It was mid afternoon in the lounge of the Mariner Hotel. A row of tall windows looked out over the beach, and sunlight made the room unnaturally bright. He had been here once in the evening, and was glad it wasn't dark now. At night the room was only dimly lit, as lounges should be, but floodlights mounted on the side of the building lit up the beach and the breakers. Someone, he thought, with a degree in hotel management had decided it would be an improvement over moonlight. "Gaudy," was what had come to his own mind. "Tacky," his wife had said. She had wanted to take a .22 rifle out on the beach and use the lights for target practice. He smiled as he remembered it. A very sensible woman was Mrs. Faber.

  Except for him, the lounge was empty. He sat by one of the windows, a tall ic
y drink on the table, looking out at the surf building and breaking into foam, and building again, over and over. Before we were here, he thought, and long after the whole bloody lot of us are gone.

  He sat where he could watch the beach and both entrances to the lounge, so he saw Harry and Mickie come in. Even if the room had been crowded, he would have known these were the ones he was waiting for. Chervenic was easy. To a man of Faber's experience, there was so much about Harry that said police, it was difficult to point to any particular thing. It had all melded into an overall look that was unmistakable. With Mickie it was not so apparent. He wouldn't have spotted her immediately except that she was with Harry. As he watched them wind their way through the tables, he noticed her more closely. She didn't look like the cops you see on TV. She wasn't quite pretty enough. A little on the lean side for his own taste. He saw the short hair, the plain, practical, comfortable clothes. He noticed the way she looked at him, the professional appraisal, and especially the way she glanced about the room to see whom else might be there. My God, he thought, do we all wear our badges so plainly?

  He stood up with a smile, gave a beefy hand to Harry, a nod to Mickie. Harry took the hand, noticing the strength that was still there.

  "Captain Faber? I'm Harry Chervenic. This is Mickie Wilder."

  Faber noticed that he didn't use 'Lieutenant' or 'Detective' in the introductions. So this was to be kept informal.

  "Dan, please. I haven't been Captain for a long time. Even then, I never felt comfortable being called that. Here, please, sit down."

  A waiter in a short white jacket and maroon pants came up. Harry ordered coffee. Mickie said, "Nothing, thanks." Faber raised his glass and said, "Same again."

  "That's gin and tonic, with . . .?"

  "Extra lime and hold the gin." He noticed Harry's expression and said, "Well, we all have our little weaknesses, don't we?"

  When the waiter had brought the drinks and left, Faber sipped his tonic and said, "Well, now, I understand you want to pick my brains. Or what's left of them. It's been so long since I've worked the streets, I don't even know who the bad guys are anymore."