by L. T. Vargus
Insects fluttered about inside her stomach, like she was a fifteen-year-old talking to her crush in algebra class. Owen always had that effect on her. And just now she was finding it extremely annoying.
“Tell us more about Micaela Tolliver,” Darger said, eager to redirect the conversation. “What happened the night she disappeared?”
“According to Sully, she went out to meet some friends that night and never came back.”
Clancy sauntered out onto the deck. He wandered from person to person, eager to be pet by each of the newcomers. His tail tickled against Darger’s leg as he sidled between her ankles.
“Any chance you’ve managed to locate the boyfriend?” Darger asked.
“Nope. Been to his house twice. Left him half a dozen phone messages. His folks don’t seem worried, though, so I figure they’ve heard from him and know he’s alright.”
Darger reached down and rubbed the space between Clancy’s eyes.
“What’s Sully’s take on this kid?”
“Sully’s about as big a fan of Christiaan as mom and stepdad. And as it happens, he got into it a little with Micaela that night.”
“About Christiaan?”
Owen nodded.
“He’d been getting an earful from Lesley about the boyfriend being a bad influence, as it was. But Sully was of the opinion that forbidding Micaela from seeing him would only make it worse. But then he found some stuff in her room — pot and what looked like ecstasy. He drew the line. Told her she was grounded and couldn’t see Christiaan anymore, and she ran off.”
“I’m surprised we didn’t hear this from Micaela’s mother,” Loshak said.
Owen licked his lips.
“She doesn’t know.”
Darger raised an eyebrow.
“Look, Sully’s very protective of Micaela. He doesn’t want to tell Lesley about finding the drugs, because he knows she’ll overreact.”
“Well, as overbearing as she seems, Micaela is her daughter. Seems like the kind of thing they should be addressing together, as her parents.”
“That’s none of my business,” Owen said with a shrug. “I don’t have kids, so I leave the parenting decisions to Sully. He doesn’t want Lesley to know about it, so she doesn’t. Not really my place to tell her. I’m only telling you in case it ends up being pertinent to the investigation.”
“What about the other people Micaela was with that night?” Darger asked.
“I talked to a few of them.” Owen scratched a mosquito bite on his leg. “All in all they didn’t seem too concerned.”
“Maybe because they know she and Christiaan are off somewhere together?”
“Perhaps.”
“What’s your take on the locals?” Loshak asked. “Are they more likely to be friend or foe, in your professional opinion?”
“I only met the deputy chief the time I went with Sully to ask him to put more effort into finding Micaela. He’s a real smiley guy. Kept saying she’d turn up, we’d see. That kids this age go ‘missing’ all the time and then show up without a word.” Owen polished off his beer. “The impression I got was that he’s more of a baby-kisser. More into being someone of importance than having a strong sense of justice. I don’t think he’ll be openly hostile, but I doubt he’ll be pleased you’re here.”
“And what about the detective? Vinke?”
“He’s the least experienced detective on the force,” Owen said. “My guess is Beethoven assigned the case to him so he could keep a close watch on the investigation, in the event things start heating up.”
Loshak set his bottle down.
“Well I could only get official approval from the brass to be down here for two days. Doesn’t leave us a lot of time. We’ll make more progress if we split up. I think you and Darger should go talk to your friend, and in the meantime, Spinks and I will go butter up the locals.” He turned to Darger. “Sound good to you?”
The suggestion that she should pair up with Owen caught her off guard, and Darger had to blink her surprise away before she could sputter out an answer.
“Sure,” she said, nodding too vigorously now. “Of course. That’s a great idea. Yeah.”
Darger willed herself to stop talking, grinding her teeth together and pressing her lips tight.
Good one, idiot. Really smooth. Maybe you could come up with five more ways to say, “Yes.”
She realized her stupid skull was still nodding like a bobblehead figure on someone’s dashboard.
She froze, but then she started to worry that she looked too tense. She pushed the corners of her mouth into a smile and prayed she didn’t look demented.
Thankfully, Loshak hadn’t seemed to notice that she was acting like a total fruitcake.
He only rubbed his hands together and asked, “One crucial question before we get started: You got a donut shop somewhere on this island?”
CHAPTER 6
Loshak and Spinks took the rental car while Darger followed Owen across the marina on foot. Music filtered up from the cabin of one of the boats they passed. On another boat, a well-oiled man with skin the color and texture of a wet cigar laid out in the sun, his back baking in the sun.
She thought they were heading for the repair shop Micaela’s father owned, but instead, Owen sauntered over to a small grass-roofed canopy near the docks. Darger saw clipboards and handwritten notes tacked to the back wall of the small hut, and a whiteboard with diesel prices written in dry erase marker.
There was a teenage boy behind the desk of the little office playing some kind of game on his phone. He wore a baseball hat with the logo of the marina embroidered on the front. He was probably sixteen or seventeen, with a faint line of hair on his upper lip. He glanced up as they approached.
“Oh hey, Mr. Owen.”
“Hey, Raul.” Owen glanced around and then passed the kid some cash. “Can I borrow her for an hour?”
The kid palmed the money deftly, tucking it into the pocket of his navy blue work pants.
“Sure thing.”
The kid removed his hand from his pocket and tucked something in Owen’s hand. The whole thing reminded Darger of a drug deal, and she wondered who exactly they were “borrowing” for an hour.
As they left the hut, Owen moved away from the water and around to the street side of the marina.
“What just happened there?” Darger asked. “Why do I feel like I just witnessed some kind of illegal transaction?”
Owen snorted.
“Relax. There’s nothing illegal about it. Well, not in the most literal sense…” He opened his hand and dangled a pair of keys in the air. “Raul rents out his car to people docking at the marina for a nominal fee.”
“Why the secrecy?” Darger asked.
He paused in front of a dark blue Volkswagen Beetle circa 1972 and climbed in. “Well, management would probably frown upon Raul’s entrepreneurial spirit. Gotta keep it on the down-low.”
Owen turned the key, and the engine sputtered to life.
“Does this thing actually run?” Darger asked. “It sounds like an old lawnmower.”
“She runs just fine. Although you’ll want to tread lightly in here. Floor’s a little rusted out on your side.”
Owen aimed a finger at the front corner of the floorboard. Sure enough, as Owen put the car in gear and pulled into traffic, Darger could see a sliver of pavement rolling by underneath. She scooted her feet away from the gap in the floor.
They lapsed into silence as Owen steered them through the streets of Willemstad. When they came to a stop at a traffic light, Darger heard music coming from a group of street performers set up on the corner.
They waited for the light to turn green, and Darger pondered whether or not Loshak had intentionally partnered her with Owen as some sort of matchmaking effort. It didn’t really seem his style, meddling in that kind of thing. Then again, Loshak was often sneakier than she gave him credit for.
Of course, she had to admit that it made the most sense for Darger to pai
r up with Owen and for Spinks to stick with Loshak. Spinks had shadowed Loshak on several cases now. They had a rapport. A pseudo-partnership, one might say. It would have been a little odd for her to team up with Spinks. Odder still if Loshak had suggested that Spinks and Owen form a duo.
OK. So Loshak probably hadn’t been scheming.
That didn’t make being alone with Owen any less awkward.
“You sure you didn’t get a little seasick?” Owen asked when the light finally turned green and they were moving again.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged.
“It’s just that you’ve been awfully quiet.”
“Oh. We had to take a red-eye from Virginia. I think it’s jet lag more than anything.”
That was partially true.
“Well, I truly appreciating y’all coming down here. I know this was a big favor to ask, but Sully is a good dude. I just want him to get his daughter back.”
“We’ll do our best.”
They crossed a bridge that took them further inland.
“How are things with you?” Owen asked. “I heard you took some kind of hiatus from the Bureau?”
“Yeah.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye while he drove.
“How was that?”
“Didn’t take.”
Owen laughed.
“Just couldn’t stay away, eh?”
“Hardly.”
“What was it that drove you away?”
Darger thought about all the petty grievances, trying to land on one. But it wasn’t just one single incident.
“It was a death of a thousand cuts kind of thing. And feeling like the people with clout care more about the story we tell afterward than anything resembling justice.”
Owen nodded.
“What made you go back?”
“The realization that the FBI wasn’t unique in their bureaucratic apathy. Or their desire for spinning the story to put themselves in the most flattering light.”
“Ahh… so more of a, better the devil you know kind of scenario?” Owen said, arching an eyebrow.
“Exactly.”
They rounded a curve in the road. Darger’s ears popped as they climbed higher into the rocky hills. At certain angles, she still caught glimpses of the water glittering along the coast.
“How about you?” she asked. “What’s it like waking up in a tropical paradise every morning? Do you have to pinch yourself to make sure you aren’t dreaming?”
One corner of his mouth quirked into a half-smile.
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Uh-oh,” Darger said.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Owen added hastily. “I love it. But this is the longest I’ve stayed in one place in over a year.”
“And you’re itching to get back out on the water?” Darger guessed.
“The opposite, actually. It’s been nice for some of the faces around to grow familiar. To have a little predictability. Shit. I’m beating around the bush, really. I’ve missed having friends is what it is.”
Darger crossed her arms.
“I thought you said it was easy to make friends with the other people sailing around. That there’s a sort of camaraderie that happens on the water.”
“Oh yeah. It’s like a club. You get into a marina or anchor near a popular beach, and the whole culture is about being welcoming. We have little parties and dinners. Sometimes you’ll find a group to sail with for a while. But it’s not the same as having roots down somewhere. Walking into the same diner every morning and having the waitress know your order from memory.” He paused and rubbed at the back of his neck. “So yeah. I’ve made friends here and there. Had a good time with a lot of different folks. But it’s hard to form anything meaningful when you’re only anchoring for a few days at a time. It’s like meeting people on vacation… you might have the time of your life, but when your two weeks are up, you go your separate ways.”
They were on a winding residential street. The houses were small and cottage-like with generous lots of an acre or two. In between the lots, snarls of green vines twined around fences and up utility poles.
Owen slowed down and pulled to the curb. He blew out a breath and pointed at the ocean.
“Listen to me bellyachin’ when I get to see that every day.” He smiled sadly.
He gestured at a small stucco house painted a pale sea green with a front yard shaded by a large mango tree.
“Anyway, this is Sully’s place.”
They climbed out. Owen continued talking as they crossed the street, moving toward the green house.
“Just gets lonely sometimes, is all,” he said. “But I figure you know all about that.”
“Me?”
She followed him up a path outlined with rocks.
“Sure. Always jumping from city to city. Never in one place for longer than a week or two.”
Their feet scuffed against the concrete steps that led up to the front porch. A dog barked somewhere in one of the backyards.
He paused in front of the door.
“You used to complain about always feeling like the new kid at school when you started a case in a new city. Some kind of interloper. Always on the outside looking in,” Owen said, raising his fist to knock.
“I guess that does sound about right,” Darger admitted.
Owen turned to her, an intense expression on his face. He licked his lips and opened his mouth, poised to ask her something.
But the dog barked again, and Owen’s attention returned to the unanswered door. He gave another knock and then pointed at the side of the house.
“Sometimes he’s in the back with a pair of earbuds in, tinkering with something or other. Let’s go around.”
They went back down the steps and over to a fence that divided the front yard from the back. Owen reached over the fence to get to the latch on the other side. The barking dog was still going at it, and it was only now that Darger could see Sully’s backyard that she realized it must be his dog.
A screen door creaked open and slammed shut. At first Darger thought it might be Sully himself until she realized it had come from the house next door. A guy stomped across the porch and hurried over to a car parked in the driveway.
It was an older sports car, a Camaro maybe, with a cobra airbrushed along the side.
When he reached the car, he paused with the driver’s side door open and glanced over at them. He was in his late 20s, Darger thought, with brassy bleached hair and dark roots. Fussy-looking facial hair. Not quite a beard. More like a thin line that traced his jawline. Darger always perceived this type of facial hair as someone desperately trying to look like they had a chiseled jaw.
“Hey! Hey you!”
There was a click as Owen finally managed to unlatch the gate. He paused with the gate open just a crack.
“Yeah?”
The guy lifted his chin.
“You a friend of Sully’s?”
“I am.”
He stared at them for a minute, sizing them up. Darger worried that the man might think they were intruders or something and reached for her badge. The man’s face suddenly soured into a scowl, and he spit on the ground.
“Well you tell Sully that if he doesn’t shut that fucking mutt up, I’m calling animal control.”
“Uh, I’ll be sure to pass that on,” Owen said as he pulled the gate wide.
The guy hadn’t waited for their answer. He started up his car and revved the engine. It was loud. He rocketed out of the driveway, tires squealing as he turned into the street.
“Asshole,” Owen said.
“You know this dog?” Darger asked as Owen held the gate open for her and let it swing shut behind them.
“Oh yeah. You don’t have to worry about Duke. He’s all bark. Although Sully’s got him trained so that usually he just gives one warning bark to let him know someone’s out front. I’ve never heard him go on like this.”
As they came around the b
ack corner of the house, Darger finally spotted the huge mastiff. The dog bounced around at the end of a chain, which was attached to a tree at the far end of the yard.
Owen froze. Darger knew by his face that something was wrong and rested her fingers on her holster.
“What is it?”
“He never chains Duke up.”
Owen started walking again. More slowly now. The dog whined and paced as they moved closer, calming somewhat now that a familiar face was near.
Owen unhooked the chain from Duke’s collar. The massive dog started barking again and jumped up on Owen.
“I know,” Owen said, trying to calm the dog down. “It’s exciting to be free again, isn’t it?”
But Darger thought the dog seemed more agitated than excited.
Owen kicked at a steel bowl near where Duke had been tied up.
“Oh, I see. Your water bowl’s empty,” he said, snatching up a nearby garden hose. “You thirsty, buddy? Is that it?”
While Owen filled the bowl, Darger crept closer to the back of Sully’s house.
Darger reached one of the rear windows and used the sill to pull herself high enough to peer into the house.
Behind her, Duke began to howl. It was a melancholy sound that sent a shiver down her spine.
Darger found herself looking in on a small dining nook off the kitchen. The decor suggested it had last been remodeled in the late sixties, with orange and green floral wallpaper and cabinets painted a buttery yellow shade.
Everything was still in the house except for one thing.
A man. Swaying slightly.
A moment passed before Darger realized what she was looking at.
Sully Tolliver, hanging by a noose from the ceiling fan of his living room.
CHAPTER 7
Darger stood across the street from Sully Tolliver’s house, watching the local police crawl all over the scene. Loshak and Spinks had arrived a few minutes before, along with the wave of first responders.
Owen looked down at Duke, who was now sitting quietly beside them. He rested a hand on the dog’s head, as if to comfort him in his loss.
“This isn’t right,” Owen said for the fiftieth time. “If you knew Sully… There’s no way he’d do something like this.”
