Where I Can See You

by Larry D. Sweazy

  Confined by the legal system and facing the reality of no bail, Hud Matthews was escorted to his mother’s funeral in handcuffs. The ride there was slow and long, and he was glad that Burke hadn’t put him in a cage, had allowed him to sit in the passenger seat like a normal human being instead of an alleged cop killer.

  “You’re not going to let me see the report, are you?” he said to Burke.

  “You know I can’t do that.” Burke tossed him a sideways glance, and there was no hint of regret in his voice.

  Hud stared out the windshield, was glad that the day was bright, the mid-autumn sky free of any clouds, of any perceivable threats. The temperature was comfortable, and he had the side glass cracked at the top so fresh, cool air pushed into his face as they rode along. “You have to tell me what’s in it.”

  “Look, I know how important this is for you. We shouldn’t be here together. You know that, but Sloane . . .”

  “Had you fooled, too.”

  “You could say that.” Burke sighed. “I will tell you this. My father always suspected Sloane’s father of having something to do with your mother’s disappearance. But he didn’t push too hard, according to his notes, according to his file.”

  “You didn’t want me to see that.”

  “No, you’d start asking questions.”

  “About your father. You knew?”

  Burke slowed the car and edged it over to the side of the road. “I knew he had some business deals that were shady. Damn it, Hud, look at the house. It’s in the best spot on the lake. They lived high on the hog, partied with the wealthiest people around. My dad didn’t make that kind of money, and my mom didn’t work. It had to come from somewhere. I found out a lot when he died. We washed our hands of it all. I swear to you.”

  “But Sloane didn’t?”

  “We didn’t talk about it.”

  “Come on, Burke, don’t fuck with me. Not now.”

  “I already knew too much. My hero wasn’t such a hero. He couldn’t go after Sloane’s father for anything because it would expose him, too. They would lose everything. It would have been the same for me if I went after him. My hands were tied.”

  “That’s what Sloane said to me. That their lives were going to be destroyed.” Hud lowered his head, took a deep breath and faced Burke. “My life was destroyed. I lost everything. And here I am sitting in a police car, handcuffed, accused of being a murderer. Tell me how that’s fair? Everybody was protecting themselves, afraid of doing the right thing when the right time came to do it. Including you. You covered your ass. Thanks for being my friend, Burke. Thanks a lot.”

  “I was at the Shams looking for evidence that would help you, but you pulled the trigger first. I couldn’t find anything. That’s why I wasn’t there at first. I was talking to my mother, seeing if I had missed anything. She was never receptive to talking about the past. You know that. You put yourself where you are. Don’t blame me for that.”

  “I had no choice. It was me or her.” Hud’s voice was elevated, and he realized that he was yelling inside the car.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t talk about that. You understand,” Burke said calmly.

  Hud nodded, sighed. “I guess I do, but there are things you can tell me. Please, I need to know about my mother. You have to understand that.”

  “I do.”

  “I’m glad. So, you think Sloane’s father killed her?”

  “He’s my main suspect, just like he was my father’s, but I intend to prove it. He couldn’t, or wouldn’t. I will. I have modern science. Forensics. I know we can prove that Sloane’s father killed your mother,” Burke said.

  “Regardless of the personal cost?”

  “I’m not sure I have much choice. Do you?”

  “Not really. Do you remember what color of car Sloane’s father drove back then?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “I saw her wave, get into a car, and drive off. It was the last time I saw her. It was a black car. You have to find out if he owned a black car.”

  “That shouldn’t be hard to confirm.”

  “I think he killed her, too. He had motive, time, and all the knowledge to cover up a murder. It’s something,” Hud said.

  “It is.”

  Hud rolled the window down the rest of the way and breathed in a deep breath of air. He could see the lake, calm, smooth, and placid. A deep V of geese flew overhead, riding the wind south, outrunning the dreariness of the coming winter and the hopelessness that surrounded everything on the ground. The promise of warmth and safety awaited them in a different place. He wished he could go with them. But that was impossible now.

  “How’d she die?” Hud asked, his eyes still focused on the water. She hadn’t been there. He’d been looking in all the wrong places all of his life. It was hard to count how many times he had walked by cottage number three and not given her a thought. But he always looked for her face in the water. Always. But all he ever saw was her in his own reflection. It was all he had.

  “A single blow to the back of the head,” Burke said, as gently as he could. “Bill Flowers was certain that she died instantly, if that’s any consolation.”

  “It’s not. But there’s no way to tell for sure.”

  “No.”

  “And no motive, at this point?”

  “Only what we can speculate.”

  “Killing her was the only way to keep what he had. He was a cop, too. He had a lot to lose, just like everyone else.” Hud bit his lip. “All she wanted was what everyone else had. That’s all. She just wanted us to be happy. And it got her killed.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right. Something like that. I don’t know that we’ll ever find out for sure.” Burke looked at his watch, then at Hud. “We have to go or we’ll be late.”

  “All right.”

  The car eased away from the side of the road, and Hud looked at the lake for as long as he could. Once it disappeared from sight, he looked ahead, toward what was coming. “How’s Goldie?”

  “Recovering. I don’t know how she made it back to the hotel. She crawled there after she was shot. Tilt Evans saved her life, took her to the hospital.”

  “After Sloane shot her.”

  “That’s still under investigation.”

  “I’m sure it is. I thought something else had happened there. I thought Tilt was involved in all of this. We went to your house to make sure your mom was all right.”

  “Me, too. I thought Tilt was involved.” Burke paused. “You knew about them, too.”

  “I suspected. Just like I thought your father was with my mother. I never considered Sloane’s father, that my mother would run off with him. Why would I?”

  “Everybody was having a go at everybody else. It was the swinging seventies,” Burke said.

  “Yeah, sorry I missed the party.”

  The funeral took place at the Flowerses’ funeral home. Bill Flowers had seen to everything, taken care of the costs, the preparation. He met Hud and Burke at the front door.

  The inside of the old Queen Anne–style house was cavernous and hadn’t changed since the last time Hud had been inside it, thirty years ago. Even the green brocade carpet was the same. Bouquets of flowers lined the hallway to the chapel, and from his vantage point, Hud could see a simple oak casket sitting in the middle of a room full of empty chairs and more funeral flowers than he’d ever seen.

  “I thought you might want a moment alone,” Bill Flowers said solemnly. He was dressed head-to-toe in black, and there was no hint of animosity in his voice.

  “Thank you,” Hud said. “You’re sure it’s her?”

  “Absolutely positive.”

  “Okay.” It was a whisper. He started to move forward, his hands out in front of him, still cuffed, but his feet felt like they were weighed down with cinder blocks. He quivered, and his knees buckled. His heart raced, and he had trouble catching his breath. Both Burke and Bill Flowers caught him before he fell forward.

  “W
hoa,” Burke said. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s just that it’s been a long, long time. You’re really sure it’s her? I can’t see her?”

  “Yes, it’s her. You’ll have to trust me,” Flowers said. “You don’t want to see her. Just remember her how she was.”

  “All right,” Hud said as he stepped forward. It felt as if he was floating, like he was in the middle of a bad dream and a good dream all at once. All he had ever wanted was to say goodbye, to know what had happened to her, to know where she was. He had just wanted to see her one last time. But that was impossible.

  Hud stood before the casket, touched it softly just as a tear fell to the floor. “I knew you never left me. I knew you loved me and Gee too much to do that. I never left you, either . . . I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I wish I could have saved you . . .”

  “Will the defendant rise,” the judge said.

  Hud did as he was told and said nothing.

  “How do you plead against the charge of first degree murder of one Tina Sloane?”

  “Innocent, Your Honor. I am innocent.”

  Acknowledgments

  I am fortunate to enjoy the company of great friends and colleagues who contribute to every book I write. I am grateful for the expertise of the following people: Special thanks goes to Mark Stroud, Liz Hatton, Patrick Kanouse, Matthew P. Mayo, and Lynne Raimondo, for the suggestions, time, and encouragement that you gave me on this novel. Special thanks also goes to my editor, Dan Mayer, and the entire production, marketing, and publicity teams at Seventh Street Books. Continued appreciation goes to my agent, Cherry Weiner, and to my wife, Rose, who lives the day-to-day writing life alongside of me and enjoys every second of it. Thank you.

  About the Author

  Larry D. Sweazy (www.larrydsweazy.com) has been a freelance indexer for eighteen years. In that time, he has written over 825 back-of-the-book in­­dexes for major trade publishers and university presses such as Addison-Wesley, Cengage, American University at Cairo Press, Cisco Press, Pearson Education, Pearson Technology, University of Nebraska Press, Weldon Owen, and many more. He continues to work in the indexing field on a daily basis.

  As a writer, Larry is a two-time WWA (Western Writers of America) Spur Award winner, a two-time, back-to-back, winner of the Will Rogers Medallion Award, a Best Books of Indiana award winner, and the inaugural winner of the 2013 Elmer Kelton Book Award. He was also nominated for a Short Mystery Fiction Society (SMFS) Derringer Award in 2007 (for the short story “See Also Murder”). Larry has published over sixty nonfiction articles and short stories and is the author of ten novels, including books in the Josiah Wolfe, Texas Ranger western series (Berkley); the Lucas Fume western series (Berkley); a thriller set in Indiana, The Devil’s Bones (Five Star); a mystery novel set in the dust bowl of Texas, A Thousand Falling Crows (Seventh Street Books); and the Marjorie Trumaine Mystery series (Seventh Street Books). He currently lives in Indiana with his wife, Rose.