All Through the Night

by Davis Bunn

  In the distance, a siren wailed.

  The driver gunned the motor and pulled out fast enough to burn rubber. Wayne kept moving up the steps, slow and easy. Only when the motor disappeared in the emerald distance did he turn around and take his first full breath.

  “Tell me again about those men.”

  Wayne had been through it twice before. But he did as the John’s Island security chief ordered. “One was six feet one or two, two-twenty, mid-forties. Couldn’t see his hair, and he wore a long-sleeved shirt. Hair on his hands might have been dark or it could have been dirt. He wore sunglasses. His features were thick—might have been either Anglo or Hispanic. The other guy was up a ladder and the perspective wasn’t good. I’d put him at an inch or so shorter than the other guy and much lighter.”

  “In other words,” the chief said, “you didn’t see a thing that’ll do us any good.”

  “I guess that sums it up.”

  “That is, if they weren’t just a couple of guys on the job.”

  “They weren’t gardeners,” Wayne replied.

  The chief’s radio crackled. He thumbed the mike on his shoulder lapel. “Coltrane.”

  The voice on the radio said, “Maintenance reports no crews were scheduled for tree work today.”

  Officer Coltrane had eyes of muddy marble. He blinked twice, examining Wayne, then clicked the mike and said, “Swing by the front gate. Find out which gardening crews were checked in.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Chief out.” He was a thick man, with forearms like beefy clubs below his short-sleeved shirt. “I think we’d all be better having this discussion inside.”

  Easton Grey said, “Wayne wants us to stay here on the porch until your men are done.”

  Easton Grey’s wife had arrived back about five seconds behind the first security car, whining down the lane like she was on the Daytona track. She stood behind her husband now, clutching her daughter. Easton kept one hand resting lightly upon his wife’s arm. Connected.

  The chief did not argue. He glanced across the street to where another of his officers was up a ladder, inspecting the palm where the men had been working. Wayne was not going anywhere until he saw if his hunch was right.

  “You say one of them was packing.”

  “A pistol under his shirt. Nine mil is my guess.”

  “You know enough about small-arms weaponry to identify a pistol by its butt through a shirt?”

  Wayne did not shift his focus from the tree. “That’s right. I do.”

  The officer up the tree hefted something and called, “Chief!”

  The chief moved remarkably fast for such a heavy man. His belt squeaked audibly as he trotted across the street. Wayne was one step behind.

  The security officer was a woman with copper skin and the solid look of someone who spent a lot of time fighting off excess poundage. She leaned over and handed the chief a black box about twice the size of his hand. “This was fastened to a branch.”

  He turned the box around in his hands. Other than a thumbsized on-off switch, there was nothing to see. “You know what this is?”

  “My guess is, a radio-frequency amplifier.” Wayne gestured back toward where Tatyana and the Greys stood on the front porch. “They’ve bugged the house. The mikes have a limited transmission range. This catches the signals and boosts the power enough for them to catch it outside your perimeter.”

  Officer Coltrane touched the switch, but did not turn it off. “I can probably tell you how it went. The gardeners, they’re hired by the individual houses and a lot of them don’t speak much English. So if my guy at the front gate don’t know Spanish, he’ll make a note of their tags. If he’s doing his job proper.”

  “And if they haven’t got so much dirt on the tags they can’t be read.”

  The chief sighed his agreement. “We’re our own township. Most of the time, we operate without outside help. But I can call on just about anybody I like.”

  “Somebody needs to sweep the house for bugs.”

  “I know that. What I’m asking is, who else do I need to make contact with?” He lowered the box and took aim at Wayne. “That is, assuming there are other police involved in this thing.”

  “Right now I don’t know for certain what it is we’re facing. But there’s a homicide detective in the Naples area, Mehan.”

  “Homicide.”

  “Yes.”

  “Clear on the other side of the state.”

  “A scam artist operating as a tax accountant bilked a senior community across the bay out of its entire operating budget. Did the same to a lot of the individual families. The guy turned up dead.”

  “Did you have anything to do with that?”

  “With discovering he was scamming the old folks, yes. With him winding up dead, no.”

  The chief returned his gaze to the box. “This Detective Mehan, he’ll vouch for you?”

  Wayne hesitated. “I wish I knew.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Sunday morning, Wayne joined Julio and Victoria for another dose of church. He spent the afternoon and early evening working on the new computer Tatyana had left with him. The laptop had a high-speed remote linkup, which he used to troll the Web for everything he could find about Eric Stroud and Teledyne.

  Toward sunset, Jerry arrived at Wayne’s cottage with Foster and Julio in tow. They prepared and ate a shepherd’s pie and reheated biscuits like they’d been dining together for years. Wayne took a call from Tatyana after dinner, walking the cell phone she’d left him out into the trees for privacy. Not that it was needed. Tatyana was in a breathless hurry. She asked about his day, reported that she had to fly off that night for an all-day conference, asked if he’d meet her at the airport the next evening, and hung up.

  Wayne remained outside with the sunset’s last glimmer for company. He walked down to the bayside. Wind briefly touched the palms lining the waterfront. They dimpled the water with remnants of the day’s storm. Two dolphins appeared, their fins rising and falling in musical cadence. They were close enough for Wayne to hear the sigh from their blowholes. He stood there until the darkness erased his ability to follow them, then returned home.

  Home.

  The guys were gone but had left the lights on for him. A natural gesture among men comfortable enough with each other not to need farewells. He saw Julio on Victoria’s porch, the kid’s face glowing in the light of a single lamp. He was hunched over a book in his lap. The lady was nowhere to be seen. Wayne entered his cottage and closed the door, wishing he could shut out his questions and his fears so easily.

  He slept well and did not dream. He awoke the hour after dawn—a long night for him. When he descended his front stairs, he saw Julio on Victoria’s porch, waiting for him.

  Together they jogged through veils of mist, the damp air a mere myth of morning coolness. The palms and live oaks were half-formed sentinels who measured their passage in stately silence. Wayne let Julio set the pace. When they arrived at the massive new housing development, the young man stopped and huffed over his shoes. Wayne patted his shoulder and ran on. When he returned forty-five minutes later, Julio turned from his inspection of bulldozers scarring the earth. Wayne pushed them a little harder down the community’s front lane, challenging by example. Julio kept up with him. Huffing hard, sweating harder, but determined.

  They found Foster and Jerry casting lures off the bank. Wayne and Julio stretched under the loblolly pines for almost twenty minutes. The air was scented with sap and the ground cushioned by years of needles. Cardinals sang the only words the morning required.

  Julio’s first words of the day were, “Miss Victoria, she wants to fix us all breakfast.”

  Jerry was reeling in his line before Julio was finished. “I smelled something mighty fine on the way down here.”

  Foster kept his back to the others, staring out over the water. “I’ll pass.”

  “Say that again.”

  “What, a man can’t want a little peace an
d quiet for a while?”

  Jerry shook his head, then turned and walked away, gesturing for Wayne and Julio to follow.

  Wayne waited until Julio had peeled off to go shower to ask, “What’s going on between Foster and Victoria?”

  “All I know is his side, which has got a lot less to do with Victoria than with what the man left behind in Philly.” Jerry followed Wayne up his front stairs and into Wayne’s cottage. “Foster and his wife ran a half-dozen dry cleaners they’d bought using money they raised from all the family. He lost his wife to something awful and pretty much fell apart. His nephew went from managing one shop to top dog. When Foster was ready to come back, his nephew wasn’t ready to let go. The family backed the nephew.”

  Wayne stepped into his bedroom and kicked his shoes into the closet. “What does this have to do with Victoria?”

  Jerry replied through the open door, “Foster never got that far, and the lady ain’t saying.”

  Wayne showered and dressed and returned to the living room. He was on the verge of asking what had landed Jerry in the retirement center, until he saw the man’s face. Dark and stolid and unblinking. Stiff as the man’s big body. Ready to deflect with a cop’s expertise. So all Wayne said was, “Ready?”

  On the way over to Victoria’s, however, Wayne had an idea. “I’ll be right with you.”

  Wayne headed back down to the water alone. Foster was where they had left him, throwing his lure toward the green island he would never reach. Wayne stood behind him for a time, giving the older man a chance to send him away. When Foster said nothing, he offered, “When Tatyana called last night, she asked me to take the Ferrari to the Orlando dealer.”

  The hand reeling in the lure hesitated, then kept winding.

  Wayne said, “I’m thinking we should make a day of it. Drop you off at the airport on the way. Come back after I see about the car, you and me take Julio to Disney.”

  Another cast. “How do we get home?”

  “We could ask Jerry to follow us in the truck. Or Tatyana said she’d rent us a car.”

  The frenetic rewind slowed. “That could work.”

  “Maybe you ought to join us at Victoria’s, tank up before we take off.” Wayne let that hang for a moment, then patted the bony shoulder and turned away.

  Victoria was there on her little front porch when he returned down the path. But her eyes were fastened upon the empty path behind him. “He’s not coming?”

  “I guess not.” The door squeaked softly as he entered her porch. “What’s between you two?”

  A look he had never seen before came and went in that softly seamed face. “All people have walls between them and God. Same wall, different reasons.”

  “We were talking about you and Foster.”

  “That’s right. We were.” She seemed to teeter slightly as she reentered her little home. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”

  But Wayne was halted in the doorway by the sight of his sister seated on Victoria’s sofa next to Julio. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you. Having breakfast.”

  “Sorry. Dumb question.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I was planning on coming by later.”

  “Saved you a trip.” The hand holding her fork rose and touched the spot on her cheek. “Wow. An apology and a smooch on the same day. Somebody must be doing some heavy lifting in your life.”

  Julio’s plate was piled to the brim. His fork made a continual arc between the dish and his mouth. “Don’t look at me.”

  Her thoughtful expression refocused upon the young man. “You’re doing good too, you know.”

  Julio’s fork paused in midair. “You talking nice to me?”

  “Yeah. I guess I am.”

  “Wow. A miracle.” He beamed at Victoria. “Guess what you been telling me is right after all.”

  Victoria handed Wayne a plate, utensils, and a paper napkin. “You bet your life, son.”

  Wayne took the seat next to his sister. “How you been?”

  “Never better. The kids are fine, the hubby’s happy, Julio is down here behaving himself, my brother kisses me hello. God is good.”

  Victoria said, “Amen.”

  Eilene asked, “Where’s Tatyana?”

  “She called me last night from the airport. She had to go somewhere and do some work.”

  Eilene smiled. “Good old Wayne. The best there is at passing on life’s little details.”

  “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

  Eilene glanced at Victoria and said, “About angels.”

  Jerry snorted. Wayne looked over. His dark friend kept his eyes on his food. “That’s right,” Wayne said.

  Eilene reached into the briefcase at her feet. She came up with a worn Bible. “Here’s the deal. I can walk you through the pages. But it won’t do you any good unless you’re willing to listen to more than just me.”

  “So you think this guy I saw could be, well …”

  “I don’t know the answer to that. And neither will you, long as you let the past stand between you and what’s inside this Book.”

  He worked through a couple of bites, chewing on more than the food. “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “I’m hearing what you’re saying.”

  She clearly had not been expecting anything as easy as that. “Will you pray with me?”

  Wayne let the words hang there between them while he finished his breakfast. Long enough to go through all the times he had avoided that issue with his father. As in, slipping into his seat after the blessing had been said. Refusing to say the words himself, turning his father’s request into an argument about eighteenth century tribal missionaries in Hawaii and South America. Sparking the sort of standoffs that had ruled his homelife. Enduring his father’s frigid disapproval. Responding with a pretense of not caring at all.

  Finally Wayne set his plate on the coffee table, wiped his hands, and asked, “Will you say the words?”

  Eilene blinked at him, but could not speak.

  “Here. Let me.” Victoria perched at the edge of her chair. “Let’s all bow our heads.”

  Wayne heard the voice more than the words themselves, a gentle wash asking for wisdom and healing and a lot of other things he rarely named, much less figured he deserved. When Victoria was done, no one else met his eye. Not Jerry, nor Julio, and certainly not his sister.

  “Three miracles in one morning. I don’t know how much more I can take.” Eilene fumbled in her briefcase and came up with a sheet of paper. She passed it over without looking at him directly. “These are some verses you may want to take a look at.”

  “Thanks, sis.”

  “Do you have a Bible?”

  Victoria offered, “I can loan him one.”

  “Okay. Fine.” She was breathing in little puffs of shock as she rose from her chair and stuffed her Bible back in her briefcase. She patted Wayne on the shoulder as she passed, then hesitated in the doorway, turned back, and leaned down to kiss him on the cheek. The arm not holding her briefcase wrapped tightly around his neck. She kissed him a second time, then turned and walked from the home.

  Wayne didn’t know what to expect as he returned down the path. He didn’t walk on air, he didn’t feel like he’d made some major breakthrough, he didn’t feel much of anything. Julio walked beside him in silence until Wayne said, “You know what’s strange? You say you don’t like the quiet, but when we’re together, you don’t have much to say.”

  Julio shrugged. “I guess when I’m around you, I don’t feel like I need to.”

  “I like that. I don’t know why, but I do. Thanks.”

  “You know, I never prayed before. I guess I didn’t pray really then. Miss Victoria, she said the words and all. But it felt sorta like I was there with her.”

  Wayne was going to say something back. Something about how he’d spent a lifetime avoiding what he’d just done. For reasons that right now didn’t mean much at all. How maybe what had happened
was he had outgrown the reasons, or something.

  But that was the moment the waterfront came into view, and what he said was, “Run get Jerry.”

  “Where’s Foster?”

  The signs were all too clear. A boat had dug a channel into the bank. A jumble of footprints marked a scuffle. The broken pole was half in and half out of the water. The line hung limp. The water was as empty as the bank. A loon cried a mournful warning.

  Wayne turned and said, “Hurry.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  John’s Island security chief Officer Coltrane showed up about two hours later, in response to a call Wayne had placed. Wayne felt an illogical wash of relief at the sight of the big-bellied officer. The chief had given Wayne no reason to believe he might be an ally. Nor did he show anything in his expression. Even so, Wayne hurried over and said, “Thanks for coming. A lot.”

  He nodded a hello to the lone Vero Beach cop standing at the waterfront. “What’ve we got here?”

  “Possible abduction,” the cop answered. “But nobody saw anything.”

  “Who’s the possible vic?”

  “One Foster Oates, aged seventy-four, resident of the Hattie Blount Community for seven years and nine months.” Wayne guessed the Vero cop had to be in his late twenties but looked even younger. “Mild diabetic. Pacemaker. Widower. I’m thinking he might have wandered off.”

  “He was kidnapped,” Wayne said. “The signs are clear enough. Or were, until you walked over them.”

  Coltrane studied the waterfront a while, his gaze sweeping further and further until it came to rest where Jerry stood by Holly. “You folks live here too?”

  “Six years,” Jerry replied.

  “You been here a while too, ma’am?”

  “Yes,” Holly replied. “Coming up on forever.”

  Just beyond them, Eilene stood holding Victoria’s hand. Coltrane asked, “And you, miss?”

  “Eilene Belote. I serve as occasional pastor.”

  Victoria said nothing. Something about the way she continued to stare out over the water, her face lined with far more than age, kept the officer from asking about her. Beyond them stretched a semicircle that had gradually grown until it included almost everyone else in the community.