Blind Spot

by Maggie Kavanagh

  A door opening on the left interrupted his thoughts. Another guard—this one burly and about seven feet tall—led an elderly man wearing a blue prison jumpsuit through the entrance and toward Sam’s table. For a split second, Sam didn’t recognize him. But there was no mistaking those huge, bushy gray eyebrows.

  Prison hadn’t been kind to Sheldon. He walked with a slight stoop, and his face, which had always been grandfatherly, seemed flabby and jaundiced. The guard handled him firmly but without force.

  Sam found himself with nothing to say as Sheldon took the seat across from him. His hands were cuffed, and he set them on the table.

  “You have fifteen minutes,” said the guard, who then stepped back to become part of the scenery.

  “Hello, Sam.” Sheldon’s mouth was set in a grim line. “How have you been?”

  The usual niceties seemed impossible. How could Sam reply with a “Great. Thanks. How are you?” A juvenile impulse rushed up in him—the urge to rub his and Nathan’s relationship in the man’s face. You lied to me about him. You tried to frame him for his wife’s death. You’re a fucking murderer.

  He stared for another moment and then replied. “You look like shit.”

  Sheldon chuckled. His blue eyes still held a trace of their old vitality. “Prison will do that to you. But so will cancer.”

  “You’ve got cancer.”

  “Pancreatic. Docs say, with treatment, I might live another year. But I’m too old to drag this out. Never did like hospitals. They’re worse than prison.”

  It was a sentiment Sam might have agreed with, were Sheldon any other person. “How long?”

  Sheldon shrugged as though they were talking about the weather. “A month, maybe two.”

  “Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?”

  “No.”

  How had they lapsed into conversation? Sam balled his hands into fists on his lap. This was the man who’d killed his parents. This was the man who made his life a living hell, the man who put Tim into a coma. He didn’t deserve normal conversation. Still, Sam found himself surprised at the emotion mingling with his anger and hatred—pity.

  “I hoped you’d come,” Sheldon continued. “I thought about writing, but I’ve never really been good at that kind of thing. And I wanted it to be your choice.”

  “How noble of you.” Sam was surprised by the nastiness in his own voice.

  “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  The words hit Sam like a slap across the face. He reeled back in his chair and might have toppled over if the thing hadn’t been bolted to the floor.

  “How dare you. How dare you apologize to me after what you did to my parents.” He left the statement hanging in the air while he gauged Sheldon’s reaction. The old man seemed bothered. Sam leaned forward and nearly snarled. “Did you think you could keep me in the dark forever? An accident, you told me. All these years I believed the lie, when it was you all along. And I was your dupe because I wanted to believe in you.” He hated the way his voice quavered at the end. He hated how Sheldon could still get to him.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you fucking lie to me.” Sheldon had manipulated him before, and it wasn’t going to happen again.

  Sheldon drew his caterpillar brows together in a frown. “You think I killed your parents?” he said, almost to himself.

  “Yes. I think my father found out what you were up to with the Voronkovs. I think he confronted you, just the way Emma confronted you, and you had him killed.” He was confused by Sheldon’s refusal to take ownership of what he’d done, though he didn’t know why he should be. “I’m right. Aren’t I? Tell me the truth for once in your life.”

  “Your father was my friend.”

  “Like how Emma was your friend. And Mark Feldman. I bet he was your friend too, until you decided he was no longer useful.” Sam spat out the words. He wished they were as poisonous as he felt inside.

  “I’m not saying I’m a good man. I’ve done terrible things. But I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to your folks.”

  “You lie.”

  Sheldon took a deep breath and looked Sam right in the eye. “I know you don’t believe me. I don’t blame you, after the lies I’ve told. But I didn’t get involved with the mob until about a year after the accident. Maybe if your dad had lived, I’d have made a different choice. But when the money started coming in…. Eventually I forgot what it was like to be on the right side.”

  “Don’t you dare blame my father for your crimes.” Sam could hardly believe what he was hearing. Sheldon’s corruption was staggering. Even now he denied responsibility, when the truth was so obvious. “He knew what you were up to, and you murdered him. You murdered my mother. You took away my brother’s childhood. You ruined my life.”

  “You’re saying you think they were murdered? Well, now. I guess that makes sense.” Sheldon paled. He already looked dead.

  “You’re expecting me to believe you thought it was an accident this whole time? You’re telling me you weren’t involved. You never approached my dad to pay him to look the other way so the Voronkovs could move in?”

  “Who told you this?”

  Sam shook his head. He wouldn’t give up Janice’s name—not for anything. “What does ‘the tiger’ mean to you?”

  Sheldon’s expression remained blank. “Nothing. Never heard it before.”

  “You’re a fucking liar.” Sam’s whole body vibrated with rage, made worse by a creeping doubt. What if Sheldon was telling the truth? If it hadn’t been Sheldon, who?

  Sheldon raised his hands, and Sam wanted to wipe the sympathetic expression off his face. “Okay. If you need to blame me…. Well, all right. I understand.”

  Unbelievable. Now he was making himself into some kind of twisted martyr. Sam was disgusted with himself for thinking he would ever get closure from Sheldon. “You don’t understand anything.”

  “I do. More than you know. It’s good to see you, Sam. You always were like a son to me, in a way. I did want to see you one last time.”

  “I hope you burn in hell.”

  Sheldon’s shoulders seemed to slump further, and the sign of physical weakness made Sam irrationally angry. How dare the man be sick? How dare he not fight back? He looked so much smaller than the Sheldon in Sam’s memory.

  “Did you get Hoff to do it?” Sam asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He needed to regain the equilibrium he’d lost. He couldn’t let himself be taken in by lies. “Did he do your dirty work for you?” At his trial Sheldon had pled the fifth when asked how he met Bernhardt Hoff and the Voronkovs. Sam figured the omission was intended to cover up the link to the accident.

  The guard approached the table. “Time’s up.”

  Sheldon looked like he might want to protest, but then he simply nodded and stood. He looked at Sam, but if he was waiting for exoneration, he wasn’t going to get it.

  “You’re a traitor,” Sam said, standing to face him. “I hope you know that.”

  “Good-bye, son,” Sheldon replied, and Sam knew it was forever.

  BACK IN the waiting room, Nathan was pacing. When he saw Sam reenter, he closed the distance between them in two long strides.

  “Are you okay?” Nathan asked. He looked like he might be bracing himself for another nervous breakdown.

  Sam mustered a weak smile. “Yeah. I’m all right.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He said he didn’t have anything to do with the accident. He insisted.” Sam glanced over his shoulder at a curious guard who was pretending not to listen, and then turned back to Nathan. “I’ll tell you about it on the way to… wherever we’re going. Let’s get out of here.”

  They exited the prison and stepped into the sun. The warm June day was welcome after the cool dampness of the prison. Their feet crunched on the gravel in the otherwise-silent parking lot. Nathan slipped his arm around Sam’s waist for a br
ief squeeze.

  “Well, I have good news. Tony called while you were with Sheldon. They arrested two guys at the border for Collins’s murder. Looks like they might know something about the mayor too. Both Voronkovs.”

  “Wow. That was fast.” The development should have come as a relief, but Sam was out of emotion. “So can we go home?” He slid into the hot interior of the Buick and rolled down the manual window.

  Nathan threw the gear into reverse and backed out of his spot. “I think you should come with me to Jersey.”

  Sam perked up. “You mean on your case?”

  “I need to head back, and I’d feel better if I knew where you were. We still don’t know who was in that sedan, and until then I’m not letting you out of my sight. Plus there are still some arrests to be made down at city hall. These guys were probably working with Rick Morgan to get rid of Mayor White all along.”

  Sam considered that. They had no idea whether the guys the Feds had arrested for killing Collins were the ones who chased him. And there was the added temptation of seeing Nathan at work. “Isn’t it against the rules to bring your boyfriend along on a case? I thought you guys were sharing a room.”

  “We moved to a bigger suite when Simon arrived. I don’t think Eric would mind if you suddenly showed up.” Nathan kept his eyes focused on the road. “So, are you going to tell me what Sheldon said?”

  “Nice change of topic,” Sam said wryly.

  He spent the next few minutes relating what had happened in the visitor’s room. Nathan listened intently, wearing the expression he reserved for very serious matters. Once Sam finished, Nathan glanced over with a raised eyebrow. “So you don’t think he was telling the truth?”

  “He couldn’t have been. The worst part was I got the feeling he believed it himself. Almost like he’d spent so much time rehearsing it in his mind, he doesn’t even remember what happened.” Sam laughed with incredulity. He shook his head and waited for Nathan to chime in his agreement. But he was silent. “Don’t tell me you believe him.”

  “I don’t know” was all Nathan said. They drove past a massive cornfield, the foot-tall stalks bright green in the sun. The ambivalence of Nathan’s answer began to infect Sam, and the doubts he’d had back at the prison started to attack the weak points of his conviction. He beat them back. He wasn’t about to let himself be duped by Sheldon’s lies again.

  “There is something still bothering me. I asked him if he knew anything about ‘the tiger,’ and he said no.” It was the one thing Janice had told him that didn’t quite make sense. Then again, his father had been drinking at the time. It could mean nothing at all.

  “I’ve been wondering too.”

  “Do you think there’s anything to it?” It probably didn’t matter that Sheldon’s reaction had seemed genuine. Or did it?

  “Hard to say.”

  Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He hated not knowing what was real, but there was no escaping the fact he’d never heard his father or anyone else refer to Sheldon as a fucking tiger. “What would you have said to him, if you’d gone in with me?” He felt sorry Nathan had given up his chance to give Sheldon a piece of his mind. If anyone deserved to, Nathan did.

  “I guess I would have asked him why… how. How he could have done it. She trusted him.” Nathan blinked rapidly. It was still difficult for him to talk about Emma’s murder, and probably always would be. Sam extended a comforting hand to his shoulder.

  “He’s got terminal cancer. Pancreatic.”

  “It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving guy.” Nathan’s frown deepened. “He say that to try to get sympathy from you?”

  Sam shrugged. “Maybe. He looked like hell.” No matter how he felt about Sheldon, it wasn’t going to be a pretty end.

  And if he was dying… why would he lie?

  Chapter Twelve

  “THE PRODIGAL Dom returns.” A man unfolded himself from the couch of the outer room of the hotel suite. He wore a pair of tight black jeans and an equally tight T-shirt. The combination emphasized his petite physique.

  “Hello, Simon,” said Nathan, setting down his bag on the floor. Sam swung his off his shoulder and did the same. Beyond the living room space, Sam could see two darkened doorways. If one of the bedrooms was Eric’s and one was Nathan’s, he wondered where this guy was sleeping.

  “Oh, and isn’t this fun. You brought a new toy.” Simon smiled and cocked his head at Sam. His British accent was even softer and silkier than it had been on the phone.

  “Uh. Hi,” said Sam. “I’m Sam, and you can call me Sam.”

  Simon clapped his hands. “Excellent. Duke said you were quite the smartarse. Turn around, would you?”

  “Very funny,” Nathan said. “Don’t listen to him.”

  “You’re no fun at all.” He crossed his arms over his chest and flopped back on the couch, like the effort of standing was too much. Simon was small but lithe. He had reddish brown hair and a wash of light freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He didn’t look older than twenty-five.

  “So, what’s been going on around here?” Nathan injected business into his tone.

  “Oh nothing. It’s been horribly boring, but Duke insists we can’t leave.”

  As though summoned, Eric appeared in the doorway with a yawn. He scratched his crotch, not bothering to hide the massive erection tenting his pajama bottoms, and looked from Simon to Sam and Nathan. “What are you all yammering about in here? Can’t a man get some shut-eye?”

  “Late night?” Sam chuckled. Even though he didn’t know Eric well, it was good to see him, even if he was getting more of an eyeful than he bargained for.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Eric yawned again and padded into the room. “Heya, Nate. Hey, kid. How are you doing?” He directed the question at Sam.

  “Fine. Thanks.” Sam flushed, wondering how much Eric knew. “I’m… better.”

  “Nate was pretty worried about you. You sure do keep him on his toes.”

  “Something like that,” said Nathan under his breath. Sam gave him a dirty look.

  “You bring my baby back in one piece?” As Eric passed the couch on the way toward the kitchenette beyond the living room, he reached out to give Simon’s shoulder a brief squeeze, and Simon responded with a surprised, slightly nervous smile. Though the moment was fleeting, it made Sam curious. He filed it away.

  Nathan let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes. Of course. And if you put one scratch on my car—”

  “I don’t understand how you can drive that thing,” Eric said. He reappeared with a bottle of water in one hand, and a bottle of aspirin in the other. “It’s got no character. Not like old Bess.”

  “How dare you,” Simon interjected. “I think it’s divine, Nathan dear.” He arched an eyebrow at Eric from the couch. “Much better than that rusty old heap you made me drive across this vulgar nation.”

  “Rusty old heap?” Eric nearly snarled.

  “Our room’s this one,” said Nathan, nudging Sam. They escaped from the escalating bickering into the relative quiet of the room. Like the rest of the suite, it was clean and modern, but not too fancy. The bureau didn’t spring for five stars. Nathan shut the door behind them.

  “So that’s Simon,” said Sam.

  “That’s Simon.”

  The two of them looked at each other. Sam wished they were alone. He wanted to have the kind of sex that would rattle walls.

  “So what now?” Sam sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Now I catch up with Eric and see where we stand on this case. Then touch base with HQ. Once that’s settled, we’ll figure out what to do about the rest.” He stepped forward between Sam’s spread legs, and Sam leaned his forehead against Nathan’s belly. He inhaled deeply, bracing himself to say what he’d been thinking.

  “I want to see about getting the accident investigation reopened.”

  Sam looked up, and Nathan brushed a hand across his cheek. “I thought you might.”

  “Wh
at do you think?”

  “I think we should wait until the dust settles first.”

  Sam was quiet for a moment. He wasn’t ready to confess his doubts about Sheldon’s involvement. The certainty he’d experienced after the visit with Janice had been comforting in a strange way. With Sheldon the responsible party, a known, hated entity already under lock and key, Sam could rest. But if the killer was an anonymous threat and still at large, that was a different story. Unless they opened the accident investigation again, they might never know the truth.

  He wanted it to be Sheldon, which was the biggest warning sign of all. He was allowing his emotions to mislead him, and he needed to think with a clear, dispassionate mind.

  “All right,” he said. In any case, Nathan was right about timing. He couldn’t imagine the uproar in Stonebridge once residents found out what had gone down with the mayor over the years—and the fact his death was likely due to his mob connection. Of course the new mayor and several of his staff would be arrested.

  It made Sam wonder about Donna Howard again, and whether she was as crooked as the rest of them. Even though she always seemed on the up-and-up, her previous mayoral appointment made Sam seriously question his trust in her. Either way they’d find out soon enough.

  He only hoped the people of Stonebridge could weather the coming storm.

  THEY ORDERED in for dinner, and while Eric and Nathan sat in the small dining room beyond the dividing wall to catch up on the case, Sam found himself watching some British fashion show with Simon.

  “So how did you start working with the FBI?” Sam asked, bored out of his mind and only half tasting the Thai food on his plate. He wished he were in the other room, taking part in the conversation there. It was hard not to feel like he and Simon were being relegated to the sidelines while the real men took care of business, though he knew the thought was uncharitable.