Across the Sound:

by Mark Stone

  “Including anything,” he answered.

  “I’m afraid it’s not good enough anymore,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  “Michael Jenkins,” he answered. “But I—”

  “You’re going to have to come with me and go on record as to what you said here.”

  “You can’t do that!” he yelled, shaking his head. “If you do that, they’ll find out. The men in the red car will find out and they’ll kill me. God, if they even knew I was talking to you know—”

  “We can keep you safe,” I assured him, swallowing hard and reaching a hand out to him.

  “Like you kept the guy next to me safe?” he balked. “Like you kept the priest safe? You listen to me. I don’t know who these people are or what they want. I’ve already told you everything I possibly can. If you brought me in, it would just be a repeat of this. Certainly my life and the welfare of my children is worth more to you than that.”

  I sighed heavy. “It’s not about what it’s worth to me, sir. It’s about—”

  “What if I could give you something else?” he asked. “What if I could show you something?”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  He held up one finger. “The house next to me isn’t the only vacant one on the street. There’s also the one across,” he pointed to the house Boomer mentioned to me earlier, the one Chloe was digging up intel on for me as we spoke.

  “I already know that,” I answered.

  “Well, did you know it had someone living in it too? A man with scraggly hair and mustache. He hasn’t shown up in a while, almost a month now actually.”

  “Michael,” I started.

  “My oldest, she went into that house when I was at work,” Michael said. “I told her not to, but you know how kids are. She found something in there though, something that might be a clue, I guess.”

  He opened the door, and leaned inside. Rummaging through something, he popped back out.

  “I just figured maybe you could use it to identify him or something, maybe with fingerprints.”

  “Your daughter touched it,” I said, still not sure what was balled up in his fists. “You’re touching it right now. It would compromise things. Michael, I know this is difficult, but—”

  He opened his hand, revealing a pair of green sapphire earrings. The left had a distinct chip in the end.

  My heart jumped, not because of their beauty or the imperfection, but because I recognized them. I knew who they belonged to because, once upon a time, I had bought them for her.

  I just didn’t know how the hell Charlotte’s earrings got into that house.

  Chapter 11

  “You sure these are the same earrings?” Boomer asked me, the green bobbles in his right hand and a quizzical look on his face.

  I stood across from him, at the foot of a still unconscious Father Jameson’s bed. He was in intensive care, having yet to heal up enough to be moved into a more general room. That was just fine by us. We wanted Father Jameson to get better. There was no doubt about that, but the security in the intensive care unit was much better than the rest of the hospital. There were no visitors allowed whatsoever. In fact, if we hadn’t been police officers, Boomer and I wouldn’t have been allowed back here either.

  That was a good thing. Until this mystery was untangled and we had a better grasp of what was going on here, we had to assume Father Jameson was still in danger. He’d have to be watched around the clock for now for his safety. Having the hospital do a little of the security work on their own only made things easier on us.

  “Of course, I’m sure,” I said, shaking my head at Boomer. “I bought those earrings myself when I was seventeen years old. I saved up for almost a month so I could buy the kind that at least looked genuine.”

  “There’s a lot of sapphire jewelry in the city, Dill,” Boomer said, talking over a television that was inexplicably loud, seeing as how the only person in the room other than us to hear it was very unconscious. “Plus, it’s been a long time since you’ve seen them. Maybe your memory isn’t as sharp as you think it is.”

  “She dropped the left one as we walked along the shore,” I said, thinking back to that night so long ago. “It hit a rock, took a chip out of the end.” I pointed to the matching break in the earring in Boomer’s palm.

  “Probably a lot of sapphire jewelry with chips in ‘em,” Boomer said. “It’s not like this costume stuff is built to last.”

  “She said it was ruined, said she destroys everything beautiful,” I said, swallowing hard. “So I took them, gave her a kiss, and told her that it just made them ours now. Nobody else in the world would have earrings like hers. So I pulled that old switchblade I used to carry everywhere from my pocket and carved our initials into them. ‘D’ for me, on the broken one, and ‘C’ for Charlotte, on the perfect one of course.” I looked back up at Boomer. “Turn ‘em over for me, Boom.”

  With narrowing eyes, Boomer flipped the earrings over and, wouldn't you know it, the “C” and “D” were right there, worn with age but still very visible.

  “I’ll be damned,” Boomer muttered. Blinking at me, he said, “You’re going to have to talk to her.”

  “You want me to bring my old girlfriend in for questioning?’ I asked, my throat going dry.

  “Of course not,” Boomer answered. “I didn’t say to do it officially. I don’t really think Charlotte had anything to do with Father Jameson’s hit and run or the death of the man on Calhoun drive, but evidence that’s obviously connected to her was found at a place of interest. You have to follow up on that, even if it's in a less than official capacity.” His eyebrows shot up. “Assuming you believe this Michael person, that is.”

  “I do,” I answered solemnly, still trying to talk about the television, which was—at this moment—showcasing a blond man on a boat explaining to some doofus looking partner just why the Treasure Coast off of Vero Beach earned its name. “And not just about the earrings,” I said, ignoring the program. “I mean, he’d have no way of knowing about the jewelry and he sure as hell wouldn’t have had any reason to reproduce it. This is it, the real deal. I just don’t know how it got into that house.”

  “Which is where the asking comes in,” Boomer said. He turned to Father Jameson, still lying in that bed with his eyes closed. “Might as well ask people the questions you want to while you have the chance. You never know when it’ll be too late.”

  A wave of sympathy ran through me and I placed a hand on my best friend’s shoulder. “He’ll be okay, Boom. Rebecca did a fine job. She told you he’d wake up eventually, right?”

  “Yeah, right before she told me I might have to teach him how to eat again,” he answered bitterly.

  “Could be a tough road,” I sighed, squeezing his shoulder just hard enough to let him know I was here. “We’ve both been down tough roads before, and we’ve made it out all the better on the other end. If Father Jameson has to go through some trials, I can’t imagine better people to guide him through that than those in this room.” I shook my head. “He won’t have to do it alone, and neither will you. I promise you that.”

  Boomer looked at the floor as a bit of theme music played loudly on the television. This seemed enough to grab his attention, because he turned to it and, with a tear in his eye, he laughed.

  “You know why I’ve got this on so loud?” he asked, looking at the program.

  “To piss me off?’ I guessed, grinning.

  “This is Anchors Away,” he started, pointing to the television set. “See that guy on the boat, the one strapping scuba gear onto his chest? He’s an explorer. Russell Anchorage or something, but the folks on the show call him Anchor. He bounces around Treasure Coast looking for Spanish gold and the like.”

  “Sounds stupid,” I laughed.

  “It is,” Boomer said. “It’s total trash TV, but it’s also Father Jameson’s favorite. I used to invite him over every Sunday night to watch. We’d eat popcorn and drink beer and watch the show like it was the Go
dfather or something.”

  “Good memories,” I said, looking at the television myself now.

  “They really were.” He turned back to me. “Now I’m not stupid. I don’t think Father J is going to hear this and pop up like magic, but I did hear something about people in comas being able to hear what’s going on around them.” He shrugged. “I figured, if that’s true, the old man might as well be entertained. A least this way, while he’s stuck in the bed like this, going through whatever it is he’s going through, he’ll be reliving the same memories I am.”

  “He’s lucky to have you, Boom.” I said, nodding firmly.

  “Not luck enough,” Boomer said with a tense jaw. “What was he into, Dil? What in the world did this man get involved with that he didn’t think he could tell me about?” He shook his head again. “He could have told me anything.”

  “Maybe he couldn’t,” I said, narrowing my eyes and letting what Boomer had just said ruminate in my head.

  “I wouldn’t have judged him, Dil,” Boomer said. “I wouldn’t have—”

  “No,” I said. “You’re not understanding me. What if he couldn’t tell you because it was against what he believed, because he had taken a vow not to tell you?”

  “Like a vow of silence?” Boomer asked. “He’s not a monk, Dil.”

  “No, but he is a priest,” I answered. “And what is it that priests can’t talk about?”

  “Confession,” Boomer gasped, looking over at the priest.

  “Michael told me he was afraid of what would happen if he talked to me, if whoever was in charge of all of this found out. He also said Archer wasn’t the first man to stay in that house. What if that’s what Father Jameson was doing there? What if Archer had come to him? What if he had talked and somehow gotten found out?”

  “That would explain the brutal end he met,” Boomer said.

  “It would also explain Father Jameson. Whatever’s going on here is a first class secret. It would make sense the people involved would want to keep that secret.” I shook my head. “You hang a man to death in the middle of his living room, and something tells me you won’t stop at the priest who knew his secrets.”

  “Go talk to Charlotte,” Boomer said, glaring at me. “Then go to the rectory and find out who Father J had been seeing before the accident.”

  “Okay,” I said, as Boomer pulled a phone from his pocket. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m calling my wife and telling her not to wait up for me. I’m not leaving this man’s side while there’s still a chance he’s in danger.”

  Chapter 12

  I walked through the hallway with my phone to my ear. Charlotte didn’t answer when I called but, when her voicemail sounded—Isaac telling me I had reached his “mommy’s phone”—I smiled a little despite myself and left her a message.

  “Charlotte,” I started. “I get that you’re probably working right now but, when you get this, could you call me? We need to talk. Love the message, by the way. Tell Isaac his uncle says hey and he’ll see him soon.”

  I hit the end button and shoved the phone back into my pocket, thinking about the last time I’d seen her. Would Charlotte think I wanted to talk to her about what had happened that night at the restaurant? Would she think I found the whole thing awkward? Had she found the whole thing awkward?

  I shook my head, trying to center my thoughts on more pressing matters than my social life. This was about a man’s life, two men now, and the sinister things that seemed to be happening right under our noses for who knew how long.

  I thought about Michael, about the way he had lived right beside all of it. He would have to come clean about everything that had happened to him eventually, and he’d have to give however much of the ten thousand was still in his bank account back as well. That could wait at least a couple of days though. He wasn’t going anywhere and Boomer had agreed that tipping off whoever was involved with this to the fact that Michael had spoken to a cop at all would put his family in more danger than not.

  As it was, we had a rotation of officers in unmarked cars passing by his place every so often to make sure things were still okay.

  Whoever gave him that money was trying to make him complicit. Accepting ten thousand dollars would make him part of this, and convincing a judge and jury that it came under duress wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world, but we had a sympathetic district attorney, and something told me he’d be more than happy to cut a single father a break who didn’t have any good choices and make a deal.

  Of course, we’d have to actually get to the bottom of this whole thing first.

  “Dillon,” a voice said from across the hall.

  I turned to find Rebecca standing there, head to toe in scrubs with her face mask pulled down so that it dangled off her chin. She was short and beaming, a picture of loveliness even dressed up to go into surgery.

  “Are you still here, or here again?” I asked, smiling and walking over toward her.

  “Do you want the actual answer to that question or the one that will make you feel better?” she asked as I settled in front of her.

  “You need to get some sleep,” I said softly, giving her a once over. Though I could tell she was a little worn, she didn’t look worse for the wear. There were none of the circles under her eyes or slouched shoulders that I was sure I was exhibiting right about now. Plus, she didn’t have the overnight stubble I was rocking either, which was definitely a good thing.

  “You know what they say about rest and the weary,” she answered. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Have you stopped at all since we got the call?”

  “You want the real answer or the one that will make you feel better?’ I asked, repeating her words back to her and smiling. “You did a hell of a job last night.”

  “I did what I could,” she answered, her lips turning down solemnly as we turned our attention to the dark matter at hand. “The damage was severe. I told Boomer about what Father Jameson has to look forward to, worst case scenario.”

  “I know,” I nodded. “I’m not much of a worst case scenario kind of guy.”

  “I can tell,” she answered. “Anybody who sees what you do on a daily basis and gets through it even able to manage a smile must be as bright as the Florida sun.”

  “I was going to say the same thing about you,” I responded.

  “Peas in a pod, I guess,” she shrugged.

  “Tired peas,” I answered.

  “Are there any other kind?” She sighed. “I saw you on the phone. Who were you talking to?”

  “A lead,” I said, swallowing hard and foregoing the identity of that lead. After all, it wasn’t technically a lie.

  “Right,” Rebecca said in a low voice. “I know you can’t go into details about anything, and I totally respect that. I wouldn’t want you to compromise the investigation just to make me feel better.” She blinked at me. “But I see what’s going on here. The chief of police has been at Father Jameson’s bedside since he got out of surgery, and I know they’re close, but I get the feeling its more than that. The questions, the look on your face right now.” She took a deep breath. “It’s deeper than just a hit and run. I know it is. I won’t ask you to compromise anything and I certainly won’t ask you not to do your job, but I will ask you to be careful. Please.”

  This had been a horrible night, filled with tragedy, unanswered questions, and the blood of someone I cared very deeply about spilled across the pavement. Something about seeing this woman though—smart, capable, and extremely alluring—concerned about my wellbeing warmed me. It was a solitary light in the dark, one good thing to come out of all of this awful.

  “I will,” I said nodding. “I promise, Rebecca. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

  “Good,” she said. “Because you still owe me a proper date.”

  I grinned and she looked past me. “Meredith,” she said, talking to a nurse walking by. “Have you seen Carter. He was supposed to assist me with this appendectomy and I have n
o idea where he is.”

  I didn’t turn away from Rebecca. She was far too intoxicating for that, but Meredith must have shook her head no, because Rebecca rolled her eyes and muttered, “First years are so unreliable.”

  “About the date,” I said, swallowing hard as she turned her attention back to me. “It didn’t end the way I wanted it to.”

  “Well, to be fair, I don’t think anyone wants a first date to end with a phone call saying someone’s been run over,” Rebecca said.

  “Right,” I answered. “But, the thing is, I had a very specific thought about how our date was going to end last night. In fact, I had gone over it more than once in my mind.”

  ‘Really?” she asked, smiling ruefully. “And just what did it look like, in your mind, I mean?”

  “A little something like this,” I said, leaning in closer to her.

  “Wait,” she said, placing a hand flat on my chest to stop me.

  “What?” I asked, pulling back instinctively.

  “You’re about to kiss me, aren’t you?” she asked, blinking at me.

  My heart sort of tightened as I looked at her. “That was the plan. Is that okay?”

  “Yes,” she answered quietly. “It’s just…”

  “What?” I asked, trying to read her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “You just went through something very traumatic, Dillon,” she said, shaking her head. “In fact, you still are going through something very traumatic, and I’m the person who helped save the life of someone you care very deeply about.”

  “I know that,” I answered, breathing heavy. “You’re amazing.”

  “See. That’s what I’m talking about,” she answered, his palm still pressed flatly against my chest. “Emotions can run high at times like these. People tend not to see things clearly.” She sighed. “I’m a woman who did my job, nothing more, and I don’t want you looking at me like I’m some sort of savior.”