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CHAPTER 26

Dean pulled into his parents’ driveway deep into the evening. They were probably having dinner, but he needed to talk to someone about the case, and his dad was someone he could talk through theories with, no matter how crazy, and someone who would understand his desire to answer the questions still unanswered. As he walked up to the front door, he looked back to the street and recognized Tony’s car. He pulled open the storm door part of the way and knocked and then opened the door.

“Hello?” said Eric.

“It’s me, Dad.” Dean closed the doors behind him and walked toward the sound of his dad’s voice, which seemed to flow along the smells of steak and au gratin potatoes.

His mom and dad and Tony were all sitting around the dining room table. Small pool of bloody oil on Tony’s plate. Eric jamming the cut side of a roll onto the plate and mopping up the grease and leftover cheese. The fat of the steak separated and piled off to the side on Jessica’s. She smiled and stood up. “Let me get you a plate.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” He sat next to Tony, patting him on the shoulder as he did.

The t-bone was extra well done, as his parents had always made it—except for Tony—crispy on the outside with a distinct, thick char. Tony and Eric had already collected the crispy parts of the au gratin, a prized portion of the meal since he had been a kid. Enough so fights often erupted for the last bit, forcing Eric to claim it for himself or Jessica. The spinach was plain, so Dean added salt and pepper. The whole meal was reminiscent of the early Sixties, down to their seating. Only the empty chair across from Dean reminded them that it was not.

With beers in hand, the men remained at the table as Jessica cleared the plates.

Dean pointed back and forth between Eric and Tony. “So you two mended finally?”

“A work in progress,” said Tony. “A work in progress.”

Eric nodded.

“Good. Good. So, Dad, I wanted to pass some things by you about the Nimitz case.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Yep.” Dean looked at Tony.

Eric said, “It’s all right. He can listen.”

Tony gave him a thumbs up.

Dean shrugged. “So after the busted interviews, I keep going over things. Trying to find a new angle.”

“Who are the players?” asked Tony.

“A lot of them, but we’ve got Alex Smith.”

“The DA’s kid?”

“That’s the one.” Eric gulped his beer.

“Yeah, well, he’s one of them,” continued Dean. “He and William’s girlfriend, Sarah, had a few nights together. Plus it seems Alex is somehow involved in the drug trade. Not sure. You’ve also got Charlie McCord. Definitely making his money beyond what the body shop is bringing in. Then you have Paul Zorn—the other end of the drug trade stick. And maybe the girlfriend’s father. For evidence, we’ve got the pistol that fired the shots, with its dead end in the Sixties. Twenty thousand in cash and The Communist Manifesto in Billy’s closet. And the trove of passports and cash found with the body in Montreal.”

Tony gave him questioning look, so Dean told him about his trip to see Renard.

“Billy a spy?” Eric’s voice was incredulous. He set the can of Budweiser on the table.

Dean nodded his agreement. “I know. Doesn’t make much sense. In Zion at least.”

Tony leaned in. “Yeah. I studied The Communist Manifesto in college. Lots of people did.”

“Yeah, but Billy seemed to have no inclination towards study, if you know what I mean?”

“What about his friends? What did they say about him?”

“Generally, nice guy and all that. He seemed like a good employee. Showed up. Did the work. One of his buddies made comments that Billy wasn’t all that happy with the work situation. And we know he wasn’t putting in overtime, which is what he was telling his parents.”

“He was still young, though, right?” asked Eric.

“Twenty-five.”

“So maybe he was learning about this stuff. Was getting pinko or something.”

Dean took a drink of his beer. “Maybe, but that seems like the convoluted answer. He’s a spy. There’s not much to spy on here in Zion. I mean, drugs make more sense. Maybe the dead guy in Canada was moving drugs and Billy was one of his drivers. Had passports to help move beyond driving between Canada and the U.S. Flying them in. Or—Billy had mentioned getting out of here with his girlfriend. Heading to Puerto Rico. Maybe he had other ideas. Thought he needed a passport to help him out.”

Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not unheard of having someone on the State-side funneling Soviet spies across the border. Someone on this side to give them a bus ticket and stuff.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I prefer the simpler answer.”

“Occam’s Razor you.”

“Yeah, that.”

“What about his friends and family the day of his disappearance?”

“Two friends alibi each other. One was at home alone—though we know he showed up after Billy left the bar. Shortly after that. Don’t know why. His dad stopped us before I could get an answer. His girlfriend was at home alone. Says she talked to Billy around midnight. His parents alibi each other. And Zorn. Well, it’s Zorn. Trask alibis him.”

“You think the Grim Devils are a part of this?”

“It was a stab in the dark.”

“Hell, it was desperation,” said Eric. “Mind you, we didn’t have anything. Still don’t.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “We figured if drugs are involved, it’s Zorn. But we pressed on the two friends Corey and Josh. They were with Billy the night he disappeared. Josh was acting weird. So we pushed. And Zorn suggested that the other friend, Alex, was not pristine. Which we know, but he made it sound bigger.”

“And then Henry blocked everything.”

“And then there’s McCord.”

“I don’t buy it, son. I’ve known Charlie for a while. Seen him at the council meetings. A nice house doesn’t mean he’s a drug dealer. And why would he kill the kid anyways?”

“Look, I—”

Tony stood up. “Could’ve seen something he wasn’t supposed to.” Tony stretched his arms by grabbing his elbows above his head. “Maybe Billy is clean. Works a bit late one night or shows up to pick something up after hours and sees his boss up to no good. Charlie pops him.”

Eric grunted. “So you’ve got a list of suspects, hardly any evidence, and what are you wanting?”

Dean nodded. This is where he wanted to get to the entire evening. “I want to do the surveillance we talked about. I want to sit on Alex. I think he’s the key. We sit on him, and we watch him, and he leads us to information. It’s our best shot at cracking this. But I need Guthrie at least so we can do twelve-hour shifts.”

“Dead ends?”

“Yeah.” Dean downed the last of his beer. “His parents call every Wednesday. I can’t even tell them we’re doing anything actively now.”

Tony said, “Makes sense to me. If that doesn’t lead you anywhere, you’ll have to button up the case.”

“It was about to go into cold storage anyways. Just a week. Give me and Guthrie a week of overtime. I’ll work it on my own time for my hours.”

Eric twisted his lips and pulled at the Budweiser bottle’s label. “Screw it. We got nothing else. You and Guthrie can keep an eye on him for a few days. See if he does anything fishy.”

Dean said they would start the next day. They all cracked open another beer and the conversation drifted to the goings-on about town, the chief’s tolerance of the mayor, and memories of better times. They even toasted to baby-brother Nolan, killed in action, proving the belief that living or dying in a combat zone was often more a matter of luck than skill. Dean had been lucky by that measure of things. Nolan not. But Dean could not let go of the idea that good luck in war meant bad luck at home.

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