Black Cat Weekly #54

Chapter 7

The Barb Goffman Presents series showcases

the best in modern mystery and crime stories,

The Barb Goffman Presents series showcases

the best in modern mystery and crime stories,

personally selected by one of the most acclaimed

personally selected by one of the most acclaimedshort stories authors and editors in the mystery

short stories authors and editors in the mysteryfield, Barb Goffman, for Black Cat Weekly.

field, Barb Goffman, for .

byFall on the Cape always reminds me of a crab picked clean by a gull: the fingers of gray-white beach, the sharp smell of seaweed, the fragility of the skeleton. While the rest of New England celebrated autumn by decking trees in colored finery, Cape Cod went barren.“More coffee, hon?”

“Thanks.” I moved my cup closer to the edge of the table.

After topping me off, Andrea placed my slip on the table.

“Whenever you’re ready.” If only everything in life were that simple: review the tally, make good on your debt, walk away clean.

Walk away forgiven. Jack Newcomb had been forty-four years old, gainfully employed, married with a stepdaughter, and in full possession of his faculties when he disappeared. As he was a free adult who had broken no laws and there was no indication of accident or foul play, his wife soon learned there was little the police could do. Frustrated by their lack of results, she’d called me. Mrs. Susan Newcomb was a little woman, shrunken—or so I assumed, as I’d never met her before—by grief. We were sitting in her living room, and she folded and unfolded a small paper doily as she talked.

“…Then the police found his car at the Park and Ride in Hyannis. He never used that facility.”

never “Mrs. Newcomb, if I’m to find your husband, I’m going to have to ask some questions that might be uncomfortable.” She nodded. “I’ve talked to the police.”

“Was Jack involved with anybody?”

“No.” Fold. Unfold. Fold. Unfold. “I would have known.”

Sure. She knew her husband so well it was inconceivable that he might have been having an affair. And yet he’d managed to disappear without her having the slightest idea where he might have gone.

“Did he have a friend who might have picked him up at the lot?” She shook her head. “The police talked to all his friends.”

“I’m going to want to talk to them myself.”

“I can make another list.” Her gaze darted around the room as if looking for a sheet of paper.

“I can pick that list up another time. Do you know what leads the police pursued?”

A quick shrug. “They might have told me, but they never found him. Where’s my Jack?”

“Have you received any strange calls? Hang-ups?”

“No.” Now Mrs. Newcomb was rocking slightly in her hard-back chair, as if folding and unfolding the doily didn’t burn off enough nervous energy. “No, no, no.”

“Okay.” I stood. “I’ll be by later to pick up that list.”

Mrs. Newcomb hadn’t shown me out. Perhaps she hadn’t wanted me to leave.

I drove from her house to the police station, hoping the detective assigned the case was working today. Working but sitting at a desk, sipping coffee, waiting for someone like me to come through the door with my questions.

Dispatch called downstairs and told me the detective who had drawn the case wouldn’t be in until three.

“Can I leave a message?”

“You can call the station on the business line, and I’ll transfer you into his voice-mail.”

“I’m standing right here.”

The dispatcher nodded. “You’ll want to go outside before you call. The signal in the building can be flaky.”

Out on the front steps, I called the station, listened to the dispatcher inform me my call was being recorded, and then asked to be transferred into the detective’s voice-mail, half expecting the dispatcher to ask me which detective. Instead, I heard a click and was connected to Detective Whitney’s line.“This is Dan Stone, a private investigator licensed to work in Massachusetts. I’m calling about a missing person named Jack Newcomb. Jack’s wife hired me to pursue other avenues, and I’d appreciate the chance to buy you lunch.” After reciting my contact information, I disconnected. I returned to my vehicle and sat behind the wheel. The day was crisp, the sunlight that brittle shade of pale yellow you only ever saw on the northeastern shore this time of year. Mrs. Newcomb had told me Jack worked at H&L Engineering. The company had two engineers and the boss, Christopher Standish, who was married to the office manager, Grace. I figured that’d be a good place to start—except I didn’t like talking to people cold. I wanted to know what questions the police had asked. I wanted to know what impressions Mrs. Newcomb had formed. I wanted to find cracks and enlarge them into holes that I could climb through to the other side. Sometimes, what one wanted didn’t matter.

H&L Engineering was housed in a cottage, the outside freshly painted, the dry lawn carefully trimmed. Six parking spaces had been added off the driveway. The opening door caused a bell to tinkle.

A woman in her early twenties glanced up. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a Grace Standish.” She smiled, her short hair complementing her boyish figure.

“You’ve found one.”

I introduced myself as I shook her hand. “I’m checking into Jack Newcomb’s disappearance.”

“Oh.” Grace’s eyes turned wounded and then guarded. “Did his wife hire you?”

“She did. Would it be okay for me to see his work area?” Grace jumped to her feet. “Certainly. Anything to help. Everybody else is out at a meeting with the sewer commissioners.”

I followed Grace through a large meeting room banked by filing cabinets to a set of offices. Jack’s office was neat, his desk a large table with a computer on one side. Blueprints hung on the walls. Photographs sat along the back of the table.“I’d like to sit here for a minute, see if I can pick up his vibe.”

“Of course.” Grace retreated.

A trifold frame held a family photograph in the middle section, Mrs. Newcomb on the left and her daughter, Catie, on the right. I’d seen the same set of photographs at the house.

Next to the trifold were three pictures taken during what appeared to be a deep-sea fishing trip. Mrs. Newcomb and Jack, Grace, and I assumed Christopher. Grace holding aloft her catch. Jack standing closer to Grace than he was to his wife.

After making sure the speakers weren’t powered, I turned on the computer. The user “Jack” required a password. I pressed the Enter key. Tried “Jack.” “Newcomb.” “Susan.” “Catie.” After pulling out my notebook, I tried birthdays and anniversaries. Nothing. I checked under the keyboard and mouse pad to see if he’d written down his password. Felt underneath for anything taped. Nothing.

Sat back and took in his space. The picture of the fishing trip. Jack. Grace. Their body language.

Tried “Grace.” The computer came to life. Grace might have set up the computers, using her name as the password in case she ever needed to access files while the engineers were out of the office. Then again… I clicked in and out of computer folders, looking for a file name that might signal significance. Maybe “Things to do before I disappear” or “Death threat” or “Last Will and Testament.” Nothing leapt out at me despite his files being organized in an orderly fashion. Neat, like his work area. Neat, unlike his life, if he was involved with his boss’s wife. I shut the computer down. If Jack was sleeping with Grace, I would certainly expect to find a last will and testament. How long could he imagine he would get away with that kind of dangerous behavior? How long could I legitimately sit here searching for his “vibe” before Grace came back to check on me? The table only contained one drawer, long and thin, flush with the top. Mechanical pencils in a tray. Paper clips in a container. Three manila folders in a pile. I flipped through the folders but found nothing except meeting notes, bits of specs, and requests for proposals. I needed to ask Grace where they bought this chair. The seat in my office seemed primitive in comparison, like something knocked together out of fallen branches, with none of the jagged pieces broken off.

I headed up front. Grace’s head snapped as I entered the room.

“Did you find anything that helped?”

“Perhaps.” I motioned with my thumb. “I saw the pictures of the fishing trip. Did the four of you do things like that often?”

“Christopher’s idea of building a bond. We took Walter and his wife to the casino. The four of us lost money playing roulette, and then Walter won it all back playing a slot machine on the way out.” I noticed how she told a story to change the subject.

“Why separate bonding trips? Is Jack partial to fishing?”

“I don’t think so.” Grace moved a knickknack.“A boat can be a tight place for two couples, especially if there’s tension in the air.”

The wastebasket half under her desk overflowed with crumpled tissues.“Why would there be?”

“You say Jack doesn’t like fishing. His boss takes him. I’d be tense if the same thing happened to me.”

“Yes, well, it was just that one time.”

“How do Christopher and Jack get along?”

“Great. Everybody here does. H&L is like one big happy family.”

“I wondered about the name.” Grace relaxed, as if back on safe ground. “Christopher inherited the company from an uncle and kept the name for tradition’s sake. In this environment, how long a business has been around matters.”

My phone vibrated. “What do you mean, ‘in this environment’?”

“You know, the Cape. And the nature of the work, competing for bids in this economy. Every little bit helps.”

“Business is good?”

“We’re staying afloat. But then we’re engineers.” Grace smiled.

I smiled back.

“When do the others return?”

Grace shrugged, glanced at the calendar. “Honestly, the meeting could go on all day, or it might have ended ten minutes ago. Christopher knows best. He’ll do whatever it takes to land this bid.”

I couldn’t identify what I heard in her tone. Pride? Disgust? Resignation? “Does he know about your relationship with Jack?”

Grace bit the inside of her left check. “My, um…? Jack?”

“Yes. Jack Newcomb. The man who’s gone missing.” I plucked a business card out of the open clamshell on her desk. “Does Christopher know about the relationship?”

“Of course he knows Jack works here.”

“That’s not the relationship I meant.”

“I don’t know who told you what, but they got it wrong. There was nothing between Jack and me.” Whenever she said his name, her voice broke a little.

“The sooner you tell me the truth, the sooner I leave.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. Listen, Jack and me, it didn’t mean anything. It’s not like we were in love. It was…just a convenience. Like eating out rather than making food at home.”

“Did Christopher mind that you ate out when he packed a lunch?”

“The topic never came up.” That cheek of hers was going to bruise if she kept chomping on it.

“And now the topic won’t have to. Unless the papers get wind of the affair. That would put Jack’s disappearance on the front page. Publicity like that might help me find him.”

Grace stared at her keyboard as if looking for answers in the arrangement. “What do you want?”

“To locate Jack. You have any ideas on that subject?”

“He left without a word.”

“Did he ever talk about running?” She shook her head, finally looking up at me again. “He was under a lot of pressure.”

“Here? Home? Something else?”

“Jack wouldn’t say. He wasn’t much of a talker. I never knew what was on his mind.”

“You did at least once. Who initiated the affair?”

“I’m not sure if anybody did. It was more like neither of us ever took a step back. There was no big passionate ‘yes.’”

“How long has it been going on?”

“A couple of months.” I tapped the business card against the counter. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Does this mean you won’t go to the papers?”

“I wasn’t threatening. I was just saying. Besides, they probably wouldn’t run with the story, not unless you were having an affair with a sewer commissioner.”

“Christopher would kill me.” Grace nearly smiled. “Unless, of course, we won the bid.”

Outside, I leaned against my car and checked voice-mail. Detective Whitney, returning my call. I got back to him.

“Dan Stone, Detective. I was wondering if I could talk to you about Jack Newcomb.” Through the front window of H&L, I could see Grace watching me, probably wondering who was on the other end of the line.“You promised me lunch. You know the Mexican place?”

“Fourteen kinds of taco.” The nachos supreme were passable but nothing great.“Twenty minutes.”

I nodded at Grace, who quickly turned away. I climbed into my car and thought about different scenarios of the case on the ride over.

Scenario one: Jack’s sleeping with his boss’s wife. Jack can’t handle his guilt over betraying his wife and/or boss and disappears.

Or two, Jack’s sleeping with his boss’s wife. His boss decides to end that situation, perhaps dumping Jack’s body over the side of the boat into the ocean. Or three, Jack’s sleeping with his boss’s wife. He wants to change the nature of their relationship, and she doesn’t. Or she wants to change the nature of their relationship, and he doesn’t. Things get out of control, and Jack gets dead.

I picked Detective Whitney out of the restaurant crowd in about half a second. There were two types of police detectives, those suitable for undercover work, and those that even a blind person could never mistake for anything other than a cop.

“Detective Whitney? Dan Stone.” He pointed at the seat across from him. Straight out of central casting, Whitney’s every move mimicked one movie cop or another. “You do a lot of defense work.”

“The lawyers have all the money.”

“Ain’t that the truth. So you’re here to point out my failings, huh?”

“Not at all. I’m here to help. A grown man takes off, no sign that he did so against his will, and you have more pressing concerns.”

“I did my job.”

“Detective Whitney, I’m not saying you didn’t. I’m simply continuing the investigation from the point where you reached the limits of your jurisdiction.” The waitress stopped by the table to hand me a menu. “Thanks.”

Detective Whitney leaned forward. “So what’s your interest in Jack Newcomb?”

“His wife hired me to supplement the official investigation. Before she called, I never even heard of the guy.”

“You friends with the wife?” I opened my menu. “She said she found me in the phone book.”

“So you don’t have a vested interest. Other than the money.”

“That’s right. Like you, I’m just doing my job.”

“Not just like me. I didn’t bill her by the hour.” Whitney frowned. “She’s paying you to eat lunch, isn’t she? And because it’s a reasonable expense, she’s going to pay for what we eat,right?”

“We can order waters and a basket of tortillas, if you prefer. We can take it outside.” I grinned, letting him take that any way he wanted. Sometimes with cops, you needed to let them know you wouldn’t back down if you wanted to earn their respect. Detective Whitney ignored the comment and turned to the waitress, who’d returned, pad at the ready.

“I’ll take three steak tacos. Black beans and rice.” She made a few quick notes, no stranger to the business. “And you?”

“A chicken quesadilla, please.”

“And to drink?” I ordered water with lemon. Detective Whitney chose a large Coke.

“I’ll be back with your drinks.” Detective Whitney watched her walk away. “Like you said, Jack Newcomb’s a civil matter. I did what I could.”

“You talk to his friends, coworkers?”

“Course. For as long as it took me to decide that no laws had been broken.”

“I just came from H&L Engineering. I talked to Grace. She admitted being involved with Jack.”

“So?” He didn’t give away whether my statement was news or not.

“That certainly gives her husband a motive. And Jack’s wife. Maybe even Grace.”

Detective Whitney squirmed to change position. “Let me tell you something about motive. Ninety-nine percent of all crimes, the motive is nothing more than people are spoiled brats. They want it easy. They want it now.”

“Jack disappearing made several people’s lives easier.”

“Including Jack’s.”

I thanked the waitress for my water. “So you’re satisfied that he simply took off?”

“We found his car at the Park and Ride at 6 and 132. Within an hour and a half, a Plymouth and Brockton bus would have delivered him to South Station. Within two hours, Logan airport.”

“Did you find anybody who wasn’t surprised he’d bolted?”

“Not so they said.”

“Jack have a record?” Detective Whitney sipped his Coke. I continued. “Are we talking more than traffic violations?”

“The man once resorted to fisticuffs while settling a dispute.”

“Was he arrested?” Detective Whitney nodded.

“And found not guilty. Which should never be confused with innocent.”

“How recent was this?”

“Ten years ago. You thinking the other guy maybe had a motive?” His smile affected only the bottom part of his face.

“I’m thinking a man who’s not averse to using his fists might end up dead in an argument that escalated from verbal to physical to fatal.”

Detective Whitney took a second before opening his mouth, and that’s when the waitress brought us our lunches. She placed the hot plates on the table.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“We’re all set.” Again, Detective Whitney watched her walk away. Then he swallowed half a steak taco. I waited until he could answer without showing me the ingredients of what he’d ordered.

“You were going to say something?”

“Just that at some point, Jack is going to surface.”

“Jack? Or his body?”

“Either way, there’s an SOP. Until that time, there’s not much more I can do.” He kept pointing that out—he was following standard operating procedure. Was he trying to tell me there was something I could do, that I should be doing?

“Detective Whitney, knowing what you know, do you have any suggestions?”

“If it was me, I’d tell the wife what I told her. When he’s ready to come back, he’ll come back. If he’s not ready to come back, why would she want him?” Detective Whitney consumed the rest of that steak taco.

“She doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer.”

Detective Whitney spoke around the food in his mouth. “Her loss.”

Mrs. Newcomb was getting the list of Jack’s friends when the front door opened and Catie entered the room, stopping when she saw me.

“Hi.”

“Afternoon.” She was a young teen, neat, the picture of innocence. Like summer on Cape Cod. “Does my mom know you’re here?” I nodded. “She left the room to get something.” Catie backed to the doorway as though, despite her misgivings, she was determined not to leave me unsupervised. What could I say to reassure her that any serial-killer r****t wouldn’t? Mrs. Newcomb came into the room with her hand outstretched, the sheet of paper flapping. “I remembered someone I’d forgotten to mention to the police.”

“Thanks.” As I took the sheet from Mrs. Newcomb, Catie finally relaxed. Mrs. Newcomb’s face softened when she smiled. “You’ve met our daughter, Catie?”

“Yes, we chatted.”

“Our pride and joy. She’s a straight-A student.”

“Mom. French 4?”

“It was only a quiz.” Mrs. Newcomb waved the quiz away. “You’ll get your grade up by the end of the semester.” After a quick roll of the eyes, Catie retreated.

Mrs. Newcomb turned to me, rubbing her hands together now that they were empty. “Have you learned anything yet?”

“I talked to the detective who investigated Jack’s disappearance. He doesn’t seem concerned.”

Her eyes hardened. “I want my husband back.”

“Yes. That’s the idea.” I glanced at the list to make sure I had no questions. “This will be very helpful.”

“All I want is my husband. I don’t care what it takes.” I folded the list into my pocket.

“I’ll do my best.”

Mrs. Newcomb reached out and grabbed my arm. “No. I don’t want your best. I want results, and if that means you do the impossible, then you do the impossible.” If this was the kind of pressure Grace had alluded to, I could understand why Jack might feel overwhelmed.

“I’m not a miracle worker, Mrs. Newcomb.” I could listen, I could console, or I could continue the search for her husband. “I’m going to get started with this list.” She didn’t answer. Didn’t look up when I said goodbye. May not have even responded to the sound of the door closing behind me. The air outside was brisk, tinged with a cold that foreshadowed winter. Starting the car, I wondered if Jack would be home by then or whether doing the impossible would mean telling Mrs. Newcomb there was nothing else I could do. I studied the list of Jack’s closest friends. Five names followed by addresses, phone numbers, and the nature of the friendship. “Meet at a bar to watch the Bruins.” “BBQ at each other’s house.” “Go out sometimes after work.” Two of them met Jack to play poker. Was Jack a gambler then? Did he get in over his head at the poker table? Maybe the casino? Maybe that’s why Jack’s boss took him deep-sea fishing instead. I shifted into reverse and looked over my shoulder as I backed down the driveway, onto the road. When I’d first talked to Mrs. Newcomb, I’d asked if Jack might have a gambling problem, and she’d been sure he didn’t. Jack might have been better at lying to his wife than he was bluffing his opponents. Looking at my watch before shifting into drive, I decided to see if Jack’s boss had returned from that meeting.

The H&L parking lot looked the same as when I left. As I sat parked a bit down the street, however, a car pulled in. A man I recognized from the picture in Jack’s office climbed out. I caught up with Jack’s boss before he reached the door. “Christopher Standish? Grace said you’d be back.” He smiled like a politician.

“Can I help you?”

I held out my hand as I introduced myself. “It’s about Jack Newcomb.”

“Has he finally turned up?”

“Do you expect him to?”

“Sure.” Christopher chuckled. “Frankly, I’m surprised he’s stayed away this long. He’s got a good life here.”

I nodded. “Maybe he feels differently. Or maybe Jack has no choice in the matter.”

“How so?”

“It’s not so easy to disappear. He might have had help. He might have been helped against his will, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t believe I do.”

“I don’t believe you when you say that.”

Stiffening, Christopher glanced at H&L before taking a step toward me. “Listen. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I don’t like the sound of your insinuations.”

“I simply follow the leads where they take me. This time, they brought me to you.”

Christopher took a step back. Steepled his fingers and hung them over his nose. “Can we meet somewhere later?”

“Name a time and a place.”

“I’ll have to call you.”

Producing my card, I met him halfway. “I can’t promise I won’t be busy.” He glanced at H&L again before slipping my card into his pocket. “Please leave this alone until then.”

“Don’t take too long.” In my car, I tapped a steady beat on the steering wheel, trying out ideas. Christopher intended to tell me about Jack’s affair with Grace. Or he intended to tell me he’d warned off Jack and things had turned ugly. Or he intended to tell me he suspected Grace of something worse than a******y. Grace stood at the window again. Curiosity? Guilty conscience? Obsession with unsightly streaks? After pulling out the list of Jack’s friends, I dialed until I reached someone who could see me. Eric Boyd worked at Upper Cape Garden Center. Eric, the Bruins fan. Before I drove over, I reviewed how they did last season and their prospects for the next season.

Eric wore a dark-green apron with his first name stitched in an oval. Once the introductions were completed, he walked me over to some spindly trees relegated to the far corner of the yard. “I still can’t believe it about Jack, him just taking off the way he did.”

“I hear your friend was under some pressure.”

“Yeah, his job was getting to him.” Eric pulled a dead leaf off a tree. “Jack said H&L would do almost anything to secure a bid. He was uncomfortable with some of their practices.”

“Such as?”

“Bribes, for lack of a better word.” Eric placed the leaf in an apron pocket.“The word works just fine for me.” Eric grunted. “Jack considered going to the State Ethics Commission, but he didn’t want to get anybody in trouble. The poor guy just wanted to be able to get a good night’s sleep.”

“Did he say whether he ever talked about this with his boss?”

“Jack liked to keep things simple: honest job, loving family, loyal friends. Deep down, what he wanted more than anything else was the freedom to go to bed with a clear conscience, knowing that even if he hadn’t made the world a better place, at least he hadn’t made it worse. Jack’s a real stand-up guy.”

“But he didn’t talk to the ethics commission.”

“No.”

Stepping out on your wife to sleep with the boss’s wife was not what I’d call keeping things simple. “Jack disappears. What’s your first thought?”

“He was going to get a much-needed rest.” Eric concentrated on picking off dead leaves.

“What kind of rest?”

“Holed up in a motel somewhere.”

“Walking out on his wife and child, his job, that’s not going to keep him awake nights?”

Eric stuffed the leaves in his apron. “Listen, Jack and I, we got together to watch Bruins games at a sports bar. We mostly talked about the game, maybe how long it was taking us to get some service.”

“You haven’t answered the question.”

“I don’t like your tone of voice.”

“Eric, where’s Jack?” He rubbed his face before answering. “What makes you think I know?”

I handed Eric my business card. “Tell him I just want to talk. Or he can talk, and I’ll just listen.”

Eric studied the card as if hoping for instructions. “I’m not admitting anything, but if I happen to hear from him, I’ll pass on the word.”

“Thanks.” As I walked back to my car, my phone rang. That didn’t take long. “Dan Stone.”

“This is Christopher Standish. Are you free to meet at the town pier in half an hour?” On an autumn weekday afternoon, we’d be the only two cars there. Christopher might’ve thought that meant privacy, but all it meant was that our meeting would be obvious to every jogger and nature enthusiast anywhere near the beach. “Thirty minutes is fine.”

I arrived early, and Christopher arrived late. He parked next to me so we could talk through our open windows. Perhaps he was afraid that if he set foot out of his car that he’d be attacked by seagulls. I had to admit, the beady-eyed creatures did look hungry.

“Thanks for meeting me.”

“Thanks for calling.” Christopher stared straight through the windshield.

“Jack and I had some issues.”

“Go on.”

“We had differences of opinion on certain philosophical matters.” After a few seconds of silence, I prompted him to continue.

“How so?”

“This isn’t easy.”

Christopher took a deep breath. “The computers at H&L are networked. While some of the apps reside on the server, some are installed locally. The CAD and graphics programs are two good examples. Another is the internet gateway management software. Which sits on my machine. I don’t spy on my employees, Mr. Stone.”

Since he finally turned to face me, a nod sufficed. I didn’t want to say anything to interrupt the flow now that Christopher seemed prepared to talk.

“I never really configured that gateway software. We could get to the internet and do what we needed to do. That was enough. And then I got an alarm.”

“Jack.”

“He ran a search looking for an underage p********e. I confronted him that day.”

“When was this?”

“Two months ago. He said he’d never done it before and didn’t intend to do it again.”

“Did he say why he ran the search?”

“He said he was very confused, that what he’d done was stupid. And if he’d followed through, he would have broken the law. Jack wasn’t fooling himself. He sat in my office and cried.”

“No more alarms?”

“To the best of my knowledge, Jack kept his word.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“One hears of countries that are more…tolerant of that kind of behavior. Or perhaps they’re simply desperate for foreign currency. Maybe Jack decided to take a little vacation.”

“I called a friend of mine in California who specializes in missing persons. Jack hasn’t left the country.” Normal lung size didn’t account for the amount of air that Christopher exhaled.

“Good. That’s good.”

“You were worried.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Not at first, not about that. But then yesterday I remembered that search he ran.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“I’m in the middle of very delicate negotiations. Having the media call one of my employees a suspected pedophile would not be good for business.”

“But if he was?”

Christopher shook his head. “If he was, that’s one thing, but all Jack did was run a search.”

“This was months ago, you said.”

“Yes, early summer, I think. That sounds about right.”

My phone vibrated.

“And the two of you didn’t discuss the incident since then?”

Christopher huffed. “It’s not exactly the sort of thing people bring up. Anyway, Jack pulled himself together, and that was the end of it. He was going through a bad patch, and then he wasn’t.”

“Were you surprised the first day he didn’t show up at work?”

“Certainly. Jack’s not the type that gets sick, and the few times he has, he called. I tried to reach him at home. Tried his cell.” Christopher shrugged. “He just fell off the edge of the earth.”

“Did Jack ever talk about traveling?”

“Not that I recall.” Christopher was becoming bored with our conversation.

“Grace said you took Jack and his wife deep-sea fishing.”

“I thought it would be a good team-building exercise.”

“You took your other engineer to the casino. Why not Jack?”

“He didn’t like them. He didn’t like the noise, the lights, the crowds. Jack gets together with a few friends to play poker in someone’s basement. That’s more his speed.”

“High stakes?”

Christopher shook his head. “Jack said there was never more than a couple hundred bucks in play.”

“Gut instinct. What do you think happened?”

“To Jack? I don’t know. You work side by side with someone for years, and how well do you really know him? After I saw that alarm, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to continue working for me. But he was sincerely contrite.” Christopher sighed. “Anyway, I thought you should know about that search incident.”

“Thanks. It could prove significant.”

As Christopher drove away, I checked my phone to see if I could identify who’d called. Nope. I connected to voice-mail.

“Dan Stone?” A male voice I didn’t recognize. “My friend suggested I call you. I’ll be at this number for the next fifteen minutes.” I pressed the green button.

“Hello?” His phone hadn’t even completed the ring.

“This is Dan Stone. I’m returning your call.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“No, not for certain.” I focused on listening for background sounds.

“I wasn’t sure if I should call, but my friend was persuasive.”

“Friends often are. That’s one reason we stay friends with them. They convince us to do what we really want to do.” The man at the other end of the line sniffed. “Now I’m giving you a chance to convince me to keep talking.”

“That might be easier in person.”

“I don’t think so. I could hang up right now, and you’d never have another chance to speak with me.” Assuming I wouldn’t be able to find him was a dangerous assumption. Knowing Jack was alive allowed me to narrow my focus.

“How’s the weather where you are?”

“You didn’t send me a message to discuss the weather.”

“You’re right. I didn’t give your friend my card so we could discuss the weather.” I smiled, knowing it would come over in my voice.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good, actually. I feel good. Getting out has been good for me.”

“People are worried about you.”

“It’s better this way.”

“They don’t think so.”

“They don’t understand.” His tone took on a sharp edge.

“Maybe I can help them understand. You tell me your concerns, and I’ll relay them to the interested parties.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“Then tell me your concerns, and we’ll decide where to go from there. Together. We’ll work this out together.” Silence. At least he hadn’t disconnected. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk. Anything you want. The weather. The Bruins. The best hand of poker you ever played. I’m listening.”

“My wife made a good choice when she hired you.” Jack was finally starting to lower his guard.

“I’ll believe that when you return home.”

“Returning home is out of the question.”

“That’s fine. Would you mind explaining why?”

“It’s a difficult situation, Dan. If it wasn’t, do you think I would have abandoned my family? I tried several ways… This is the only option left to me. This is best for everybody.”

“Your wife wants you at her side.”

“I know. No matter what the cost, but I’m not willing to pay the price.”

“Perhaps you’re overcharging yourself, inflating the price in your mind. Things might not be as bad as they seem.”

“Have you met my stepdaughter?”

“Yes. Catie came home from school while I was talking with your wife.” Jack paused. Sighed. Paused some more.

“I don’t trust myself to be alone with her.” Jack had searched for an underage p********e and then started a f*******n relationship with his boss’s youthful wife.

“There are people who can help you with that issue.”

“I talked to a doctor. He treated my…hunger…like some kind of harmless fantasy. I had to leave, Dan. I’m protecting my stepdaughter.”

“Having others on your side can make large problems manageable.”

“I’m going now. Please don’t bother trying to follow me.” Jack disconnected. I redialed and let the phone ring twenty times. Twenty-two. Twenty-five. A seagull landed on the hood of my car. Screeched the way I wished I could at the moment, as if that could help. Instead, I drove home and spent three times longer than necessary working on my report to Mrs. Newcomb because I didn’t know what to write. And what would I say to her face? I stopped at the diner on the way to her house to give myself time to think of an answer to that question, staring out the window at the barren landscape that was fall on the Cape. Found myself thinking about skeletons.

Stephen D. Rogers is the author of Shot to Death and more than 800 shorter works. His website, stephendrogers.com, includes a list of new and upcoming titles as well as other timely information.

Shot to Death