By morning the welt on Hauck’s face had gone down a bit. He had packed his bags, set to check out in a couple of minutes. There was no need to press the old man any longer. He had other ways to find out what he needed to know. He glanced at his watch. He had a ten o’clock plane.

When he opened the door to leave, Pappy Raymond was leaning on the outside railing.

The old man’s face was haggard, eyes bloodshot and drawn. He looked like he’d spent the night curled up in some alley. Or like he’d been in a street fight with a ferret. And the ferret had won!

“How’s the eye?” He looked at Hauck. Somewhere in his tone was the hint of an apology.

“Works.” Hauck shrugged, rubbing the side of his face. “I was a little peeved about the beer, though.”

“Yeah.” Pappy smiled sheepishly. “Guess I owe you one of those.” The blue in his hooded eyes shone through. “You heading home?”

“Somehow I got the sense you’d be okay with that.”

“Hmphh,” Pappy snorted. “How’d I ever give you that idea?”

Hauck waited. He set down his bags.

“I was a fool my whole life,” Pappy said finally. He eased off the railing. “Stubborn with the best of them. Problem is, it takes getting old to find that out. Then it’s too late.”

From his coverall pocket, he took out the Orange Bowl ticket stub Hauck had placed in his hand the night before. He bunched up his lips. “We drove all day to see that game. Might as well have been the Super Bowl for all my son cared. It was to him. Seminoles were always his team.” He scratched his head, suddenly clear-eyed. “I guess I should say thanks. I remember last night you said…”

“My daughter was four.” Hauck gazed back at him. “She was run over by our car, in our own driveway. Five years ago. I’d been driving. I thought I’d left it in park. I was bitter, after the pain finally eased. My ex-wife still can’t look me in the eyes without seeing it all over. So I know…. That’s all I meant to say.”

“Never goes away, does it?” Raymond shifted his weight on the railing.

Hauck shook his head. “Never does.”

Raymond let out a breath. “I watched those goddamn tankers come in three, four times. From Venezuela, the Philippines, Trinidad. Twice I even brought ’em in myself. Even a fool could see those ships were riding way too high. Didn’t have a lick of oil. Even snuck inside the holds once to see for myself.” He shook his head. “Clean as a baby’s ass. It’s not right what they were trying to do….”

Hauck asked, “You took it to your boss?”

“My boss, the harbormaster, the customs people…No duty on oil, so what the hell do they care? No telling who was getting paid. I kept hearing, ‘You just bring ’em in and park ’em, old man. Don’t stir it up.’ But I kept stirring. Then I got this call.”

“To push you to stop?”

Pappy nodded. “‘Don’t make waves, mister. You never know where they might fall.’ Finally I got this visit, too.”

“You remember from whom?”

“Met me outside the bar, just like you. Square jaw, dark hair, mustache. The kind of SOB who looked like he meant trouble. Mentioned my boy up north. Even showed me a picture. AJ and some gal up there with a kid. I knew what he was telling me. Still I kept at it. Called up this reporter I knew. I said I’d get him proof. That’s when I went aboard. A week later they sent me this.”

Pappy dug into his trousers, the kind of navy blue work pants he’d worn on the job, and came out with his cell phone, scanning it until he found a stored call. He handed it to Hauck.

A photo. Hauck exhaled. AJ Raymond lying in the road.

Pappy pointed. “You see what they wrote to me there?” SEEN ENOUGH NOW?

A screw of anger and understanding tightened in Hauck’s chest. “Who sent this to you?”

Pappy shook his head. “Never knew.”

“You take this to the police?”

Another shake of the head. “They won. No.”

“I’d like to send this picture to myself, if that’s okay?”

“Go ahead. I’m not standing by any longer. It’s yours now.”

Hauck forwarded the image to himself. Felt his phone vibrate.

“He was a good boy, my son.” Pappy looked Hauck in the eye. “He liked surfing and fishing. Cars. He’d never hurt a fly. He didn’t deserve to die like that….”

Hauck handed Pappy back the phone. He moved next to the old man on the railing. “These people, it was they that did this to him, not you. You were just trying to do what you thought was right.”

Pappy gazed at him. “Why are you doing all this, mister? You never showed me no badge. It can’t just be for AJ.”

“My daughter,” Hauck said, shrugging back at him, “she had red hair, too.”

“So we’re the same.” Pappy smiled. “Sort of. I was wrong, Lieutenant, the way I treated you. I was scared for Pete and my other boy, Walker, their families. Bringing all this up again. But you get them. You get those sons of bitches who killed my boy. I don’t know why they did. I don’t know what they were protecting. But whatever it was, it wasn’t worth this. You get them, you hear? Wherever this leads. And when you do”—he winked, a glimmer in his eye—“you don’t think about throwin’ ’em in no jail, you understand?”

Hauck smiled. He squeezed the man on the arm. “So what was the name?”

Pappy squinted. “The name?”

“Of the tanker?” Hauck asked.

“Some Greek word.” Pappy sniffed. “I looked it up. Goddess of the underworld. Persephone, it was called.”