Detective Mehan arrived with an officer from their white-collar division, a young woman with an old face named Karen Watanabe. The two officers listened in silence as Robert described how he had discovered Wayne, bound and bleeding, then as Wayne described what had happened at the Neally residence.
The woman said, “You’re suggesting they’ve taken these actions to force Easton Grey to sell his company.”
“They’ve made no other demands,” Wayne replied.
Mehan said, “On the surface the whole deal is beginning to look like we should be involved.”
But the woman was not convinced. “Why doesn’t Triton just up their bid?”
“Up to now,” Wayne pointed out, “Grey’s firm was buying Teledyne.”
“Teledyne is part of Triton?”
“Not that I can determine. They’re in a couple of partnerships together.”
Watanabe looked at Mehan. “Can we get back to the office? I’ve got a ton of stuff on my plate.”
“What about the kidnappings?”
“Sir, excuse me,” Karen Watanabe said. “What was your name again?”
“Wayne Grusza.”
“Right. For all I know, you folks have a scam of your own going here.”
The homicide detective protested, “Come on, Karen.”
“No, Mehan. They’ve got nothing to suggest this was more than a response they cooked up to a hostile takeover.”
“I’ve checked him out. Grusza was full-on Special Ops. Afghanistan, medals, the works. You heard how he arrived here.”
“That’s a sign that a criminal act has taken place. Sure. But nothing to tie it to what he’s suggesting.”
“What about the dead guy next door?”
“You were there the same as me. We got nothing out of that. Place was totally clean.”
Wayne asked, “What about the money inside his safe?”
Mehan looked at Wayne. Then the cop actually smiled. “There’s a safe?”
Wayne’s conversation with Easton Grey caused them to delay leaving the house. Victoria did not think Easton should risk travel. In a moment of inspiration, Wayne asked for someone else to come represent the company. Wayne used the time to eat his first meal since the slice of pizza, which by then felt like a dozen years ago. Patricia reheated a black bean soup, then prepared more for the two detectives. Wayne tried to thank the homicide detective for taking his side, but the cop shrugged it away as no big deal.
When they left the house an hour later, the sky was a raucous assortment of blues and copper. The earth sought to expunge its load of heat bulked up during the long summer day. The air stayed humid, a cloying mixture of blossoms and bay water. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the storm remained well beyond the horizon.
Watanabe was still unconvinced as they left the house. “I still haven’t heard back from the lieutenant as to what our role should be here.”
“We’re rolling, Karen. You want to hang in the car, be my guest.”
“We got no warrant, Mehan.”
“This is still a crime scene, remember?”
She looked at Wayne. “How did you know about the safe anyway?”
Wayne caught Mehan’s warning glance and replied, “Long story.”
She swatted at the bugs flitting around her face. “That’s your answer?”
Mehan said, “Works for me.”
Wayne did not mind the argument or the pace. He walked the street and reveled in the night. Even the humid seaweedladen air tasted sweet. Something had definitely altered his internal universe. He had sat with Patricia and they had talked. More than that. She had voiced regrets and fed him. He had apologized. Such simple acts when viewed from the side of it all done and gone. A few short moments an eternity in the making.
Mehan’s phone rang. He pulled it from the belt, listened, then said to Wayne, “A company rep is at the front gate.”
The female cop said, “You’re inviting more unauthorized personnel into a crime scene?”
Mehan crossed the lawn and climbed the front steps. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Karen, we got a murder that’s growing colder by the minute and no suspects.”
Mehan was peeling back the crime scene tape when headlights pulled into the drive. Wayne said, “I’ll get him.”
The engine died. A door slammed. The all-too familiar voice of Jim Berkind barked, “Of all the people in the world, why do you have to bother me?”