“What are you drinking?” he asked her.
“Scotch and ginger ale.”
“Philistine.”
“Yes, I know. But on me it looks good.”
Elliot laughed. “It does. Let me get this, though.”
“If you insist, I won’t arm wrestle you.”
He rose, managing not to wince as he slightly twisted his knee. That was one of the hardest things to get used to, the need to always move carefully, plan ahead. As he grew stronger and the pain faded, it was hard to accept that he couldn’t do everything he once had. At first he had been grateful for merely being able to walk.
Leaning against the bar after he ordered their drinks, Elliot gazed idly around the crowded room.
Several couples were engaged in low voiced conversations, a group of guys sat glued to the big screen TV behind the bar, and at the end of the bar a young woman in a fisherman’s sweater was brooding over a drink with a tiny umbrella in it. Still no Jim Feder.
He carried the glasses back to Anne’s table.
She took her drink with a murmur of thanks. “How’s Rollie these days? Still planning to overthrow the government?”
Elliot winced. “Don’t joke.”
She laughed. Her gaze traveled past him to the door once more.
“He’s fine. I think retirement suits him. He says he can’t figure out how he used to get anything done having to work all the time.”
She laughed again, but it was reflex. Her mind was a million miles away.
“At the moment he’s got me looking into the disappearance of the son of some friends. Do you know Pauline and Tom Baker?”
He had her full attention now. “Tom Baker? Oh yes, very well. Pauline…not so much. She’s an odd duck.”
“How so?”
Anne said vaguely, “A mild case of agoraphobia or something. Or maybe she simply prefers home and hearth.” Her expression changed. “You mean Tom’s son is missing?”
“It’s starting to look that way. Did you know Terry?”
“Oh my God. No. Yes. I had him in class one semester. One of the general requirement courses. ATRHI 115, I think. Art in a Global Context. That was a couple of years ago. He’s pre-law, isn’t he?”
She remembered the exact course and she knew the Bakers, or Tom at least, well enough to know what field their kid was studying. Interesting.
“He is. He’s also studying architecture. You teach a seminar in architectural history, don’t you?”
“Yes. Not this semester, though. I only had Terry in class the once. How is it you’re letting yourself be sucked into this? Or is that a silly question?”
“Why would it be a silly question? I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”
Her smile was both sympathetic and mocking. “It’s a silly question because it’s obvious you miss being a cop.”
“I like teaching,” Elliot objected.
“But you liked the FBI more.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
They chatted a few minutes more and then Anne finished her drink and said she had to get going. “Let’s do dinner next week. How about Wednesday?”
Elliot said yes to Wednesday, they agreed on a local restaurant, bussed cheeks, and he watched Anne weave her way through the maze of chairs and tables. There was something about the line of her shoulders that seemed…dispirited? He wondered who she had been waiting for. A man, obviously.
Elliot sipped his drink and scrutinized his fellow bar patrons.
A young man with curly blond hair and brown eyes sat at a table gazing inquiringly his way. He looked about the right age for Feder. Certainly Elliot couldn’t imagine any other reason this kid would be eyeing him so intently, and it occurred to him that maybe Anne had a point. It had been a long—very long—time since he’d even considered getting back into dating. Mostly because he had no desire to date. Sex, yes. He’d like to have sex again.
Soon.
He mouthed across the crowded floor, “Jim?”
Feder nodded, picked his glass up and made his way to Elliot’s table. “You’re Dr. Mills?”
“Call me Elliot.” They shook hands and Feder sat across from Elliot. “Thanks for meeting me at such short notice, Jim.”
Feder nodded. He looked uncomfortable. “Sorry if I was rude on the phone, but…” He changed that. “You said Terry’s parents hired you to find him?”
“I’m acting as a consultant in the case. The FBI is looking into Terry’s disappearance.”
Feder slopped his drink on the table. “The
Watching him, trying to read him, Elliot said, “Terry’s parents are convinced he didn’t take off of his own volition. That he’d never do something that hurtful.”
“What about the hurtful stuff they’ve done?”
“What have they done?”
Whatever they had done, Feder let it go. He said instead, “The Bakers are well connected, that’s for sure, but Terry’s going to hate this when he finds out. The
“So you feel sure that Terry disappeared voluntarily?”
“Yeah. I’m sure he did. He’d had it with his old man. With the whole…bullshit facade.”
Elliot considered Feder’s boyishly handsome face. “Did Terry tell you he was leaving?”
“No. Not in so many words.”
“What
“And that put pressure on your relationship?”
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s funny Terry didn’t take his car or any clothes if he left voluntarily. His suitcases are still under his bed.”
Feder stared at Elliot. He began to shake his head. Elliot watched him curiously.
At last Feder said, “That sonofabitch killed him, didn’t he? Killed his own son.”
“Time out,” Elliot said. “I’m not suggesting anything like that.
“But that’s it. That
“But that’s because…” Feder’s voice faded away. He gazed at Elliot unhappily.
“Tell me about Terry,” Elliot invited at last.
“What do you want to know? He’s a straight A student. A straight arrow.”
“Yes, I got that. But what’s he like? I can’t seem to get a fix on him. No one has a negative word to say about him, but I know he didn’t have a lot of friends.”
“He doesn’t have enemies either. Terry’s quiet, kind of shy. He’s your typical nice guy. He doesn’t like to rock the boat.”
“I gather he’s taking pre-law because that’s what his father wanted.”
“That’s right. Terry wants to be an architect, but his dad insisted on law. It’s not like architecture is some way out artsy fartsy major. But it wasn’t good enough for Tom My-Way-or-the-Highway Baker. And Terry…” Feder shook his head. “Terry doesn’t like to make waves.”
“To the extent of training for a job he didn’t want—and giving up a relationship he did?”
Feder threw Elliot a funny look. “It’s not like…I mean, Terry and I weren’t…”
“Serious?”
He flushed. “No. I mean, it’s not that I—we—didn’t care about each other, but we’re not—we’re only in college. It’s not like anyone wanted to settle down.” Feder’s eyes met Elliot’s with sudden guilty intensity. “I still want to…see people.” He gave Elliot a diffident but engaging smile. “I’m still available.”
Feder was attracted to him. The realization caught Elliot by surprise. He reached for his own drink, took a sip to give himself time and said neutrally, “Did Terry feel the same way?”
“I don’t know.”
Translation: no.
“Can you think of anything else that might be useful?”
“Not really,” Feder said apologetically. “I mean, I was surprised and I
“Yeah. If you think of anything that might be helpful, or you happen to hear anything, will you let me know?”
“You mean like if Terry calls me?”
“That, sure.” Elliot thought the chances were pretty remote. “But if you hear anything about Terry, I’d like to know.”
“Okay. Sure.”
Elliot started to rise and Feder said quickly, “Um, could I buy you another drink, Elliot?”
Elliot hesitated. Feder was attractive and seemingly interested, and it had been way too long since Elliot had been with anyone. But not only was Feder a student, he was technically a suspect. A suspect in
Feder looked flatteringly disappointed, but recovered. He said playfully, “It rains a lot in Seattle.”
Elliot grinned. “It does, yeah.”
He rose, careful not to move his knee the wrong way, self-consciously aware of Feder’s attention as he threaded his way through chairs and tables and people.
“Night, Elliot,” Feder called softly after him.
The doors to the Wharfside swung closed behind Elliot. The night air smelled of briny ocean and broiling steaks.
He walked over the bridge to the parking lot, passing talking, laughing couples on their way inside. Starlight sparkled on the marina water. The docked ships and buildings along the wharf cast rippling black shadows on the water. Music and laughter drifted from the restaurant as the doors opened and closed again.
Elliot fished his cell out of his pocket and thumbed the numbers he still remembered.
“Lance,” Tucker answered briskly almost at once.
Elliot had expected the call to go to message, so he was disconcerted to find intelligent conversation required. That was what was making his heart pound, right?
“It’s Elliot.”
There was a fraction of a pause and Tucker said smoothly, “This is a surprise.” His voice dipped and there was chink of ice in a glass. “What can I do you for, Professor?”
Elliot picked out the background noise of a dishwasher. Tucker was in his kitchen fixing himself a drink, a scene Elliot remembered from more than one evening where a long, wearing day had ended at Tucker’s apartment and, after a couple of drinks, in Tucker’s bed. The undertow of memories nearly sucked him under for a second. How the hell could you be homesick for a place that had never been home?
No, it wasn’t Tucker’s home or Tucker that he wanted; what he missed, with sudden gut-wrenching longing, was his old life. That was all. Because anything else would just be too damn sad.
“I just met with Jim Feder, Baker’s boyfriend.”
Tucker took a swallow—maybe to give himself time—and said flatly, “Really? When did we agree on that?”
Elliot pressed his key fob and the lights to his Nissan 350Z flashed on and off halfway down the long line of parked cars. He walked toward his vehicle, energized by annoyance. “I don’t need your permission, remember? I’ve got Special Agent in Charge Montgomery’s permission. I’ve got the permission of PSU’s president. I’ve got the permission of Terry Baker’s family.”
“I see.”
Elliot was expecting a more aggressive response. Tucker’s restraint put him in the unfamiliar role of belligerent. He unwound enough to say, “I’m not trying to step on your toes. I know you’ll want to interview Feder yourself. I told him to expect it.”
“That’s big of you.”
That was more the response Elliot had been waiting for. He added caustically, “When you get around to it.”
“You know, I do have other cases.” Tucker was probably not trying to rub in the fact that Elliot was no longer with the Bureau. He had his faults, but pettiness had never been one of them. He was likely merely stating the facts, but it hit Elliot on the raw all the same.
He retorted, “I don’t. The Bakers are family friends and they’re in hell waiting week after week to hear if their kid is still alive.”
He reached the 350Z, opened the door and slid under the wheel, listening for Tucker’s terse, “If you’ve got some complaint about the way I’m running my case, let’s hear it.”
“
Tucker drawled, “Same old Elliot emotionally lashing out at anyone who doesn’t ask
“
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Are you telling me you had a problem with the way
Just like that it was in front of them: the brutal, disastrous ending of their relationship.
“The way
I
I
In the resounding silence Elliot could hear a foghorn wailing across the harbor. Belatedly it occurred to him that Tucker had probably had more than one drink that evening. That made them even because if Elliot was sitting here in a parking lot yelling at him about the good old days, he’d clearly had more than enough too.
“Well, at least you’re not holding a grudge,” Tucker said finally, mildly.
Elliot strangled a laugh. How the hell did Tucker do that? Make him laugh at the worst times? Make him laugh when, the truth was, nothing was funny. He said, “You know what? I don’t care. I don’t care what you think or don’t think. It’s ancient history. Do you want to hear what the Feder kid had to say or do you want to interview him yourself?”
“Sure, I want to hear what the kid said.”
Elliot sucked in a breath, struggling for professional distance. Not that he’d ever been exactly dispassionate. Agents who specialized in civil rights cases tended to take their cases personally. “According to Feder things were cooling down between him and Terry. He blamed Tom Baker, but I got a feeling the fact Feder wanted to see other people was a factor.”
“Was the wish to see other people mutual or are we discussing possible motive for suicide?”
“Suicide didn’t seem to enter Feder’s thoughts till I brought it up. He started off by insisting Terry was taking a breather. Midway through the conversation he was accusing Baker Senior of murdering his son.”
“Interesting leap.”
“I think there’s a fair bit of guilt there. I get the impression the Baker kid was much more into the relationship than Feder, and that Feder would prefer to believe almost anything to the idea Terry got depressed and capped himself.”
“You’re not looking at him as a potential suspect?”