When Dave was finally done at the graveyard, he drove over to the home of Wendell Romilly, Sam’s father. It wasn’t the same house where Sam had lived during his high school years. This one was newer, bigger, with a view of the river.
Romilly, dressed in white slacks and a blue golf polo, ushered him into an expansive living room. Going from the outside heat into the refrigerator-like cold inside the house made him shiver. From Romilly’s annoyed demeanor, Dave assumed he hadn’t heard the news. Sam’s mother had died long ago, so at least she would be spared learning the truth about what had happened to her son.
Dave figured that most people in town saw Wendell Romilly as a pillar of the community. He was president of one of the local banks, active at his church, served on several boards. But Dave viewed him differently. To him, Romilly was an entitled asshole, unimpressed by any authority other than his own. Police officers simply didn’t show up unannounced at his front door. This was the one part of his job Dave really liked. He enjoyed seeing people like Romilly thrown off balance.
Romilly was a slight man in his late sixties. His skin was so dark from hours spent on the golf course that he looked like a wizened nut. Dave remembered when he hadn’t been quite so wrinkly, back when his hair was dark and his glasses were larger, hiding his owlish glare.
“I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news,” said Dave.
“Oh?”
“I think we should sit down.”
Romilly lowered himself hesitantly onto a chair. Dave sat on the couch. He explained about the backpack found under Ida Beddemeyer’s grave, the billfold found inside. Through it all, Romilly remained silent and stoic. At the very least, Dave thought, he could have squeezed out a little surprise. “I’ll need to take a sample of your DNA.”
“To prove the remains belong to my son.”
“It’s not painful.”
“I know that, Dave.”
Dave’s jaw tightened. “Thank you, Wendell. ’Course, I could ask Scott if you’d prefer.” Scott was Wendell’s younger son.
“No, I’ll do it. Just let me know where and when.”
“Will do.” As Dave rose, Romilly did, too.
“That’s it?” asked Romilly.
“For now.”
“So, you’re saying Sam was the victim of a homicide?”
“We’re treating it as a suspicious death, but yes, I don’t think Sam buried himself under that coffin. Would you like me to give Scott the news?”
“No, I’ll do it.” He paused. “You may think my reaction is somewhat less than it should be. All I can say is, I gave up believing I’d ever see my son again a long time ago.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Any idea who might have done it?”
“Not yet.”
“I hope you do a better job with your investigation than your father did.”
Dave stiffened but refused to take the bait. His dad’s investigation had been the best it could be, under the circumstances. He turned and started for the door.
“I suppose this will stir everything up again,” continued Romilly. “People will come out of the woodwork with all their ridiculous theories. I seem to be an easy target. You know, of course, that your father cleared me of any wrongdoing.”
“Did he?”
“Talk to him. He’ll give you the details.”
“I’ll do that.” Walking out on the front step, Dave touched the brim of his hat. “Thanks for your time.” Asshole.
Dave’s dad’s house was only a few blocks away from the public safety building, where the police station was located. He found him wearing nothing but swim trunks and a pair of old running shoes, in the alley, halfway to the end of the block. “Hey,” he shouted.
His dad turned, looking confused.
“Hey, Pop, I need to talk to you.”
“Now?”
The garden hose was lying in the grass in the backyard, belching water. Dave wondered if his father had hosed himself down to cool off in the afternoon heat and forgotten to turn it off. “Where were you going?” he asked as his dad tramped back into the yard.
“I was … looking for something.”
“Like what?”
“My lost youth. What do you want?”
Dave turned off the hose on his way to the house. “Where’s that big fan?” he asked, coming into the living room. “You told me you were going to bring it up from the basement.”
“I forgot. Besides, we’re supposed to have a storm tonight. That should blow in cooler temperatures.”
“But until it does, you need some air movement in here.” Dave headed into the front hall and opened the door to the basement. Once downstairs, he quickly found the fan pushed behind a bunch of clutter in the laundry room. He dug it out and returned upstairs, plugging it into an electric socket next to the TV. “There,” he said, hands on his hips. It didn’t seem right that a creep like Wendell Romilly lived in a refrigerator when his dad, who’d spent his entire life serving the community instead of making money off it, had to live inside an oven. “I got you something.”
“What?” asked his father, stretching his hands toward the breeze.
Dave went back out to the squad car, lifted a box out of the backseat, and carried it into the house. “I got this for you at the hardware store yesterday. The air conditioners were all marked down for an end-of-summer sale. Won’t take but a few minutes to install it in your bedroom window. At least then you can sleep tonight.”
“I can put it in,” said his father, getting up to take a closer look at what was written on the outside of the box.
“You sure?”
“I’m not an invalid, although I’m not sure I can afford it.”
“Consider it an early Christmas present.”
His father looked up at him. “You’re a good son.”
“Whatever. Look, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Go get us a couple of cold ones and then I’ll be happy to talk about anything.”
Crossing into the kitchen, Dave saw that the sink was full of dishes. His father might be spit-and-polish when it came to his uniform, back when he was still wearing one, but he’d never taken much interest in housework. When Dave opened the refrigerator, he found his dad’s billfold next to the mayonnaise. Dave had noticed other instances of his dad’s forgetfulness in the last couple of months, but wasn’t sure how much he should worry about them.
Returning to the living room, he sat down on the couch next to his father. “Were you looking for this?” He held up the billfold.
“Not that I remember.”
“It was in the refrigerator.”
“Probably wanted to cool off. Only one beer?”
Dave handed it to him. “It’s a little early for me. Besides, I’ve got to write up a report.”
“Too bad for you.” He twisted off the cap and tossed it into an ashtray already filled with caps.
“Listen,” said Dave, watching his dad down half the beer, “we found Sam Romilly’s remains today.”
“That kid in your class who went missing? Where?”
“In Holy Trinity cemetery.”
“My God. You’re sure?”
“Besides the bones, which, by the way, we found under a coffin that was being exhumed, we also found his backpack and billfold.”
“Wow,” said his dad, leaning back against the couch cushions. His gaze locked on Dave.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, tell me.”
“It’s nothing, son. Why are you so jumpy?”
“You handled the original investigation.”
“Right.” He took another swallow of beer.
“What do you remember about it?”
“Well,” he said, resting the beer bottle on his thigh. “As I recall, we didn’t have many leads. I followed up on what I could, but it never went anywhere.”
Dave waited, but when his dad said nothing more, he continued, “I just talked to Wendell Romilly. You remember him?”
“The father.”
“He said you’d cleared him of any connection to Sam’s disappearance.”
“Nah, that’s not right. Since we couldn’t prove a crime, I could hardly clear anyone. Check my report. I probably filed more than one.”
Dave had already looked at them. Right after he joined the force, it was the first thing he’d done—privately, of course. He also knew that a police officer didn’t always put everything he’d learned or suspected in an official report. That’s what he was after—that and one last confirmation that his father really didn’t know anything. “Okay, but what about your field notes?”
“There was a box in the basement with some of my notebooks in it. Your mom would get sick of looking at them and toss them in it to get rid of them. If you can’t find the box, go ask her if she knows where it went.”
Dave’s mom and dad had divorced many years ago. Theirs had not been a match made in heaven. Then again, living with a cop wasn’t easy. It was one reason Dave had remained single. These days, his mom lived in Hackett with her two Westies, which was fine with him. They’d never gotten along.
“I’ll take a look in the basement,” said Dave. “Except I can’t do it now.” He was disappointed that his dad didn’t have more to offer. “Think about your investigation, okay? Maybe when we talk next, you can go into more detail.”
“I’ll try,” said his father. “Hey, before you go, get me another beer.”
Dave studied him a moment, seeing nothing but the ever calm, always forthright older version of the man he’d always been so proud to call his father. “Sure thing. One beer coming right up.”