Fourteen

He showed them the entrance to the storm shelter, Quarrie standing in the garage with Pious at his shoulder while Isaac lifted the trapdoor.

‘I think whoever it was shot him got in this way,’ Isaac said. ‘They must’ve been staking out the house from the woods.’

Quarrie looked doubtful, head to one side and his hands in his jacket pockets. ‘Mind if we take a look?’

Isaac told them about the panel leading to his father’s study and how to open it, then Quarrie and Pious climbed down. They walked the short passage to the storm shelter and took in the camp beds, sleeping bags, and the cans of food stacked on the shelves. From there they followed the second passage to the other door and the back side of the wood panelling. For a moment Quarrie considered it, then worked the tips of his fingers down the right-hand side as Isaac had suggested. Nothing happened. He sought another spot, pressed that and still nothing happened. Locating a third spot he tried again and still nothing happened. At the fourth attempt nothing happened but at the fifth they heard the faintest of clicks and finally the panel swung in. Quarrie cast a glance at Pious.

Inside the study they moved around the desk where Quarrie’s eye was drawn to the tiny spots of dried blood that still marked the floor. He studied the chair where it was pushed under the desk and he looked at the blotter and pen set, the empty wire in-tray.

Pious was at the gun cabinet where one of the hooks remained empty. He raised an eyebrow at the bayonet. ‘Do you figure that’s the blade he was talking about?’

Quarrie shrugged. He was considering the photographs on the shelf where Ike Bowen, a good-looking man in his younger days, gazed rather proudly back.

‘Career soldier,’ Quarrie stated. ‘All his life in the service, must’ve been a shock to the system when they told him it was time to quit.’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ Pious moved alongside him and he too cast an eye across the photos. ‘John Q,’ he said, ‘what kind of father is it that don’t answer letters written him by his son?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Don’t make any sense.’

‘No, it don’t.’

‘So what about the brother, the hospital he was talking about?’

‘I don’t know,’ Quarrie said. ‘When he’s calmed down some I figure I’ll ask him.’

Pious looked back at the open panel. ‘Saw a few like him in Korea. Poor bastard, he’s just about holding it together.’

Crossing to the other door he looked the length of the basement corridor. ‘You got to feel for him, what with the sheriff’s detective telling him his old man took a gun to his head and you telling him that ain’t how it was.’

‘His daddy was murdered, Pious,’ Quarrie stated. ‘He was setting that chair yonder with powder burns on his head.’

‘So who’d want him dead, and how would they know about that passage?’

Quarrie shook his head. ‘They didn’t get in through the passage. When the gardener got here the kitchen door was open. I figure whoever it was they just showed up, knocked on the door and Ike Bowen answered. Could’ve been anybody – drifter, somebody watching the place as Isaac said – but whoever they were, Ike must’ve let them in.’

‘So Isaac – what’s his fixation with the passage?’

‘It’s like you said he’s just about holding it together. His old man is dead and he has no idea what happened to his brother. He ain’t thinking straight, Pious. In his condition I don’t know many who would.’

‘So what’re you going to do?’ Pious said. ‘Swing by the sheriff’s department and tell them how they got this wrong?’

‘Not right away. Later maybe. Isaac said how the lieutenant is in Houston right now so I’ll probably just wait on the coroner.’

With a nod Pious returned his attention to Ike Bowen’s picture. ‘So whoever it was knocked on the door they had to have had a weapon. Old soldier like that, he would’ve been suspicious of anybody just showing up, so they had to be already holding.’

‘Yeah,’ Quarrie said. ‘What’s your point?’

Pious gestured. ‘Why bring the man down here? Why use his own piece and why make it look like he used it himself?’

‘Simple.’ Quarrie pointed to the chair. ‘If this is suicide then nobody’s looking for anybody else and the trail ends right where he was sat.’

Upstairs they found Isaac sitting out on the patio. Shaking a cigarette from his pack, Quarrie tapped it against the heel of his thumb then took a seat in a metal cane chair. He smiled encouragingly.

‘You OK?’ he said. ‘I guess this whole deal has you pretty hopped up.’

‘I’m OK,’ Isaac told him.

‘Listen,’ Quarrie went on. ‘That passageway, the storm shelter – there’s no way that’s how the intruder got in. It’s too intricate, too complicated. Whoever it was killed your daddy, I figure they just had him come to the door when they knocked.’

Isaac looked from him to Pious and back.

‘That’s how it happened,’ Quarrie assured him. ‘The gardener found the kitchen door open and I figure they left the same way they got in.’

Pious sat down and Quarrie laid his unlit cigarette on the table. ‘So anyway, I have to ask you some questions. Your father, did he have any enemies you can think of? Anybody he might’ve had a beef with?’

Isaac did not answer right away. Sitting with his hands in his lap he shifted his weight in the chair. ‘I don’t know, I guess it’s hard to say with me being away all the time. You kind of lose touch with what’s going on.’ Again he glanced from Quarrie to Pious. ‘I guess he might’ve had enemies. Plenty of people do and it’s a fact he could be pretty ornery.’

‘How long had he been up here?’ Quarrie said. ‘This house I mean, all on its own like this with no near neighbors. I guess that’s how he liked it, but how long had he lived here?’

‘Seven years almost. This was my base when I was in the army but I never really lived here myself.’

‘What about your brother?’

‘Ishmael?’ Isaac worked his shoulders. ‘He was here some of the time I guess, but then he was in and out of the hospital.’

Quarrie nodded. ‘Yeah, you mentioned that. What was he doing in the hospital?’

Isaac tapped his temple. ‘He had issues; it’s a fact my brother’s got problems.’

‘What sort of problems?’

‘Hard to say really. I guess when he was younger he used to talk to himself, hold conversations, you know, when nobody else was with him.’

Quarrie reached for his cigarette. ‘Where’d you live at back then?’

‘Oklahoma City.’

‘And your mom was already gone?’ Pious said.

Isaac nodded. ‘Long gone. She took off when we were kids.’

‘Why’d she do that, leave out on her family?’

Isaac sat forward. ‘Beats me,’ he said. ‘Why does anybody leave anybody? Why do people get divorced? It’s not like Dad had to give her anything. Money, I mean. I don’t think she walked with a dime. You’d have to ask her why she took off. I’d kind of like to find out myself.’

‘So do you have any idea where she is?’

Isaac shook his head. ‘She was never in contact, not with me or my brother, and my dad …’ He was struggling again. Shifting his gaze to the floor his voice seemed to fall away.

‘These hospitals,’ Quarrie said. ‘Your brother, you told us his troubles started when he was younger. How was it that kicked off?’

Eyes glassy, Isaac peered across the driveway towards the woodland that broke up the flatlands ahead of the lake. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I guess it started around the time Mom left. I asked Dad what it was set Ishmael off and he said he’d tell me when I was older.’ Lifting a hand he gestured. ‘I’m older now and I still don’t know so I guess he never did.’