Chapter Two

Lou had been pacing for what seemed the better part of an hour. He had realized that there were likely still police officers out at the warehouse, and he did not want to run into them when he launched his investigation. So he had been restlessly waiting, wondering when would be the right time to go out there.

When the key turned in the doorknob he jumped a mile. For the briefest, most foolish instant, he thought and hoped that it was Ginger coming back, that the police had been wrong about him being caught in the blast. But then Mike appeared and Lou sighed, tiredly and sadly. Of course it couldn't be Ginger.

Mike didn't live with them; he was too scared of Ginger and Ginger didn't particularly want to be around him that often, either. But he had a key, courtesy of Lou. He pocketed it now, as he advanced into the room.

"Lou?"

Lou could hear the hesitant quavering in his voice. "Hey, Mike." His response was resigned. "The police let you go right on schedule."

"Yeah." Mike stopped in front of him, shifting his weight. "I . . . I'm really sorry about Ginger. I mean, because I know you're really sad about him being gone."

"I know." Lou paused. "Mike, are you absolutely sure he's dead? The police found most of his coat, but nothing else, and I . . . I've been wondering if there's possibly any chance that he . . ."

"He was blown to bits, Lou." Mike looked down. "As soon as he went inside the warehouse, everything blew up. It must've been triggered by his weight or something. There's no way he could've made it out of there."

"How did it look when you went over to see?" Lou demanded.

Mike flinched. "Well . . . Lou, I . . ."

"You did go over to see, didn't you?!" Lou exclaimed, his stomach quickly sinking.

"I'm sorry, Lou." Mike still couldn't meet his brother's gaze. "I thought maybe the killer was hanging around watching and he'd come after me if I didn't get out of there."

Lou stiffened, grabbing his brother's shoulders. "You just left, even though Ginger could have still been alive?!" he cried.

"I didn't think he could have been!" Mike protested. "Honest, Lou. I wouldn't have run if I'd thought there was any hope. I'd know Ginger would kill me for sure if he was alive and I ran out on him!"

"And if it'd been me, what would you have done?!" Lou retorted. "Even if you thought there was no hope, would you have just run out on me? Or would you have looked anyway?!"

Mike cringed, both at his brother's overwrought voice and his words. Lou rarely ever got downright angry, either at Mike or at Ginger.

He was the only person who could yell at Ginger and not get threatened for it.

"I would've run over and looked," Mike whispered. "If it'd been you, Lou, I wouldn't have left, even if I thought you were dead."

"So you did run out on Ginger." Lou let go of Mike and turned away. "He had to trust you because I wasn't here, and you let him down. I wouldn't blame him if he came gunning for you now."

"Lou . . ." Mike swallowed hard. "I really am sorry. I was scared. I wasn't expecting that explosion, and then I thought the killer could still be around, and I panicked and ran! Maybe I would have gone back, but the cops grabbed me before I could. Honest!"

Lou shut his eyes tight. He shouldn't be snapping at his brother, he supposed. Of course Mike would be scared. It was a simple, human reaction. And most likely, even if he had gone to look, there wouldn't have been anything he could have done. The fire would have filled the door and all the windows.

But still, it was that thought, the idea that Mike had fled when Ginger might have been alive and in need of help, that turned Lou's stomach and made him feel absolutely unable to cope with this situation. If Mike had said he had gone to look and hadn't been able to get through, it would have made Lou feel at least a little better, knowing that Mike had tried everything he could.

"Yeah, Mike," he said at last. "Maybe you would have gone back. We'll never know now." He turned, heading for the door. "I guess there's no point getting angry at you over it."

Mike blinked. "Lou? Where are you going?"

"I'm going out there to look around," Lou replied. "The police might be gone by now."

Mike hesitated. ". . . I'll come with you," he offered. "It's the only thing I can do now."

Lou glanced over at him. "Okay," he said. "Come on, Mike." He headed out the door, Mike trailing after him.

"Do you really think we'll find anything?" Mike wondered.

"I don't know," Lou said. "Probably not. But I'll feel better if I look it over myself."

Mike nodded. "I really am sorry, Lou," he said, quietly.

"I know," Lou said. "But that won't bring him back."

Mike looked down, guiltily. ". . . I never did get how you two hit it off so well," he said as they made their way to Lou's car.

"Sometimes I don't, either," Lou said. "But we did. And now he's gone." He paused as he opened the car door, a sick look spreading over his features. What he had just said was hitting him like a sack of bricks. "He's really gone." He sank into the driver's seat, slipping the key into the ignition.

Mike went around to the passenger side, feeling sick himself as he got in. He had known Lou would be devastated, but just knowing it still didn't quite prepare him for the reaction. And he couldn't help wondering if it really was his fault that Ginger was dead, even though rationally he was still sure that Ginger had been killed instantaneously in the blast.

He hoped the police would be gone for the night. It would be a lot more difficult to look around if they were still there.

xxxx

The police were beginning to close up for the night, determining that they would either return to the station or catch a few precious hours of sleep before daybreak arrived and brought with it the need to continue the investigation of the site.

Kalifer, frustrated that Jim had immediately wandered off to talk to Dennis upon their arrival, was still there and still scolding him for not staying right with him.

Jim was mostly tuning him out, still confused and intrigued with what he knew he had seen behind the police barricade at the dock. He had finally asked Dennis if anyone was over in that section and had been told No, not that Dennis knew of. That area had already been examined and there wouldn't have been a reason for anyone to go back. Dennis felt that Jim had been seeing something blowing in the ocean breeze. Jim was not at all convinced of that. And he was trying to think of a good way to ditch Kalifer and go over there for a better look.

A car pulling up at the wharf made both of them jump a mile. "What's this?" Kalifer exclaimed. "The police are leaving. So are the reporters."

"Maybe this one is a late bloomer," Jim said in sardonic irritation. He wondered if he could slip away while Kalifer was occupied with the new arrival.

But, as it turned out, Jim found himself slightly interested when the doors opened and the Trevino brothers stepped out. He paused, raising an eyebrow. "Well, Lou. It's been a while. I haven't seen you since court. That was what, five years ago?"

"Less than that, Rockford," Lou muttered. "Our lawyers were pretty clever and got our sentences reduced, you know. And we still got out early, on good behavior."

Jim nodded, slowly. "For you I could buy that. Maybe. It's harder to buy from your trigger-happy friend. I'm sorry about him, by the way."

"Sure you are," Lou grumbled. "You don't have any reason to be sorry he's dead. And you . . ." He looked to Kalifer. "You'd probably dance on his grave, if there was enough of him left to put in a grave!"

Kalifer flinched. "I resent that, Mr. Trevino!" he snapped. "What's more, your friend's death has put all of Boston Fire and Casualty in a tremendous uproar. Your friend stole from us several years ago. Now he perishes in one of our warehouses!"

"Yeah, that makes a pretty juicy scandal, doesn't it?" Lou sneered. He moved to walk past the two of them.

"What do you think you're doing?" Kalifer demanded. "This area isn't open to the public. Or to the likes of you."

Lou gave him a sour look that made Mike shiver. "I'm not the public," he shot back. "I'm the only guy who even cares about the man who was killed. I've got a right to look at the place where he died."

"He's got a point there, Kalifer," Jim spoke up. "I don't see why he can't take a look around. Of course, he'll have to clear it with Dennis first. And I suppose that's something you'll want to be present for as well."

"It most certainly is!" Kalifer exclaimed. "I don't see why anyone other than the proper authorities should be allowed to inspect the scene of the crime."

"Hey, maybe the police will welcome him taking a look," Jim shrugged. "He might come up with something they haven't thought of."

"I highly doubt that," Kalifer grumped.

By now an exhausted and frustrated Dennis had noticed all the commotion. "What's going on over here?" he called as he approached.

While Kalifer indignantly began to explain, at the same time Lou was trying to yell over him to explain, Jim took the opportunity to duck into the shadows. As he had hoped, for the moment no one noticed.

He paused to stare again at the remains of the warehouse. He had been allowed to see it up close and personal, along with Kalifer, when he had first arrived. It was a disturbing sight, really, no matter what one thought of the deceased. The floor of both the warehouse and the wharf had even been blown clean through at some points, revealing the water underneath.

Shaking his head, he quickly moved along. He wanted to get to the part of the dock where he had seen . . . whatever he had seen, before anyone showed up over here.

When he reached the spot in question and ducked behind a stack of crates, he frowned, deeply. Someone had been here, alright. Water had dripped all over the dock, as though falling from clothes. Not only that, but blood as well. That would go along with Jim's assessment of the mysterious person stumbling in a pained manner.

He bent down for a closer look. "Water and blood," he muttered to himself.

He peered over the edge of the dock, but there were no clues in sight. The water lapped calmly against the support beams of the pier, completely unconcerned by whatever had happened and whoever was hurt.

He looked back over his shoulder. The warehouse wasn't extremely close to this spot, but it wasn't so far away, either. And there was the matter of the missing floor.

He straightened, gazing thoughtfully back at the skeletal remains of the building. It was a weird and wacky idea, but what if someone had fallen through the floor when the building blew up and managed to swim to a better place to come out of the water?

Someone, of course, such as Ginger Townsend?

Jim frowned. Would Ginger just let this murder investigation go on, though? Maybe he wouldn't particularly care if the police were put to a lot of trouble on his account, but what about Lou? If he were alive, wouldn't he let Lou know, instead of allowing his only friend to suffer through the grief?

Would Ginger even care about Lou? Jim knew Lou cared about Ginger, but he really had no way of knowing whether it was reciprocated. Ginger didn't seem like the type of person to care about anyone.

He certainly had never been one of Jim's favorite people, firing on the moving RV as he had. He claimed in court that he wasn't trying to kill, but just to force the RV to stop. Maybe so, but Jim didn't know that he could believe Ginger would have left everyone alive after obtaining the missing diamond.

On the other hand, Jim had seen some interesting things in prison, including how some criminals bonded rather closely. He didn't know if such friendships could endure the same as friendships between people who weren't on the wrong side of the law, considering how overly greedy and selfish most criminals were, but who knew. Maybe in some cases they really did.

He looked back to the blood. Maybe, no matter what Ginger had planned to do, he hadn't been able to do it. He, or whomever Jim had seen, had definitely been in pain. Maybe he had collapsed somewhere else or even fallen back in the water and drowned.

Jim cursed himself. He had tried to get over here as soon as he had seen the unknown person, but Kalifer had kept him busy and he had not been able to find an opening to slip away until Lou had appeared.

"Jim, what are you doing?"

He jumped a mile. Dennis must be feeling particularly discouraged tonight; he didn't even sound angry, just resigned and not surprised at all.

"Dennis, look at this," Jim announced, pointing to the water and the blood. "I told you I saw someone over here. And obviously I was right. Maybe some water could splash up here in some freak manner, but not this much. And there wouldn't be any blood. Someone was here, and he was hurt!"

Dennis stiffened, bending down for a closer look. "Maybe one of the officers got himself cut or something," he said. "There's a lot to get cut on around here."

"I'll give you that," Jim nodded. "But shouldn't they have got cut all the way back at the warehouse? I only see blood in this spot."

Dennis looked back the way he had come. "Maybe they wrapped it and the bandage just came undone in this spot," he said.

"Yeah, but it doesn't explain the water," Jim said. "It's as though someone came up out of the water right here. Someone who was hurt, maybe seriously."

Dennis gave him a Look. "You're not saying that maybe it was our murder victim."

"It's possible, isn't it?" Jim argued. "And he might still be here, wandering around in a wounded daze."

"Or he could've fallen back in the water. Maybe he didn't even get out of it to begin with." Dennis crossed his arms. "We saw the busted floor too, Rockford. And we're getting some divers to come out here in the morning and start combing the place for Ginger's body. Or part of it, if there's any still intact."

"Fine," Jim shot back. "But I say that we should start combing the wharf right now."

Dennis threw up his hands. "Well, why not. The night's really shot by now, anyway."

Jim peered at him. "Hey, are you okay, Dennis? You just don't have your usual snap tonight."

"It's been a long day," Dennis replied. "This murder tonight was just the icing on the cake."

"It put a damper on my spirits too," Jim said. "Especially at two o'clock in the morning. By the way, what did you do with Lou?"

"I let him check out the murder scene," Dennis said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "A couple of officers are with him, of course. And your Mr. Kalifer. You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think his insurance company really does have something to hide."

"Oh, they're just worried about being implicated in this mess," Jim said with a wave of his hand. "Trust me, Dennis, they're too set on being seen as completely upright to be anything but."

"Maybe." Dennis started to head back towards the warehouse. "Are you planning to tell Mr. Trevino your theory about his friend?"

Jim paused. "Let's look around first and see if there's any other evidence," he said. "I don't want to give him any false hope."

"You're feeling pretty generous," Dennis observed as they began to search.

Jim shrugged. "Well, why not? I feel kinda sorry for him. He seems genuinely upset." He frowned. "You're not saying you really think he would have done it."

"You know the people closest to the deceased are always among the top suspects," Dennis replied. "Mr. Trevino is supposedly Mr. Townsend's only friend. Do you know how many 'only friends' have ended up being the worst enemies of all?"

"Okay, okay. Nevermind." Jim waved his hands. "I've dealt with a lot of those, too."

"And don't forget that it was his brother who was with Ginger when he went into the warehouse," Dennis added. "And he sure got out of there fast. He must have been going ninety when the squad car picked him up."

"He was probably spooked thinking he'd be next," Jim said. "But so you think maybe the brothers were in on it together?"

"Or maybe it was just Mike Trevino by himself," Dennis shrugged. "He and Mr. Townsend have a negative history. Ginger shot him in the past, you know."

"Yeah, I know. I had to be at all the court hearings and the trials because of my involvement with the case," Jim said in annoyance.

Dennis looked toward the warehouse, where Lou and the others could still be seen walking around. "You could be right, Rockford," he said. "We're not overlooking the idea that the killer could have been someone besides one or both of the Trevino brothers. It could be the insurance company or someone working for it. Or maybe it's an enemy we don't even know about yet."

"But you're going to keep tabs on the brothers, aren't you?" Jim said.

"The same as we will with all persons of interest," Dennis replied.

"Good. Then that's one thing I won't have to worry about doing," Jim said.

Dennis gave him a sidelong look. "What angle are you going to focus on?"

Jim shrugged. "Well, as much as I might like to believe the insurance company is at fault, I suppose I'll have to work with the idea that they're innocent. And I'll look for any enemies of either Ginger's or the company itself that could have set this up."

Dennis blinked. "You're thinking maybe Ginger was just being used as a pawn to cause trouble for the insurance company?"

"Why not?" Jim said. "It makes about as much sense as Lou or Mike rigging the bombs."

"Touché," Dennis sighed.

xxxx

Lou slowly walked around the perimeter of the remnants of the warehouse, a lump in his throat. The longer he stayed, the more haunted and in disbelief he was. The police were right—nobody could have survived this Armageddon. Not even the floor had pulled through.

"Hey," he said to one of the officers, "is it normal for a bomb to rip out the floor?"

"It depends on where it was placed and how much was used," was the reply. "In this case, the wharf itself was also damaged. Someone must have also planted explosives underneath it."

Lou shook his head, dazed and angry. "Who would want to kill Ginger so bad that they'd go to all this trouble? It's like they even wanted to cut off the one escape he might have! I mean, he could've fallen through the floor and into the water, maybe, the way it's set up here. But then he'd probably get caught in the other blast, too!"

The officer nodded. "This is a real doozy, alright. Someone wanted to make sure they got him, no matter what else they took out with him."

The second officer sighed. "There's not much more you can see here at this time of night, Mr. Trevino. We were just going to secure the area and leave. If you want to come back tomorrow, that should be fine."

"Huh? Oh." Lou straightened. "Yeah, sure. That's fine." He looked to Mike, who had just been staring at the sight in open-mouthed horror. "We'll get going now too. Come on, Mike."

Mike snapped to attention, following Lou into the shadows. "Lou, I don't know what to say," he said, feeling horrible all over again. "I'm sorry about Ginger. Really sorry. And I'm even sorrier I didn't have the courage to stick around after the blast."

Lou just shook his head sadly. "Don't be, Mike," he said. "You were right—Ginger was killed instantly. I guess after seeing this, I really hope he was, instead of staying alive and . . . suffering through it before dying later."

Mike looked down. "Are we really leaving?"

"We're going to pretend to," Lou asserted. "I'll go move the car so it's out of sight and we'll just wait for everyone else to pull out. Then we'll stay and look around for any clues. If there are any, they might be gone by morning."

"We probably won't even be able to see anything," Mike worried.

"We will if they keep that spotlight on," Lou replied.

It didn't take long to move the car to an out-of-the-way spot. And everyone was exhausted and wanting even an hour or two of rest—although Jim really had to talk a silver-tongued blue streak to get Kalifer to agree. The remainder of the cars pulled out within twenty minutes.

Lou slowly got out of the car when he was sure every vehicle had left. "Okay," he told Mike. "Let's start looking."

It really seemed an impossible task, one that likely would not improve come morning. But Lou was determined, and so for the next hour, Mike trudged after him all over the site.

Mike shivered in the cool breeze. A light fog was rolling in from the ocean, and that, combined with the knowledge of what had happened here, made Mike unable to stop thinking of the possibility that the whole wharf was now haunted by Ginger's ghost. Ginger would be a very vengeful spirit, possibly more frightening in death than in life. Lou might not even have any influence over him anymore.

That was when Mike stumbled across a fallen stack of crates, and something limply hanging out from under them that made him squeak in alarm.

"Lou . . ." His voice caught in his throat and he had to swallow hard and try again before he could be heard. "LOU!"

That brought Lou running. "What is it?!" he demanded.

Mike looked very close to being sick. "The explosion didn't blow up all of Ginger." He pointed downward, at a bloodied hand.

Lou went stiff. "How could the police have missed this?!" he exclaimed. "And how could it be so far from the warehouse?!" Feeling ill himself, he started to remove the top crate. "Mike, you have to help me get these things moved."

Mike looked horrified. "You're really going to see what's under there?"

"I have to," Lou retorted. "No matter what it is." He threw the crate aside and went for another.

Swallowing again, and wiping his sweaty hands on his pants, Mike tried to help. "I don't know if I can stomach it," he said.

"You can look away, Mike," Lou said.

He half-wished he could, as well. Grotesque and stomach-turning images were dancing through his mind the further he dug into the stack of crates. Maybe the hand was all there was. Or an arm. . . . Maybe something else. . . .

"Oh God," Lou choked out at the thoughts, not even fully aware he was speaking aloud.

Mike was already looking away. "What is it?!" he exclaimed.

Lou paused and looked over. "Nothing yet," he amended. "I was . . . just thinking."

He shut his eyes tight as he pushed aside the last two, oblong crates. Then, trying to resist the urge to cover his eyes with a hand, he peered down at the dock.

And turned sheet-white.

"Ginger!" he cried out in disbelief. "Ginger!"

Mike dared to open his eyes. And stood, gaping, as Lou knelt down beside a lifeless and silent body, but an entire one nevertheless.

"How?" Mike breathed in disbelief. "Lou, he went in that warehouse. I know he did!"

"He's soaking wet," Lou exclaimed, running his hand along Ginger's neck and spine to check for damage. "He must've fallen into the water and then struggled to climb back on the dock. But how did he get under here?!"

Mike ran his tongue over his lips. "He's not . . . alive, is he?" he quavered. It was a stupid question, of course. Ginger was dead. Maybe he had fallen into the water dead and someone had dragged his body up. Which still begged the questions of who and why.

Having decided that there was no spinal damage, Lou gently but firmly took hold of Ginger's shoulders, turning him onto his side. "Ginger?" he whispered. "Can you hear me? It's me—Lou." Not receiving a response, Lou gave the limp form a desperate shake. "Ginger, come on, Buddy. Curse me, yell at me, give me a creepy stare. Do something." He could not find that there was breath or a heartbeat; Ginger had probably suffocated under the crates, if he hadn't already been dead when he was put under them. But Lou was not willing to give up. He had believed that Ginger was not only dead, but in fragments, and now to discover that one was not true, he could not let go of the possibility that the other wasn't true, either.

Now moving Ginger onto his back, Lou bent down in desperation to administer artificial respiration. It was awkward, and Ginger was cold and unresponsive, but Lou persisted.

Mike laid a hand on Lou's shoulder after watching him struggle with the task for several minutes. "He's gone, Lou. We'd better call the police back and get the morgue."

Lou shook his head. "Not yet," he insisted. "Ginger, please wake up. Open your eyes."

For a moment there was still silence. Then, to Mike's utter disbelief, Ginger coughed and gasped, his eyes weakly opening. "What's . . . what am I doing here?" he mumbled.

Indescribable relief and joy washed over Lou. "You're alive, Buddy. That's the most important thing."

Ginger rose up but then sank back down, dizzy and disoriented. "I got out of the explosion . . . fell in the water. . . ." He closed his eyes, raising a weak hand to his forehead. "I couldn't stand up."

"Did you hit into the crates?" Lou asked.

"Crates?" Ginger opened his eyes, and Lou could see the familiar spark of anger in them. "No. I collapsed next to them, barely conscious. A muffled voice said I wouldn't be found alive. They pushed the bloody crates on top of me!"

"What?!" Lou stared in disbelief and outrage. "Did you recognize the voice at all?"

"I wasn't awake enough," Ginger said darkly. He looked like he might be about to pass out again. He weakly reached and gripped Lou's arm. "But I'll find who did this. They'll be dead."

"We'll talk about it later," Lou said. "Ginger, you're hurt bad. I'm getting you out of here. Mike, help me."

Mike looked worried, but he scrambled to get on Ginger's other side. Slowly he draped Ginger's left arm around his shoulder and tried to support the wounded man with an arm at his back. Lou was doing the same thing on Ginger's right side.

Ginger clearly did not like being carried, but there was little he could do to protest. "No hospitals," he growled. "No one can know I'm alive."

"We'll take you home for now, Buddy," Lou promised, hoping the area was really as deserted as it seemed to be. "But if we can't help you, I'll have to find a doctor. No arguments." His grip and his voice tightened. "I thought you were dead. Now I'm going to fight to keep you alive."