Today will not involve mysterious geological formations and mad old men. Today will have better food. Today will be a better day.
Jack Pistone
Jack Pistone rolled over, gave an almost-inaudible groan and threw the covers off as he fumbled for the B&B's scratchy radio alarm. He finally managed to turn the infernal thing off and then stood up and stretched tiredly in the dim light of the room.
Cooper, he thought, was no doubt on his second set of push-ups in the adjacent room to his right after having been for a run. Jack preferred sleep. Actually, the way this investigation was going he preferred a hangover but the greasy spoon in which they'd had dinner hadn't had a liquor license. By the time they'd headed to get takeaway, it had been closed.
He looked at his blurred face in the kitchen mirror and yawned.
"Well, it's a small town," he said to himself wryly before grimacing at the memory of how many times they'd been told that the day before.
Everyone had been very helpful; albeit in a way that wasn't at all helpful. He wondered, as did Don, if some of them weren't protecting Duke despite him not having many friends. Still, that would imply they knew where he'd run to and, unless he'd rung everyone in town before he left, that was a good sign. It meant that his movements could be predicted.
"Today will not involve mysterious geological formations and mad old men," he told his reflection. "Today will have better food. Today will be a better day."
He heard a loud bang from the room on his left and shook his head at the irony. He and Don had booked into Over the Way only to discover it was the same B&B Audrey Parker lived in. Why she lived in a B&B at all hadn't been adequately explained.
"I don't know how long I'll be here," she'd said simply.
"You're not a local?" Jack had asked her and she'd considered the question for a moment before adding that it depended on your perspective and that she needed to go to the old lighthouse to deal with an issue of public safety.
They'd photographed the evidence at Duke's boat even though in Jack's, albeit unstated, opinion something that was once written on a blackboard was not exactly evidence of anything except that Duke knew Max's name. Which they already knew.
Still, Duke had been collecting information on something and Jack had photographed the spaces where items had obviously been fixed on with tape and then pulled off.
They'd locked the boat and clambered out, trying to stop the rust and peeling red paint from staining their expensive suits, and then piled into the truck and headed toward the oft-mentioned 'old lighthouse'.
"Won't take a sec," Parker reassured them, "and then we'll go and see Randall Sawyer. Should be a uniform of course handling something like this but it's a small town. Do what we must."
Jack settled himself into the back seat to enjoy the coastal scenery as the road snaked away from town and around the corner of the bay. Don sat stiffly in the front looking annoyed.
The truck pulled up suddenly and the three piled out of the car and walked over to a set of discarded hazard signs near a pile of rubble. Jack and Don strode to the edge of the promontory and looked across the natural harbour to the other lighthouse and a stately gray building on the shore.
He heard a sound and looked around to see Parker trying to get their attention.
"I want to show you something."
They walked over to where she was aligning the hazard signs around the wood.
"Old lighthouse. Fell down same day Hanson died."
She pulled some of the debris inside and Jack had to admit himself slightly stunned to see the giant crack in the ground below it.
"This happened the same day?" he asked her.
She nodded, "What I've been trying to tell you. These cracks happen. Scientists can't determine tell what causes them but they happen. That day we found three this size."
Cooper gave an exasperated sigh, "Parker, I know you're just trying to educate us but our instructions are very clear. All the evidence will be considered for his arraignment."
Parker nodded, "Then I want all the Bureau's evidence. I want to know what could justify a federal murder charge when there's no murder and the case was never federal."
"Then I suggest you get started on the paperwork but I don't like your luck. Either way, we are here to establish Crocker's whereabouts, track him down and take him into custody. And I don't want to hear another damn word about cracks or geology or the fact that this is a small town. Understood?"
Parker just shrugged. "Fine, just give me a moment to put these signs up and we'll move on."
Jack and Don swapped a look and then stood in an uncomfortable silence while Parker went about her work.
Don eventually shot Jack the signal they used for 'good cop, bad cop'. Jack cleared his throat and said uncomfortably brightly.
"So, it's nearly lunchtime. Where's a good place to eat?"
Parker came up and gestured to the building across the bay.
"The Gull. Best shrimp in town. About the only place to eat if you don't like all your food deep fried or made from some seafood substitute. All the cakes and slices are homemade. Good beer selection too. Great cocktails."
"Sounds great," said Jack.
"Yeah," agreed Parker, "it's a damn shame."
"Excuse me."
She nodded toward the building, "That's Crocker's place. Can't imagine what people would think about you financially supporting someone you're hunting down. Bit hypocritical. Unethical too. Yeah," she finished, looking at them mournfully, "it's a damn shame."
Then she flashed them a quick smile, "Don't worry, though. Rusty Bucket has a deep-fried scallop special tonight. They're not scallops, of course, but there's so much batter it hardly matters. And they have Busch and Budweiser. On tap."
"I actually hate that woman," Don whispered, as Parker gestured to them to get back in the car.
Jack just laughed. Then he thought about his gastronomic needs and winced. He fluttered a hand in the direction of the Gull.
"I don't suppose that we..." and stopped as Don starting shaking his head.
"Damn."
Randall Sawyer lived in a... Jack wracked his brain for a word other than 'ramshackle'. So clichéd. Dilapidated? Too extreme. Decrepit? Ditto. Derelict? That sounded abandoned. Fine, ramshackle it was.
Randall Sawyer lived in what Jack could only describe as a ramshackle old place not far from the centre of the town.
"He's going on eighty so be gentle," Parker counselled them.
"And how does he know Duke?" Pistone asked her. Cooper stared ahead looking even more upright and annoyed. Pissed, Pistone corrected himself. He was pissed.
"Duke's mother ran away when he was about four. Left him with his Dad who only came home from sea to get drunk and neglect him. Never beat him though. At least, not that I've heard. Randall lived next door and used to take care of Duke when his Dad would disappear."
Jack nodded reflectively, "Unfortunately common story for guys with these kinds of criminal histories. They grow up thinking the world is full of selfish bastards so they become one themselves to survive."
Cooper gave a dismissive grunt, "Spare me the psychobabble, Dr Pistone. Some people are just criminals."
"So, what?" Parker ploughed in, "Someone commits a crime you don't ask yourself why? Don't think about the best way to help them? Don't consider that their problem may need an unconventional approach?"
"No. Do the crime. Do the time."
"Pithy. Never heard that one before. Anyway, if Duke contacted anyone when he skipped town it was Randall. He's old and a little bit... um... muddled. He'd worry if Duke didn't tell him he was leaving. Mostly about who was going to clean his gutters."
"So, are you really a doctor?" she added unexpectedly.
Jack nodded, "Of psychiatry. I was originally in profiling but field work called."
"Well," Parker grinned at him, "you're going to love Sawyer."
Sawyer's place was set back on a quarter-acre block with a front yard that looked as if it was, until recently, well-tended.
"Crocker mow his lawn as well?"
"Yep," Parker confirmed.
"Explains why it stopped getting mowed suddenly."
"Get off my lawn!" a voice yelled and an old man shuffled out the door and into the yard waving a shotgun around wildly. He was dressed in a wife beater, striped pyjama bottoms and an old powder blue terry towelling dressing gown.
"I know who you are. Men in black on my lawn. I'm not disappearing like the others."
He stopped and drew the shotgun to shoulder height to point it at them.
"I know you're in league with them. Whispering in the night. Making plans. I won't let you mess with my brain."
"Oh," sighed Cooper, "you've got to be kidding me. A member of the tin foil hat brigade."
"It's ok, Randall," Parker interjected soothingly, "it's me."
Sawyer looked momentarily confused and then dug into the pocket of his dressing gown and pulled out a pair of glasses. He shoved them awkwardly on his lined face and squinted at Audrey. A relieved look washed across his face and he lowered the shotgun.
"Oh, it's you, Lucy. I thought they'd finally come for me."
Parker walked up to him and put her hands gently on his arms.
"It's Audrey Parker, Randall. Remember?"
"Of course. I'm not blind, you know."
"I know," Parker smiled at him. "Now, why don't you give me the shotgun and let me take you inside. These men need to talk to you about something."
"Are they... from the Government?"
"Yes, they're FBI. But it's ok. I checked them out. They have nothing to do with the aliens."
"Are you sure?"
"Completely."
Sawyer grunted at them and then handed the gun to Parker. She took his arm and started helping him back into the house.
"Now, Randall, what did I tell you about taking the shotgun out of its case?" she said as the two agents followed her into Jack's place.
"I should call you and you'll come over and take it out for me," he admitted.
"You can't keep threatening people with it, Randall, okay? Now, I don't want to have to take your licence off you but I will if you don't keep the gun locked away."
"Need it to protect myself."
"Well, that's my job. So let me do it, alright?"
"Yes, Lucy."
"Right. Now, why don't you make these nice agents some tea and we can talk about Duke."
"Duke? Duke's gone. Rang me and told me."
Cooper's mood picked up at that.
"When was this?"
"Don't know. Not sure." He sat down at his old wooden dining able and looked at Detective Parker, "What day is today?"
"It's Thursday, Randall," she answered.
"Humph. Well, it's wasn't Thursday," he told them. "Wasn't Sunday either. Sunday's cleaning day. Could have been before Sunday..."
Parker gestured at Cooper that the timeframe was unlikely to get any clearer than that.
"What did he say?" Parker asked him.
"Said he'd had to leave town and wouldn't be able to do my gutters. Do you think Nathan will do my gutters?"
"I'll ask him. What else did he say?"
"Said he asked that blonde girl from the Gull to bring me dinner. She's been coming round every night. Nice girl. No cake though." He gave the agents a disappointed look and added with a wink, "It's Duke make the cakes. Don't tell anyone. Doesn't want anyone to know he bakes. Know what he says?"
Parker smiled at him affectionately, "Bad-ass tattooed smugglers don't bake."
Sawyer broke down in a fit of wheezy unhealthy laughter that turned into a rattling hollow cough.
"Where's your oxygen, Randall?" Parker asked him and he gestured to the next room.
"Did he say where he was calling from?" Cooper prompted him.
Randall shook his head, still unable to breathe properly. Parker came back and placed a mask over his face and turned on the oxygen tank. Randall inhaled several times and his breathing went back to normal.
"It's getting worse, Audrey," he said to her sadly.
"Emphysema?" Jack asked.
"Yes, yes, but not that," he shot Jack an irritated look. "The other thing, Audrey. It's getting much worse."
"I know, Randall."
"It's the aliens. They came last time, you know. And they're here again."
"It's not aliens, Randall, I swear."
"Either way, it's getting worse. I can't sleep. Can't sleep at all. The voices. Whispering. Whispering."
"I'll do my best to help. Now, why don't you go and lie down and I'll get the nurse to come and see you this afternoon."
He nodded. "They don't whisper in the afternoon."
He turned and walked slowly toward the hallway. Then he stopped and turned and gave the agents a thoughtful look.
"It was a payphone. I thought that was odd. Duke always has a phone. But it was a payphone because it kept asking him for more money."
"So, not a local call?" asked Cooper.
Randall shook his head. "And he was sick or something."
"Sick?"
He nodded tiredly. "Didn't really sound like Duke at all."
"Is that so?" Cooper murmered.