Chapter 4

Steve Sloan leaned on the roof of his car, sucking in a few deep breaths. That had been a bad one. This was the third time since his father had disappeared that he had gone down to the city morgue to view the body of an unidentified man in his late sixties or early seventies. Each time, he had had to brace himself as the morgue attendant opened the drawer, trying to prepare for the possible shock of seeing his father's body lying there. The first two times, it had been obvious at a glance that the corpse was not that of his father. But this time – this time there had been that shock of wispy white hair, so like Mark's, above a face so badly distorted as to be almost unrecognizable. It had taken a long hard look to be sure that the body was not his father's; and it had left Steve shaken, with a lingering horror that his father might even now be lying somewhere undiscovered, in just that condition. He took another deep breath to compose himself before getting back into his car.

As he drove, Steve reflected on the events of the past week. They had turned up almost nothing in their search for Mark. It was as if he had simply vanished from the streets. Steve had been spending most of his waking hours trying to turn up any lead he could. The very lack of any trace made it seem unlikely that Mark's disappearance was due to a simple accident or medical problem. They had contacted every area hospital and medical center multiple times, checking for any sixties-ish 'John Doe's' who might have been brought in. There were, unfortunately, no dearth of elderly homeless men who had required medical treatment, but none of them had been Mark. The newspapers, too, had played up the disappearance of the popular, crime-solving doctor, and Steve had been very willing to use them to spread the word, hoping that someone would recognize his well-known father and report having seen him. But again, while there were always calls from people who claimed to have seen any famous figure, none of them had panned out into genuine leads. Steve reflected bitterly that there were probably more people who had claimed to see Elvis in the past week than there were who might have seen his father.

Caught up in his thoughts, Steve hadn't even noticed where he was driving. He suddenly realized that he was in front of the beach house. He sat there for a few moments, staring at the place that had been his home for so much of his life. Ever since he'd come back to share the house with his father, it had been the perfect refuge for him whenever the stresses of life and his job got to be too much. He headed now for his favorite place when he needed to be alone and think – the log on the beach that was sheltered from view by a small dune, providing a private nook to watch the ocean and get his thoughts and emotions in order.

As he sat there, staring at the crashing waves, he thought of the many times he'd come to this spot. A reserved person who was never given to pouring out his heart and troubles, he usually came here to be alone. But he realized that part of what made this spot so special was the knowledge that, although he was alone by choice, behind him – both figuratively and literally – was his father. He remembered the many times Mark had come to sit or stand beside him here, willing to quietly withdraw if Steve wasn't ready for company, or to provide counsel, a listening ear, or even just a silent presence full of unspoken but very real love and support.

Steve knew that his continued residence in the same house as his father was a source of wonder, puzzlement, and occasional derision for a lot of people. When he had first moved back in to the 'downstairs unit' Mark had had fixed up for that purpose, he had, himself, assumed that it was a temporary situation. But, over time, the advantages of the arrangement had well outweighed whatever inconveniences and minor difficulties arose. His father was almost fanatically respectful of Steve's privacy in his own 'apartment', while considering the main portion of the house completely shared territory. The truth was that the arrangement worked out incredibly well for both of them. He knew that his father enjoyed having him there, and he had come to realize that he liked it just as much. Not only did this setup provide him with the type of home and surroundings that were totally beyond what he could ever afford on a cop's salary, but he too enjoyed the additional time it allowed him to spend with his dad.

Just how much he valued that time had become very clear to him when he had, not so long ago, decided to finally go ahead and buy a house of his own. He had hesitated to broach the subject to Mark, knowing that his father would be disappointed, but Mark had been, as always, supportive of his son's decision, helping any way he could as Steve had found, purchased, and started to move into a house. Then Mark had been nearly killed in that house when a murderer out for revenge had programmed the home computer system to trap and suffocate Steve inside an airtight room; only it was Mark who had been trapped, while Steve raced against the clock to find a way to get him out before it was too late. Steve had come within minutes of losing his father that time, and he had realized how much it meant to him to spend whatever time they could together. Some day, he knew, his circumstances could change – if he was lucky enough to find someone he wanted to marry, for instance – and his living arrangements might have to be rethought. But in the meantime, he was in no hurry to alter a situation that allowed him to snatch brief moments with his father even when his life got so busy that moments were all he had.

But now his father was missing, and that comforting sense of his presence was gone as well. Instead, Steve was plagued with a feeling that he had failed his father – that this time, he wasn't going to be lucky enough to pull off the last-minute rescue and bring Mark back alive. It had been a week since Mark had disappeared, and Steve knew that almost everyone else had pretty much given up hope that he could still be alive. Except for Jesse, he thought, with a slight lightening of his somber mood. Jesse refused to believe Mark could be dead – not for any logical reason, but just because he had a virtually unshakeable belief in Mark's ability to come through anything. Steve found that belief alternately exasperating and comforting, depending upon his own mood at the time. He knew, better than anyone, the extent of his father's resourcefulness and luck; he had pinned his own faith on it many times before. But he was also a cop with almost 20 years of experience, and he knew that every day that passed now significantly decreased the odds of finding his father – especially considering the type of enemies Mark had made through his years of solving crimes. Steve refused to give up the search – one way or another, he had to find out what had happened to his father – but it was becoming ever harder to hang onto the hope that Mark was still alive.