Come Unto These Yellow Sands (19 page)

Well, that explained a few things.

Swift said, “You’re right. I don’t care what people say about me, if what they’re saying is I’m gay. That’s the truth. If they say something that’s not true, I do care about that. I mean, depending on what the thing is. There are some things too stupid to bother with. But there are other things that have to be addressed. If this bothers you—and it does—you have to address it.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Tad snapped. “It’s none of their fucking business. You’ve been…great to me. I’m not going to…”

“You’re not going to what?”

Tad shook his head miserably.

Swift put a hand to his forehead. “Wait a minute. Do you somehow think you’re being disloyal to me if you defend yourself?”

“No. I don’t know. They’re always talking about getting rid of you. Firing you, I mean.”

That pulled Swift up short like nothing else could have. “Who is?”

“Some of the parents and some of the kids.” Tad clarified, in case Swift was still missing the point, “Because you’re gay.”

“Are you serious?”

Tad nodded.

It turned out Max wasn’t wrong about Swift living in his own world, because he’d never had a clue. Oh, he knew he wasn’t in the running for Teacher of the Year, but it hadn’t dawned on him how unpopular he might be in some quarters.

His position was vulnerable. He didn’t have tenure. The title of professor was honorary and courtesy. He had been hired by Koltz’s predecessor because he was the scion of a literary dynasty and sort of a celebrity in his own right, even if most people who knew of him knew of him for all the wrong reasons. He was a conscientious and competent instructor and he’d done a nice job with the
Pentagoet Review
, but he knew perfectly well that he’d really got the job based on the assumption that he’d eventually start writing again and that when that happened he’d be batting, as it were, for the home team.

After all, poets wrote…poetry. It wasn’t an unrealistic expectation. In fact, for a long time it had been Swift’s own expectation.

“And that’s why you didn’t want to tell me you’d been gay bashed. Mistakenly gay bashed, that is?”

Tad nodded.

“And you wanted time to think because you’re trying to decide if you should, what? Transfer out?”

Another nod.

Swift could see the appeal of trying to start over some place completely new. That had been his own tactic when faced with rebuilding his life. But his own situation had been a lot more dire—nor had there been anything left to hold him to his old life.

That wasn’t the case for Tad.

He said more gently, “Doesn’t that seem a little drastic?”

“I don’t know. Then I heard about my…and everyone was thinking
I’d
done it, that
I’d
killed my dad.” He stared at Swift in horror. “That they could
think
that…”

Swift understood that pain only too well. “The main reason they think it is because you went on the run.”

“I went on the run because they thought I did it.”

“God.” Swift sighed. “Why the hell didn’t you go to the bungalow?”

Color flooded Tad’s face again. “That would just make it worse if anyone found out.”

Oh. Right. Professor Swift’s love shack. “Where did you go?”

“Ariel’s grandparents have a place at Wolfe Neck. I camped out there.”

“And what was your plan?”

“Plan?”

That was a kid for you. Tad looked so blank Swift nearly laughed. “You must have had some plan, right? You weren’t thinking you could live the rest of your life skulking on the outskirts of town.”

“Oh. I thought—we
all
thought—”

“Who’s
we
?”

“Ariel, Hodge, Denny and me. We all thought if I could avoid getting arrested long enough, maybe Chief Prescott would catch the guy who killed my dad.”

Oh yeah. That.

Swift watched Tad closely. “Do you know who killed your dad?”

Tad was watching Swift too. “No.”

“But you have a theory?”

“No.”

“No theory at all?”

Tad said reluctantly, “I don’t know. Maybe Bill McNeill.”

“That’s what your stepmother says too.”

Tad didn’t say anything.

“Why do you think Bill McNeill would kill your father?”

“I don’t.” He wiped his face. “I don’t know. They used to get into it sometimes, Dad and McNeill.”

“Over what?”

“Business. And…”

“And?”

Tad shook his head.

Swift said neutrally, “Your mother thinks your stepmother might be guilty.”

There was no mistaking the emotion that twisted Tad’s features. “I
know
Nerine did it,” he said bitterly. “Even if she didn’t pull the trigger. But you’ll never get anyone to believe that. You’ll never prove it.”

There was something convincing about that hopeless conviction. Tad might be wrong, but there was no doubt he believed what he was saying.

“Why would your stepmother want your father out of the way?”

Tad wiped at the tears welling in the corners of his eyes. “Because she’s a selfish, conniving
bitch
. She deliberately took my dad away from my mom. She pretended to be having a baby, but then there was no baby. She said she
lost
it. Where? Macy’s? I’m surprised she’d notice.”

“Is there anyone else Nerine—”

“Nerine uses people.” Tad’s mouth trembled. “She manipulates them. People just see that she’s pretty and she’s smart. They don’t see how cold she is underneath it. If McNeill killed my dad, she’s behind it. She’s the
only
person with anything to gain.”

“That’s hard to say. Someone might think they had something to gain even though it isn’t anything the rest of us can see.”

“Like what?” Tad’s forehead wrinkled as it did when Swift was introducing new and complicated concepts in class.

Swift wasn’t sure himself. “Did Nerine and your dad fight a lot?”

“Not like my dad and mom. Mostly it was Dad accusing her of flirting around and Nerine accusing my dad of being jealous.”

“Of Bill McNeill.”

“Mostly. Yeah.”

“And you told all that to Chief Prescott?”

Tad’s bruised face grew sullen. “I’m not telling
him
anything until I get a lawyer.”

Great. Swift mulled it over. “Shouldn’t you have one by now? How long is that supposed to take?”

“My mom is trying to hire someone really good.”

Swift raked a hand through his hair. “All right.” He stood. “I’ll be back later.”

Tad glanced up. The shadows beneath his eyes looked like bruises. “Are you coming to the funeral, Professor?”

“Not if it will make things harder for you.”

“No. It won’t. I’d like you there.” Tad drew in a shaky breath. “Someone who believes. If it’s no trouble.” His voice wobbled dangerously.

“I’ll be there,” Swift promised.

Swift passed Mrs. Corelli on her way to the cells. She carried a garment bag with a suit for Tad to wear to his father’s funeral that afternoon. Swift nodded to her, but she ignored him, staring straight ahead as she followed the deputy, her boots tapping briskly down the chilly corridor.

Swift continued on to Max’s office.

Max was on the phone. He nodded in greeting when Swift took the chair in front of his desk. To the person on the other end of line, he said, “What can I say? I don’t like it when things are too easy.”

Swift stared out the window at the side view of the flagpole forest. The flags were whipping hard in the November breeze, the halyard and pulleys ringing against the metal staff.

Max laughed cheerfully at whatever the caller retorted. “I take that as a compliment… That’s right. I take ’em where I can find ’em… Yeah. Later.” He stretched forward to replace the handset in the cradle, leaned back in his chair and gave Swift his undivided attention.

“Satisfied?”

“Satisfied how?” Swift asked.

“Satisfied that I kept the police brutality to a minimum?”

Swift had the grace to blush. “Inferred, not implied.”

Max snorted. No offense taken.

Swift slid down in his chair, crossed his ankle on his knee. “So what do you think about my theory?”

“You want my answer as the Chief of Police or my answer as the guy who plans to spend the night with you?”

“Are you spending the night with me?”

“If I can get out of here at a decent hour. And if you’re not too pissed off to hear that I think your theory is pretty thin.”

“I think your theory is pretty thin too. I think a good defense attorney could punch a lot of holes in it. You know why? Because I know firsthand how persuasive a good defense attorney can be. I say this as the guy who was guilty as charged.”

Max’s smile thinned. “If it helps, I don’t think throwing you in jail for some of the stupid things you did would have helped either you or society any.”

“I agree. But that’s not the point. The point is, you don’t have anything in the way of real evidence against Tad other than the fact that he ran, and I think I can explain that to your satisfaction.”

“I’m all ears.”

Swift took his time explaining about the gay bashing of a kid who was not, in fact, gay.

Max didn’t move a muscle until Swift had finished. His chair creaked as he sat upright. “I see. So let me sum it all up for both of us. Depending on my verification of this alleged altercation, you think Tad has an alibi for the time of the murder.”

“Er, to be honest, that hadn’t occurred to me. I was thinking more about motive.”

Max’s scarred brow crinkled. He reached for the coffee mug on his desk. “Motive is tricky. See, what might be a good reason for me to kill someone might not be a good enough reason for
you
to kill someone.”

Swift stared at his hands loosely clasped around his ankle. “I wouldn’t. Deliberately hurt anyone.”

“And my impulse is to hurt anyone who hurts you.” When Swift’s gaze lifted to his, Max said, “See how that works?”

He did, and while it wasn’t intended as a compliment, it did warm his heart in a funny way. He managed to joke, “Why, I think that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Max’s answering smile was crooked. “That’s me. Crazy romantic. Speaking of which, and in answer to your earlier question, yes, just about everyone in the county believes Nerine Corelli is having some kind of relationship with our former mayor. Everyone but our former mayor.”

“He could be lying.”

“He sure could. But McNeill has a rock-solid alibi for Corelli’s homicide.”

“What about Nerine’s alibi?”

“Same alibi as a matter of fact. They were both campaigning their little hearts out in front of a crowd of potential voters over at Sarah Orne Jewett Elementary School. As a point of interest, they’re both on the record as firmly believing the other is behind Corelli’s death.” Max sipped his coffee. He raised the mug inquiringly, and Swift shook his head.

“What about Mrs. Ord?”

“Mrs. Ord.” Max smiled grimly. “That was a good call. Before she was Mrs. Ord, Janine Jensen was Mrs. Paul Jensen.”

Swift considered. “Jensen. She’s Denny Jensen’s mother?”

“Correct. Janine vigorously denies either her son or her son’s friends would have access to her keys, but…”

“But?”

“I know guilt when I see it. Janine will be a lot more careful about where she stashes her clients’ keys from here on out. It’s not proof, but as far as it goes, it makes sense that either Denny or Hodge or even Ariel planted the coke at your place. It always struck me as the kind of thing a vindictive kid might do. Or somebody who wanted—needed—to keep you busy with your own problems and out of theirs.”

“It doesn’t necessarily connect any of them to the murder.”

“No. In fact, it’s a leap from planting coke to committing murder.”

“Not that big a leap.”

“Let’s agree to disagree.”

Swift grimaced. He thought for a few seconds. “I’m glad you didn’t say something like Denny’s too young for Nerine.”

“Denny’s too young for Nerine, but there was as big an age difference between Nerine and Corelli as there was between Nerine and Jensen.”

“Anyway,” Swift said, “I think you can eliminate Ariel.”

“Ariel’s the one you threatened to turn in to the cops.”

“Ariel wanted to protect Tad. I don’t think whoever planted the coke was trying to protect Tad. All that advising him to stay on the run? That was horrible advice.”

“It’s the kind of advice one kid might give another.”

“Not the kind of advice a smart kid would give another. Especially once he heard the story behind Tad’s beating, which they all did because Hodge blamed me for Tad’s trouble and they all seemed to know what he was talking about.”

“You’re reaching.”

He was, of course. “You’re the one who told me Denny was captain of the sailing team in addition to playing football.”

Max didn’t bat an eye.

His very stillness was a comment in itself. Swift added, just to reinforce his point, “Which means he could have got to and from Orson Island without anyone the wiser.”

“
That’s
a good point,” Max conceded. “It wouldn’t be easy to get off that island. I had that dock covered, and we checked the ferry.”

“I think Denny, or someone Denny gave a ride to, doubled back through the woods and headed for the cove behind the bungalow. We didn’t think about that because it would be a dead end—unless you had a boat waiting. And you’d only have a boat waiting if you were an experienced sailor.”

“Nerine Corelli has an alibi for yesterday afternoon.”

“Are you sure?”

Max gave him a chiding look.

“How come she always has an alibi?”

“Hmm.” Max scratched his beard. “That’s a tough one. She’s innocent?”

“I don’t buy it.”

Max sighed. “I know you don’t. But she
does
have an alibi. Also—because I know you’re going to bring this up eventually—she’s proficient with a rifle. She may know how to use a handgun, but she doesn’t own one and, as far as I can discover, no one’s ever seen her shoot one.”

“So she had an accomplice.”

“Bill McNeill also has an alibi for yesterday afternoon.”