Dan Sharp Mysteries 4-Book Bundle (15 page)

Dan knelt and breathed in the smell of funk. His tongue twitched and darted. He felt the short sharp bristles and heard Sebastiano moan. He slid a glistening finger, then a second, deftly up into moist warm flesh. Sebastiano made what passed for welcoming noises. Dan stood. Quickly, before Sebastiano could protest, he plunged in. He felt warmth, wet, goo. It felt good. Familiar, yet not. He hadn't fucked without a condom in years, not since a drunken fling in a garage that had been left open on Hayden Street when he'd been followed down the lane at four a.m. after a night of dancing. It had taken an excess of alcohol for him to be reckless that time. This time all it had taken was rage.

There were no protests as he rode the Brazilian stud. The boy arched himself at the mirror, face pressed against the glass. Dan gripped the boy's abdominals, straining and forcing himself all the way in. There were no protests about that, either, only murmurs of pleasure and a few encouraging words in Portuguese. A drop of sweat glistened and fell from the tip of Dan's nose. It landed on the small of the boy's back, rolling down to where Dan's cock joined Sebastiano's body in slithery, piston-like motions. He came quickly, discharging completely before pulling out with a solitary plop. Sebastiano let out a groan and came in jerks and spasms onto the mirror, his spunk whiter than any Dan could recall. It hung there, almost muscular in its clinging, not running down. Dan grunted, as if in reply. His cock swung sloppily between his legs, a telltale smudge on the head. A pungent smell filled the air.

Dan picked the boy's underwear up from the floor and wiped himself off with it. For good measure, he wiped the mirror too. The boy turned to face him. “Good fuck?” Dan said.

“Yeah — good fuck.” The boy grinned.

Dan smiled, but his anger was still intact.
Good, yes — but I bet you won't be too quick to brag about it. Maybe I'll spread the word myself
.

“I have to go,” Sebastiano said without a trace of sheepishness.

“Me too.”

Dan handed over the boy's underwear with the stain smeared across the bottom.

The boy's smile vanished. “I cannot wear this,” he said.

Dan looked around, as if perplexed. He brightened. “Here,” he said, handing over his own silk boxers. “You can have mine. A little something to remember me by when you have your honeymoon fuck.”

The boy looked at them dubiously then shrugged. “Why not?” He pulled them up over his legs. They fit.

Why not, indeed?

“They look good on you,” Dan said. “Keep them. It's the least I can do.”

Gentle arabesques of light fanned over the ballroom and across the dancers, glittering diamonds creating a fantasy landscape, the happy ending to some fairy tale. Trevor stood just inside the ballroom door. His face lit up when he saw Dan.

“Hey! I've been looking for you. How's it going?”

Dan had to fight to make eye contact with him. He was suddenly and utterly consumed by shame. Whatever had possessed him only minutes ago had begun to slacken like a balloon losing altitude. The blood urge for revenge was gone, leaving only the afterglow of remorse.

“I think I just did something very stupid,” he said.

Trevor watched him curiously. “Anything to do with your boyfriend?”

Dan nodded. “My boyfriend and your cousin. It seems they've been a good deal more than best friends. My stupidity, I guess.”

Trevor put a hand on Dan's shoulder. “I'm sorry,” he said in that calming voice. “They're not a nice crowd — my cousin and his friends. They're awful people. Selfish and insincere. I shouldn't be saying this, but you seem like a nice guy. I wouldn't want to see you get hurt.”

Dan shrugged, his face a portrait of self-reproach. “Too late.”

Trevor attempted a consoling smile. “Is there anything I can do? Anything I can say?”

“No, but thanks.”

A clamour broke out in the hallway behind them. It grew in volume as a small crowd rushed into the ballroom with Thom at its head. Thom seized on Trevor and Dan. “Where's Sebastiano?” he demanded.

Dan felt a sickening sense of oncoming retribution. He'd expected there might be a scene over what he'd done, but he hadn't expected it to happen so fast. And certainly not here, in front of the wedding guests.

Without waiting for a reply, Thom turned and looked over the crowd. “Has anybody seen Sebastiano?” he yelled over the music.

Faces turned to regard him with a mixture of amusement and consternation, unsure of the intent of this impromptu game. Several people shook their heads.

“I did,” Dan said. “I saw him just now.”

Thom whirled to face him. “Where? How long ago?”

“A few minutes ago. Four or five. He was in a changeroom off the lower deck.”

Before Dan could say more, Sebastiano came through the door like a spirited horse approaching the pack.

“Thank god!” Thom exclaimed. His voice held an edge of panic. “Someone said you fell over the railing into the water.”

“No.” Sebastiano shook his head, bewildered. “I am here.”

“They said you fell over,” Thom insisted, his face set with concern. “They said your jacket was on the railing.”

Behind them the band went through a change of pitch, moving southerly again, notching the rhythm up to a jerky reggae beat. Outside the windows, the darkness suddenly seemed immense.

“My jacket? My jacket is on the chair — over there.” Sebastiano pointed to where he'd been sitting half an hour earlier. His unclaimed jacket sat waiting. Confusion passed over his face, followed by fear as the impossible suggested itself. “Where is Daniella?” He looked around in a panic. He grabbed Thom's arm. “Where is she? Where is Daniella?”

“I don't know,” Thom said, shaking his head. “I haven't seen her.” He turned to the others. “Has anyone seen Daniella?”

Murmurs broke out around the room, but no one replied. The band continued, oblivious. The dancers stopped one by one as realization settled in that the mood in the room had changed. Sober faces regarded them. Dan saw Bill enter from the opposite side of the room.

“Anyone?” Thom repeated, his voice tense. “We're looking for Daniella.”

“I saw her about twenty minutes ago,” said a bald man with a concerned face. “She was on the upstairs deck. I think she had on a jacket like Sebastiano's.”

Sebastiano let out a moan.

“Look,” Dan said decisively. “Let's find out for sure what's happened. Who said they saw someone fall overboard?”

“We did,” came a voice near the back of the room.

They turned to see an older man in black tie standing with a woman in a mauve dress, their faces pale with concern. “My wife and I definitely saw someone fall from the upper deck.”

“We thought it was that young man.” His wife pointed at Sebastiano.

“Where was this?” Dan said.

“We were on the back lower deck when someone toppled from above. Whoever it was fell right past us.”

Sebastiano looked around in terror. He latched onto Bill. “You're a doctor. Do something!”

“Okay, let's not panic,” Thom commanded. “We'll notify the captain to turn the boat around.” He turned to Sebastiano. “We'll find her — don't worry.” His eyes stopped at Dan. “Would you please organize a search on board for Daniella? She's got to be here somewhere.”

Dan nodded. “I'll start upstairs.”

“I'll go with you,” Trevor said.

The lights of Glenora appeared up ahead like a cord pulling them onward to a terrible fate. The band had stopped playing as the ballroom filled with grave faces. Most of the guests stood silently by or talked among themselves in concerned whispers. It was clear Daniella was nowhere on board. The outside decks were abandoned after a quick search failed to reveal anything. Bathrooms and anterooms had also been checked. Authorities were notified of the disappearance, and a search-and-rescue team from Trenton was called out. Within fifteen minutes a helicopter could be heard sweeping overhead, its searchlight mapping the waves. A local volunteer crew had already formed. A dozen small craft operators were patrolling the darkened waters of the bay, looking for signs of struggle or movement.

The ship docked at Glenora and the guests filed off in a light drizzle. Officers from the Picton OPP detachment met them onshore. They listened as Thom explained how Daniella had fallen from an upper deck.

Sebastiano stood to one side, rocking and shivering. “Why did we come to this awful country?” he moaned. Dan thought of the Serbian boy who'd come to Canada and ended up in a ravine with gunshot wounds to his head.

An EMS vehicle stood onshore, its lights flashing silently while figures moved about in the rain. Dan's name rang a bell with one of the questioning officers. “We never met, but we worked together on a case once,” the man said, squinting at him in the lantern light. “You helped us locate a woman named Sarah McNeill. I'm Detective Constable Peter Saylor.”

They shook. The officer looked at Sebastiano and motioned Dan over for a private word. “Do you think she's done a runner? You weren't far from shore. She's a visitor, right? Some guy's sister? Maybe she wanted to stay.”

Dan shook his head. “I doubt it. She came for her brother's wedding. They're from Brazil, not Cuba. I overheard him say she couldn't swim.”

The officer took a deep breath. “That's rough,” he said. “I guess if she's out there, we'll find her.” He let Dan through and nodded to the next in line.

Bill was waiting in the car. He stared straight ahead. Dan got into the driver's seat without a word. The silence stretched taut between them.

“I'm sorry about what I said earlier,” Bill said finally.

Dan shook his head. “It's not important.”

Bill nodded. “I spoke to Thom. He'd like us to stay at the house tonight. If you don't mind, we'll go back there.”

“Of course. Whatever he needs.”

Trevor opened the door for them. He looked at Dan. “I persuaded Aunt Lucille to go to bed,” he said. “She didn't want to, but she was quite shaken. I've just been sitting here feeling useless. Is there anything I can do?”

“Not that I know of,” Dan said. “Ted took Jezebel home. She was pretty shaken too. I don't know when Thom and Sebastiano will be back. They wanted to stay to see if the patrol boats turned anything up.”

They spoke in subdued voices. It seemed possible that if they were gentle and kind enough, the night's events might unfold in a more optimistic manner, that the outcome might not be as dark and dire as it seemed at that moment.

Without waiting to be asked, Bill poured everyone a drink. They made desultory conversation for another hour. At three o'clock, Trevor went up to his room. Thom and Sebastiano arrived looking grim-faced an hour later. Sebastiano resisted all efforts to console him.

“Bloody awful business,” Thom murmured, his hand on Sebastiano's shoulder.

“Give him these,” Bill said, placing something in Thom's hand. Thom looked down at the pink pills. “I've got more, if you want any yourself.”

Thom took Sebastiano upstairs and returned twenty minutes later. “He's asleep,” he said.

“How was he?” Dan said.

“As you saw — a mess. The only thing I could get out of him is that he wants to go back to Brazil immediately. I can't talk him out of it.”

Bill nodded knowingly. “Leave it for now. He'll be calmer tomorrow.”

Thom lit a fire to distract himself. Bill poured him a drink. Thom sat on the sofa, his hand playing absently with the polished curve of the arm. Bill tried to reassure him that Daniella would turn up. Thom nodded distractedly, only half-listening. Eventually they turned the conversation away from the events of the evening, anxious for the consolation news of things that had nothing to do with them might bring. Thom assured them there was nothing they could do for him. They said goodnight.

“I'll be fine,” he said, waving them away.

Upstairs, Dan lay on the bed fully dressed, staring at the blackness outside. The shimmering urgency of fear had drained away, leaving an empty calm, the bone white shock of lightning that reveals the world in negative for an instant before snapping off again. He dropped off to sleep just before five. He wasn't sure when Bill slept or if he did.

Morning brought a return of the mist, a dull grey haze settling over everything. The call came just past seven. An officer from the Picton OPP told Thom they'd recovered the body of a young woman just before six thirty that morning. He asked them to come to the morgue as soon as possible.

Someone had made coffee. Dan grabbed a cup and went out to bring the car around. Bill got in the front with him. Thom emerged with Sebastiano, and the pair slid silently into the back. The boy's face was grey, his eyes glassy. Even his cheeks seemed sunken. Dan glanced in the mirror. He recognized the look. He'd seen bereaved clients with that haunted glaze compounded of sickness and misery.

They endured the ferry crossing in silence. The blue water took on an ugly sheen; distant sails raised in joyous furls seemed an insult to them. The ride to town took forever. At the hospital, Thom got out first and went around to help his husband, but Sebastiano refused to leave the car. He sat with his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. “I don't want to go,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“You have to come,” Thom insisted. “They'll need you to identify her.”

The boy shook his head. “I can't.”

Thom looked grim. “They need you, Seb.”

Sebastiano glared. “I hate you!” He pounded his fist against the door. “I hate you! How could you do this to us?”

Thom shook him by the shoulders. “I didn't do anything. I told you not to bring her.” He looked around at the others. “I didn't want her here.”

Sebastiano turned away, sobbing against the seat.

“Thom,” Bill said. “Leave him.” Thom jerked his head around at the sound of Bill's voice. “Let's go in. It might not even be her.”

Thom nodded. “You're right.”

The hospital was small, red brick-efficient. It had been erected in the eighties and outfitted with hanging plants to allay the severity of the exterior. They were joined by Constable Saylor, the officer who'd recognized Dan's name the night before. Still fresh-faced and earnest. Eager and correct. They followed an assistant to an alcove lit by a rack of fluorescence where all the warmth had been sucked out of the room. A burnt smell hung in the air.

A modest shape lay beneath a sheet, a bulge concealed beneath a mound of fresh snow. It scarcely seemed possible that something as momentous as death lay before them. Dan thought of the lamb and goat corpses in the butcher's window on the Danforth. Even they had seemed more imposing, more noteworthy somehow. The officer pulled the sheet down to reveal first the head — lips blue, skin grey, as though she'd been embalmed already — then further down. It seemed needlessly cruel to expose her like this under the harsh glare.

For a moment, Dan doubted it was Daniella. The body was so bloated, it seemed as though it might have been someone else, one of the countless nameless faces in the Doe files. Dan stepped forward in disbelief, ready to proclaim it a case of mistaken identity. Looking closely, however, he realized he was staring at Sebastiano's sister. That was clearly her hair, now damp and dishevelled, those the fingers that had pawed his chest only hours ago.

Thom made a small choking noise. He reached out and touched a wall, as though he might faint. Bill and Dan were used to seeing bodies in various states of decomposition. Still, Dan felt a surge of nausea followed by something like grief, even though he'd hardly known her.

Thom rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger like a man trying to decipher a difficult problem. “It's her. It's really her. Fuck.” He turned away.

Something on Daniella's right temple, an irregularity near the hairline, caught Dan's eye. He pointed out the dull purple bruise mostly hidden by hair. “Did anyone notice this?”

“Yes, we did,” Saylor replied. “I noted it in the report.” He looked at Dan. “Is anybody here related to her?”

“Jesus,” said Thom. He looked up. “Sorry, no. The person you want is out in the car. I don't know if it's a good idea to bring him in here yet.” His hands moved in small circles, warding off an unpleasant event. He wanted to be out of there, away from the swollen body with the telltale bruise on her forehead. “He's not in a proper state of mind.”

Saylor assumed a look of professional sympathy without seeming insincere. “I understand, sir. Perhaps you could get him to come in when he's ready?”

Thom nodded. “I will. I'll bring him back.”

They emerged blinking into the daylight. The sky was pastel with soft clouds scudding overhead. Apart from a few passersby, the town looked deserted. For a moment Dan wondered if everyone was in church, just another small town Sunday.

Thom paced, walking himself through his dilemma. He turned to Dan and Bill. “Stay here. Let me do this,” he said, glancing back at the parking lot.

He went to the car and got in beside Sebastiano. He sat there looking forward and spoke a few words. At first there was no reaction, then Sebastiano turned and hit him with his fists. Thom took the punishment until Sebastiano finally stopped and leaned his head against Thom's chest. Thom's hand reached up and smoothed his hair. It was another five minutes before they got out of the car and came haltingly to the door.

“I told you it was haunted,” Sebastiano said softly. “It was a bad place!”

Thom looked at Bill and Dan in confusion. “I don't know what he's talking about.”

“I think he means Lake on the Mountain,” Dan said. “He seemed pretty spooked by it the other day.”

Thom shook his head in bewilderment, not comprehending how one thing related to the other. He turned to Sebastiano. “Are you ready? You'll have to go in some time. If not now, then later.”

“Then it is Daniella? For positive?”

Thom nodded and Sebastiano crumpled on the steps. His grey pallor was succeeded by bright red. The veins on his forehead seemed about to burst. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture becoming obsessive in its repetitiveness. “I told you I didn't want her to come. I told you ...” he broke off, choking on his sobs.

Thom shook his head impatiently. “You
did
say you wanted her to come. It's not my fault.”

“No, I never wanted this!” Sebastiano moaned, as though denial could change the outcome. “I never wanted her to come to this terrible place!”

“Look — pull yourself together. I'm sorry, but you have to pull yourself together.”

Pulling himself together looked to be the last thing he would be able to do, Dan thought. Fury, exhaustion, rage — these seemed more reasonable responses to expect. His own father had been practically catatonic in the years following his mother's death, till he liberated himself by drinking himself to an early grave. Why was it so hard for some people to express their grief and so hard for others not to?

“My god!” Sebastiano wailed. “Why did we have to come here? Why?” He switched to Portuguese, rocking and moaning.

With Bill's help, Thom lifted him to his feet and guided him to the door, arms linked like any married couple going for a stroll. Dan held the door to let them pass.

When Sebastiano came out again, he seemed to have undergone a profound change. His posture was erect, stiff, where before he'd been a rag doll. His eyes were hard, his expression tight. Thom came up and held him in his arms, though it seemed to be Thom who needed reassurance.

The door opened and Saylor emerged. He approached Sebastiano and said gently, “Sir, thank you for coming in to identify your sister. I know how difficult it was for you to do.”

For a moment, Sebastiano appeared not to have heard. A look of silent menace spread over his face as Thom put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Sebastiano shook off the hand in a fury. “No!” he cried. “She is not my sister. She is my
wife!
”

The others looked around in confusion. “He said she was his sister,” Thom insisted forlornly.

“Sir?” Saylor said. “Are you telling us this woman was married to you?”

Sebastiano nodded, head in his hands. “In Brazil, yes. She is my wife for two years!”