“Thanks, Benji,” he said, kissing my forehead. “It’s the best present I ever got.”
He wore it almost every day.
“I gave him that hat,” I mutter to Corwin. “Years ago. It was found floating in
the cab of the truck when he was pulled out of the river. Have it back at the house with some other things.” Things that were his, things that I keep away from everyone else. The hat, given to me by an officer whose name I couldn’t remember. A shell casing. A photo of him and me, sitting side by side up in the mountains on a dirt road on a hunting trip when I was four or five, him feeding me a piece of jerky. A yellowed note that says, Benji, make sure you rake the leaves today after school. Just get around Little House and I’ll help you with the rest this weekend. Love, Pops. Things that would have meant absolutely nothing to anyone else, but meant everything to me.
“He was a great man,” Cal whispers in my ear. “You know this.” Corwin nods at my words, looking slightly ill. “I waited,” he says. “I waited at the park for hours. No one ever showed. I wondered if he’d gotten scared and flaked
on me. It never crossed my mind that something happened to him. I just thought he’d worked himself up too much to actually show. It’s happened before. So many times.
“I went back to Eugene and never heard from the guy again. Eventually, it was made clear by the Agent in Charge that my time would be better spent on projects of merit rather than ones that had nothing to support them. I was told in no uncertain terms to drop it, that obviously it was going nowhere, and I had a witness who no longer wanted to play ball.” He smiles sadly at me. “I saw the news story about your father. About his accident. I figured it was him. The timing was a bit off, though. We were supposed to meet at two, and he’d apparently crashed in the early morning. It would have been too early for him to leave to meet me. But then they showed a video of him speaking at a Chamber of Commerce meeting, and that voice… I knew it was him.”
“Why didn’t you do anything then?” I ask, wiping my eyes.
“It all comes down to proof, Benji. There was no proof of foul play. The official police report listed it as a single-vehicle accident. There was no evidence of a second vehicle involved. Nothing on the coroner’s report to suggest foul play. The timing wasn’t right. The Old Forest Highway ends at I-10, yeah, but even if he was going to I-10, who’s to say he was driving to Eugene?”
“I know. I’ve read all the reports. I’ve thought of all these scenarios. Probably many more times than you ever have.”
He nods, like he expected that. “Then you should know there’s nothing there. It was officially ruled as a single-vehicle accident possibly precipitated by speed and the road conditions due to the rain. The report was signed off by Griggs.”
I eye him carefully. “But you don’t believe it, do you? Not now. You think something happened.”
“Yes,” Corwin says, and I sigh. “I think somehow, someone found out your father was speaking to me and decided to make sure it wouldn’t happen again. I think your dad was run off the road and left in the river to drown. I came here a few weeks ago because of that dead file. I was told it was done. I almost believed it was done. But….” He shook his head. “There was something there, I know it. It can’t just all be coincidence. It just can’t.”
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, suddenly unsure about all of this. It’s one thing to be on the phone with the man, and it’s another to hear confirmation of what I’ve long suspected. Now that it’s at hand, I feel small and weak. Uncertain and indecisive.
“Nothing,” Corwin says, a stern edge to his voice. “Especially now that Traynor is involved. Benji, the things that man has done would curdle your stomach. It’s best to keep your distance, as much and as far as you can. I’m going to be sniffing around town a bit. This is officially off the record, at least for the moment. The wife thinks I’m out of town on some work training, and work thinks I’m on vacation. I’m going to take a few days and just look around and see what I can see. Griggs is in on this, I’m sure of it. Walken too. If what your father told me is correct, they could be supplying methamphetamines up and down the West Coast.”
“Arthur Davis,” I say, his name coming out of nowhere. “You might want to check into Arthur Davis.”
He opens his phone and types something into it. “Why him?”
I tell him the story of the attempted robbery, how Arthur dropped Traynor’s name and how the attempted robbery ended in the gunman’s supposed suicide. By the time I finish, Corwin is shaking his head, his jaw set. “Jesus,” he says. “I mean it, Benji. You need to keep your fucking distance. These people are animals. You need to keep yourself safe. If anything comes from this, we have bias intimidation of a witness and assault and battery against Traynor. Don’t suppose you called the cops after he left.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure Griggs would have loved to take that report.”
Cal growls at him again. “You don’t need to worry about him. It is not your job. It is my job. And I am more than ready to do what is asked of me.”
Corwin stares at him. “You’re an odd duck, you know that?”
“I am not a duck at all,” Cal snarls. “You just do your job and let me do mine. Benji belongs to me and no one will take him from me.”
“Hush,” I tell him lightly. “Nothing is going to happen to me. And besides, I can take care of myself. I have for a long time.” Cal looks at me like that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever said.
“You guys been together a long time?” Corwin asks bluntly.
“Yes,” Cal says at the same time I say, “A few days.”
Corwin stares.
“Long story,” I say as I flush.
He nods. “I’ll be in touch, Benji. Just keep doing what you are doing, and don’t let anyone know yet that you spoke to me. If you see me around Roseland, act like you don’t know me. If the shit starts to hit the fan, you call me. That number I gave you is a separate private number. Most people don’t know I have it, not even my wife.” I arch my eyebrow at him, and he rolls his eyes. “Not like that. I deal with some shady people sometimes with what I do, and I don’t want to bring my work home with me. And sometimes, like now, I don’t want to bring things into my work. Not yet. We clear?”
I nod. He stands up from the booth, dropping a twenty on the table. He starts to walk away but pauses at the edge of the booth. He doesn’t look down at us. “I’m sorry about your dad,” he finally says. “I… I always wanted to say that. You know, how sorry I am. What he tried to do was a very brave thing. You have every right to hate me, but the only thing I’ve ever wanted was to help people and to put the bad guys away. I like to think that maybe your… Big Eddie was like that too.”
I nod again, blinded by tears.