Stone Cold (Camel Club 3)

a living.

“That you were a soldier.”

“Oh, that’s right, I was.”

“I’ve been telling everybody that you were in the navy. And that you were a walrus,” she added importantly.

Finn tried hard not to laugh as he patiently explained that he had been a Navy SEAL, not a walrus. “Remember, sweetie, up in this area there are a lot of people who used to be in the military. It’s not that special.”

“But you’ll be the best, Daddy, I know you will. Please come, please.” She tugged on his sleeve and then wrapped her arms around him.

In the face of this, what father could say no? “Okay, honey, I’ll be there.”

As he turned out the light and was leaving, Susie said, “Daddy, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“When you were a soldier, did you ever kill anybody?”

Finn leaned back against the door. This was not the question he’d been expecting.

Susie added, “ ’Cause Joey Menkel said his dad killed lots of bad people in Iraq. And he’s a soldier too. So did you?”

Finn sat back down next to her, took his daughter’s hand and said slowly, “When people fight, people get hurt, sweetie. It’s never a good thing to hurt someone else. And soldiers only do it to protect themselves and their country, where their families live.”

“So did you?” she persisted.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow, baby. Hope you sleep well.” He kissed her on the forehead and nearly sprinted from the room.

A minute later he was in the garage. He kept his gun safe here. It weighed nearly a thousand pounds and had a key, combo and biometric lock system that only he could open. He unlocked the heavy door and took out another, smaller box that also was key and combo protected. Opening that, he carried the file over to his workbench and started looking through it. The photos, the reports, were both now faded, yet they never failed to incite in him a nearly uncontrollable rage. He read the words aloud to himself: “Rayfield Solomon, Alleged Traitor, Commits Suicide in South America.” He looked at the photo of Rayfield Solomon, his father, a dead man with a hole in his right temple, and the legacy of having betrayed his country.

Finn still felt rage tonight, but it was not the same as all the other times he had looked at the final wreckage of his father’s past, and that was due to a little girl’s question: Did you ever kill anybody, Daddy?

Yes, honey, Daddy has.

He locked the items back up and turned out the garage light. He didn’t return to the house. He went for a walk. He walked until it was midnight. When he got back to the house, everyone was long since asleep. His wife was used to his late-night ramblings around the neighborhood. He slipped into Susie’s room, sat on her bed and watched her chest rise and fall as she clutched one of her precious guardian angels.

When dawn came, Finn left his daughter, showered, dressed and got ready to go to school, to talk about being a soldier. Of course, he would not talk to them about being a killer. Though a killer he was.

As he walked through the hall to his daughter’s third grade class, a tiny crack appeared in the wall of his mind that separated Harry Finn from the other man he had to be. It was doubtful he even knew it had happened. He opened the door to the class and was nearly knocked down by his daughter, who flew across the room to give him a hug.

“This is my daddy,” she announced proudly to her classmates. “And he’s a seal, not a walrus. And he’s a good guy.”

Am I? thought Harry Finn.

CHAPTER 39

STONE FILLED ANNABELLE IN on his conversation with her father at the grave site. “He looks like he’s dying.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

“And he seems sincerely guilty about what happened to your mother.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Do you want to follow him?”

“No, I want to kill him.”

“Okay, what now? More sleuthing around town?”

“No. Let’s just go back to the inn. I need to drink and I want to do it in the privacy of my own room.”

Stone dropped her off at the inn and headed back out. He drove through the town’s few streets until he saw Paddy’s truck parked at the curb. Father and daughter had had the same idea. He parked and went inside.

The bar was dirty and dark. At this time of the afternoon there was only one man at the bar, a pitcher in front of him. Stone sat down next to Paddy, who barely looked up.

“I guess cemeteries make people thirsty,” Stone said.

Paddy gave him a sideways glance and took a sip of his beer. His eyelids were droopy, his skin grayer inside the bar than it had been in the sunshine.

“Never needed a reason to have a pint or two,” Paddy replied, his speech a little slurred.

“My name’s Oliver,” Stone said, extending his hand.

Paddy didn’t take it; he studied Stone warily.

“You run into a man once, no problem. You run into a man twice in the span of an hour, it makes a body wonder.”

“Town’s not that big.”

“Big enough to let a man have his space.”

“I can move.”

Paddy’s gaze burned into him for another second or two. “Forget it. What are you having? I’m buying.”

“No need to do that.”

“There’s never a need to buy another man a drink. It’s a privilege. And don’t turn it down. I’m Irish. I’d have to slit your bloody throat for refusing.”

Two hours later, Stone and Paddy left the bar, Stone holding Paddy up.

“You’re a good bloke, you are,” Paddy blubbered. “A good frien’.”

“Glad you feel that way. I don’t think you’re in any shape to drive. Tell me where you live and I’ll drop you off.”

Paddy fell asleep in Stone’s car. It was for the best because Stone was taking father to see daughter.

Annabelle had stared at the bottle of gin for at least an hour without touching a drop. She only drank when a con demanded that she do so. She had enough memories of her drunken father saying and doing incredibly stupid things to swear her off the stuff forever. The knock on the door barely made her look up.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Oliver.”

“Door’s unlocked.”

It opened. Annabelle didn’t glance over until she realized she was hearing the sounds of four feet instead of two.

“What the hell are you doing?” she screamed.

Stone half carried Paddy over to a sofa and let him drop onto it.

However, the sounds of his daughter’s voice had managed to pierce right through the wall of booze. Paddy half sat up. “Annabelle?”

Annabelle moved so fast that Stone had no chance to stop her. She lunged at Paddy, hit him right in the gut with her shoulder and they both toppled to the floor. She pinned the old man to the floor and started slapping his face.

Stone wrenched her away, holding her off the floor as she tried to kick and punch her father.

Stone pushed Annabelle up against the wall, holding her there. When she wouldn’t stop thrashing he slapped her. She froze, stunned. Then she looked over at her father lying there on the floor in time to see his face turn white, and he threw up.

In the next instant she had ripped free from Stone and had fled the room.

Two hours later Paddy opened his eyes and stared around. Then he sat up and immediately felt Stone’s hand on his shoulder.