Cards on the Table - lanyon Josh. Страница 27

Susan interrupted him. She had her small memo book open on her knee and was making notes. There was also a small tape recorder on the table. «When you came back inside, Travis, after trying to do CPR, did you see anyone?»

«Mike was coming downstairs. I guess he heard me screaming. I told him to call 911. I told him it was Jacob. Then I went back outside, and, you know, tried again.» Mike was still curled in a ball on the sofa. «Mike, did you see anyone else besides Travis?»

He shook his head, and Susan pointed to the tape recorder. «No,» he said, wiping the edge of his sleeve across his nose. «I heard someone on the phone, the one on that little table in the hall, and I went out there because I was expecting a call. Jacob was on the phone and he looked, I don't know, pissed off. He said, 'Yeah, okay. Where are you, anyway? I want to see it,' something like that. Then he hung up and took off downstairs.» «What was he wearing?»

Mike blinked and rubbed his eyes. They were bloodshot and rimmed in red. «Jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, that dark red one. I don't know what else. Maybe those little slippers, the ones that looked like moccasins.»

Peter stopped listening to the words. He could still hear their feelings, though, in the sounds of their voices, horror, sick fury, fear.

Casper came tumbling through the front door with Jesse and Phillip, horror on his face. Jesse was crying, gulping back sobs, and Casper had a big hand on his shoulder. Susan started to explain what was happening, but Peter couldn't listen anymore.

He turned away from them, climbed the stairs to his rooms. He couldn't quite feel his feet. In his bedroom Peter put his face down in the pillow, tried to find Jacob's smell. It was faint, but it was still there, the tiniest bit of him. When Peter turned back around, he saw the cello sitting in the corner of his bedroom.

He sat down in the armchair and held it the way Jacob had held it. Then he pulled it closer, wrapped his arms around it. It was awkward and bulky, the edges hard. The cello didn't feel the same way Jacob had felt in his arms, but he could picture him here. In his mind he held a picture of Jacob, playing for him, his shy smile and the dark lashes on his cheek, so he put his arms around that picture, held Jacob close to him. And sometime during the night, the picture of Jacob in his mind stopped playing, bent over and kissed him sweetly. Peter, I have to go now. He could feel the touch of fingers against his cheek, then Jacob was gone.

Peter touched one of the strings just enough that the faint echo of sound filled the room. When he went back downstairs Casper was behind the desk, and Travis was curled up asleep on the couch, covered by a wine-colored cashmere throw. Travis had his hands tucked up under his cheek, dried tears on his face, and Peter thought he looked just like he had when he was a little boy. «Where's everyone?»

Casper poured him a cup of coffee and passed it across. «Mike's upstairs. He was upset, Peter, shaky. I mean, even more than usual, and I think it was time for his snort. Jesse and Phillip went up to their room, too. Susan went into her office to call the state cops. I'm trying to find Jacob's address. He didn't leave any emergency contact information.»

«He was moving,» Peter said. «He was moving to Montreal. I don't know the name of the man he left behind. All I know is he had bruises on his body, Casper. And he was leaving the man, the relationship. Maybe the bastard followed him. Tried to get him to come back.»

Casper nodded. «It happens, Peter. Probably more than anyone knows. But this is an island. It would be hard to come here completely unnoticed and leave the same way. They'll find him if it was the old lover. Oh, Susan said she's got the volunteer firefighters out checking the harbors and the roads, and a couple of guys at the airport. She's sealed off the island, for tonight, at least.»

Peter nodded, sipped his coffee. He didn't care. He knew everyone was working hard, working together and helping out, trying to find Jacob's killer, but he couldn't muster the energy to care about any of it. It was all very important work but what did it matter in the long run? A light was gone from the world, and would never be replaced. So they would find the bad guy, bring him to justice, but Peter couldn't muster the energy to care about justice. Jacob was gone.

Casper walked around the front desk, clasped his shoulder, then he went to the couch, pulled up a chair next to Travis. He settled there, a cup of coffee in his hands. He looked like he was ready to sit there all night, in case Travis needed him.

Peter went behind the desk, pulled out the satellite phone he kept for emergencies and Sebastian. He stared down at it. Well, he could hardly call Sebastian and beg him to come, could he? Peter was staring down at the phone, wondering what to do. Wondering who he could call. And what would he say, anyway? Help! Somebody help me, my heart is breaking! The phone was ringing in his hands. His fingers had dialed Sebastian's number, but Sebastian wasn't there, no one was picking up, and Peter felt a cold desolation in his belly. What if Sebastian never picked up again? That would be more loss than he could bear.

Chapter Three

Cold drizzle through the short, dark night gave way to a miserable, rainy gray morning. It felt like the sun didn't care enough about starting another day to rise properly.

Peter was in the kitchen baking bread, long, white loaves of Italian bread for sandwiches. The men who had been out last night in the rain, looking for Jacob's killer, would need some food. He had fed them all before, when other disasters had fallen on their town and everyone had come together to help out. They liked their sandwiches thick, stuffed with every bit of food he could shove between a couple of pieces of bread. They liked soup, too, but nothing fancy. Chicken noodle or vegetable beef, and lots of it, in thick, heavy bowls like the ones that Sebastian made.

Peter reorganized the buffet a bit, filled up the big coffeepots and put bowls and spoons and paper plates out, a platter of sliced ham and salami and another of cheese, tomatoes and lettuce, pickles and sliced onions, and a big steaming pot of chicken noodle. Homemade noodles, so the broth was rich and thick.

He turned the police radio on and broadcast that there was breakfast for the volunteers ready at the Heartbreak when they could be relieved. He left the radio on to listen to their chatter, but there wasn't much talk. The last time everyone had gotten together they were

looking for a child, lost while her family was camping, and you could hear the urgency of that mission in the radio comms. There was urgency now, too, but of a different kind. Because it was too late, and the best outcome they could hope for would be the thin, sour taste of revenge.

Just for a moment Peter remembered the taste of Jacob's mouth, so warm and alive, remembered it so clearly he could taste it. Jacob's mouth curved into a smile under his own, as if Peter kissing him made him unbearably happy, made him reach for Peter and pull him closer and closer… The memory rolled through his stomach, then twisted itself into a knot.

It wasn't long before the house was overrun with cold and wet and hungry men. Mike stayed in his room, in bed, clutching the pillow to his chest. Peter brought him some hot, sweet tea, Constant Comment, set it on the bedside table. «Mike, are you okay?»

Mike rolled over and looked at him. «Not really. He was the most inoffensive kid in the world, Peter. Gentle, open, so talented and beautiful… I heard him play yesterday morning, even though I wasn't in the dining room. It was like he was something precious, better than the rest of us. What on earth could Jacob have possibly done to bring this violence down on his head?»