Chương 2
Laura wiped rain from her face. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No.”
The paramedic almost smiled, then saw Caleb’s face and didn’t.
Marcus was searched beside the van. Officers removed a folding wallet, a set of keys, a cheap black phone, cash, and a folded parking receipt. No weapon appeared.
That bothered Daniel in a strange way.
A weapon would have made the evening simpler in his head. A knife or gun would have placed Marcus inside a recognizable category. Instead there was a man in a black rain jacket with ordinary keys and damp dollar bills, standing under dock lights while an officer checked his pockets.
He could have been anyone delayed by the storm.
Sophie would not let the paramedic take off her backpack.
The top handle was partly torn where Marcus had grabbed it. One seam had opened enough to show a strip of white padding.
“We need to check your shoulders,” the paramedic told her.
Sophie looked at Laura.
Laura crouched.
“You can hold it in your lap.”
“No.”
“Sophie.”
“No.”
Laura looked toward Caleb.
Caleb still had both arms around Scout.
Daniel said, “Scout can sit with your backpack.”
Sophie looked at him for the first time since he had told her to stay back.
“He won’t let anybody take it?”
“No.”
Daniel was not sure why he felt authorized to promise on behalf of a dog.
Scout sat when told.
Sophie slowly slipped one arm free, then the other, wincing when the straps moved across her shoulders. She placed the backpack between Scout’s front paws.
Scout sniffed it once and rested one paw on the bottom corner.
That was enough.
The paramedic examined the red marks beneath Sophie’s raincoat.
Caleb allowed another medic to check his pulse but refused the ambulance stretcher.
“I’m not hurt.”
“We check people who aren’t hurt, too.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
The medic was young, maybe twenty-six, with water dripping from the end of his nose.
“Honestly, man, a lot about my job doesn’t.”
Caleb looked at him.
A tiny, unwilling laugh escaped through his nose.
Then his face closed again.
Daniel turned away because the sound hit him harder than the shouting had.
The police separated witnesses.
Laura stood beneath an awning with one officer, arms folded tight while she described the coffee cup, Marcus grabbing Sophie, Scout running, Daniel restraining him. She kept correcting herself about distances.
“Maybe fifteen feet. No, twelve. I don’t know. It was rain. Everything looked farther away.”
“That’s fine.”
“I don’t want to say something wrong.”
“Then don’t guess.”
Daniel was interviewed beside the operations booth.
His hands had started shaking.
He tucked them beneath his armpits.
The officer noticed.
“You need medical attention?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Adrenaline.”
The officer nodded as though Daniel had given an acceptable password.
“What did the suspect say first?”
Daniel repeated it.
“Exactly?”
“As close as I can.”
“Did you know him?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Daniel frowned.
The officer waited.
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
“He looked familiar after you put the cuffs on him.”
“From where?”
“I run this deck. Thousands of people look familiar.”
The officer wrote something.
Daniel hated watching it become official.
He looked over toward Marcus.
The hood had been removed from the man’s head. Short dark hair was plastered down by rain. Under the direct white loading lights, the face changed.
Daniel knew him.
Not well.
Enough.
“Oh, hell.”
The officer looked up.
Daniel rubbed rain from his beard.
“I do know him.”
Marcus Kane had worked at the terminal for eleven weeks the previous year.
Not for the ferry company directly. A marine-services contractor had supplied temporary drivers during a summer staffing shortage. Marcus moved service vans, freight carts, and crew vehicles between the maintenance yard and loading areas.
Daniel remembered him because most temporary workers were forgettable in the ordinary ways. They showed up, complained about schedules, learned which vending machine stole dollar bills, and eventually disappeared into other jobs.
Marcus had lasted eleven weeks because Daniel had kept giving him one more chance.
There had been small problems first.
Late arrivals.
Arguments about overtime.
A dent in a cargo cart that no one admitted causing.
Then a deckhand reported smelling alcohol on him before a vehicle movement. Marcus denied drinking and passed a breath test, but he became so aggressive during the conversation that security removed him from the property.
His contractor terminated him the next morning.
“You reported him?” the officer asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“He said I’d regret screwing with his paycheck.”
“Anything more specific?”
“No.”
“Did he have access to this deck?”
“When he worked here.”
“Vehicle access?”
“Yes.”
“Badges?”
“Temporary contractor credential. Windshield placard for service vehicles.”
“Those were returned?”
Daniel opened his mouth.
The storm rattled something metal against the booth wall.
Most had been.
That was the truthful answer.
It was also the answer he did not want to give.
“Most of them.”
The officer’s pen stopped.
“What does that mean?”
“We changed vendors last winter. Inventory on the old windshield tags was off.”
“How far off?”
“Three.”
“And what did you do?”
Daniel looked through the wet glass of the booth at Scout sitting beside Sophie’s torn backpack.
“We changed the electronic gate codes.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Daniel swallowed.
“I noted the missing tags in the internal closeout.”
“Were they reported stolen?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because the tags were old.
Because electronic access had been deactivated.
Because the office had been understaffed for two months.
Because Daniel had looked at a list after a fourteen-hour shift and decided three pieces of laminated plastic were not worth creating an incident report that would trigger a full audit.
He had written inventory discrepancy.
He had gone home.
“No reason that sounds good tonight,” Daniel said.
The officer studied him.
“Okay.”
That single word stayed with Daniel for days.
May you like
Marcus’s black van had no old terminal placard in its windshield.
Police found one under the driver’s seat.
