“Or a man,” Louis said, staring at the pole’s lethal tip. “Do all of your crewmen have one of these things?”

Lynch shook his head. “No need to. Most boats just keep one onboard.”

“Can I borrow this?” Louis asked.

Lynch shrugged. “Sure, we don’t use them much down here. But bring it back, okay? We need it for up North.”

Louis heard a car horn and looked to the lot. Wainwright was waiting in the squad car. Louis took one last look around the docks. For the first time, he felt a sense of progress. They had a fresh suspect. They had a weapon. Now all they had to do was put together the why behind it.

The shrieks of seagulls drew his eye back to the Miss Monica. Ty was washing down the cleaning bench, tossing the fish guts into the water. The gulls swarmed on them, screaming.

Chapter Thirty

When they got back to the office, Candy was waiting for them. Wainwright took one look at his officer’s face and asked, “Now what?”

“There’s a woman waiting to see you.”

“About what?”

Candy was staring at the bang stick in Louis’s hand. “She says she might know who the homeless man is. I put her in your office, Chief.”

Wainwright went into the office. Louis detoured to pick up the case file and joined him. The woman was sitting in a chair in front of Wainwright’s desk and turned to look as they came in. She was about twenty-five, a pretty woman in a green business suit, with close-cropped black hair, gold earrings, and the same tawny-toned skin as the homeless man. Her large brown eyes went expectantly from Wainwright to Louis.

Wainwright extended his hand. “I’m Sheriff Wainwright. You’re here about a possible identification?”

She took his hand, nodding. “My father,” she said softly.

Wainwright glanced back at Louis. Louis set the bang stick against a cabinet and came forward.

“I’m June Childers,” she said. “My father’s name is Harold. Is he—” She paused, seeing the look on Wainwright’s face. Her eyes filled with tears.

Wainwright pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, saw it was stained, and wadded it up. Louis rose, went to the bathroom, and came back with some tissues. Shit, he prayed June Childers wouldn’t lose it like Anita Quick did. He couldn’t stand another one.

But June Childers’s eyes were dry and she managed to give Louis a small smile as she took the Kleenex. “I saw an article in the Palm Beach Post,” she said. “I live over in West Palm.” She hesitated. “It said you had a man here with a tattoo of a dog on his arm.”

“There’s also a word.” Wainwright said. “Can you tell us what it was?”

“Bosco,” she said softly.

Wainwright glanced over at Louis. He rose and went to the watercooler. For a long time, it was quiet in the room.

Then Wainwright spoke, without turning. “Miss Childers, did your father have any other identifying marks?”

She turned to look at Wainwright. So did Louis. Other identifying marks? Wainwright knew there were none except the tattoo. What was going on here?

“No,” she said.

Wainwright filled a Dixie cup and slowly took a drink. He stood there, sipping and staring at the wall. June Childers looked back at Louis, her eyes questioning. Louis pulled a photo out of the file.

“Is this the tattoo?” he asked.

The photo showed only a forearm with a ruler lying next to it, but something changed in June Childers’s eyes as she stared at it.

“It was our dog’s name,” she whispered. “Bosco . . . you know, like that chocolate stuff kids drink.” Her eyes welled again.

Louis looked up at Wainwright. There were still routine questions that needed to be asked, but Wainwright was just standing there, staring at the wall.

“Dan—” Louis said.

Wainwright looked at him, as if coming out of a trance. “Let me know when you’re done,” he said. He tossed the cup in the trash and left, closing the door behind him. Louis stared at the door in disbelief for a moment.

Shit. Not again.

For a second, he considered going after Wainwright. But he turned back to June Childers. She wasn’t crying, but she still had the spent look of someone who had just come to the end of a long and wearisome journey.

“Miss Childers, do you know where your father was living?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him in almost ten years,” she said softly. “We—my brother Billy and I—we lost track of him. He wasn’t himself after Mama died and we looked, but we lost . . .” Her eyes welled but she pulled in a deep breath, keeping her emotions inside.

“He was from West Palm Beach?”

She shook her head. “We grew up in Clewiston, west of there.”

“Why do you think he came over here?” Louis asked gently.

“When we were kids, he used to bring us here,” she said. “Daddy loved it here. He loved the water.”

“If you could, can you please supply us with any other records you have . . . dental or medical records, maybe?”

She nodded.

Louis hesitated, not knowing what else to ask. There was nothing she could really help them with. She pulled in a deep breath and looked at him.

“Is there something I have to do . . . somewhere?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s not necessary to identify him in person.” He saw the next question in her eyes. “I think it’s better if you don’t see him. But I’ll take you there if you want.”

For a second, she just looked at him. “I understand,” she said softly, looking down at the wad of tissue in her hands. She rose slowly and slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder.

“Is there someplace I can make a call?” she asked.

“My brother wanted to know.”

Louis nodded to the phone on the table. “Just dial nine. I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

She gave him a small smile and held out her hand. “Thank you, Officer—”

“Kincaid,” he said, taking her hand.

He left, taking the case file with him. Wainwright wasn’t in the outer office. Louis went to the conference room. The door was ajar.

Wainwright was standing at the bulletin board, looking at the photos of Tatum and Quick.

“Dan?”

Wainwright didn’t move.

Louis came closer. “Dan, what happened back there?”

Wainwright turned. “Let’s walk over to the Flamingo. I’ll buy you a beer.”

The bar was nearly deserted, just a few locals draped on the bar and a family eating burgers at one of the wooden tables. A hockey game was on the TV above the grill, sound turned off. “Sea of Love” was playing on the jukebox. Louis watched the Red Wings forward glide across the ice in perfect sync with the song.

Louis waited until the waitress took their order, then leveled his eyes at Wainwright.

“Okay, what?”

Wainwright was looking at the family. “This is a nice place,” he said softly.

Louis started to say something, but decided he needed to stay quiet.

“Sereno Key,” Wainwright said, “it’s a nice place.”

Wainwright fell silent again, his eyes drifting up to the TV and finally back to Louis. “I knew the moment I saw this place, it was where I needed to be.”

“My foster mother thinks everyone has a place like that,” Louis said.

Wainwright nodded slightly. “When I retired from the bureau, I stayed in Detroit for a while. But I knew I needed to find someplace else. I heard about the chief’s opening here and I looked up the town in the atlas. I saw this little green island sitting in all that blue water, and I fired off my letter.”

The waitress brought their beers, some fries, and a bucket of steamed shrimp. Wainwright picked out a shrimp and began to slowly peel off the shell.

“Dan, what does—”

“I know. You want to know what this has to do with what went on back there with June Childers.”

“And Anita Quick,” Louis added.