A False Dawn

THIRTY

Josh Brennen swallowed the remains of his drink and wiped his dark lips with the back of his wide hand. “You know this man?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Slater said. “Name’s Sean O’Brien. He’s a person of interest in a murder case my department is investigating.”

“You mean he’s a murder suspect?” Richard Brennen asked.

“He’s about as suspect as you can get. Ex-cop with a drinking problem and a thing for rough sex. Maybe he got a little too rough with a young girl. He figures if he can stir up enough diversion, then the state attorney won’t take it to a grand jury.”

Josh Brennen’s left jawbone moved like his teeth had come unglued. “So what the hell are you doing in my house, here with my friends?”

Slater said, “Probably followed me down, Josh.”

I said, “Don’t flatter yourself, Detective, but you did leave a trail.”

Slater looked at cowboy, then back and me. “What’re you talking about?”

“You haven’t investigated the obvious — where the victim’s lived. Who did they work for? Why were they killed? What’s the motive, Detective? But serial killers don’t need a motive do they? It’s about the power and the urge to dominate and kill. I find it interesting that these two victims were most likely migrants. Both probably working on a farm like this one and they died. No, they were murdered. Everything they dreamed about doing or becoming died in the hands of someone who enjoyed it. You’re not looking for cockroaches, you’re having drinks with them.”

Josh Brennen barked, “You’ve got thirty seconds to get off my property!”

I looked at Josh Brennen. His eyes didn’t break the stare, one lower lid drooping, runny with fluid. I said, “I can’t imagine someone trafficking in human beings as easily as a rancher sells cattle. That seems profoundly evil to me.”

“Daddy, don’t let this intruder get you riled up. Mr. O’Brien, I’m going to have you escorted off this property immediately.”

Slater said, “You’re outta line, O’Brien, and you’re about to be arrested.”

“You’re out of your jurisdiction both physically and socially. Break out the cuffs for me and the soundbite your candidate gives will be no comment.”

Renee Roberts, now looking a little more drunk, sauntered right toward me, her face glowing, damp from the humidity, her mouth puckered and blood red with lipstick and barbecue sauce. “Can a lady get a drink here?” she asked.

I started to walk around cowboy, and he stepped in my path. He stared straight at me, awaiting orders from either one of the Brennens. “Excuse me,” I said.

No effort to move. His breathing quickened, the gut moving like he’d just finished running up a flight of steps. I could smell the mints on his breath.

Josh Brennen said, “Why don’t you take our uninvited guest to pasture one? Show him the new stallion we bought.”

Cowboy reached out with one thick hand and grabbed me under the arm like he was trying to forcefully pick up a child. He squeezed hard, fingers digging deep into my left upper arm. I said, “Cute hat, bet your buddies with the spurs love you in it.”

He took the bait and swung at my head. I leaned back, his knuckles missing my face. Using both hands, I held his fist and leveraged it down with his weight the same time I was bringing up my knee. I hit him hard in the jaw. The sound was like wind catching a plastic garbage bag. I grabbed him by the ponytail and back of his belt, shoving him into the pool, the splash soaking a fat man holding a barbecue rib bone.

Cowboy’s Stetson floated in the center of the pool while he thrashed like a drowning man to the far side. Josh Brennen let fly a drunken string of obscenities, and the band cranked up a rendition of Proud Mary.

I entered the cavernous great room, followed Renee Robert’s laugh echoing from the walls. Mrs. Brennen sat in the dark, the light from the hall dissecting her face in shadow, the stiff skin frozen in a mold as if she wore a mask from a Greek tragedy. I nodded and continued moving down the hall, which now seemed like a maze. I felt a mist from the wall of water. Saw a half dozen koi breaking the surface, their mouths sucking in oxygen and bits of food like doughnuts bobbing in hot oil.

The night air was warm and smelled of fresh-cut hay and jasmine. The taste of rain was palpable in the thick air. A whippoorwill called out in the dark, its night song tranquil and beckoning. I didn’t know where I’d be the rest of the night. At that moment, though, I felt like I’d just traveled back through the looking glass.