His father reached a hand out. “I’m here, Dan. Hat in hand. I need your help. Let this tattoo thing die. If you don’t, innocent people will be hurt. Think of Joe’s kids. My God, if it got out…”
He was too close to this situation, Reed acknowledged. This wasn’t some stranger asking for his help, it was his father. The unbending man who had accepted his decision not to be a part of the business with a terse “Go on, then. Who needs you?”
That man needed him now.
Some secrets were best left unearthed.
“I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t make any promises.”
His father looked relieved. “Thank you, Son. It’s the right thing to do, I promise you.”
“Be aware, if something emerges that strengthens the connection between-”
“It won’t. The ring and tattoo have nothing to do with Tom’s murder.”
For a long time after he left, Reed went over what his father had told him. He thought of Alex. Of his brother. Clark and the others. He thought of Patsy Sommer.
Who’d she been? Reed wondered. The woman he remembered: always kind, offering a smile, the picture-perfect mother and wife? The bipolar artist who had great talent but suffered fits of despair so deep they turned violent? Or the criminal temptress his father described, who seduced underage young men?
“The ring and tattoo have nothing to do with Tom’s murder.” Perhaps not, Reed thought. But could they have something to do with Dylan’s?
He experienced a prickle of excitement, an aha moment. If Patsy had been as promiscuous as his dad described, Dylan could have been someone else’s child, not Harlan’s. A fact which, if learned, could have rocked a number of people’s worlds. The actual father’s. Harlan’s. If the father was a minor, that minor’s family.
Some secrets were best left unearthed.
Son of a bitch, he thought. This changed everything.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Thursday, March 11
9:00 P.M.
Reed dialed Tanner. She answered; he heard music and conversation in the background. “Where are you?” he asked.
“Tony’s. What’s up?”
Tony’s, a bar not far from the Barn, served as one of the department’s favorite after-shift watering holes. “We need to talk. Stay put.”
Twenty minutes later he entered Tony’s and crossed directly to the bar. “Tony” was actually an attractive, unpretentious, thirty-something Antonia. She called her place “the anti-wine country alternative.” Although wine was on the menu, decent quality even, more emphasis was put on the twenty-two different beers on tap and the mixed drink category. However, at Tony’s call brands were out, well brands in. The bar sported two flat-screen TVs, the pool table in the back room was battered but level, and peanuts, pretzels and popcorn could be had for free, 24/7.
“Reed,” she said as he approached, “long time no see.” She drew him a Poppy Jasper amber ale and set it in front of him.
“The bad guys have been keeping me busy.”
“Me, too.” She grinned. “Tanner asked me to let you know she’s playing pool.”
“Thanks.” He paid for the beer and headed for the back room. Sure enough, Tanner, Cal and a couple of rookies from Property Crimes were deep into a game of eight ball. It looked like Tanner and Cal were kicking their asses.
Typical. Tanner was wicked good with a stick.
Tanner bent over the table, readying her shot. She looked back at him. “Enjoying the view, Reed?”
“I have to say I am.”
She grinned. “Good. Glad I still have it.”
She took the shot, drawing the stick back smoothly, following through with unflinching accuracy. The cue ball struck its target-the fifteen-and it shot into the corner pocket. She ran the rest of the table, then called the eight ball. A moment later, the grumbling rookies were heading out front for a round of beers.
She pulled a stool up beside his. Cal followed suit. “What do you have?” she asked.
Reed quickly filled them in on what his father had told him, beginning with what Patsy Sommer had been doing, who had been involved, then finishing with how the boys’ fathers had responded.
Cal whistled. “Being initiated by an older, experienced woman is every adolescent boy’s wet dream. She’d have to be hot, though. You know, in that Mrs. Robinson sort of way-”
“Get a grip, Cal,” Tanner snapped. “I’m not interested in your version of an adolescent wet dream.”
“Some of the boys were as young as fifteen,” Reed said.
“That’s statutory rape. At the very least, carnal knowledge of a juvenile.”
Reed agreed and went on. “Seems the initiation included some weird group action. An audience to cheer them on, then sharing the sloppy seconds.”
“And thirds.” Tanner made a face. “That’s some sick shit. Certainly not the way I’d want my son to learn about sex.”
“That’s what the dads thought.”
“All of them?” Tanner asked, tone skeptical.
Reed frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Our society tends to put a stamp of approval on a boy’s sexual initiation at the hands of an older, hot woman. Case in point, Cal’s comment.”
“But with a girl of the same age,” Reed murmured, “it’s called a crime.”
“Yes.” Tanner frowned. “I could even see some fathers shrugging it off, no harm, no foul.”
“They didn’t go to the police,” Cal agreed. “Which would seem to validate Tanner’s thinking.”
“Just sent her on her way. With a nest egg, even.” Reed took a swallow of his beer. “They didn’t want anyone to know what was going on. Especially Harlan. They even kept it from the boys’ mothers.”
The rookies returned with the beers. Tanner declined another game; Reed thought the younger of the two looked relieved. They wandered back out front and Reed turned again to Tanner and Cal.
“My dad wants to keep it that way. He asked me to drop my questioning about the tattoo.”
“Of course he did,” Tanner murmured. “Look at who was involved, the Sommer, Reed, Townsend, Schwann and Bianche families. Unarguably Sonoma’s most prominent wine families. They don’t want their names connected to a sex scandal. One that would surely reignite the furor over Dylan’s disappearance.”
“Plus,” Cal jumped in, “the dads would be barbecued in the media for the way they swept it all under the rug. Different times now. People are a lot more aware of abuse and its tragic effects.”
“My dad insists there’s no connection between this club and Tom’s murder.”
Tanner cocked an eyebrow. “And you believe him?”
“I believe he’s telling his truth. And I think he may be right about Tom’s murder. What interests me is how this might have affected the investigation of Dylan’s disappearance.”
“What was the timing?”
“Dylan disappeared. Investigation was under way. One of the kids came to his dad, spilled it all.”
“And the dads told no one, not even the mothers.” Cal scratched his head. “The information might have blown the investigation wide open.”
Tanner agreed. “It certainly would have widened the suspect pool.”
“It still does,” Reed said. “Only now we have remains.”
They fell silent. For his part, Reed sifted through the possibilities. An angry parent. A betrayed husband. A jealous teenager. Fertile stuff.
“My bet’s on the husband,” Tanner said. “Finds out what his wife’s been up to, that the kid’s not his, goes berserk.”
“Patsy and Harlan were having dinner with my folks the night Dylan disappeared.”