Dead and Gone

Gran had died? Maybe he really had loved Crystal. Maybe it hadn’t been solely wounded pride that had caused him to set up her exposure as an adulteress. He’d fixed it so both her uncle Calvin and I would catch her in the act. I’d been so disgusted and furious with being forced to be a witness—and with the consequences—that I’d avoided Jason for weeks. Crystal’s death had shunted aside that anger, at least for the moment.
    “She’s beyond that now,” I said.
    Calvin’s battered truck pulled up on the other side of my car. Quicker than my eye could track, he stood in front of me, while Tanya Grissom scrambled out the other side. A stranger looked out of Calvin’s eyes. Normally a peculiar yellowish color, those eyes were now almost golden, and the irises were so large that there was almost no visible white. His pupils had elongated. He was not even wearing a light jacket. It made me cold to look at him in more ways than one.
    I held up my hands. “I’m so sorry, Calvin,” I said. “You need to know Jason did not do this.” I looked up, not too far, to meet his eerie eyes. Calvin was a little grayer now than he’d been when I’d first met him several years ago, and a little stockier. He still looked solid and dependable and tough.
    “I need to smell her,” he said, ignoring my words. “They have to let me back there to smell her. I’ll know.”
    “Come on then; we’ll go tell them that,” I said, because not only was that a good idea, but also I wanted to keep him away from Jason. At least Jason was smart enough to stay on the far side of my car. I took Calvin’s arm and we began to walk around the building, only to be stopped by the crime scene tape.
    Bud Dearborn moved over to the other side of the tape when he saw us. “Calvin, I know you’re rattled, and I’m real sorry about your niece,” he began, and with a flash of claw Calvin ripped down the tape and began walking over to the cross.
    Before he’d gotten three steps, the two FBI agents moved to intercept him. Suddenly they were on the ground. There was a lot of shouting and tumult, and then Calvin was being held back by Bud, Andy, and Alcee, with Lattesta and Weiss trying to assist from their undignified positions.
    “Calvin,” Bud Dearborn wheezed. Bud was not a young man, and it was clear that holding Calvin back was taking every bit of strength he possessed. “You gotta stay away, Calvin. Any evidence we collect is gonna be tainted if you don’t stay away from the body.” I was astonished at Bud’s restraint. I would have expected him to crack Calvin in the head with his baton or a flashlight. Instead, he seemed as sympathetic as a strained and taxed man could be. For the first time, I understood that I wasn’t the only one who’d known about the secret of the Hotshot community. Bud’s wrinkled hand patted Calvin’s arm in a gesture of consolation. Bud took care to avoid touching Calvin’s claws. Special Agent Lattesta noticed them, and he drew in a harsh breath, making an incoherent warning noise.
    “Bud,” Calvin said, and his voice came out in a growl, “if you can’t let me over there now, I have to smell her when they take her down. I’m trying to catch the scent of the ones who did this.”
    “I’ll see if you can do that,” Bud said steadily. “For right now, buddy, we got to get you out of here because they gotta pick up all this evidence around here, evidence that’ll stand up in court. You got to stay away from her. Okay?”
    Bud had never cared for me, nor I for him, but at that moment I sure thought well of him.
    After a long moment, Calvin nodded. Some of the tension went out of his shoulders. Everyone who was holding on to him eased up on their grip.
    Bud said, “You stay out front; we’ll call you. You got my word.”
    “All right,” Calvin said. The law enforcement crowd let go. Calvin let me put my arm around him. Together, we turned to make for the front parking lot. Tanya was waiting for him, tension in every line of her body. She’d had the same expectations I’d had: that Calvin was going to get a good beating.
    “Jason didn’t do this,” I said again.
    “I don’t care about your brother,” he said, turning those strange eyes on me. “He doesn’t matter to me. I don’t think he killed her.”
    It was clear that he thought my anxiety about Jason was blocking my concern about the real problem, the death of his niece. It was clear he didn’t appreciate that. I had to