Slipping Away

By Scott William Wood

Brash and apathetic to a fault, Detective Bobby Forsett retreats from a crumbling personal and professional world he fashioned around twenty-six years of dedicated police service. Seeking solace and personal redemption he finds himself pulled back by fading sentiments hes trying to deny and vengeful forces intent on reminding him why he never should have left. Set amid the pristine forests and mountain grandeur that surround the gem of the Pacific Northwests urban coastal region, Vancouver Canada, the story offers glimpses into noble souls whose deeds are anything but, and callous tormentors whose intentions are all that and more. Bobby relentlessly pursues justice to the literal precipice rediscovering a commitment to past ideals and frayed emotional ties hed considered relics of a past best forgotten.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Jun 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781458203717

Scott William Wood

After ascending the heights of Corporate America for many years, Scott William Wood found his writing muse perched atop the summit luring him back to a passion crafting words into stories he’d spurned earlier. He now lives in unfettered proximity to his major sources of inspiration—Debbie and the vistas of southern Utah.

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Copyright © 2012 by Scott William Wood.

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ISBN: 978-1-4582-0371-7 (e)

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Abbott Press rev. date: 06/05/12

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To the four most important women in my life without each of

whom I would never have come this far.

1

It rained overnight. Greasy drizzle cloaked in soiled overcast moved into the valley like an obtrusive cousin toting mayhem in his wake. Unwelcome to all but tow truck operators, emergency rooms and the insurance crowd who always stood to gain from his reappearance. And on occasion the undertaker.

Assessing the tangle of bone, blood and tissue lying on a stainless steel slab before him, Joe McMurtry rehashed details gleaned from the coroner’s report. Male, late thirties, blunt force head trauma, broken neck, single vehicle accident, DOA. The end result of sliding off a rain-slickened road into a century old Douglas fir at fifty miles an hour.

He knew the guy, his family, too. Not personally and certainly not by looking at the obliterated face. It was the name. A benefit, his dad often said, of being the only locally owned and family operated of three funeral homes in the area. You knew people, their families, and they knew you.

Two generations of morticians preceding him, his family’s ties to the community ran deep. But familiarity often bred, if not contempt, something akin to it. As though shopping at the same stores, attending the same schools, church, playing sports together somehow meant their business had to be less expensive. That a discount for services was in order, especially given the difficult circumstances the end of a loved one’s life presented.

In an hour the grieving widow would come by accompanied by her sister-in-law. He’d hear a variation of the same words from them. They were dairy farmers, close to his age, first child on the way. Eking out a subsistent living a day at a time, they’d never given a second thought to death and its costs.

Finalizing an assessment of the basic work needing to be done, Joe scrubbed his hands and ran the mental math. They’d want a plain box casket, no viewing, no service, cremation, an inexpensive container for the ashes. He’d be lucky to net a few hundred dollars. He knew. Part of that benefit his dad had talked about.

Sighing as he toweled off, he pondered his options. He could pull out the charm offensive and sell the man’s sister on the great comfort a viewing would provide for the extended family. It would take a lot of work, profitable work, to recreate a semblance of normalcy from the bloody mess the accident made of his head. Joe knew he’d be wasting both his time and goodwill. With a dispassionate shrug, he tugged a cellphone from his pants pocket.

Mr. K?

Yes.

I have a body available, prime condition, several available organs.

Silence.

I said I have—

How soon can it be ready? The whirs and clicks accompanying the mechanical sounding voice were necessary to obfuscate voices, identities. He knew he sounded as much like a robot to the other party as they did to him.

Six hours. Send me the instructions. As anxious as he felt, he didn’t want to sound overly so. In previous negotiations, he remembered, any hint of desperation lowered the price.

Okay. The line went silent.

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Joe allowed himself a quick smile. In his mid-thirties now, thinning at the top and thickening in the middle, he desperately held to earlier aspirations, dreams that, without a little improvisation, could never be realized through the family business in this backwater town.

2

Open mouth, insert foot. For as long as anyone could remember the adage clung to Bobby like days old sweat. A careless tongue courtesy the Forsett family genes. Part of a larger ancestral pool that splashed steel blue eyes, a determined chin that belayed stubbornness and a gray receding hairline on the round head atop his stocky five-foot-ten frame.

It’s been a while since I’ve had this much fun. Scanning the bevy of faces turned toward him at the lectern, soon-to-be retired Chief Detective Robert Forsett III flashed a goofy smile. You’re thinking that’s because this is all about me. And, while that’s certainly true, the fun for me is that I get to say whatever I want without worrying about what my father—God rest his soul—my boss or even my wife might have to say later.

Polite laughter rippled through the banquet hall dissipating as fast as it began. He represented a lot of things to this loose knit group of co-workers, friends, family, hangers-on, but each of them knew too well the losing battle he fought with verbal decorum.

You know what I’m going to miss after twenty-six years as a flat foot in this god-forsaken city? He paid no heed to the cringe in the eyes of everyone present. Not a thing.

He’d carved out a stellar career as a detective with innate brilliance and a nose for forensic detail. Unraveling cases others couldn’t fathom and seeing each through to conviction, he earned a reputation no other Vancouver cop could claim. Equally remarkable was his ability to blurt out the vagaries of his mind without social varnish.

I know you’re wondering how I’ll get through the day without hearing what passes as witty repartee each morning in the squad room. For the record the chatter was less stimulating than the watered down slop in the coffee pot.

Bobby was enjoying himself. He long ago resolved to ensure his retirement dinner lacked the pervasive diatribe of false honor others received. The drunken display of bogus respect paraded out by a similar group for his grandfather and, to a lesser extent his dad, had sickened him. It wasn’t going to be like that for him.

You know, Chief, I’ve been thinking a lot about what to say to this miscreant bunch tonight. Glancing to his right to ensure he had the boss’ attention he ignored the grimace pinching the man’s face.

Try as I might, though, I can only think to say thanks. You’ve been a great supporting cast. I’m sure I would’ve done as much, or more, without you but you know what? In your way you’ve been pretty good. I wouldn’t go so far to say that you’re Vancouver’s finest but you’re probably better than most. And I’m impressed you not only gagged down the god-awful rubber chicken tonight but that you stayed to hear me blather on even though the drink limit’s two.

Typical of him to deliver a compliment so backhanded that it echoed with denigration. His personnel file overflowed with reprimands from three different chief constables he worked under, outlining incidents of contempt bordering on insubordination and his responses feigning innocence. He didn’t see it as disrespect or even dislike. It was his version of blue humor—a release—from the pressures of hard-scrabble detective work.

I do want to particularly thank one person for her unwavering support over the past few years. And if you’re thinking that’s my wife, you’d be wrong. Oblivious to the rising level of disquiet in the room he smiled. By the way it’s great to see you here, honey. I wasn’t sure you’d make it, you know with your busy schedule and all. Does this mean I can come over and spend the night?

Lacking discretion cost him dearly on many fronts, no more so than his personal life. On the job the combination of steady handed efficiency and extraordinary results afforded him a long leash. At home, he earned a lot of time in the doghouse. Estranged for the umpteenth time, he hadn’t been in the family home since his youngest daughter’s birthday in February more than three months ago. And everyone in the room knew.

And so to Susan Takei, thanks. The forensics team as a whole, too. You’re nothing short of awesome.

Rumors swirled through the department about him and the crime lab supervisor several times over. In grinding through cases, he frequented the forensics lab on many a late night and early morning. But in the strongest terms possible they both denied anything other than professional involvement. And nothing beyond hearsay had ever surfaced to suggest otherwise.

In conclusion, let me just say it’s been a slice. The thirty or so in attendance howled in appreciation knowing the end was near. He couldn’t have cared less. Tomorrow I’m going to wake up late, stay out of the shower, misplace my shaver, and forget the names of each and every one of you.

Hurrying from the dais, he brushed past a couple ersatz well-wishers, shouting above the collective din of several conversations. Andrea, wait.

She whirled on her heels to face him, crossing her arms as the door to the banquet hall shuddered to a close between them. Pushing through it he stood face to face with her in the brightly lit hallway. Even in the harshest illumination, she took his breath away. Slight build, strawberry blonde hair, soft round face, pert nose, she provoked an awkward giddy schoolboy in him every time he drew near her.

Andrea, I…

What do you want from me? She brandished her handbag in his general direction. Even he could see she was seething. Why would you say something like that?

It was just in fun. I didn’t mean anything by it.

Everything in her demeanor screamed anger yet her green eyes darkened more with hurt than resentment. Don’t try to explain it away again. I came here tonight to offer my support. Almost brought the kids, too. And for what? More humiliation?

That’s not… Andrea, please, it was for laughs, you know? It sounded pitiful even to his narcissistic ears.

Yeah, I know. It’s always for laughs. I won’t be a punch line anymore. You know what I intend to do tomorrow, the first day of your retirement? See a lawyer.

Turning away she hurried into the fast falling dusk leaving him to wallow in his thoughts. It occurred to him that in all the years they’d been together, the countless times they had a similar conversation, she always stood her ground, stared him down. Never had she walked away.

3

The ringing startled him awake. Groping for the alarm, he knocked it from the bedside table as the clanging sliced through his head a second time. Realizing the sleep-induced error he reached for the phone and brushed it onto the floor as well. He flailed an arm over the edge of the bed to retrieve the handset, mumbling into the earpiece.

Hello. What? I can’t hear you.

Somewhere in the slowly dissipating fog of too little sleep he recognized his brother ranting.

Bobby, pick up the phone.

Gaining a measure of consciousness he righted the phone in his hand.

Slow down Walt, I missed most of what you said.

Yeah, well you’re going to miss out on my help this morning too. Are you still in bed?

Throwing both legs over the side of the bed to sit up he stubbed a toe against the clock lying where it had fallen. It read 9:42.

Of course not. What’s up?

The sun, me, my boy, and now you. What time do you need us?

Ten’s good, like we discussed, he said, rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes.

Actually we agreed on 9 but I’m running a little late. And I’ve got to be done by noon. We’re on our way.

Muttering to himself he padded off to the bathroom. The first day of the rest of my life and already my little brother’s shown me up.

By the time Walt pounded on the apartment door twenty minutes later he’d thrown on some clothes, eaten an apple and begun piling boxes in the hallway.

Good, you’ve started without me. A sly smile crept across Walt’s face. You remember my boy Grady, right?

He took the bait. You’ve got children? When did that happen? You didn’t get married too, did you? I could’ve warned you about that.

The brothers smirked at one another as they embraced. Grady rolled his fifteen year old eyes at the spectacle of two grown men pretending they were anything but. What do you want me to do? he asked.

Start hauling these boxes down to the van. Looks as though your uncle here is ready to go.

The elation spreading throughout his body broke into a wide grin. I’ve never been more ready for anything.

4

Danielson, someone downstairs to see you. Let’s go.

Thanks, keep. Be right with you.

Relaxing on his bunk, Carl Danielson had been expecting the guard to come for him. Saturday morning—visitor’s day at Fraser Regional Correctional.

Haven’t seen you before. Carl squinted at the officer’s badge as he rose to the cell door. This your first day, Connors?

Just transferred in. Told I was needed here to deal with you hard core types.

Hard core? Me? I’m just a country bumpkin trying to figure out why he’s here and when he can go home to the missus.

Yeah, aren’t we all, the guard said with a slight smile.

Walking through the dimly lit corridors two steps behind, he sized up the new guy. Tall, lean, muscular, military haircut. Good natured enough, he thought. Seems like a decent sort.

Where’d you transfer from?

Up country, Connors said.

He made it his business to know all he could about people who impacted his life. And he’d become a quick learner—reading body language, mannerisms, voice inflection. Too much depended on the people surrounding him. It was imperative he discern as much as he could as early as possible. Casual conversation provided a lot of useful insight though something in that voice suggested an early picture of this guy would be blurry at best.

How long you been in?

The guard smirked a little. That’s a question I’m supposed to ask you, isn’t it?

Yeah, but I’m guessing you already checked the file and know all about me, keep.

Another slight smile. Been in corrections for seventeen years. And before you ask, all of them have been on the right side of the bars.

Didn’t need to ask, I had that part figured out.

The drab grayness brightened a little as they entered the prison common area.

Here we are, Connors said, motioning to a door on the right of the hallway. You know the routine. You’ve got twenty minutes.

5

That’s the last of them, Bobby. You sure you don’t need a hand taking them down to the boat.

No, that’s great. I’ve still got a little meat on these bones. You and Grady have been a big help and it’s almost noon anyway. I can handle it from here.

Two well-worn boxes and a small duffle bag lay at the top of the ramshackle wooden pier leading out over the crystal blue waters of Horseshoe Bay. Haphazardly strewn to the left of the pier lay a hundred or so slips occupied by as many as eighty-five yachts, cabin cruisers, dinghies, sailing sloops and motorboats of varying sizes and shapes each dancing to its own tune in the vacillating waves.

The two brothers shuffled awkwardly around the personal effects. So, what’s next? When do we see you again? Walt asked.

Sighing, he turned to look squarely at his brother, younger by four years yet taller by a couple inches. I don’t know. After too many years following a closely held routine, my only plan is to take things day by day. It’s early June, the weather’s great. I expect I can make a good long summer out of this. And, who knows, I might enjoy it enough to stay through the fall, into the winter. Maybe next summer too, if the money lasts.

How will we get in touch, you know, if we needed to?

Ah well, that’s the beauty of this little adventure, you can’t. I shut my Blackberry off and tucked it inside one of the boxes at the storage unit.

Yeah, I noticed. That’s why I asked. I also know you swapped out the ship-to-shore unit for a satellite radio. What if—

Look, he said, warming to this rarely seen sentimentality. If there’s an important reason to contact me—and I mean really important—you can talk to Stan here at Sewell’s, give him a message. I plan to check in with him now and then.

Concern continued to crease the younger brother’s forehead. I don’t think I’ve ever said this to you before but…

Hey, don’t get sappy on me. He threw a soft jab at Walt’s shoulder. This is something I have to do. I barely have energy to get out of bed and face the mess I’ve made of my life anymore. He drew a deep breath gesturing at the water’s edge below the pier. That’s my life. Driftwood and junk piled up; what I’ve accumulated in forty-eight years. A wife and kids who hate the sight of me, a career and colleagues best left behind, zero real friends. I need to start over. Try again. Build something positive.

Pausing he could see momentary hurt in his brother’s eyes. It’s nothing personal. You and your family are an ideal I wish I could reach. Other than my kids, you’re the best part of my crummy existence. You’ve got a great life. Go on, get back to it. Let me try and find one.

You’re crazy, you know that? I can’t believe you’re just going to hop on that boat and sail off to who knows where for who knows how long.

Just watch me, bro, just watch me.

He slung the bag over his shoulder, hefted the boxes into his arms and strode down the pier as Walt ambled back towards the parking lot where Grady stood impatiently waiting. Neither cast a look back in the other’s direction.

So Forsett, you’re finally going to do it, eh? The marina day operations manager sat in the doorway of a small hut situated mid-pier. I didn’t think I’d see the day.

Have a little faith, Stan. I told you I would and here I am.

Well it has been six years, but better late than never, I guess. Weather-worn and affable to a fault, the man, fifteen years or so Bobby’s senior, smiled and slowly rose to his feet. You want a hand with those?

Yeah, take the top box here. We’ll get all this on board then you and I can hammer out some details.

6

You need to remember who makes your miserable life possible, Carl said. The words, spoken quietly through a clenched smile for the watchful eyes and ears outside the interrogation room, struck home as intended. When I ask for something I don’t expect excuses, you understand?

The gangly pimple faced man-child sat up straighter in his chair. I didn’t mean any disrespect, sir. I just…

Of course you didn’t. You’re young and you need reminding. That’s what fathers do.

The kid, nearing twenty years of age, had been to the prison as directed every Saturday morning for the better part of two years now. Angst colored his otherwise wan features much as it did every other time.

You’ve got a nice place to live. Food, clothes and whatever indulgences you care to have. That could all end in an instant, Branson, Carl continued. You do understand that.

It wasn’t a question although the boy nodded his comprehension.

So let’s try this again. Tell me what I need to hear.

Drawing himself as upright as possible, Branson fixed a brave look across the stark metal table. It’s not possible. Not right now. All but wilting under the intense glare directed back at him, the kid continued. I am working on it. I swear. And I’ll have it done by next week. He collapsed back into his chair.

Yes, you will. Next week. The sardonic grin unrelenting, Carl’s tone brightened. Now tell me, what else have you been up to?

They needed each other. Despite others in his syndicate he felt he could trust he held absolute control over only one. The kid’s fear and loathing of both himself and his father had grown so powerful it precluded any other motivation in his young life.

Another few minutes of nonchalant bantering that Carl neither heard nor wished to, he gestured to the guard at the door. Give my best to your mother, Branson.

Walking through the darkening corridors back to his cell block, his thoughts were cut short by the guard’s half question, half assertion. That boy sure doesn’t like it here, does he?

What do you mean? He says he can’t wait to see me every week. He seemed in pretty good spirits today.

I’ve seen plenty of guilty men look a lot less worried. He is your son, right?

You read the file, keep. That’s what it says. And that fretful look? Gets it from his mother.

The red hair too, huh?

Connors was an interesting study, probing for information, peering between the lines, drawing conclusions. The other guards never took this much interest. Carl needed to play this one out.

So where’s home, keep? Close by?

Far enough so I can’t see or hear this place but close enough to get here when needed.

Convenient, eh? He nodded thoughtfully. On top of his inquisitive nature, this was a man who imparted absolutely nothing in return. Traits he’d perfected in himself. Others had come and gone in his life possessing similar ability but he’d been able to break them down, find a button to push. Connors represented an interesting challenge.

Yeah, I suppose. The guard motioned to his right. Here you are. Got you back in one piece as promised.

He couldn’t resist. Good to have met you, keep. Let’s stay in touch.

Chuckling a little, Connors ushered him through the cell door and turned the key. See you around.

Impressive, Carl mused. I could use someone like him.

7

The small cove provided enough shelter to pacify most of the ocean’s swell allowing the sloop to undulate gently. Low slung