Free The Long Count by JM Gulvin Page B

He lifted the trap and climbed down the ladder into the darkened passage below. He stood there listening for a moment then he sought the light switch on the wall. The passage led to a large, square room made of concrete where his father kept sleeping bags and camp beds as well as water coolers, a propane stove and lots of canned food. From there another passage carried under the drive to another door with no lock, only a handle. Opening that, Isaac was faced by a panel made up of oak boards running lengthwise bottom to top. Working his fingers down the right-hand side he found the spot and the panel swung in.
    His father’s study. He stood there catching the stale scent in the air and sniffed like a dog. The door to the basement corridor was open and as he moved around the desk he caught his foot against the leg. On one knee now, he retied a loose shoelace and noticed some tiny stains on the floor. He stared at them then flicked on the lamp but that did not give off enough light so he crossed to the wall and the switch for the overhead spots. Again he paused; the passage that led to the foot of the stairs was dark and chill, no sound of a TV or radio playing and no light shining from above.
    ‘Dad?’ he called. ‘Are you home? It’s Isaac, back from Vietnam.’
    There was no reply. With light flooding the study now he went back to the desk and considered those stains again. A little air escaped his lips. A few blackened-looking dots, scraping at one with his fingernail he tasted it and his expression was grim. His attention was taken by the weapons cabinet fixed on the wall whereone of the hooks was missing its gun. He looked at the floor once more and then back to that empty hook, then he heard the doorbell sound from above. Closing the wooden panel he cast another short glance at the gun cabinet then made his way along the basement passage and climbed the steps to the hall.
    Through the window he could see a Fannin County prowl car parked in the drive outside. A skinny-looking deputy in his twenties was at the door in his light brown uniform with his hat in his hands, hair cut close and his cheeks carrying old acne scars.
    ‘Mr Bowen?’ he said, looking closely at Isaac’s uniform. ‘Sir, are you Isaac Bowen?’
    Isaac nodded.
    ‘We’ve been trying to find you, sir, through the Army. Is it all right if I come in?’
    Isaac ushered him into the kitchen and the deputy stood there shifting his weight.
    ‘Last couple of days,’ he said, ‘we were making a whole bunch of calls to see if we could track you down.’
    ‘Why?’ Isaac said. ‘What’s up?’
    The deputy worked a palm around the brim of his hat. ‘Well, sir,’ he began, ‘the fact is I have some bad news. Mr Palmer from the farm down the road there, he called the department just now and told us he’d given you a ride. He figured who you were but he didn’t let on, on account of how he didn’t think it was down to him to be the one to tell you. That had to be one of us.’
    Isaac’s gaze was taut. ‘One of you – tell me what?’
    The deputy looked him in the eye. ‘Mr Bowen; there’s no easy way to say this. I’m afraid your father is dead. I’m real sorry, sir; but it seems he took a gun to his head.’
    Isaac stumbled backwards into the living room as if he’d been hit. One hand to the mantelpiece he leaned his weight before bending double as if he was about to throw up.
    ‘Are you kidding me? My father – dead?’
    The deputy avoided his eye.
    ‘A gun to his head? But why? Why would he do that? Why would he shoot himself?’
    The deputy lifted his shoulders. ‘I’m not qualified to say, I’m afraid. I don’t know is the fact of it. I said as much to the Ranger.’
    ‘Ranger? What Ranger?’ Isaac stared at him now.
    ‘Well sir, it was a Texas Ranger that found his body and I have to say his first reaction was that your dad had been murdered, but the county doesn’t see it like that. I’m real sorry, but he took his own