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His dad’s study.
He opened the door, stood in the doorway and stared inside, his throat feeling strange, his breaths coming shallow.
Since it happened, had he even walked in here?
The vibrant Hockney mounted on the wall behind his father’s desk took his attention.
Hale had had it cleaned. The cleaning had cost a fortune. The painting was worth far more.
It wasn’t just the fact it had to be expertly done that it’d cost so much. It was because they’d had to clean off blood, brains, bits of skull.
His father’s mind, one of the most celebrated since Einstein, Turing, Gates, splashed all over a priceless piece of art.
The bullet had gone through his father’s head, and miraculously lodged in the 3D, rhombus chevron walnut paneling above the painting, all of that paneling another work of art that made up the entire wall.
The bullet had been dug out. The panel had been replaced by the woodworking specialist who’d built the wall, so you couldn’t see it was ever there.
Hale walked into the room, his head all over the place, but it felt light because he wasn’t getting enough air.
He looked to the wall of windows, saw the ocean beyond, and took in a deep breath.
Then he sat in the chair behind the desk.
That chair had also been cleaned.
On the desk, framed, were pictures of Genny, Duncan and his dad when they were kids, and another of Genny and Duncan, when they’d been a couple before they broke up and Genny met Tom.
His father had broken them up.
His father had loved Genny all his life. Since he was a boy. And he broke her heart and betrayed his best friend in hopes, if she was free, he could make her his.
This didn’t work.
Those two were together now because his dad had maneuvered that beyond the grave.
They were back together, and his dad was dead.
Hale closed his eyes, took in another breath, opened his eyes and then opened the drawer to his left.
The double frame was folded closed inside.
Yes, he’d been in there. He’d put that frame there.
But he hadn’t been in since.
He pulled the frame out.
It had been cleaned too. They’d found it on the floor at the side of his father’s dead body.
Hale opened the frame and saw what he’d seen when they’d sent that female cop to return it to him.
A picture of Corey standing and smiling at a camera that, probably, Genny had been behind.
Tucked in his arm was Hale, asleep on his father’s chest.
He’d been an infant.
On the other side was Corey squatting in the sand on a sunny day, Hale in a wetsuit beside him, his hair dripping. They were both smiling wide, Corey had his arm around Hale’s waist, he had his arm around his dad’s shoulders, a shortboard was stuck in the sand next to Hale.
