Nelson was forty-three, so Bruce guessed that his parents were in their late sixties or early seventies. The first Howard Kerr he called had never heard of Nelson. But the second one knew him well. Nelson’s father sounded like a broken man who had just lost his only son and was bewildered by the things he didn’t know. Bruce filled in as many gaps as he could without mentioning the possibility of foul play. If that were established, he would call later. After a few minutes, Mr. Kerr went on the speakerphone so Mrs. Kerr could join them. Bruce carefully explained that there were some mysterious elements about the death and the authorities wanted an autopsy.
The parents were not sure they approved, but Bruce said that, as far as he knew, the police could order an autopsy whenever they wanted.
Why an autopsy? Why were the police involved?
Bruce bobbed and weaved and said that he didn’t know all the facts and details but was trying to gather information. He would know more tomorrow, hopefully, and would update them immediately. Mrs. Kerr broke down, sobbing, and left the conversation.
After an excruciating fifteen minutes, Bruce managed to end the call with a promise to talk tomorrow. He collected his thoughts, tried to shake off the emotion of talking to grieving parents, put on clean shorts and a T-shirt, and walked to the lobby to join his pals for dinner.
5.
Mercer called late that night. The number of fatalities stood at eleven and the news stories looked and sounded awful. She had not spoken to Larry and was worried about the cottage. Bruce told her they had driven by earlier that morning but had not been able to stop. As far as he could tell it appeared to be relatively undamaged, though he’d seen only the west side. The wind and water came from the ocean. Bruce told her about Nelson, a man she had met only once, but she was shocked nonetheless. He hinted that there were strange circumstances around his death and the police were investigating.
In his opinion, the cleanup would take weeks and months. There was no real rush to reopen the bookstore. The customers were gone. The tourists wouldn’t return for a year. He suggested that she wait at least a week before returning to the island. He would check on the cottage as soon as possible and meet with Larry. There was really nothing she could do until electricity was restored.
6.
Day Three. The Grand Surf Hotel was on a point at the southern tip of Camino Island, as far away from the destruction as possible. When it opened thirty years earlier it had been the largest and fanciest hotel on the beach, and had become instantly popular with tourists. Locals used it for weddings and parties and fancy dinners. It survived Leo with little damage. Early on the third morning its lights came on and it was open for business. The owners comped all rooms for rescue workers and utility crews, and the relief teams moved their operations to the hotel parking lot. Crates of food were hauled into the kitchen and cooks began preparing meals.
With dozens of crews working around the clock, electricity spread slowly from the Grand Surf north toward Santa Rosa. A large temporary cell tower was powered up and some phone service was restored. The first hint of normalcy returned to the devastated island.
The Santa Rosa chief of police was a veteran named Carl Logan. He and Hoppy Durden, along with the department’s only technician, a part-timer, arrived at Nelson’s condo and found it locked. They jammed the patio door, put on rubber gloves and plastic shoe coverings, and entered the kitchen. Hoppy walked Logan through the crime scenario as laid out by that kid who worked at the bookstore, and showed him the spatter stains on the wall in the den and the stains on the downstairs vanity. They photographed everything again, with better cameras, and shot a video. At Logan’s suggestion, they withdrew to the patio and decided to call in the state police.
There was no word from the crime lab about the autopsy.
7.
After a long morning by the pool, Bruce, Bob, and Nick were