He nodded to Brannon. Brannon went in. Claudine stood on the finger pier with the wind pushing at her and watched Tuan Vo, across the fairway, hesitate at the edge of the fuel dock, look back at the Viking captain and the pump and his phone, and then turn and run. Not away. He ran up the fuel dock toward the boardwalk, his rain bibs flapping, around the head of B dock and along the boardwalk past the dock house toward the head of C dock, and then down the ramp onto C dock itself, his boots pounding on the wet planks, and she thought, Oh, child, no. You have so much more to lose than I do.
"Sir," Tuan said, arriving out of breath, stopping a careful eight feet from the sergeant with his hands open and visible, the way every Black and brown boy in the state of Alabama is taught by somebody who loves him. "Sir. I'm Tuan Vo. I'm marina staff. I'm sorry I yelled. She does own the slot. Slot 1. It's deeded. It's been in her family since 1958. I can show you the record in the office. I'm also the notary who—"
"Son," Shuford said, not unkindly, not kindly either. "I heard you the first time. I believe you. It don't matter. It's not a property line dispute. It's a theft report."
"It's not a theft."
"That's what we're figuring out." Shuford's phone buzzed. He looked at it and turned half away, toward the river. "Shuford," he said. "Yes sir. Yes sir, I'm with her now."
Brannon came out of the salon with the manila envelope and handed it to Shuford, who took it with his free hand and held it against his leg without opening it, the phone at his ear, listening.
Claudine watched his face while he listened. She had stood at a thousand bedsides watching people's faces while they listened to things, and she knew what it looked like when someone was being told a story that confirmed what they already believed. The shoulders came down a little. The head nodded at the pauses. The face took on a kind of relief.
"Yes sir," Shuford said. "No, he's not on the vessel. No sir. She says he's at the restroom. Uh huh. I understand. Well, sir, I'd ask you to come on down here if you can, it'd help to get this straightened out. Yes sir. All right." He lowered the phone and looked at it for a moment and then looked at Claudine.
"That was Lawson Tillery," he said. "He says his father had a fall in August. Says he was evaluated by two physicians at USA Medical Center and found not to have capacity to manage his own affairs. Says he's got a durable power of attorney that kicked in when the doctors signed off. Says his father was at Springhill Manor until Thursday, when he walked out, and nobody's been able to find him since, and he's been out of his mind with worry. Says the facility told him a Black woman in hospital scrubs picked his father up." He paused. "That you?"
"That's me."
"He says you work at the hospital. Says you'd know how to get around the paperwork. Says you've been spending a lot of time on his father's boat, and he's got reason to believe you're after it. He's on his way." Shuford tucked the phone back into his pocket. "Ms. Pettaway, where is Ozro Tillery?"
"I told you. He went up to the restroom at the dock house."