They walked side by side, making small talk. Along the way, half a dozen people called out to Reynolds, and he acknowledged each by name. At the clubhouse he held the door open for Tracy, and they stepped inside. The carpeted hall was adorned with plaques and photographs and a trophy case, but it was far less ostentatious than clubhouses to be found in Seattle.
Reynolds led Tracy into a small banquet room set up for a formal lunch, with a dozen round tables covered in white tablecloths and place settings, and a podium and microphone at the front of the room. Reynolds led Tracy to a table with a pitcher of iced tea and two glasses.
“Can I pour you a glass?” he asked.
“Please,” she said.
“It’s unsweetened.”
“That’s fine,” she said, sitting in one of the banquet chairs, content for the moment to let Reynolds play host.
Reynolds joined her, angling his knees away from the table, legs crossed, sipping his tea. “I understand you have questions for me about the night Kimi Kanasket disappeared.”
“Who told you I had questions?”
Reynolds smiled. “We both know the answer to that question,” he said. “Chief Devoe is a bit worked up about it; he thinks it will spoil the mood this weekend.”
“What else did Chief Devoe have to say?”
“He said you were in town and were investigating the death of Kimi Kanasket, that you had doubts Kimi had committed suicide, and that you were intimating that I, along with Hastey, and possibly Archie Coe and Darren Gallentine, might have had some part in it.”
“Are you aware that Archibald Coe hung himself this morning?”
“No.” Reynolds set down his glass. His surprise looked genuine. “No, I wasn’t.”
“When’s the last time you saw or spoke to Mr. Coe?”
Reynolds closed his eyes and blew out a breath. After a moment he shook his head and opened his eyes. “Wow.” He took another moment before reengaging. “It’s been a long time. Years.”
“You didn’t stay in touch?”
“No.”
“He didn’t come to any of the class reunions.”
Reynolds sat up and uncrossed his legs, leaning toward Tracy. “No, he didn’t. I’d heard Archie had some issues when he came back from the Army.”
“What kind of issues?”
“Psychological issues—I heard he had a nervous breakdown—but I don’t know the details.”
“Do you remember who told you that?”
Reynolds shook his head. “No. That was a long time ago.”
“You didn’t reach out to him?”
“I was away at college, and with football practice every day I rarely went home.” Reynolds put his hands to his lips, like a child about to pray. “The town linked the four of us together, Detective. The Four Ironmen.” He sat up again, hands parting. “The truth was, we weren’t all that close off the field. We were friends, but Archie and Darren hung with a different group of kids than Hastey and me.”
“When did you last speak to Darren Gallentine?”
“He went to UW when I was there. I’d see him on campus and occasionally we’d stop and talk for a few minutes, but we didn’t hang out.”
“You’re aware that he also killed himself.”
“Yes. Years ago, I believe.”
“But you and Hastey Devoe have remained close?”
Reynolds shrugged as if to say What are you going to do? “Hastey and I grew up just a few houses apart. When we got to high school, he was a bit of a lost soul. I persuaded him to come out for football. Actually, my dad took one look at the size of him and mandated he come out for football.” Reynolds smiled. “He thought it would be good for Hastey’s self-confidence and conditioning. He told Hastey he’d make him a star, and he did. Hastey could have played in college if he’d kept his grades up, but he couldn’t do it. Hastey’s always needed structure, a guiding hand. He didn’t always get it at home.”
“Why’s that?”
“His father was hard on him. He was hard on all of them. They didn’t measure up to his standards, except for maybe Nathaniel, but he died—hunting accident. That just seemed to make it harder on Lionel and Hastey. Hastey Senior wasn’t bashful about telling his sons he was disappointed in them. He was a tough guy to like.”
“So you and your father took Hastey Junior under your wing?”
“In a sense I guess you could say that. It was just my dad and me. We lost my mom to cancer when I was eight. Hastey spent a lot of nights at my house. We’ve stayed close.”
“Isn’t he a bit of a liability?”
Reynolds smiled, closed lips. “That’s why we took him off driving and gave him a desk job.” He sat up. “Look, despite his faults, he’s good with people, affable. He’s self-effacing and doesn’t come on with a hard sell. Customers like him. So do I.”
“You know he was arrested for another DUI.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So you’re not just keeping him on the payroll out of a sense of loyalty?”
“That’s part of the reason, sure.” Reynolds set an elbow on the table. “He’s not a bad guy, Detective. He needs help. Lionel protects him and makes it too easy for him. Maybe this latest arrest will change that.”
“I’m surprised Lionel doesn’t listen to you, given that you were a big supporter of his campaign for chief of police.”
Another smile. “First of all, Lionel is his brother, and Hastey is a grown man. Second, ‘big supporter’ here doesn’t have the same meaning I suspect it might have in Seattle. A couple thousand bucks to buy posters, a billboard, and some bumper stickers isn’t much. Life’s been good to me. If I can spread some of that good to help old friends or people who can use it, I try. I’m no saint, but I try.”
“Like this golf tournament?”
“Exactly like this golf tournament. It raises money for the school. Some families have fallen on hard times with the economy, and the money helps pay for books, teachers’ salaries, those things.”
“And a football stadium to be named after your father?”
“No. The funds aren’t used for that.”
“Straight out of your pocket?”
“The company’s pocket.”
“You drove a Ford Bronco in high school.”
Reynolds looked mildly surprised at the sudden change in topic. “This is a trip down memory lane. That’s a long time ago. Yes, I drove a Ford Bronco, back before OJ made them infamous.” He smiled, seemingly at the recollection. “It was canary yellow with running lights across the roof, a roll bar and black canopy, oversize tires, a winch mounted to the front grille, and one of those foghorns. If you couldn’t see us, you could hear us coming from a mile away. I’m not sure it could have been any more obnoxious. We’d pile in that thing and drive through town after games, and Hastey would blow the horn. People loved it.”
“Did you hunt?”
“My father did. I wasn’t much for killing animals. I liked to go four-wheeling, though, especially after a hard rain. That car would be caked in so much mud you couldn’t tell the color.”
“You ever go four-wheeling in the clearing?”
“The clearing off 141?”
“Yeah.”
Reynolds seemed to give it some thought before answering. “Probably once or twice, but that was more of a weekend party destination. We’d get six or seven cars out there, turn on the headlights, crank the music, and drink beer.” He shrugged. “It was harmless stuff.”