The harbor bustled with activity as Matthew pushed his way to the ships. Steel hulls bobbed in the water, men scurrying to unload cargo while more shipments were passed to them. A constant cycle of work.
Matt smoothed his blond hair, feeling out of place amidst the mangy, scruffy, muscle-bulging sailors. He walked along the sea-stained boards into the fog, yelling, “Excuse me! Do you know a Caldwell? Hermes Caldwell?”
A man with tattoos across his face made eye contact. “The anchorite?”
Oh perfect. Perhaps he wouldn’t smell like fried fish and beer. “Yes. What religious sect is he?”
The man laughed heartily, the rest following suit. “His own salvation. Old coot haunts the harbor in his skimmer. Check the far end by the bar. You’ll find the anchorite.” The men continued to laugh as Matthew got off the deck and onto land.
He made his way down to the bar, the bustle and ships fading away. A few drunks sat on the deck of the rundown bar. One of its lights flickered in the thick mist. Nothing seemed to be there except ocean and a rotting pier.
A light shone in the fog. A small boat pulled into the inlet. The blue hull had a fresh coat of paint, the windows clean minus some droplets. The motor groaned as the sailor turned off the engine and jumped ashore.
His frail frame moved nimbly, tying the ship to the dock and stopping its forward momentum. Gray hair peeked from underneath a flat beret cap. A heavy trench coat distinguished his small frame, heavy rainboots shaking the pier.
Matthew cleared his throat. “Hermes Caldwell.”
The man froze. A gravelly voice reverberated through the fog. “I want to be left alone.”
Matt adjusted his suit jacket. “Believe me, I’d love to do so, but Aris Caldwell insisted I come.”
The man stayed still. Then, he turned. Amber eyes glittered in his wrinkled face. “They finally caught him, didn’t they?”
Matthew grabbed a notebook from his suit pocket. “If you mean he was arrested for drug and gun smuggling, yes.”
Hermes looked over the young man. “And that makes you?”
He extended his hand. “Matthew Graves, prosecutor on your brother’s case.” When he didn’t shake his hand, Matt took it back. “Aris Caldwell insists he’s innocent. Says the smuggling operation through your transport business went back to your administration. That you, Hermes Caldwell, were the mastermind.”
The sailor gave a sharp laugh. “Blame the hermit no one’s seen in thirty years. Genius defense.”
Matthew smiled. “That’s why I dug you up. So you could tell me what really happened.”
Caldwell straightened and nodded toward the boat. “Best sit down. It’s a long tale.”