2019-07-16 - The Bayside Killer

Dawn, the ever-cheerful, mans the small ticket booth, selling tickets for the sunset cruise to those who stop by, but otherwise thins are quiet. Tobin wanders the deck of the smaller boat, checking for things that passengers inevitably leave behind for the lost and found. There's rarely a trip where someone doesn't lose a phone or pair of sunglasses.

Alexander approaches from the shore. He looks very Alexanderish, in general - a barely-holding-together Iron Maiden t-shirt over a white undershirt, old jeans that are probably a bit too hot for this weather, stompy boots. He doesn't stop by the ticket booth, although there's a curt nod towards Dawn as he makes a wide berth around the tourists. Most of the townies keep their distance already. He heads for the boat, although doesn't trespass on it, instead leaning a hip on one of the posts at the edge, and watching Tobin with his flat, tired gaze. "Mister Gilford," he says, after a moment or two of impolite staring. "Lose something?"

Dawn doesn't even blink twice as Alexander goes by, offering him a cheerful little wave. Then she goes back to what she was doing. Tobin glances up at the sound of the voice and says, "Hey." He chuckles and shakes his head, "No, but the passengers usually do." He leans down and finds a pair of sunglasses under one of the benches, and a comb that likely fell out of someone's pocket on another bench. He tosses them into a little plastic bag that seems to already have a phone in it. "How's it going? Feel free to come aboard if you like."

Alexander hesitates, studying the boat for a long time. "Didn't go that great last time I came aboard," he points out, although there's a spark of dry humor, there. He pushes off from where he was leaning, and steps on, taking a moment to let his balance adjust to the slight instability of the water. His gaze flicks to the plastic bag, lingering on the phone. "Hope your business didn't suffer from that. Are you well?"

Tobin glances at the boat and then over at Alexander, "Well it's not actually going anywhere this time." Then he glances sidelong and says, "Or is it?" Ominous. Spooky. He can't keep a straight face, though. You live through enough crazy shit in Gray Harbor and after a while you have to laugh at some of it or you'll just go nuts. "Doesn't seem to have," Tobin says when Alexander mentions his business. "You know how it goes. Most folks just sort of seem to rationalize things away, and then they forget that anything fucked up ever happened.. except for folks like us." Folks who Glimmer, particularly as strongly as both of them do. "I'm doing alright. Actually, doing pretty well, which is unsettling in its own way."

"If the boat disappears, I'd like to put in a vote for somewhere with Bloody Marys, rather than bloody us. If the Captain has any say over the destination." Alexander deadpans it, finding somewhere to lean and crossing his arms over his chest. Apparently he's not all THAT worried about the boat slipping sideways again, at least at the moment. "I'm glad, though. Even if they don't remember exactly, sometimes they remember that something creeped them out." His head turns, studying the wandering tourists and townies on the docks. The ones that don't stand out. "It's frustrating. The lack of memory." Attention returns to Tobin, eyebrows lift. "Waiting for the other shoe to drop?"

"I'll see what I can do," Tobin replies in the same sort of deadpan. "Of course, last time I just got knocked unconscious... twice.. so I'm not sure how much of a say the Captain gets in these things." He smiles a bit ruefully. Given that he's been running tours since he was employed here in high school, one sideways slip in some 12 years doesn't seem like that bad a track record given the town. Not finding any more lost items, Tobin sets the bag on a seat and plops down on one of the benches, putting his feet up on the one in front of him. "It is if you're trying to talk to someone about it, but then.. I spent most of my life specifically /not/ talking about it. I'm still getting used to this.. sharing." Taking a deep breath he lets it out slowly, "Since we killed those people.. things have felt.. lighter? The summer even better than usual? And that fucks with me.. The darkness /liked/ what we did at that theatre. You know? Which to me.. is a scary and slippery slope. You know? Don't want to get too comfortable."

Alexander's expression transforms when Tobin mentions killing the actors, and his reaction. There's an intense, almost pathetic sort of relief. "You...slept better? After that?" He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath, lets it out. "I thought it was just me. That I was just--" he doesn't finish the sentence. Reaches up instead to rub at his face. "It didn't last for me, though. Summer is usually better, but it's just been," he searches for a word, "oppressive. Even without everything." He refocuses, and offers a grim little nod. "But I understand. Yes. It was a reward, it felt like. 'Want to sleep? Want to feel good? There are a lot of people in the world who might need killing'." There's a pause. "I've been trying to find the one who ran."

Tobin nods and says, "Yeah. I did. There were no nightmares for a while, nothing out of the ordinary. Things just felt.. lighter. And it pissed me off. We were trapped in a no-win situation. Survive or die. And when the scales were tipped that way, I chose survival. Being rewarded for that makes my skin crawl." He says, "But I also met someone, and I've been reconnecting with old friends, and .. it's just been, not all that bad. It hasn't felt particularly oppressive for me." He does look a little bit surprised when Alexander says he's been tracking the one who ran. "Do you know where she went? What do you plan to do if you find her?"

"There's no shame in survival, Mister Gilford." Alexander says it quietly, but firmly, his near-black gaze resting on the other man with a peculiar sort of intensity. Then his eyes drop. "But no. I know. It wasn't a good feeling, and not something to be rewarded for." His fingers tug at his sleeve, pulling at a couple of loose threads. "Congratulations. On meeting someone. And friends. And it hasn't been a bad summer for anyone I've talked to. It might just be me." He makes the loco finger twirl at his own temple, with a soft, self-mocking sort of chuckle. The last comments, though, have him ducking his head. "No. Not yet. I know who she might be. The child of a woman who killed herself at Heaven's Gate. And I haven't," a long pause, "I haven't decided what I will do. If I find her. It might depend on what I find. If she's just...mourning. Or if she's still feeding people to the Dark."

"I'm not ashamed of surviving, or making the choice that I did. It just makes me /angry/ that they took pleasure in it," Tobin says, rubbing his face a bit with both hands before letting them drop again. "Thanks," he says. "It just makes me nervous. Good things usually mean that bad things are coming." He shakes his head, then, and says, "What's been going on with you?" And he does seem genuinely concerned. He does nod though, when he mentions that he might know who she is, and that he isn't sure what he'll do. "If you need any help, or backup, I'd be willing to help."

"Death or making Them happy. It's a hell of a choice to have to make," Alexander agrees. He doesn't argue with the pessimistic view of good things, not at all. He turns to look out at the water. "Ah. A bit. Things are changing. Or I never understood them in the first place. Both equally likely. People brought something back. From over there. The bones of a serial killer. Why I'm here, actually," he adds, with a faint smile. "He was rumored to kill some of his victims by running them over with a boat and letting them sink into the bay." A wave at the beautiful water. "Decided to take a walk down here. Someone's looking for...the bones? The serial killer? And might be killing people. It's been hectic." The offer gets a startled look. He turns back to study Tobin. "Really? You never seemed." The pause is long enough that it feels like he just doesn't intend to finish that sentence. But, eventually, he says, "You seemed like you liked to be as normal as you could be. I might." Need help goes unspoken. "But it doesn't have to be you. I don't want to make things unpleasant for you."

"They.. brought something back?" Tobin asks. "That's possible?" Clearly, not something that he was aware of. "That's.." He mulls that over, letting it turn over and over in his head for a moment or two. "That's.. good and terrifying at the same time." It opens the door to a lot of possibilities that both give him hope and concern. Then he looks back at Alexander and says, "So wait.. they brought back bones of the serial killer, and now there's someone looking for the bones and killing people?" He tries to make sure that he got the story straight. Though Alexander's surprise draws a wry smile from him. "My mother knew I Glimmered really brightly from the time I was a little kid. She was scared for me. She was scared for all children than Glimmer, to be honest. That's part of why she tried to adopt nearly everyone in Gray Harbor. She wanted to protect the children, particularly those who had rough home lives. She taught me to hide in plain sight as best as I could. If I didn't seem other than normal, then.. well.. I was doin' it right." He rubs the back of his neck a bit, "But.. she vanished, and I'm pretty sure that she's stuck somewhere beyond the Veil.. but I don't know how to get there, or how to find her. I've been trying, for almost a decade, to learn how to get in voluntarily, but I can't. And I was afraid even if I could, I wouldn't be able to get her back out." He blows out a sigh then says, "Things are already unpleasant for me. I'm just finally at a point in my life where I'm tired of not saying anything and going through it alone. So if you need help -- I'll help."

Alexander laughs at Tobin's reaction. "It was a surprise to me, as well. I'm still not sure if it was some quality of the group that found the bones, or the bones themselves. Since they were of a real person. Maybe real things can transition? But it's difficult to know what's real." A thoughtful pause. "The bones were cleansed of all resonance, as well. And someone was looking for the serial killer before the bones were found. Whoever - or whatever - it is, seems to be able to pull people into the lost places. I and some others got sucked into a sewer, others were attacked at the hospital." Then he falls silent, listening. He looks down at his feet, one hand rubbing nervously at the stubble on his jawline. "I don't. Want to get your hopes up, Mister Gilford. But there has been some hypothesizing that includes the possibility that some of those who disappeared might still live. Over there. That time doesn't always run the same way. And some people - like the actors - seem to be capable of pulling people into these places. Perhaps, if someone still lived, if the right place was known..." he grimaces. "There are a lot of 'ifs', and I clearly understand less than I thought I did. I don't want to get your hopes up. But," a breath, "if we find the last actor. Maybe we could ask her."

"I heard about the sewer," Tobin says. "And someone named Billy that folks were looking for. I take it that's the serial killer? The bones?" He fiddles a little bit with a loose thread at the end of his sleeve, twisting it around between his fingers as he thinks. "That is a lot of 'ifs'" Tobin concedes, though still, it's something. "It's something to continue to look into, to figure out if it's possible." He shakes his head, "The only thing I'm certain of, is that there's a lot more that I don't know than that I do. Best we can do is keep putting each other's pieces together to try and figure out what the puzzle is even about. But yeah, if we could find her, maybe we could get some answers." He doesn't sound like he suspects she'd be particularly forthcoming with those answers, but one never knows.

Alexander tips his head in a nod. "William Gohl. Billy the Ghoul. Likely upwards of a hundred and forty victims in the early nineteen hundreds. While I gather he didn't look like much, in some respects, his work ethic was admirable," he says, dryly. Then lapses into silence. Just staring at Tobin for a long moment, thinking about something. "I don't have much - mostly a car, a license plate, her description, the name she's using. But it hasn't been sighted around here. She might have skipped town entirely." Another of those long pauses. "Is that why you never left, Mister Gilford? Many of us at least try. But you never did. Was it because you hoped to find your mother?"

"That's committment, right there," Tobin says, expression a little bit grim. He doesn't seem to mind the silence. There's a lot to think about, and his own thoughts are turning over and over again, over what information they have. Though the question shakes him out of that reverie. He nods, "Yeah. I figured, even if I couldn't find her, get to where she is, at least she'd know where I would be if she could get out. I didn't want to risk going somewhere else. You know I kept in touch with Byron the whole time he went off to California? He forgot things, when he was there. Sometimes I'd mention something, and he wouldn't really recall it, or recall it differently. It's like getting farther away makes things fuzzier. Couldn't risk it."

"Never let it be said that we don't raise some driven, goal-oriented individuals here in Gray Harbor," Alexander says, oh so blandly. The rest seems to fascinate him. He moves away from where he was leaning, and takes a seat on the bench across from Tobin. "I remember that. When I left. I remembered things, but they were distant. I could look down at a scar and think 'oh yes, that's the time my classmates tried to feed me to the table saw', but it was like it was actually just a dream - not a Dream - and it was hard to care about it, to fear it." He frowns, thinking back. "My abilities weakened, as well. Harder to feel people, harder to push them, although I could still do both. But I didn't pick up random things, and I didn't leak as much. Life was better."

He refocuses on Tobin. "But I didn't have anything I particularly wished to remember. And you do. Important difference. And you've done well." He gives a nod, indicating the boat with the faintest of smiles.

"I couldn't risk losing her. She tried so hard to protect everyone, and nobody could protect her. I couldn't. I wasn't there. And now, ten years later, and I don't feel like I'm any closer to finding her than I was when she vanished," Tobin says, spreading his hands a bit and then letting them drop. "It's like it is here in town, with the folks that don't Glimmer, except much worse further away. Everything gets all muffled, dampened. I figure if people don't come back here, eventually they'd just forget it all. Maybe that'd be better for them. I don't fault anyone for leaving." All of his friends from childhood had at some point or another. "In fact, maybe it'd be healthier for everyone here, in the long run. But I can't. I'm not sure I would even if I found her, at this point. It'd feel like getting a willing lobotomy -- knowing what would happen."

Alexander winces at the metaphor. "It was a nice lobotomy. For a while." He takes a deep breath, lets it out. "I'm crazy, not foolish. Not overly foolish. So I'm not gonna say anything stupid like 'we're going to find your mom'. She might be dead. And if she is still alive - hell. I can't imagine she's going to be in good shape." He's a reassuring sort of guy, really. "But whatever I can do to help. Find her. Get her back if she can be found. I'm happy to help. If that's a thing you want," he adds, with a sudden awkward hesitance. He's talking to Tobin on the tour boat, in the evening before the dinner cruise. Alexander's sitting across from the other man, and a bit down from him, resting his elbows on his knees, and staring with that impolitely direct manner he has.

There's a bar and restaurant not far away, and that's the direction Declan walks from. The boardwalk steps are descended quickly so that he can walk along the doc, steps meandering and attention out towards the ocean. He's a little old to be a bus boy, but that's how he's dressed. There's even still a towel over his shoulder, he probably forgot it, and his forehead has a few drops of sweat. Seeing two people, he strolls in their direction and tries to determine if he knows them.

"She might be," Tobin concedes to Alexander, "But she might not be. And I'm going to hold out hope until I have proof otherwise. And.. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," he adds, if she's in bad shape, when they find her, if they find her. "I'll figure out what I want when the time comes, if the time comes, I guess." He sits on the opposite bench with his feet up on the one across from him. The boat is empty. The next tour won't be boarding for a bit, and so it's just tied up along the dock. Tobin is another one of those who has never left town, and is only a couple of years younger than Declan. He doesn't know the man personally, but he knows him by sight and by name well enough. It's a small town. He gives him an up-nod as he approaches and says, "Hey," in greeting.

Alexander sits up, his posture becoming a touch wary and defensive when he hears the sound of footsteps approaching. He turns to study Declan with a flat, dark gaze. But, after an uncomfortably long moment, he blinks. "I've seen you around. Mister...Hopper? Yes?" Because someone spends way too much time keeping creepy tabs on townies. Alexander himself is likely to recognizable to them in turn, although not necessarily in a good way. But for the moment, he seems friendly (for him), because he asks, "Are you well?" A glance at the towel, then at the manner of dress. "Glasses escape into the wild?"

"Hey man," Declan replies to Tobin. That's how he greets a lot of people, especially ones he doesn't know incredibly well. "How you been?" He turns and side-eyes Alexander while finishing his approach. He stops the on the dock, smirks, and shakes his head. "Funny. But no. They told me to clean some crap up out here. Guess they meant you." He smiles for only a moment before it fades. "I'm fine. You two?" He looks between them.

"Doing alright. Taking a break before the sunset tour. Come on aboard if you want," Tobin nods toward the little ramp that leads onto the boat. There's a bit of a smirk at the back and forth between Declan and Alexander, and he shakes his head a bit. "If they're going to send you to clean up my boat, tell'm I accept the free labor. That's awful generous of them." He shifts his elbows to rest on the back of the bench to either side of him. "Oh, you know, another beautiful day in the neighborhood. You?"

"I'm not crap." It's more toneless than angry, like Alexander is just correcting what must be a simple and legitimate misunderstanding. There's a long pause. "And you were being sarcastic. About it being funny." His shoulders hunch a little. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be insulting." Another pause as he replays the last few words and visibly tries to see if they were the right thing to say. He nods to himself. Right. Sounds good. Then focuses back on Declan and Tobin, eyes flicking from one to the other. "I'm fine. Everything is fine."

"Sure," Declan boards the boat and drops down into a seat. He shakes his head at Tobin. "You know nothing in this town comes free," he teases. Declan watches Alexander quietly for a moment. Reaching over, he gently smacks him on the knee. "You're good. Just banter. And no, you aren't crap, man." Declan goes back to reclining. "Glad you're fine." After a nod, Declan turns back to Tobin. "About the same. I'm on break, filling in for a no-show over at Easton's."

Tobin raises a brow, glancing over at Alexander, puzzled for a moment, and then says, "You're fine, man." He grins at Declan then and says, "Never free, but sometimes close enough." He glances out at the sky, which seems to be holding off from raining for the time being. "Two more tours to run this week, then my weekend guy should be taking over. It's nice to have my weekends back for a bit." Things have gotten busier over the summer. "How're things going over there? I should stop by."

Alexander sliiide. Alexander scoots hastily down the bench in a single, quick movement to avoid the casual slap on his knee. His expression doesn't really change, and the avoidance seems more instinctual than anything he even thinks about. He even relaxes, slightly. Offering a brief, faint smile to Declan, then Tobin. "Banter. Right. Sorry. You work with Easton." It seems to warm him towards Declan, noticeably. He rubs at his face, takes a breath, lets it out. "Weekend guy?" A curious look in Tobin's direction. "You're letting someone else drive your boat?"

"Must be a good feeling," Declan tells Tobin with a grin. "Far as I can tell, they're good. I don't work there full time, just when he needs someone to fill in and I have time. Usually to bus," he indicates his attire, "or line chef, I think. Two worst jobs. I think he has good people for the others. Anyway," he rubs his head, "work's work, money's great this time of year. No complaints." Declan doesn't remark on the sliding, and he doesn't move again. "Sometimes," he tells Alexander, re-emphasizing what was already said with a nod.

"Oh hell no, I'm not letting him drive," Tobin says with a laugh. "I have Jim to drive the boat when I'm not around, or running the other one." He nods toward the bigger cruising boat that's docked further down. Jim's in his fifties, retired Navy, and has been a Captain for the tour boat company since before the owner sold it to Tobin. He has no interest in running things, though. Jim just likes taking the boats out, and not having to talk to tourists. "Nah, Ignacio's just going to do the talking -- give the actual tour parts. He's the guy I'm seeing's brother." He then nods to Declan and says, "Yeah, this is the time we make most of our money to tide us over through the winter. When the summers aren't good, it makes it for a rough down season."

Alexander follows Tobin's nod. "Oh, yes. I've seen him." His expression suggests that this is a known factor, and therefore acceptable. He returns his attention to Tobin with a hint of suspicion as the man goes on, though. "Ignacio. I don't know that name." The connection to Tobin is clearly filed away, Alexander looking thoughtful but still suspicious. Maybe constructing elaborate conspiracy theories of Ignacio and Unknown Brother intending to take poor Tobin's business away from him through skullduggery. It's just that kind of face. But at least he doesn't start rambling about any potential theories. Yet. Instead, his eyes flick to Declan. "Tourists help. When we get them. Even I get more work, and as you say, money is money."

Declan listens quietly the mention of Ignatio and the situation with the boats. He grins a little, attention drifting to the vessel. "Yeah, I'd guessed. A little surprised you guys don't do a good fall season, though. I always like it out here better that time of year." He turns to Alexander. "Yeah, it is. What're you doing these days for work?"

"It's purely for ulterior motives -- a) I could use some time off, b) if he can pay his half of the rent, the likelihood that the both of them will stay in town goes up," Tobin says with a grin. "You know, provided that the town itself doesn't drive them back to New York." He can see that face, that suspicion, but just grins. He seems far less concerned about someone trying to steal a barely break-even business in this crazy town. "Fall is alright. It's when it gets super rainy and grey and cold in the winter months and early spring that it isn't so good. We can go a ways into the fall, but the foliage isn't quite what it is in a place like New England, so we're not really the primary stop for that, either." He shrugs his shoulders. If he'd intended to get rich, he would have taken up some other profession.

"Well." Alexander eyes the grin. "I'm glad you have time off. And someone to enjoy it with." He even manages to not ramble about the dangers of the town, even though the fact that it's juuuust on the tip of his tongue is reflected in his features. Thankfully, Declan's question draws his attention and heads him off at the pass. He blinks a couple of times. "I. Um. I'm teaching a couple of classes at the community college. Online. Still taking cases. Researching other things." His brow furrows. "Not getting paid for that. Which may be inefficient. Not sure who would pay me for it."

"I just think the weather's better. I guess people with kids are more inclined towards summer because of school." Declan shrugs and rubs his face. He checks the time on his phone before putting it away. "Didn't realize you did that," he replies to Alexander. "That's great, man. What're you teaching? If you don't mind my asking." Declan gives him a small smile.

Tobin nods to Declan and says, "Yeah. That's why the peak is between when schools start letting out and when they go back in session." He then nods when Alexander mentions teaching. He knew about the classes, and listens as Declan asks about them, seeming content to relax and listen.

Alexander brightens, visibly, when asked. He still hesitates before answering, reaching up to run one hand through his hair. "Two classes. One is a general research methods class - for amateurs who just want to know the best way to sort through a hobby project, or for students who need remedial lessons on why Wikipedia may be a place to start, but it is not a place to end." His voice is dry. "The other is a survey of famous, unsolved crimes throughout the twentieth century, and a little of the nineteenth. Each crime is used to illustrate the methods and resources that investigators of the time had available to them, the context of the political era at the time and how that might have affected the investigation's outcome, and how modern policing and forensics might possibly have led to different outcomes in the cases." He clears his throat. "People are mostly interested in the bloody side, not the details. It's not part of a degree program, so there aren't any real grades that matter, although I do give assignments in both classes."

Declan turns from Tobin to Alexander and watches him with a small smile while he opens up. His fingers lace together and a leg crosses. Most of the things mentioned he doesn't care much about, but he's very good at pretending - and of course he loves listening to people talk. "I never went to college, but I can see how it'd be important to make sure you find good sources." He pauses. "Yeah? The details... hm. So tell me something. Have they ever gone back to some of those crimes and found actual different outcomes? Or does the class not cover that?" He leans forward a little.

"A lot of the students haven't," Alexander says. His spine straightens and his shoulders square a little. "It's not as rigorous as a degree class would be, but it's good enough for people who have a basic question of 'how can I find sources I can trust' about a question they have, whether that's a family tree, or a political issue." He goes quiet when Declan has a question, eyes fixing on him with an attentive, although still rudely direct, sort of look. There's the ghost of a real smile on his face at the question. "Yes. Not the really famous ones - many of those remain unsolved because someone fucked up the evidence in the first place, or because it relied on witness testimony and those people are dead. But there have been convictions overturned, people exonerated, or new people convicted as forensic technology advances. DNA testing, for example, set a great many settled cases on their heads. I bring that up. Try to point out that fifteen years from now, the forensics that we rely on may prove to be just as flawed as things like lie detector tests or bite mark analysis." He studies Declan. "Do you have an interest in criminal history?"

In the distance, if one is perceptive enough, they might notice a black Rolls Royce pulling into the harbor parking area. There's not many here who own a Rolls, even with the Addingtons living in town. That said, there's only one person who owns a Wraith. Byron's been rather moody for the past week or so, that changing temperament intensifying in more recent days. At this moment, despite being dressed down in a fitted long-sleeved shirt worn beneath a motorcycle jacket, black jeans and combat boots, there's this tension to his posture, even if he carries himself along with a casual gait. His eyes are shielded by expensive sunglasses.

He's obviously here to see Tobin, though as he makes his way along the docks, he pauses to take a brief look at the Reede's houseboat just floating there. It brings back memories. While Byron doesn't expect to find Tobin alone, he knows Dawn is working today, he is surprised to see a few others there, especially, "Clayton." He recognizes Declan as well, having run into the guy in town every so often, "Hopper. Glad to see that the weather's gotten far better than it had been earlier in the day."

Declan listens to everything Alexander says, nodding along. His expression shifts to one of concern. "That's..." not good. "Wow. I mean yeah it's great for those people who were wrongly accused but. Damn. I can't even imagine..." Declan trails off. "Sort of. Just one, really. I uh. I work a lot. Not a lot of free time. Keeps me occupied. But I like listening to you talk about it." He catches sight of Byron when he's just a few feet away. Today, Declan's dressed like a bus boy. He's way too old to be a bus boy - but apparently he isn't. "Well look who it is," she says with a big grin. "Mr. High Rise himself. How you doing?" Declan stands up and extends a hand. Byron's a potential client. A potential good client. He probably sees right through the buttering-up. Declan does it anyway.

Tobin knows that car very well, the Wraith. It's often seen parked outside of his tiny cottage that he grew up in on Bayside, which makes for a kind of hilarious cognitive dissonance when it is. He lifts a hand in a wave and says, "Hey Byron, come on aboard, have a seat. We're just hanging out and taking a break before the sunset cruise." He seems to be in a decent enough mood, but he can sense the tension in Byron even without seeing it. "You got business, or you want to come along? We can chat while I drive?" The pilot's seat is in a little cabin up at the front that affords some privacy from the tourists.

The car stands out, as much as Byron does on his own, and Alexander isn't likely to miss either of them. The car itself is studied for long moments, focus switching briefly to Byron himself, then back to Declan as the man speaks. "Most cases aren't complex. If it makes you feel better. The average murder isn't an Agatha Christie novel. It's impulsive, and people are really bad at hiding it. We just hear more about the more interesting ones. But it's not ideal. Recognizing how much is dependent on uncertain methodology." He sits back, eyebrows going up when Declan stands to greet Byron. His own, "Thorne," is soft, toneless. His eyes narrow slowly as he studies the tension in Byron's frame, then he looks back to Tobin, head tilting to one side.

His hands tucked into the pockets of the leather jacket, Byron stands there beside the boat, casting his gaze first, up into the mostly clear sky, before lowering it to stare off into the distance. "I've cleared my schedule for a couple of days to give me time to reflect on a few things." Turning to look on the trio ready to set sail, he considers for a quiet moment before those hands withdraw from the pockets they were buried in. "I've got some time to kill."

Making his way aboard to join the others, he clasps hands with Declan, giving it a firm professional shake. "The weather's been a shit show lately." He'll respond to how he's doing, "I've got tenants who come here only during the summer and with those rolling thunderstorms?" And murder, let's not forget the murder in his building. Taking another look at the trio, he announces, "This is quite a cast of characters we've got here today." Yes, he's mainly pointing out Clayton when he says this. Strolling along the deck, he grasps onto one of the rails with both hands, leaning forward to get a better view of the water. "How booked are we tonight?" For the dinner cruise. And he speaks in the plural, because he'll always take an interest in his best friend's business.

Declan shakes Byron's hand and releases it. He takes a seat a moment later and quiets so that Tobin and Byron can have an exchange as to business. He gives Alexander a wink. When there's a lull in conversation, he replies, "Gotcha. Kind of wish I had time for that stuff. How long have you been studying it?"

"Just a sunset cruise tonight, no dinner. Tuesdays aren't big for the dinner cruise," Tobin says, which happens on the larger of the two boats. "Not too busy tonight. Mondays and Tuesdays are pretty slow unless it's a holiday, then Mondays pick up a bit." He doesn't move from his comfortable sprawl on one of the benches, though his eyes follow Byron, studying him. He's heard about some of the stuff that's been going on. "We were just talking about unsolved crimes, modern forensics, research, using good sources, and Mr. Clayton's classes." He can't help but smile a little. Tobin is unaccustomed to using people's last names as forms of address, and so whenever he does it there's a momentary hesitation as though his brain has to switch gears to ge it right.

Alexander studies Byron, his brow furrowing, as the businessman moves around the ship. If he picks up on his own presence as a character, it doesn't show in his expression, which mostly seems to reflect concern. The wink is caught out of the corner of his eyes, and he shifts so that he can try to keep all three in view while he answers Declan. "Most of my life. I'd guess. I'm sure you have something that draws you, Mister Hopper? That you like to study or practice?" His fingers fidget with the side seams of his jeans as his eyes dart between each of the other three, assessing something.

Despite Byron being with the group in conversation, he keeps some distance away from everyone else, spending time with himself just staring out across the bay. Even with those shades on, his expression is contemplative, but he's not facing any of them, so all they can see is his profile and perhaps the way that his grip tightens onto the rail.

"Right. It slipped my mind that was today was Tuesday." And Byron often runs a tight schedule, remembering various calendar dates. "I'll see what I can do to drum up some interest with the summer tenants at the Apartments. Keep their minds off things." Then there is something of interest, at least, that finally has him turning to look towards the three of them. "Vivian spoke to your, right? Clayton? Is that of any information that we can use?"

"Not really. I like working with my hands, and getting to know people." Declan smiles a bit at Alexander before quieting again. His posture tenses a little when the conversation continues to shift, but he doesn't interrupt or stare at anyone or thing in particular.

There's a definite flicker of concern in Tobin's expression as he studies Byron. The mention of Vivian and information catches his interest, however. He glances over to Alexander to see what he has to say. Then he grins over at Declan and says, "So do I. That's part of why I do this, and not something more.. lucrative, I guess. I like just standing out here on the boat on the water, giving the tours, talking to folks who come out here, answering questions. It's actually pretty cool most of the time."

Alexander's gaze becomes distant at Byron's question, like he's rewinding things inside his head. "Yes. Maybe. I recognized the nickname - Billy the Ghoul. William Gohl. Serial killer from the early nineteen hundreds. The autopsy results strongly align with the background. We'd have to wait for," his expression briefly twists, a flash of sorrow, then a flash of rage, before his expression goes dead again, "Dr. Faust to recover, to have any DNA analysis. But it's quite likely the bones are 'Billy'. Miss Reede indicated that Miss Addington felt rage and hatred towards her family from the entity looking for Billy, providing stronger circumstantial ties to the incidents - Dr. Faust," another hesitation, "remains a potential outlier." He grimaces, and scrubs at his hair with his hands. "At this point," he mutters, "I'd like to do a genealogy of the whole damned town. Too many secrets lurking in blood and marriage."

The conversation at hand is a mere distraction, but it will have to do for now. Byron finally shifts, doing an about face so that he's now leaning back against the rail, rather than forward, both of his hands return to their stabilizing grip. "What are you talking about?" This is asked of Tobin. "This is lucrative. I mean, there might be more that you could do with it and I'm hoping the festival helps with that. A Masquerade aboard a dinner cruise ship." Despite everything that's gone on, he's still working on that damned festival.

Another look is given to Declan as his eyes scan the faces of those around him. For some reason, he's looking on each face carefully. "Right, you're good with your hands." This is to Declan. "One of units was left a total wreck after an unruly tenant checked out. If you have a card, I'll take it."

Alexander, then, starts to rattle off all that he knows about this most recent bit of information that they've found out, but when this Miss Addington is brought up, his already narrowed eyes narrow even more, "Erin Addington, you mean?" This is followed by a quiet, "....shit." And he pushes himself off from his lean against the rail and reaches into his pocket for his phone.

"Sounds like it, Tobin. Few things better than talking and hearing people's stories, and watching them react to yours. Except maybe hanging drywall." Declan's jaw tenses at the description of water, but he nods, seeming to agree. "And he's right, man," Declan gestures to Byron. "Put me on your boat with a half-stocked bar, hire a good DJ, cast off and magic's going to happen. I'm serious. I worked a party boat a couple times." He sighs and grins, teeth flashing with a handsome smile that's a bit wistful. "People will pay anything for an experience like that." Alexander's reply draws his attention away. He does his best to follow what's said, eyes narrowing a few times. Byron's mention makes him draw his wallet out and pull a card free. He stands, walks over to the rail, and hands it over. "You give me a shot to work your apartments, you can call me day or night. I'll give you a quote, no fee." Afterwards, he sits back down.

"Oh man, considering how many generations have been breeding locally, we're probably all distant cousins at this point," Tobin chuckles, shaking his head a little bit. "I'm not sure that's information I want to know." He pulls his feet off the opposite bench and lets them fall to the floor, stretching a little bit, arms overhead before letting them fall again. He grins over at Byron and says "You know I barely break even on this whole gig, right? I mean, I can make the property tax payments on the house and eat and all, but I'm not putting away a retirement fund or anything. It's subsistence living. But hey, I'll take whatever business you want to bring in." He doesn't seem too worried about it. The mention of Erin draws a frown across Tobin's lips. He smiles over at Declan and says, "Then I might have a job or two for you, if you're interested."

"Yes," Alexander says, simply, to Byron's question, and his curse. He watches the man pull out his phone. There's a slight nod, before he turns back to the other two. Tobin's quip gets a brief smile. "If other explanations were not available, copious inbreeding would account for a few of the town's peculiarities." There's a slight, self-mocking edge to it, as if classifying himself as one of the town's 'peculiarities'. The discussion about the boat gets thoughtful, but silent, attention - no one is likely to think that Alexander is a good person to consult about raising the visibility of a business relying on sociability, including himself, it appears. But he is listening, and with a peculiar intensity.

Byron's on the phone with some of his new security hires for the Apartments once Alexander lets some tidbit be known. It's something he was concerned with for a while, but this just confirms his worries. "Warren. Thorne. I want someone positioned on the fifth floor of building A full time. On top of that, with the tenant's permission, I'd like someone to check in on Miss Addington every few hours. I'll let you know whether permission is granted or not."

The last thing he needs is another dead Addington on his property!

He's about to make another call when he notices the card being handed to him. Taking it within his free hand, he looks the information over, gaze lifting to look upon Declan again when he nods, "Thanks. The Super who was attached to the apartments even before I bought it out, picked up and left recently. So I've been without. I'll give you a call later." Then as he starts to dial up, Tobin grabs his attention as well, "I can help you come up with more lucrative events, but I know that's not exactly what you want." Gaze lowering again, "And yet here I am, pushing a festival to draw more attention to your cruise ship." Sure, the festival is all about Tobin's Tour Company! He flashes his friend a grin, before walking a pace of two to the side. Whatever conversation he is expecting next may be a more private one.

Declan says, "Sure, hit me up." Declan nods to Tobin with a smile. "But either way, me or not, you should give it a go." He turns to Byron and gives him a small two fingered salute. "No problem." Declan doesn't sound too concerned, and he quiets again so that other conversations aren't disrupted."

Tobin chuckles and tells Byron, "If you recall, I was there when we first talked about this whole festival idea and volunteered to help out with it." He shrugs his shoulders and smiles. "Oh, we already do events on the bigger ship -- dinner cruises, booze cruises, charity events, that sort of thing. It's just a lot more fuel to run her, so we use this one most of the time for the daytime regular tours."

Alexander's phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his jeans pocket to stare at it for a moment. He stands up even though he doesn't answer it. Declan is given a brief but real smile. "I should go. It was nice to meet you." A nod to Tobin and Byron as they step away. "Thank you for the conversation, Mister Gilford. Thorne. Try not to die." And then he's clambering up and out of the boat, stopping a moment on the dock to let his body readjust, then walking away, head down and shoulders hunched.

Byron if off to the side, speaking into his Bluetooth headpiece so that he doesn't need to keep his phone by his ear. From the looks of it, he's leaving a voice mail for someone as there doesn't seem to be any back and forth with his conversation.

"Later, man," Declan replies to Alexander. "Be good to yourself." He turns back to Tobin. "Ahhhhh. Gotcha." He shifts in his seat a little. "Do you guys need me to take off so you can talk business? I don't mind." He thumbs the dock, but doesn't move to stand quite yet.

Tobin lifts a hand and waves to Alexander as he wanders off. Then he turns back to Declan, looking between he and Byron. He seems to consider that for a moment or two, and then says, "Yeah, I should probably talk to him. Something's up." He smiles at Declan though and says, "But.. drop by any time. Come out on one of the tours sometime, just for the hell of it, if you feel like it. Was good to finally meet you." He does stand then, and offers a hand.

Once the call is done, Byron rejoins the group, slipping his phone back into jeans pocket. He may have been tense earlier, but that tension turns into a nervous energy now. "I'm not sure where the safest place for any Addington to be is, right now. The Addington House? That's just asking for disaster, I think." He more quietly asides to Tobin, but Declan can probably overhear what he has to say, "And despite all the security measures I'd taken for my tenants, we were still unable to keep a killer out."

Declan stands and shakes Tobin's hand with a clap. It's given one good shake before he also pats him gently on the arm. "Sure. Be good to yourself." He releases Tobin's hand. "And enjoy the tour." With a brief smile, he nods to both men before hopping off the boat so that they can continue their conversation in private. He walks back in the direction of Easton's place, adjusting the towel on his shoulder.

Tobin waves to Declan as he departs and then says to Byron, "Seriously, man, there's only so much you can do. You're doing the best that you can against the insanity that is this place." He reaches over and gives Byron's shoulder a squeeze. "Come on, let's go hide up front before the tourists start coming in." He grabs the bag of lost and found items and quickly drops them off with Dawn at the little ticket booth before heading up front to where he sits when he's actually steering the ship.

On a normal day, with Byron already having cleared his schedule, he would have agreed to go along with Tobin and chill out for a bit. He did come to visit his best friend at the docks after all. However, that changes once he receives a text message and he begins a rather brief correspondence with the other person on the end. Whatever he's text conversing about, it seems to be a serious matter. There's even a point where he types nothing, looking to be waiting for a response and his eye barely leave the screen of his phone, needing to watch the exact moment when a certain reply is given him.

That reply must have come. Not even the reassuring squeeze at his shoulder stirs him from this private conversation on his phone. The phone is slipped back into his pocket, the stony expression he wore just moments ago fades and he shares a half-smile with Tobin. "I'd love to. It's not often that I get a chance to sail the bay. Well, the opportunity is always there, but..." His brows lift in this look of light-hearted exasperation to go with the sigh that follow, "Just got a tenant's message. Wants me to check up on something." He then pats at his leather jacket's breast pocket, "It's a good thing that I have Hopper's card, eh?"