by Barry Eisler
She wanted to answer. She hated that talking about these things was so hard for her.
She settled on “You’re a good friend, Carl.”
He looked down, then back at her. “Is that all I am? A friend?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have . . . a lot of experience with these things.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
She looked at him, and after a moment he gave her a small grin. “Okay, maybe a little experience. But not, you know.”
She thought maybe she did. And it was nice that it was as hard for him to talk about it as it was for her.
“I want to stick around,” he said. “But you’re probably facing a lot of questions, and I think it would be better for both of us if they didn’t involve me.”
She nodded. But she didn’t want him to leave.
“But how about this,” he said. “When you’re done with the questions, and all the paperwork and whatever, let’s talk, okay? I mean, if we really are friends, we can do that, right?”
She nodded again.
“On the other hand,” he went on, “if that’s as much talking as you’re willing to do, it might be a short conversation.”
She laughed. She so loved the way he could make her do that.
He smiled, maybe loving that he could do it, too.
She reached out and touched his cheek. She knew he liked that. And the strange thing was, she had come to like it, too.
He put his hand over hers. “Of course, if you’re going to do that, we don’t need to talk at all.”
He leaned in and kissed her softly. She didn’t mind. Not even a little.
“I’ll stay for a while,” he said. “Call me when you’re ready, okay? Don’t make me kill a bunch of bad people again just to get your attention.”
She laughed. And then she kissed him back.
48
Sherrie Dobbs’s bed rest had been due to preeclampsia—high blood pressure during pregnancy—and when Livia reached her, the condition had escalated to eclampsia. Her placenta had separated from her uterus before labor, and she was hemorrhaging even as she had the baby. Just a little while longer, and she would have died.
But she didn’t. She lived. And so did her baby girl.
The day after her ordeal, she and her husband gave a press conference right from her hospital bed in Palm Springs. Sherrie told everything: How Congressman Kane had raped her when they were in high school, including the song he had made her listen to and then put in his yearbook entry to taunt her—her and Hope Jordan and Noreen Prentis. How she had spoken with Hope after Noreen had disappeared, and how afraid they had been. How the other man in custody now, Stephen “Snake” Spencer, had abducted her from her house after murdering Kanab Police Chief Tom Cramer and then driven her to the Salton Sea. Sherrie made sure to thank Seattle Police Detective Livia Lone and Homeland Security Investigator B. D. Little by name—thank them for the personal risks they had taken, and for saving both Sherrie’s life and the life of her newborn baby.
And there was another man she thanked. No one knew his name or what he had been doing on the poisonous shores of the Salton Sea at three in the morning, and Sherrie Dobbs had been delirious and remembered only a little about him, but he had shown up at just the right time to help Detective Lone deliver Sherrie’s baby and then race mother and daughter to the hospital. The media was referring to the man as the Good Samaritan, and he was urged to come forward and be recognized for his heroism.
The sight of that determined woman—alongside her supportive husband and their new baby—relating such a horrifying tale from her own hospital bed was spectacularly telegenic. Livia watched on the cable stations and knew that, despite all his power and connections, Boomer was done.
Ironically, even as Sherrie told her story, Boomer and Snake were being treated at the same hospital. Snake had two broken arms, a separated shoulder, a fractured pelvis, a shattered knee, and two ruptured testicles. With enough physical therapy, one day he would be able to feed himself. But he was never going to walk again, at least not without pain. As for Boomer, in addition to various more superficial injuries, he had two ruptured eyeballs. He was facing multiple surgeries, and doctors were optimistic that he might retain some degree of vision in at least one of his eyes.
Little and Livia had talked that night at the hospital, and Little explained that he had gotten on top of Boomer and managed to get his thumbs in the man’s eyes. Boomer was younger and stronger, and had all the martial-arts training, too, so in the immediate aftermath, Little had attributed the outcome to a surge of ferocity boiling up out of a lifetime of pent-up hatred and rage. But in considering it afterward, Little wondered whether Boomer had been fighting as hard as he might have. Maybe it was because he was drunk. But Little sensed also that for whatever reason, something inside the man had already given up.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” he said. He reached into a bag he was carrying and took out something wrapped in Carl’s bloody shirt.
“Your knife,” he said. “Didn’t have anything else to wrap it in. I searched the bodies before I left. Didn’t take long to find—that thing has quite the profile. Anyway, it belongs with you.”
Livia went back to Seattle. She had called Strangeland, who told her she better report immediately to a very agitated Chief Best. And so the following day, Livia found herself back in the chief’s office—the view again, and the photographs, and the courtesies. They sat as they had last time, and after a brief attempt to wait Livia out, Best broke the silence by saying, “When I told Lieutenant Strangeland you had forty-eight hours to put the toothpaste back in the tube, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Livia nodded. “It wasn’t what I was picturing, either.”
Best gave her a tight smile. “Last time we spoke, it was about the ambush at the martial-arts academy, and the mysterious dead snipers outside your apartment. Seems almost quaint now, doesn’t it?”
Livia didn’t respond, and Best continued. “You’re lucky Sherrie Dobbs is such a powerful presence on television. I heard she’s being booked on all the big shows. And other women are coming forward now. Even some from Iraq. I don’t see how Boomer Kane survives this. The FBI is looking into his father now, too. Gonna be quite the circus.”
“Good.”
Best sighed. “You have anything to tell me, Detective Lone?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, Chief Best. Charmaine.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Any notions regarding who those six men were, for example. The ones that were all shot, apparently by someone with a high-powered rifle.”
“I’d have to defer to the FBI on that. It’s their case now, because of the interstate aspects.”
“I assume your thoughts will be the same regarding the three men you killed in a gunfight in Kanab.”
“I have no idea who they were. I hope the FBI can find out.”
“Any thoughts on what caused the explosion that stopped Snake Spencer’s car? San Diego County Sheriff’s Department says they think it was some kind of miniature drone.”
“I wish I knew. I’m just glad something stopped him, whatever it was.”
“And this Good Samaritan. Do you think it’s possible he was the one who shot the six men?”
“I guess so. I’m glad someone did.”
“It seems the shooter also crippled Mr. Spencer. Quite the marksman—six headshots, but one knee shot. Why would that be?”
“I guess no one’s perfect?”
Best gave her the tight smile again. Livia felt so drained, it didn’t faze her. If the chief wanted her scalp, she was welcome to try. She might even get it. Compared to Sherrie Dobbs being safe, Livia didn’t really care.
“You’re going to receive an award for valor for this,” Best said. “At the rate Sherrie Dobbs is going, you might even become famous. How does that feel?”
The truth was, it felt awful. She hated the attention. And feared it.
But she couldn’t tell Best
that. The woman might use it against her in some way. Or, her imagination circumscribed by her own political ambitions, she might think Livia was lying, and feel even more threatened as a result.
So all Livia said was, “I’m just glad Sherrie Dobbs is safe. And her baby. And I hope the Bureau is able to find out what happened to all those other girls.”
Best set down her coffee cup. Livia took that as her cue and stood. Best followed suit and walked her to the door.
Best put her hand on the door handle, then paused. She seemed to be struggling with something. After a moment, she looked at Livia and said, “I’m glad about Sherrie Dobbs, too. And her baby. And everything else. You did well, Livia.”
Livia was surprised—surprised enough to be a little touched. “Thank you, Charmaine.”
Then the moment was gone. Best straightened and opened the door.
“But watch yourself, Detective Lone. Because I’ll certainly be watching. You can count on that.”
49
After seeing Best, Livia took the stairs to the fifth floor. Homicide and Sex Crimes. When she walked into the office area, two cops at their desks stood and started clapping, slowly and in unison. Livia felt herself flush. She kept walking. Other cops stood and joined in the tribute. Livia nodded because it would have been disrespectful to do nothing in acknowledgment, but all she could think was how much she wanted to be alone.
And then Suzanne Moore, another sex-crimes detective who, like Donna, had early on taken Livia under her wing, came over. She put a hand on Livia’s shoulder, leaned close, and whispered, “I am so fucking proud of you.”
Livia continued on. She made it into Strangeland’s office and closed the door, and the applause was mercifully over.
Strangeland came around the desk and looked at her. “You okay?” she said.
Livia nodded. “Concussion. I’ll be fine.”
Strangeland paused. Head injuries obviously weren’t what she had been talking about, but she let it go.
“You talked to the chief?”
Livia nodded. “I think she’s feeling a little . . . ambivalent.”
Strangeland laughed. “What she’s feeling is confused. She thought you were some kind of threat. Now she’s wondering if Livia Lone, hero cop of the Seattle Police Department, might be a political asset. Probably she’s worried it’s both.”
Livia looked at her. “I don’t care if I’m a threat to Best. But I want to be an asset to you. I’m sorry about all this, LT. For the position I put you in.”
“You did your job, Livia. I’ll never ask you to do anything else.”
“Thanks.”
“Except maybe tell me about it. Off the record.”
Livia laughed. Having avoided the exigency she had feared, she’d canceled and deleted the email to Strangeland that otherwise would have gone automatically. Still, she thought she could tell the lieutenant some of it. But only some.
“Coffee?” Strangeland said. “What do you say?”
“Starbucks?”
“Nah, we’d probably run into that guy who was hitting on you. Let’s go to your place. Caffe Vita. I’m buying.”
Livia smiled. “Deal.”
“Oh, one more thing. But this one I’m not asking. I’m ordering.”
Livia waited, and she went on. “You’re taking a vacation. A real one. Away from Seattle, away from the job. I don’t care if you need to be sedated the whole time. You’re taking one, understand? And not just because there’s going to be mandatory administrative leave and another officer-involved investigation, which even as those words leave my mouth I find I can’t quite believe. But because you need one. And this time, you’re going to do what I tell you.”
Livia thought of Carl. She said, “I think a vacation might be good.”
Epilogue
One month later, Livia was back in Kanab, riding the Ducati, the endless sky a vibrant blue, the desert wind warm against her leathers.
Despite Strangeland’s insistence about the vacation, there had been a lot of paperwork to fill out, and countless interviews with various federal, state, and local law-enforcement agencies. Not to mention another Force Investigation Team convened, and another Force Review Board, and a lot of interagency bullshit because Livia had killed those three men in Utah, and dealing with multiple jurisdictions gummed up the works considerably. But in the end, she’d been cleared of any wrongdoing. The press she was getting, courtesy of Sherrie Dobbs, didn’t exactly make her untouchable, but it gave potential enemies pause. And Livia’s refusal to do any interviews herself only burnished her stature. A cop who didn’t care about publicity, who cared only about saving lives. In the end, she was awarded for valor, as Chief Best had predicted, or maybe as she had feared.
Kanezaki was sanguine about losing the drone. In fact, he told her, he was glad it had been so useful, even instrumental, in saving Sherrie Dobbs.
“You’re not sorry about Boomer being exposed?” Livia had said.
“What do you mean?”
“If it’s public knowledge, it’s not useful to you. Or at least not in the same way. I think in the end, I got more out of this exchange than you did. I mean, you’re a spy, right?”
There was a long pause. Kanezaki said, “Yeah, I’m a spy. I’m also a father.”
Maybe the line was manipulative. But she decided to take it at face value.
“I’m glad you told Carl,” she said. “Dox.”
“Believe me, so am I. If you need me again, holler, okay?”
She smiled. “You’re a good man, Tom.”
There was another pause. He said, “I’m trying.”
She’d taken a leisurely three days to cover the eleven hundred miles from Seattle. The country was beautiful—forests and mountains and finally desert. But not a desert wasteland like the Salton Sea. More a different kind of life—the cloud-studded skies, the twisting canyons, the long red mesas with their timeless, brooding patience. The ride was good. It gave her time to think.
Snake had lawyered up, but Boomer was cooperating with authorities. The remains of the nine girls they disappeared had been recovered—the nine, and four more who had never been entered into ViCAP. Presley had been found at the bottom of Lake Needwood in Maryland’s Rock Creek Park. It wasn’t just the Salton Sea—it seemed Boomer and Snake liked to have a body of water nearby if things went wrong. Little had buried his daughter with her mother, and, except when he was traveling, had visited her grave every day since.
Vice President Kane had stepped down—to “focus on my family,” as he put it at the press conference announcing his departure from public office and public life. After what had happened in Kanab and at the Salton Sea, Livia wondered how long Snake would keep his mouth shut, and when he might decide Admiral Kane ought to be going to prison, too. Where Snake might have access to him.
Livia had personally called Grace Jordan, Gray Eagle Sanchez, and Hannah Cuero’s parents. None of them would ever be the same. Livia knew that. But she also knew there was something to closure. To just . . . knowing. And, for people like the Cueros, and Little, and Livia herself, to being able to care one last time for that person you loved, to put her bones to rest and tend properly to them afterward.
Little had come to Seattle—to testify, but also just to talk. “I told you I was sorry I involved you,” he had told her. “But I’m not now. Finding Presley . . . I needed that. More than anything in the world. More than I’ll ever have a way to express.”
Livia nodded. She knew. And he knew that she knew.
“And not just for me,” Little went on. “We eased a lot of people’s pain, didn’t we? And prevented a lot more.”
She was glad he was thinking that way. He’d once confided in her that if he knew for sure Presley was dead, he would end himself.
“I told you,” Livia said. “I was never sorry.”
Before he left, she asked if he was going to be okay. “I think so,” he told her. “What we did . . . it feels right. Not just finding Presley
and the other girls. Taking down those devils. I don’t want to stop doing that. I’m not sure if I even could.”
She wondered about his boss, Tilden. At a minimum, the man had been obstructing Little’s efforts. She asked if he was going to do anything about that.
“No,” he told her. “Maybe I would have before. But now . . . Tilden doesn’t matter. And he’s afraid of me. Afraid of what I might do to him, professionally or otherwise. He’s more useful to me in place than he would be in the ground.”
She had nodded, glad he was able to see it that way. Even if she herself could not.
From Kanab, it was only about an hour’s ride to a place Carl had told her about, called Amangiri. “Beautiful country to ride in,” he’d promised. “And a hot tub with a view of the desert sunset at the end of every day.” They’d be sharing a room for four nights. The thought of it made her nervous, as always. But also excited. And maybe even . . . happy.
She’d be there soon. But she had two more stops to make beforehand.
The first was the Kanab City Cemetery. Livia had wanted to attend Tom Cramer’s funeral, but was tied up in Seattle with everything that was going on in the aftermath. So she would pay her respects belatedly, to the man who had provided posthumous evidence in the case being assembled against Snake and, by extension, Boomer. Because it seemed Cramer had struggled with Snake before Snake had shot him, and had squeezed Snake’s wrist so tightly that there had been some transfer of DNA. Sherrie Dobbs’s testimony was already going to be devastating, but that DNA would be another nail in Snake’s coffin.
The city cemetery was a patch of grass at the foot of a towering red mesa. From the little Cramer had told her about his feeling for the area, Livia imagined he would have been pleased.
His grave was adorned with dozens of flower bouquets, many of them obviously fresh. Livia kneeled and placed a hand on the earth above him. Already it was sprouting with grass.
“I wish I hadn’t called you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
She knew one day someone might be saying the same to her. She knew if she could, she would tell them it wasn’t their fault. She knew none of it would matter.