by Tom Hogan
Josh reached for the phone. “How much more time do you want?”
“Just another few minutes.”
He picked up the receiver. “Logan. Ten more minutes, no more. Yeah, we’re fine. Okay. Thanks.”
Paul took a long pull at the bottle, finishing it. “I’m going to miss that. And I’m going to miss you.” He put his arm around Josh’s shoulder, then slid his hand up into Josh’s hair. “I just want to sit here with you for a minute, okay?”
Josh nodded silently, his eyes shining blue and white with the outside lights.
“I’m not proud of a lot,” Paul said. “But I’m proud of us, that we made it out when the rest of our crowd washed down the sewer. And you…you turned into the kind of man other men want to be like. That makes me feel good.”
They sat there in quiet, neither one moving, for five minutes. Finally Paul loosened his grip on Josh’s hair and patted his head. “It’s time.”
“Where do you want to do this?” Josh wiped his eyes with his palm.
“I’m comfortable here. How about you?” Josh nodded. “Then let’s get on with it.”
Josh nodded. “Okay. I’m going to get behind you.” He stood up and walked around to the back of the sofa. “Don’t worry, I won’t surprise you. You’re going to tell me when.”
Paul craned his head to see his brother. “Surprise might be better. I don’t know if I’ve got the guts to pull my own plug.”
“You can do it,” Josh said gently. “Just tap me on the wrist when it’s time.” He leaned over and kissed Paul on the forehead. “I love you, Paulie.”
Paul leaned back and squeezed the back of Josh’s neck, but said nothing. “Okay,” Josh continued. “I’m just going to get in position, that’s all.” He wrapped his forearm around Paul’s throat, securing Paul’s chin in the crook of his elbow. He laid his other arm along Paul’s shoulder line. Then he locked his grip on his elbows, creating a vice grip. “You comfortable? Can you breathe alright?”
Paul nodded, shifting slightly so that he settled more into the crook. “Josh?” he said in a small, childish voice. “You remember that day on the beach. The storm surf?”
“Sure, I remember.”
“And how when I told you how afraid I was, you told me how peaceful it was when you made it to the bottom, how calm it was underneath?”
“I remember.”
“That’s what I want to feel, just one time.” Paul reached up with his left hand and placed his fingertips lightly on Josh’s wrist.
Josh held his grip and rested his head atop Paul’s. “It’s one of those days so hot we have to go into the water every twenty minutes just to cool off. There’s a storm coming up from Mexico, which is kicking the waves up a foot every hour. It was four feet when we started riding, but now it’s pushing eight feet. Big. Scary. But we’ve been out in it all day, so it’s not that intimidating.”
He leaned closer. “There’s a big set outside, biggest of the day. I take the second one of the set—a monster—and get crushed. As I’m swimming out, I’m glad you’re not taking any. You let them roll under you and I’m glad. But as the last wave comes in—and it’s bigger than anything I’ve ever seen you take—you turn and swim with it. No hesitation, no backing off. You take your line and hold it, just ahead of the lip. But you beat the whitewater to the bottom of the wave, to the thickest part.”
Paul reached up with his free hand and touched Josh’s cheek. Josh’s voice thickened. “You can hear and feel the wave trying to grab you, but you’ve beaten it. You’re down too deep for it to get you, and it’s so calm now, so safe…”
Paul’s fingers tapped twice and Josh’s hands tightened. He leaned into Paul, lifted his chin slightly, then rotated his arms suddenly. There was a dry, clear snap. Paul’s head held steady for a moment, then slowly slumped to the left.
The rifles and cameras rose in unison as Josh stepped onto the porch, Paul’s body draped over his arms. Blinking at the lights, he moved forward, his foot reaching for the step. Cavanaugh separated himself from the crowd and walked forward. “Three feet and you’ve got a step,” he called as he approached. “Okay, now you’ve got two more steps and you’re down.”
Josh ducked his head against the blare of the lights, his forehead brushing Paul’s cheek. Then he started forward, Cavanaugh at his side. Cavanaugh felt Paul’s wrist, held it for a moment, then shook his head at Logan, who motioned to his team to lower their rifles.
“I don’t want them touching him,” Josh said, as he moved towards the ambulance.
“They won’t, Josh. Just walk straight through to the ambulance. The only ones who’ll touch him are the paramedics.”
The police parted as he approached, giving him a straight shot to the ambulance, where Alexis was waiting with the paramedics. The press crowded in, their cameras held high above the wall of police.
The paramedics slid a collapsible gurney out of the ambulance and set it up quickly. Josh extended his arms and the paramedics took Paul, one cradling his neck, the other tending his feet. The first checked for vitals until the second, noticing the angle of Paul’s neck, called his partner’s attention to it. They strapped Paul in and pulled a sheet over his head.
“Are you coming with us, officer?” the first paramedic asked Josh.
Josh nodded and turned to Alexis. “You go with Cavanaugh, okay?”
“I’d rather be with you, if it’s okay.”
He looked at the sheeted outline of his brother, then nodded. Taking her hand, he helped her into the ambulance, then took a seat next to her. The ambulance moved away, its flashers and siren off, the men up front talking in low voices that didn’t carry. One of Josh’s hands was wrapped tightly in Alexis’s two-handed grip; the other reached out occasionally to stroke the white outline of his brother’s face.
CHAPTER 52
“That was before or after you released the woman and little girl?”
“Before. We covered this already.”
“Humor me. And he was the one who brought the subject up, correct?”
Josh looked at him curiously. “What are you getting at, Logan?”
“Just answer the question.”
Josh looked over at Cavanaugh, who nodded. “He was the one who brought it up,” Josh said.
And after you let the two hostages go, what happened next?”
“We went into the living room and sat down. We talked about a couple of personal matters, and then Paul said it was time.”
“And by that you understood him to mean that it was time to die.” Josh nodded cautiously. “And that was when you left the room, to search the garage for a means to help him with his suicide.” It was a statement, not a question.
Josh looked again at Cavanaugh, whose face was a blank. “I don’t know where you’re going with all this, Logan, but I was with my brother when he died. He needed me to…”
Logan reached over and quickly turned off the tape recorder. Then he stood up. “I’m going for coffee. Who wants some?” Without waiting for a response, he said, “I’ll bring back four.” He left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
As the door clicked, Josh leaned forward and knuckled his eyes. “What am I missing here, Wayne?”
“Look, Josh. It’s three in the morning and you just got back from the morgue. Maybe you’re in shock or just incredibly tired.” He nodded at the tape recorder. “But you were just about to go on public record saying that you killed your brother.”
“You know what happened, Wayne. I already told both you and Logan.”
“Not on the record, you didn’t. And we deliberately hadn’t read you your rights.”
Josh started to respond, then stopped. He looked at Alexis, then back at Cavanaugh. “I can’t change what happened in there.”
Cavanaugh put his hands in a V and placed them in front of his mouth. He stared a
t Josh over the peaked fingers until he had his full attention. “I know what happened in there. So does Logan. And put in your place, both of us would probably have done the same thing you did.” He pointed the V at Josh. “But here’s how a different cop—or tabloid reporter—could play it. Your brother is on the run, panics and shoots a cop. He holes up in the house and summons the only person he can trust, his brother. He wants to give himself up and wants his brother to negotiate his surrender.” He looks at Josh. “You with me so far?”
Josh nodded. “So far.”
“But Paul, in his panic, is forgetting one critical element. He raped his brother’s girlfriend and left her for dead. So that brother, the one he loves and trusts, enters the house, releases the only two witnesses, and ten minutes later, walks out with his body.” Cavanaugh leaned back. “Same events, but from different perspectives.”
Alexis started to speak, but Josh raised his hand slightly from the table to stop her. “I wasn’t looking at it that way. You’re right. In the wrong hands…” He looked over at the closed door. “Am I in the wrong hands, Wayne?”
“No. That’s why Logan left the room, so that we—meaning you—could get the story straight. And that story is that your brother told you he wanted to kill himself but didn’t have the means. You argued against it, but he told you that he’d decided, and that if he didn’t find the means to kill himself, he was going to run out of the house, as if he had a gun and commit suicide by cop. So he said he’d look upstairs for a gun and sent you out to the garage to look for a rope. What you didn’t know is that he’d already found a rope and set up a noose from the second-floor landing. And while you were out in the garage he hung himself.”
“But the scene doesn’t support that.”
“Actually, it does. When you two left in the ambulance, Logan and I went into the house alone and secured it. It was pretty clear to each of us what had happened and what you might be facing. So we searched the garage and actually found some rope. We went back in, tied a noose and secured it to the bannister. I even held on to it and stretched the noose so that it looked like it had been…put to use.”
He nodded at the tape recorder. “All the evidence—the rope, the contusions, your brother’s neck—are consistent with that story. So the only question is: Is that your story?”
Josh stared down at the table, his hands opening and closing. He started to speak, but his lip trembled and he stopped. Alexis put a hand over his, quieting the motion. “Can you give us a few minutes alone, detective?”
As the door closed behind Cavanaugh, Alexis moved her chair a little closer. “What are you thinking?”
“Paul didn’t die a coward. At the end, he was brave.” He looked around the room, his eyes straining. “I owe it to him to…”
“Paul knows how he died. And you know. And you were there with him. Not just with him but for him. That’s what’s important, that the two of you know. The hell with everyone else.”
Josh closed his eyes and leaned forward. His elbows on the table, he placed his face in his hands and went stone-still. After a minute he lifted his head. His eyes were clear, alert. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
Alexis walked over to the door and tapped on the heavy glass window.
CHAPTER 53
Shortly after five in the morning, Cavanaugh opened the back door of the morgue and ushered Josh and Alexis into an alley where a police car was waiting. The press was out front, he said, a large crowd getting larger and noisier—he and Logan were going to take the next hour to rehearse their story and eliminate any holes. The black and white would take them to one of the local hotels where they could get some sleep and wait for the coroner to finish up. Paul’s body would be released that afternoon; Cavanaugh would have the body transported to the airport, where last night’s plane was gassed and waiting. He had called up to the camp, he told Josh, and updated everyone. Donna and Clark would meet the plane; the body would be taken to a local funeral home and kept until final arrangements were determined.
A patrolman named Harris drove them through the downtown area that was just beginning to stir. The early light crept around the sides of the buildings, outlining them in greyish-yellow tones. A streetcleaner slowed them momentarily, leaving its circular footprint in its wake, then it turned a corner and was gone.
The hotel was less than a five-minute drive. Harris left them in the car, went into the hotel, and returned a moment later with a key. The room was on the SBPD, he said, handing Josh a card with his call number on it. He’d be their ride to the airport, he said; he nodded at Josh’s numb thank-you and drove off.
The room was on the eleventh floor, a regular room with an ocean view. Josh opened the heavy sliding door and stepped out onto the balcony, looking down at the day’s stirrings. Alexis joined him. Turning her back on the view and leaning against the railing, she looked sideways at him. “I know this is a ridiculous question, but how are you doing?”
Josh kept his eyes on the streets below. Tears that had pooled in his beard now dripped into a freefall, spinning their way to the sidewalk. He looked over at her, his eyes red and heavy. “I don’t know what to feel.”
Alexis reached over and dried his cheeks with her sleeve. “You’re out on your feet.” She nodded towards the open balcony door. “Go take a shower. There are robes hanging behind the bathroom door.”
“I need to tell you what he said—what he told me—before he died.”
She stroked his cheek. “Later. We’ll have time. Right now you need to wash the night off you and get some rest.”
Josh lifted her hand from his cheek and held it for a moment. “You go on. I’m going to stay out here for a few more minutes.” He pushed her gently. “Go on. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
When she was gone, he placed both hands on the railing, his hands tightening on the steel. He leaned his head back—all that was left of the night was the milky stain of the vanishing moon. He lowered his chin to his chest, his eyes taking in the deserted beach below, the night wind having swept it clean. Beyond the sand a line of waves marched in, thick and clean, their soft thump carrying to where he stood.
When he entered the room, Alexis was sitting up in bed, the blanket and sheet pulled up to her waist. She was wearing a thick white terrycloth robe, her hair wet and bunching at the collar. Her eyes fluttered with exhaustion.
He stayed in the shower for almost ten minutes, scrubbing himself hard and repeatedly for the first few minutes, then standing motionlessly under the pulsing water the rest of the time. He stepped out, dried himself slowly and put on the robe. His hair heavy with water, his cheeks and forehead a raw red, he walked into the bedroom.
Alexis was asleep, the corners of her eyes still twitching with exhaustion. Josh stood at the bedside, his eyes fixed on her face. Then he lifted the covers and crawled into bed.
He lay on his back, his body not touching hers, listening to the dull rhythm of the waves. Then he shifted on to his side so that he was facing her. The shifting weight caused her to stir. Her eyes fluttered, then settled. She rolled to her side, facing him, and slung her arm over him, resting it on his hips—a soft, dead weight.
He tensed, then lifted her arm, laying it by her side. Then slowly, carefully, he reached over and stroked her hair. She stirred, her lips parting, a small sound escaping. Then her mouth settled into a peaceful smile and she was asleep again.
He stroked her hair until it was almost dry, staring at her face the entire time. Sometime during his stroking she slung her arm across his body again. This time he let it stay.
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