We Begin at the End

by Chris Whitaker

  “I wanted to talk to you about that night.”

  Milton shifted, made to cross his legs but couldn’t quite manage it. Walk sipped his coffee liqueur, tried not to bring it back up.

  “The way I hear it you’ve been talking to everyone in town about that night. But I already told the real cop everything.”

  Walk took the blow, certain Milton didn’t mean it. “Now, you said you heard fighting.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You also said you saw Vincent and Darke getting into it a few nights before Star was murdered.”

  He flinched at her name. Star used to tell how he’d take her trash cans out if she forgot. Small things, she needed them.

  “Why’d they fight?”

  “I think maybe Vincent King was jealous. I remember them, Walk. Back at school. They were like, they’d get married or something, have kids. I thought maybe Vincent had been dwelling on that inside, dreaming up a future based on the past.”

  A glance around the room, wood-paneled wall, shag beneath his feet. Boulder rocks around the fire, suburban ranch throwing back to the seventies. Air sweetly freshened, cans all over but still, it was there, the blood beneath.

  Milton cleared his throat. “You can’t do what isn’t right. You can’t just skip a piece of the past, highlight the good. You know?”

  “You called us before, lot of times, seemed like every time Star had a man stop by. Even when it was Darke, right? Said you were worried.”

  Milton bit his lower lip. “It’s part of the Watch. But maybe I was mistaken those times. Darke’s a good man. It’s the way he looks, that’s why people talk. I know. I know how it feels. You don’t think I hear the kids? Brillo. Wookiee. Furby. Meatpacker. Joke’s on them because I don’t even pack the meat.”

  The clock chimed, sunburst, ten minutes slow. Milton turned his head, Walk saw sweat pool beneath his arms.

  “Hey, Walk. You want to head up the Mendocino again?”

  Walk smiled. “I enjoyed it, but I think I’m more of a fisherman than a hunter. Get me out on the waves and I’m happy.”

  “Not me. Never did learn to swim. I had the lessons, but I used to open my mouth all the time, try and swallow it all down. I like the chlorine.”

  Walk didn’t know what to do with that.

  “Doesn’t matter, I got other friends into it.” Milton looked like he was desperate to share.

  “Yeah?” Walk took the bait.

  “I went hunting with him.”

  “Who?”

  Milton grinned. “Darke. He took me in his Escalade. You seen it? I tell you, that man can shoot. Brought back two blacktail.”

  “That right?”

  “You’ve got him wrong, Walk. He’s …”

  “Different?”

  “A good friend.” He said it firm, eyes locked on Walk. “He said he’d come here for the next shower. Not till February but still. I think he’ll actually show.”

  The barb was there, but Walk didn’t have the energy to feel any guilt.

  “I asked him to come away in the spring. A week, the hunt. I bought him a veil, gaters, the wax kind.”

  Walk looked at the spilling shelves beside, so many books, most on hunting. “You don’t know him. You should be careful, Milton.”

  “So should you, Walk. You look sick.”

  “I also wanted to let you know that I talked to Brandon again. Leah said you called in.”

  Milton stiffened at that. “Well, it didn’t do any good. He does it because he knows I have to be up early. Last night I went to the window and he was just sitting there revving the engine. And when he saw me he smiled. I’m not a kid now, Walk. This isn’t like school. You know he used to bully me. Flushed my head down the toilet. I don’t have to put up with it. I should—”

  “Leave a sheep’s head in his yard?”

  Milton stared, wild eyes, hair spilling from the top of his shirt. “I don’t know nothing about that.”

  “You said he urinated in your yard.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How’d you know it was him.”

  “Caught in the act. I opened the drapes and came eye to eye with it.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I filed a report. 10-98.”

  “Jail break.”

  “And you know he’s got a boat, fixed it up nice. He keeps it at Harbor Bay. I figured maybe he’d sell the car and spend his time on the water.”

  “He said he’s willing to try if you are. He said you’re a decent neighbor and he feels bad about it.”

  “He said that?”

  Walk knew Milton could not read him at all. “So you’ll knock all this shit on the head.”

  “It was never on me, Walk.”

  Walk stared, pleading in his eyes.

  “Maybe one day I’ll send him over a cut or something. Nothing too special, not at first. Chuck. How does that sound?”

  “Thank you, Milton.”

  Milton followed him to the door.

  On the porch Walk stopped and looked over, across the street.

  “I miss her,” Milton said. “I’m real sorry I …”

  “What?”

  “I’m just sorry she’s not there anymore.”

  “We owe it to her and the children to arrest the man that did this.”

  “You already did, Walk.”

  Milton would not meet his eye, instead letting his wander to the night sky. He stood there, hands deep in his pockets, lost to Walk and the town and the blood that was spilled.

  21

  THEY SAT IN THE YARD as the Santa Ana warmed them.

  Walk had been trying to sleep, despite the early hour, but instead found himself staring up at the ceiling when he heard the knock at the door.

  “I can’t believe you still live at home, Walk. That’s so uncool,” Martha said.

  She’d brought dinner, chili she warmed on the old stove that Walk used to store takeout menus.

  “I feel like I should line my mouth with wax before I try this.”

  “Relax, Walk. I went easy. Barely blips on the Scoville. Chili for pussies.”

  He touched the fork to his tongue and immediately felt the lava. “Seriously? It’s like an illness. You are actually ill.”

  She laughed. “Just eat the cornbread. You look like you could use it. I hope you’re taking care of yourself, Walk.”

  He smiled. “You ever miss the Cape?”

  “Every day.”

  “I told Leah I’d been seeing you again.”

  “Seeing me?”

  “I didn’t—”

  She laughed. He blushed.

  “Leah Tallow. She still married to Ed?”

  “She is.”

  “Wow, she must’ve put up with a lot over the years. I remember him at school, used to chase after Star.”

  “Everyone did.”

  “Tallow Construction. I see their boards up sometimes. I had a client a while back, husband was laid off by Tallow, he turned to the bottle.”

  “The market is tough. It’ll turn.”

  “Especially if they start building all those new homes.”

  He stood and topped up her wine. “I went to see Milton again.”

  “The butcher. I remember him at school. Does he still smell of blood?”

  “He does. He’s certain, he heard arguing, and he’ll testify he saw Vincent and Darke get into it outside Star’s place. And he’ll speculate it was over Star.”

  The agreement was there, uneasy at first, but Martha was settling into it. Walk would work the King case, and anything he found he would bring to her, and she would unravel it and repackage it and tell Walk if it was worth more than a damn in a court of law. She was clear enough, though, under no circumstances would she go to trial. They’d build the case as best they could and then pass it over to a trial lawyer. And if Vincent wouldn’t retain one then at least she’d tried.

  “Did you have a chance to look at the papers?”

  “Sure, what else would I be
doing? It’s not like I need sleep or anything.”

  He smiled as she left him, went out the side gate to her car then returned with her briefcase. Walk cleared the dishes away while Martha spread papers out over the table. Citronella burned, five candles battled the night sky and gave them just enough light.

  Tax returns, statements, company filings, going back twenty years. All Walk could pull on Dickie Darke.

  “The records are straight and ordered, Walk. Darke earns decent money. Maybe two fifty a year. Nothing really raises any red flags. I went back far, when he bought a small home on Lavenham Avenue, Portland.”

  “Oregon.”

  “I guess that’s where he’s from. He remodeled and sold it on for a thirty-thousand-dollar profit, which he declared in full. Modest expenses. Then another a block away, made forty-five. And then nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Must have found another income. Four years of nothing. And then he stepped it up massively, seemed to move from town to town, working his way along the coast, wherever he could make a buck. Just like that.”

  “Always real estate?”

  “Mostly. A place in Eugene, another in Gold Beach. In the summer of ’95 he arrived in the Cape, bought the old bar on Cabrillo and spent a year trying to get a license.”

  Walk remembered the night it opened; again, no fuss or launch party, just light in the darkness.

  “The first year it grossed half a million dollars.” Martha sipped her wine. “The second year it doubled. It was a goldmine, Walk. And that’s just what he declared, place like that, it’s all cash, right? It might be all he had, but it was all he needed.”

  “So he leverages that to buy the King house. At least he would have.”

  “There were payments, though, eye-watering payments.”

  “To who?”

  “My guess would be whoever invested with him. Not a bank.”

  “Loan shark?”

  “Could be. His credit history is sketchy, lot of moving around, would’ve made it hard to borrow from a regular bank. And then he bought the house on Fortuna Avenue.”

  “Dee Lane’s place.”

  “And the house on Ivy Ranch Road.”

  “The Radley house.”

  “Small houses, just rentals. And an investment in a development called Cedar Heights.”

  Walk had seen the advertisements in the local newspaper.

  “Sorry, Walk. Nothing strange at all in this.”

  Walk sighed.

  “That club he owned. It’s called The Eight, right?” Martha said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I had a girl from there come in. She had problems with a boyfriend. I think she mentioned Darke once.”

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “Maybe. I’ll ask.”

  “We need to know about those payments.”

  “All I’ve got is an account number.”

  “Could be something.”

  “Or nothing. I know the case file now. What you’ve got is a whole load of nothing. And what you need is a smoking gun. Nothing short of that.”

  He stood when his cell rang, saw it was Milton. The man sounded breathless, out for his evening walk, burning off some of the meat. He spoke for a minute.

  Martha gathered the papers. “Everything alright?”

  “Milton runs Neighborhood Watch.”

  Martha raised an eyebrow.

  “He’s the only member since Etta passed. He said there’s a 10-91 on Sunset. I’d better head over.”

  “10-91?”

  Walk sighed. “Stray horse.”

  He drove to Sunset, didn’t even think of running the lights.

  A sedan outside the King house, so nondescript Walk figured them for cops.

  He pulled the cruiser up right behind, flashed his lights once then got out and walked up to the window.

  Two men, neither moved to roll down a window. Walk watched the empty street, the empty lots, the moonlit waters of the Cape. A strange car stood out. He tapped the glass gently. Slowly the driver turned, maybe fifty, head of dark hair and handsome.

  “Can I help you with something?” Walk smiled.

  The man looked at his friend, older, maybe sixty-five, beard and glasses. “Did we do something?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “So fuck off then.”

  Walk swallowed and felt the adrenaline kick a little. “And if I don’t?”

  A smile came back, just small, like Walk should have known something he did not, and could still be punished for it.

  “We’re looking for Richard Darke.”

  “Darke doesn’t live here.” Walk didn’t draw but kept a hand there to show his intent.

  “Any ideas where we can find him?”

  Walk thought of Darke, the payments, the kind of men he was most likely in business with. “I don’t know where he lives.”

  “You see him, tell him we’re not going away,” the older guy said, not looking at Walk.

  The driver started the engine.

  “I need you to step out of the vehicle.”

  The driver looked up at Walk, then at the King house behind. “Darke’s good at spinning plates, till one drops.”

  “I said I need you—”

  The driver closed the window and pulled into the street.

  Walk considered chasing, radioing, instead he watched them coast Sunset, hand still on his gun.

  * * *

  She took Robin’s hand as they opened the gate and walked over toward the two horses, grazing side by side.

  “Can you eat with us one time?”

  Duchess muzzled the black gently, patting his nose with the flat of her hand. “No.”

  Then she muzzled the smaller gray, tried to pet her but she moved her face away. Duchess liked her.

  She roped the muzzles and led them gently, Robin keeping far to the side. He ran the last steps then closed the gate behind, like she’d shown him.

  When she was done she told them goodnight, then found Robin on a patch of grass by the water. He knew not to go too close, though he could swim well, she rode three buses to the lido in Oakmont each Saturday for close to a year because they taught kids for free.

  When she got close he scooted away.

  “You’re pissed at me.”

  “Yes.” He balled a fist and kept it in his lap. He wore shorts, thin legs, knees grazed. “You shouldn’t have said that to Tyler.”

  “He shouldn’t have pushed you down.”

  Hollow night fell as quick as dusk began, the warmth lifting till nothing but cool remained.

  “Alright.”

  “It’s not alright.” He hit the grass with his fist. “I like it here. I like Grandpa and I like the animals. I like Miss Child and the new school. I don’t need …”

  “What?” she said it quiet but the challenge was there. A month back he would have stayed silent.

  “You. I’ve got Grandpa and he’s an adult. He can care for us. I don’t want you to fix my food.”

  He cried quietly. She watched him huddled, chin to chest, knees up and arms around them. She knew about the things that shaped people, memories and events that print your soul. She needed Robin to be alright, more than anything she needed that. He saw the shrink each week, though no longer told her what was discussed. I don’t have to tell. It’s private.

  “I know you’re an outlaw, but I’m not. I just want to be a kid.”

  She scooted nearer, her jeans in the dirt. “You’re a prince, remember. Mom said that and she was right.”

  “Just leave me alone.”

  She made to ruffle his hair but he moved from her hand, stood and then ran for the house. For a moment she thought she might cry too, just let the past months and years rot her into the dirt, wash her skin from her bones and her blood to the water.

  She heard the rumble of a truck, tensed for a moment, then saw it was Dolly. Dolly left the high-beams cutting a sweep of light over the water.

  “Mind if I sit a
while?” Dolly stopped by now and then. She wore a cream dress, heels with red soles, the kind of woman that did not own work clothes.

  “I didn’t see you at church last week,” Duchess said.

  “Bill’s been sick.” Her cigarette glowed as she held it away.

  “Oh.”

  “He’s been sick a long time. Some days are better than others.”

  “Right.”

  “I missed seeing that dress.”

  Duchess had cut a new swath to show off her belly button.

  “You can come by you know. If you ever want some female company. I don’t have siblings, no mother, grew up fending for myself.”

  “And you’re alright.”

  “I’m good at fronting, Duchess. I’m a fucking master. Anyway, Hal knows where to find me if you want to stop by.”

  “I try not to talk to Hal all that much.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Would I have met him … I mean, if my mother …”

  The water slopped gently. “He made the drive.”

  Duchess turned.

  “To Cape Haven.” Dolly spoke quietly, as if betraying a trust. “I just, I thought you should know.”

  “When?”

  “Every year. Same day. June 2nd.”

  “My birthday.”

  A smile, small though it was. “He’d take a gift. He used to ask me to help him pick out something you’d like. And then, when Robin was born. He’d make that drive twice each year. And this is a man that never takes a day off, can’t afford to.”

  Duchess glanced back at the old farmhouse. “How’d he know? Star said she never spoke to him.”

  “Oh, she didn’t. Stubborn one, your mother. Sounds like someone else I know.”

  “Save it.”

  “He still had someone there. Called him now and then. A policeman.”

  Duchess closed her eyes. Walk. “I never got them.”

  “Oh, I know. He’d come back with them. Same each time. Didn’t stop him trying, though. He wouldn’t see you without your mother’s blessing.”

  “She blamed him. For everything.”

  Dolly laid a hand on her shoulder.

  Duchess knew about her grandmother, her spirit so free Duchess still carried the Day before Radley. Star had been seventeen. She’d tried college, came home early and saw the note right off.

  I love you. I’m sorry. Call your father and don’t go into the kitchen.