Discretion

by David Balzarini

  THIRTEEN

  Deputy Reed directs me to sit, and then pulls a chair for himself. My father and Viktor Kneifl, his attorney, are at the table, prepared for the meeting. This room at the sheriff’s office is maybe ten by ten with a long window behind me. Cheap mini-blinds cover it. Reed has a small tape recorder and a clipboard. He begins the session by announcing the case number, with the date and time, my name and then his.

  “Let’s start at the beginning,” he says.

  I nod.

  “Why did you go to Apache Lake today?”

  To look for Natalie.

  “To look for Natalie.”

  “Whose boat did you use?”

  “Mike Larison’s.”

  Reed states the make, model, and tag number of the boat, confirming the vessel. Then he says, “Tell me what happened when you saw the boat with Riley Dasher and Dylan Arocha.”

  Tell the truth.

  I do my best to explain what happened in detail, stumbling over my words as I go. Nothing is left out. My father flinches. I can only presume he’s restraining himself from berating me for getting involved like this.

  “Okay, so to make sure we’re clear, you were approaching the boat on the water, and the two men who were fishing pulled out guns?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then what did they do?”

  “Like I said, I don’t know how the shooting started…I took a gun and dove in the water.”

  He writes on the clipboard a moment. “So who fired first?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Calm, careful note-taking. Viktor makes a subtle gesture to Reed. “When you were in the water, why did you fire at Mister Arocha and Mister Dasher?”

  “I could hear gunfire and I thought shots were hitting the water, like I was being shot at. I didn’t know what else to do, so I came to the surface and fired at the guys on the deck.”

  “So you shot at the deck of the cruiser and you hit Mister Dasher, is that your understanding?”

  “As I said, yes.”

  “Then what happened?”

  Dasher was armed and ready to shoot.

  I explain how I got on the cruiser and told him Christel’s modified version of the event.

  “So you’re saying that Mister Dasher was pointing a gun when you reached the deck?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Mister Dasher discharge the weapon?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, but it happened fast.”

  “So, from your statement, you shot Mister Dasher a second time, hitting his temple and killing him.”

  I nod.

  “The recording can’t hear you nod,” Reed says.

  My father shifts in his chair, kicking the table. He grumbles to himself and Viktor gives him a look of contempt. “Yes,” I say.

  “How far away were you when you shot him?” Deputy Reed asks.

  I shrug. “Maybe twenty feet. Like I said, it happened fast.”

  He nods: no expression still, no insight to his thoughts. “Then what happened?”

  I reiterate that Arocha, the other kidnapper in question, dove off the boat to swim away. Reed completes the session with his closing script, and then clicks off the recorder.

  “That’s all for now,” Reed says, standing from the table. Viktor and my father stand in unison and Viktor nods to me to get moving. My father walks out, without a word.

  “Your story doesn’t quite add up for them. I’ve no idea what they will do. It’s peculiar—the questions that they didn’t ask you. I was prepared for a grueling round,” Viktor says to me, once we are alone outside the station.

  “I know. I guess we’ll find out.”

  FOURTEEN

  Fifteen Years Later

  The alarm clock plays quiet jazz and I press snooze. My habit of waking up before my alarm lives on. The hour of six A.M. approaches and I’m near the bottom of my second cup of coffee and enjoying a stimulating read in bed. The powerful morning sunlight beams behind the shutters, covering a wall of glass facing the backyard and a majestic view.

  Marisa Staehle lies on her stomach, eyes closed, lips parted, and her face nestled in a pillow. The breeze from the fan teases her long blonde hair. The bed sheet is a white ball of cotton near the footboard. Her tan lines and the small sun tattoo on her lower back draw my attention. Goose bumps form on her backside and little hairs stand up, faintly visible in the sunlight.

  “Mmm. Beautiful…just beautiful.”

  “Are you staring at my ass again?” Marisa mumbles back.

  I smile at my fiancée. I set aside Principles of Macroeconomics on the bedside table. The Wall Street Journal crunches under the weight. “Yes, of course. Is that okay?”

  “A little weird, but I’m used to it.”

  “Are you waking up still?”

  She brushes her hair from her face and rolls over to her side, and then nudges her pillow away. Her eyes narrow at me, playful, and then she laughs at herself.

  “Are you becoming self-conscious?” I say.

  “Yeah, I’m a modest girl,” and her lips pucker at me. “Did you solve any of the world’s problems this morning?”

  “I read about them, so I completed the first step.”

  “I think ignorance is bliss.”

  I shake my head a little. “I can’t be ignorant. Too many opportunities.”

  “Do you ever stop working?”

  “Depends on how you define working.”

  “Oh, such a broad definition…all that working can entail. Staring at your phone constantly just might be considered work, ya know?”

  “Could you be more sarcastic, please?”

  “Careful what you wish for, Colin. I’m a pessimist and I’ve no plans to change.”

  “Too much time on Twitter has that effect.”

  “I know you don’t like my time on Twitter, but it’s entertaining and fun. Not depressing like wars and poverty and bullshit politics.”

  “The lives of celebrities are so much more important.”

  She places her index finger across my lips. “Shhh…”

  Max clamors on the bed and nudges my leg with his cold, wet nose.

  “What does Maxie want?” Marisa says, looking down at the loyal yellow Lab.

  “Probably food. He had half the scrambled eggs yesterday.”

  “Makes sense to me. I’d be cozy to you if you fed me like that.”

  “I do.”

  “That must explain last night at one A.M. I figured you’d be game for being woken up,” Marisa says.

  I laugh a little and slide off the bed. Max jumps down and charges to my side. “I thought I was dreaming at first. It was a good workout.”

  “Speaking of workout, are you planning to go to the gym today?”

  “If I have time.”

  My phone buzzes. I grab it. The caller is Jackson Mattocks, his grimace on display.

  “Jackson, it’s early so this must be important.”

  Marisa mumbles to herself, hops off the bed and disappears behind the bathroom door.

  “It’s been a long time, keeping your secret safe, Colin,” Jackson says.

  I pause a moment and listen, the phone sliding in my hand. The past I can’t escape. “What are you saying? No one could be digging into Natalie’s abduction after this long.”

  “That’s just it. A turn of events happened and it led the feds to her case, from fifteen years back. I thought you should know that it’s only a matter of time before your secret is out. And there’s no telling what they will do.”

  FIFTEEN

  Jackson and I have stayed in touch over the years, mostly for social functions but the occasional business need, too, largely the task of Natalie’s kidnapping, which was never resolved to my standard. The ordeal nearly ruined my father and me and I’ve feared that killing Riley Dasher those years ago would surface to ruin my life. Even the passing thought of him sends a shudder through my spine.

  This is no way to begin a Monday morning.

  “
This doesn’t make sense, Jackson. We searched for years at my father’s expense, then at mine. We saw to it that the whole thing was done and buried. How can the feds have any interest in a kidnapping case from fifteen years ago?”

  “To keep this short, I’ll start with the highlights…the feds are investigating because several related murders lead them to Natalie and you’ll see what I mean momentarily. I’m sending you a file so you can see what they’re seeing and help me out.” He pauses a few seconds and seems distracted. “In other news, I talked with Natalie last week and she remembers a few important details about how she got off your boat. Or shall I say, was lured away.”

  “She couldn’t remember anything at the time. Why now all of a sudden as the feds are at the doorstep?”

  “The mind is complex. The ultimate maze. Hard saying how, but she remembers a bit.” He pauses a moment, paper rustles on his end. “Anyhoo, what’s important is her sandals. It failed to occur to anyone what happened to her footwear that day, which was not left behind.” He clears his throat. “So since they weren’t there, I presume she had the time to slip them on before leaving your boat.”

  Silence lingers. “So, my father was right. She was lured by someone she knew. No fight, no struggle. Makes sense. Didn’t the sheriff say that in the press conference way back when?”

  “One of many conclusions, sure, but on a bullshit, speculative basis; just like the news report that deputies identified where Natalie was captive and shot Dasher and Arocha.” He chuckles. “This whole case was a fraud and I think that’s the least of the concerns. Cutting to the quick, the feds believe that one group is responsible for more than half the sex trafficking in Phoenix and Natalie was a subject.”

  “How can that be? She wasn’t raped. Or sold.”

  “We’ll get to that. I’ve been working this case since I got a retainer from your father and I’ve not stopped since. It’s made my career and I, for one, feel the obligation to close up loose ends. Now—”

  “How noble of you. How long do I have before the feds beat down my door for answers?”

  “Who knows if they ever will? I can’t say I know what they’re going to think when they uncover the truth. That said, the best thing we can do is find the answer they’re looking for and give them no reason to be interested in Natalie’s case. So you might as well help me.”

  “Great. Natalie’s disappearance and the subsequent negative media attention divided my father and me. And now it’s all coming back up for more. I want closure. And I want the people responsible to be locked up so they can’t do this again…But we’ve been down this road before and there’s no evidence.” I sigh. “What’s kept you on the case for all these years, apart from nobility?”

  “What I shouldn’t tell you is Natalie’s abduction is an open case…a file no one’s supposed to know about.”

  “Huh? The case was closed after Natalie was found; Arocha’s a hermit and Dasher was killed on the boat. What’s left to talk about?”

  “Phoenix police opened the investigation under a different name when they saw a consistency in several homicides around town. It’s hardly an open-and-shut case; in fact, no one’s really made much sense of it, until recently when the feds got involved.”

  “What’s the breakthrough?”

  “Three coeds were found dead, which seems to mean nothing to Natalie’s case, but if you look closer, these ladies were together at Apache Lake and reported missing around the same time Natalie was. Two of the women ended up in Nevada and one in California, taken from that lake and brought into prostitution. No way to prove any of this, just theories, but the girls went to school together and were on the lake that holiday weekend.” He pauses a second. “When dead bodies show up in multiple states with a blood trail behind them, the feds get a call.”

  I stand up and walk to the windows, open the blinds a little to peer outside. “I don’t get why you’d involve me. Where can I fit in?”

  “You’re the only one who was there who I’m trusting with this information. I’m not sure what your role is, but I get the feeling I’m going to need your help before this is over. You had the intuition…or sense…to go out on that boat and find Natalie and you knew to be armed. You’re the worst shot in the world, yet you killed a guy from forty feet while treading water—a shot I doubt I could make and I’m an expert with a pistol. There’s something in you that’s powerful and to wrap this case, I think you’re going to repeat the past.”

  “Don’t say that. I can’t imagine living through that again. I’ve still not talked with my father about it, though he knows some variation of the truth.”

  Silence lingers a few moments. “Hmm. So he doesn’t know the full truth?”

  Silence.

  “I see,” Jackson says. “Did you tell Jamal? Natalie? Marisa?”

  Silence.

  “Shit. Colin Wyle, you can keep a secret.”

  I ask, “How long have you been working on this new case without telling me?”

  “Sheesh. The case for Natalie was closed three months after the public spectacle deflated. Her dad was a politician, if you remember. He used the trauma of his daughter to advance his career.”

  “I hated him for that.”

  “Thought as much. I know this means a lot to you, but it’s not just about Natalie. We’re fighting modern-day slavery, which is alive and well.”

  “Sex slaves?”

  “Essentially, yes. They turn the girls into drug addicts or threaten them, force them into a life that’s profitable. Make them feel they have to cooperate to protect loved ones at home. Lots of them buy it and fall into the life.”

  “Getting back to Natalie—what does she remember besides the sandals?”

  “Images here and there. Seats on the boat. A rail. Mountains in the background. People partying, drinking. What they drugged her with was divine—a perfect mix that took her out. The memories are there, though, and it could be her mind’s way of dealing with the trauma.”

  “She and I have talked about it. My obsession over that history has a lot to do with our break-up.”

  Jackson’s voice goes sly. “You’re doing just fine, my friend. Can I be you for a day? We’ll trade.”

  I laugh. Jackson goes on for a few minutes about his fantasies and I pretend to be interested.

  “So what are you sending me?” I ask, to get him back on topic.

  “News reports mostly. The archive shows the connection between the victims, but outside of that, there’s not much to work with.”

  I pause a moment to process that. “Meaning?”

  “The victims are damaged when they get free, often having to commit a crime to escape, so the last thing they want is to talk about the hell they just left. The odds are slim that we get a real, credible witness.”

  Marisa pops her head out of the bathroom and waves at me to hurry up.

  “This is a bad idea. I can’t possibly be of help,” I say.

  “Don’t discredit yourself. You found that article three years ago that helped me out. See…I didn’t forget.”

  “I wanted to know if it was legitimate, not open a new can of worms. But hey, I gotta run.”

  “Marisa listening?”

  “Of course.”

  “Ciao.”

  I set the phone aside and scurry to the bathroom. My hope is that whatever Jackson sends brings a final resolution to Natalie’s disappearance—but I get the feeling we’ve just begun.

  SIXTEEN

  Marisa hates it when Jackson calls. She accepts that Natalie is a friend and the event is a traumatic point in my life—Marisa understands that emotional roller coaster. What she won’t accept is the search—after fifteen years, I should let go of the kidnapping, but I can’t. She won’t say anything, but her emotions are palpable.

  “How short on time are we?” I ask Marisa on entering the bathroom.

  “Short, but I’m not giving up the morning quickie.”

  I enter the tile surround and Marisa stands in
the line of fire for the three showerheads, encompassed in steam. She kisses me deeply, and wraps her arms around my back. We enjoy few minutes of foreplay under the hot water, and then she turns her backside to me and bends over. She combs wet hair back and smiles at me as an invitation.

  “Every day should begin like this.” I step behind her and fulfill her request. Our bodies are a symphony of pleasure and share an exhilarating climax.

  “So do you have a busy day?” she says from her closet across the hall.

  “Not bad. I have an afternoon appointment and a presentation this morning with the staff. Seaton won’t be in the meeting, so that takes some pressure off.”

  She erupts in laughter. “I’m not sure I could handle him being in a meeting with me having to present. I’d be so nervous, I’d probably fuck the whole thing up. Stumbling over my words. Uh…Um…I’m in junior high giving a report.” She giggles at herself. “He’s so intimidating. How does he do that so calmly?”

  “It’s his gift, I think. He’s a great man to work for.”

  “He pays well. Makes him easy to like.”

  “He is very straightforward, hides nothing. If he likes you and what you’re doing, he’s frank about it. If he dislikes it, he comes down hard and lets you know what he expects…but he does more than that. He makes you feel a need, a…responsibility to do your best. Like it’s your mission in life to bust your ass for him.”

  “I can see that. Totally,” she says, emerging from the closet looking sensational in a Gucci navy sheath. She slips on a pair of gold hoop earrings.

  I don a deep blue Armani suit, a pink and white striped shirt, and a blue and pink striped tie. My iPhone chimes from the bedside table and I’m distracted by it. That must be Jackson’s email. The pang to check the message sets in, and I know I should delete it without giving it a moment of my time. After all these years of not knowing what really happened…how did Natalie leave the boat while I slept? Why was she held captive for three days on the lake, the hot ground where police were searching for her? It begs one to wonder…were the men who had her wanting to get caught?