Eyes Wide Open

by Andrew Gross

  Susan’s Pollack’s birdlike eyes narrowed, like she was focusing back in time. “I may. Or may not, as you say. People were always moving in and out of the ranch. We may not have even been there at the same time. Anyway, we all went by different names back then. Mine was Maggie. Maggie Mae. For Magdalena, actually, not for the song.

  “Anyway”—she looked back at me—“your brother’s son is dead, and he had some kind of random connection to this detective, Zorn. Now he’s dead . . .” She turned to Sherwood, the lightbulb going off. “And I’ve been recently released. I think I get it now.”

  Sherwood nodded. “We’re trying to find out if Detective Zorn’s connection to Evan was, indeed, as random as you say.”

  She rubbed a finger along the side of her face, knocked the ash off her cigarette. She came back with the faintest smile. “Just so you know, detective, I haven’t had any direct communication with Russell Houvnanian in more than thirty years. I’ve taken responsibility for what I’ve done. What I helped to do. I’ve expressed remorse. I’ve paid my debt. I was a deluded twenty-year-old who was in love. I didn’t kill anybody, Detective Sherwood. I didn’t get in that van.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, ma’am—”

  “I’m fifty-seven now,” Susan Pollack said, cutting him off. “I’ve forfeited most of my life. I’d like to find some way I can make up for the pain I’ve caused. Counseling, animal rescue, I don’t know what form. The last thing I have on my mind is the ‘old days,’ detective. I think you can understand that. That’s the best answer I can give.”

  She turned to me. “I’m sorry about your nephew, doctor. I’m sorry if it’s opened a bunch of wounds and old things that were better off kept closed. But I haven’t been to Morro Bay. Or Santa Maria. Or seen Detective Zorn. Or knew of your nephew. Now, I know you’ve had a long drive up here. Is that all?”

  Sherwood looked at me with an air of disappointment. As if he was saying, Sorry, her cooperation is 100 percent voluntary at this point. He seemed ready to get up. “We won’t trouble you any longer . . .”

  I fixed on her. “Both Evan and this detective Zorn had something strange on them at the times of their deaths. The image of an eye. An open eye, staring. Does that mean anything to you?”

  Susan Pollack shrugged. I noticed the slightest tremor in her jaw. “No. Should it?”

  Sherwood looked at me, eyes burning, but I continued on. “Do you mind if I read you something, Ms. Pollack?” I knew we were about to walk out the door with nothing and that would be the end of it. We had no proof, nothing to pin her to any of the scenes, no evidence to compel her to cooperate, and nothing on Houvnanian, who was in jail.

  All we had were these unrelated pieces of the jigsaw I was trying to fit together. I needed to know for sure.

  “Russell Houvnanian made a statement at the time of his sentencing. It was about him possibly coming back one day. To take revenge. Do you have any idea what this means?”

  I pulled out the paper from my jacket and tried to judge her reactions as I read. “ ‘On that day of judgment, or even the hour, no one will know . . . Not even the sleeping child will know. Only the father. It’s like a man who goes away for a long time . . .’ ” I glanced up, watching her watching me, the slightest veiled smile in her eyes. “ ‘No one knows when the master will choose to come back, or in what manner . . . Watch,’ ” I read, “ ‘lest he come back suddenly and find you sleeping. Watch . . .’ ”

  “I think it’s time for you both to go now.” Susan Pollack rubbed out her cigarette and stood up. “I’m sorry you had to come up all the way here.”

  Sherwood stood up with her. “We appreciate your time . . .”

  “Did you know my brother?” I asked, my blood heating.

  She didn’t answer. She just motioned us to the door. “I’m sorry for your loss, Dr. Erlich. For your brother’s loss.”

  “Did you know him? His name was Charlie, Ms. Pollack. He had a beard and long black hair.”

  She waited for us to step off the porch. I followed Sherwood down, sure I had struck a nerve, but one I’d never be able to follow up on.

  Then she called back—not so much in answer to my question, but with what seemed a kind of taunt. “He was a musician, wasn’t he?”

  Blood rocketed in my veins.

  Then she smiled, putting back on her work gloves. “I hope you have a good trip back.”

  Outside, we headed back to the car. I exchanged only the slightest glance with Sherwood. I was frustrated. I knew we had come away with nothing. Nothing to follow up on. Nothing to tie her to Evan’s death in any way.

  He went to the driver’s side and eyed me, silently telling me to get in.

  “Wait one second,” I said, suddenly remembering something.

  I went over to the garage, Susan Pollack watching me. It was more like a dilapidated barn with a rolling wooden door on tracks. The door was open. I swung it to the side just a little and peered in.

  I thought back to the night outside Charlie’s apartment. I brought to mind the person in the car. Flicking her cigarette. Staring at me.

  A Kia wagon. Navy.

  A car just like this.

  I headed back over to Sherwood and got back in the car. I looked up at the house and saw Susan Pollack in the doorway, smiling at me, petting her dog.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “I know it was her.” I turned to Sherwood as soon as we got back on the main road.

  He put on the brakes, veins popping on his neck. “What do you think you were doing in there?”

  I knew I had crossed the line. “We had this one chance,” I said. “I was only trying to figure out what she knew.”

  “Yeah, well, you leaked a confidential piece of evidence in the homicide investigation of an ex–police officer. The knife marks. Maybe in the ER, doc, you call the shots. But here you’re no more than a guy who’s come in off the street with no insurance. That wasn’t something she needed to know.”

  “All right, I’m sorry,” I said, taking a breath. “But she’s part of it, Sherwood.”

  “Yeah? What did she say that made up your mind?”

  I told him about the car I’d seen three nights ago outside my brother’s apartment. The person in the cap watching me.

  The same car I was sure I just saw in Susan Pollack’s garage.

  “Someone staring at you?” he said, his nostrils flaring. “Sort of like I am now.”

  “I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. I don’t know how to describe it, but I know they were watching me. Or Charlie. As they drove away the window went down, and they flicked out a cigarette butt my way. It was like a warning, Sherwood. It gave me a chill.”

  “Well, maybe you should have listened to it, doc . . .” Sherwood stared at me. “What kind of car was it?”

  “A compact. A Honda or a Kia or something. A wagon. Black or dark blue.”

  “Black or dark blue?” He rolled his eyes.

  “It was night,” I said.

  “I know. Exactly,” he replied unsympathetically. “You take note of the plates?”

  “No. I didn’t get them. I was talking to my wife.”

  “What about the car model? The year?”

  “I don’t know!” I snapped back. “I’m a doctor. I don’t know fucking cars. I didn’t even suspect that anything was going on back then. It was just a sense.”

  “And that’s what you want me to broaden an investigation on? Some car you can’t identify; a person you think you saw in the dark while you were on the phone. A sense! You think I can go to my boss with this and say, ‘Look, all this shit is going on, none of it adds up, but my guy’s got a medical degree, and he’s pretty sure someone was watching him. We think we found the car. It was in Susan Pollack’s garage. It was either a Honda or a Kia, either black or dark blue. It was nighttime . . . And oh, yeah, the thing that totally cinches it, Susan Pollack smokes . . .’ ”

  “It was her!” I shouted. My gaze burned. “The eyes, the wom
an who was with Evan, the person in the car outside Charlie’s house. It all adds up. We just have to put it together, Sherwood. She knew my brother. You heard what she said. She was taunting me. She knows why Zorn had to find Evan . . .”

  “I can’t keep this investigation open on taunts. I need something real! I’m a goddamn coroner’s detective, not homicide. You know the score here. I have maybe, what, a year before I’m pushed aside. Six months, if the county budget cuts come down. And then what? You know the long-term prospects for a transplant at my age. You can see the color in my eyes, same as me.”

  I had noticed the yellowish hue. Along with the bruise marks on his arms. Transplants at his age were always dicey. If he wasn’t one of the lucky ones, two years, three years tops.

  “I can’t afford to mortgage the rest of my career for you!”

  He glared at me with his eyes burning, then sat back and put the car in gear. We drove back down the hill toward the coast.

  For a while, neither of us said a word. I wanted to say I understood. I understood everything he was saying. I knew we didn’t have a single solid shred of evidence to build a case on. Other than these crazy puzzle pieces in my mind. Pieces Sherwood no longer seemed keen on putting together. We knew Zorn knew about Evan. We had the eyes on both bodies. There was a woman with Evan before he ended up dead.

  We drove down to the coast and got back on the highway. The morning fog had lifted and it was now a bright and shining day.

  Sherwood pulled to the side of the road. For a moment I thought he was going to tell me to get out and make my own way back to Pismo Beach.

  Instead, he turned to me and shook his head. “I think you’re going at this the wrong way. There’s someone else you should be talking to,” he said. “Who knows a lot more than he’s letting on.”

  I didn’t have to ask who he meant.

  “You’re gonna lose me,” he said.

  “I can’t.” I looked at him pleadingly.

  “You want some answers . . .” He put the car back in gear and drove down the hill. “Quit protecting your brother and ask him.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It was already after eight when Sherwood dropped me off in front of the motel. I didn’t feel like dealing with Charlie that night. I was exhausted and drained from the long ride. I went upstairs and ran the shower. I stood in front of the mirror and looked at my hollowed, haggard face.

  I kept seeing Susan Pollack’s smile. Your brother was a musician.

  She knew him! I knew she did. Which meant Charlie was keeping something from me about his time on the ranch.

  It’s time for Charlie to come clean.

  That’s when my cell phone rang. Kathy.

  This was another conversation I wasn’t looking to have. How would I explain what was going on? Where I’d been today? Or why I needed more time here?

  “Hey,” I answered, sucking in a breath.

  “Hey. You sound tired.”

  We tap-danced about the weather for a while, and then the kids. How Maxie had been messing around on Ryan Frantz’s guitar while at lacrosse camp and wanted to take lessons.

  Then she said, “Jay, I think it’s time you brought me in on what the hell’s going on out there.”

  She was right. It was time. I said, “Just promise me you won’t tell me I’m crazy until you hear the whole story, okay?”

  “I’d like to be able to promise that, Jay . . .”

  “All right, here goes . . .”

  I started with Walter Zorn and the things that connected him to Evan. Looking for him at the basketball courts. And then the eyes. “We all thought he was delusional, Kathy, but this friend of his confirmed he had been speaking with the police.” I brought up Susan Pollack and the woman who had been spotted with Evan before he died.

  Then I brought up Houvnanian. Charlie’s old connection to him. How I had once met him.

  Still she didn’t say a word.

  Finally I told her where I had been that day.

  “Are you done?” Kathy finally asked.

  I sat on the edge of the bed and waited. “Yeah, I’m done.”

  “Jay, are you completely out of your mind?”

  “I told you, you weren’t allowed to say that,” I said, hoping at least for a chuckle.

  There was none.

  She said, “You’re a doctor, Jay, not a policeman! What you’re saying sounds totally crazy. Evan. This murdered detective. These sets of eyes! Russell Houvnanian!”

  “Look, I know there’s no way for you to understand, Kathy. I know that I’m onto something here. I have to see it through.”

  “Onto what, Jay? That your nephew wasn’t sick? A few days ago you were claiming the hospital was responsible for his death. You even brought in the press. Now you’re saying what? That he was murdered?”

  I let out a breath. “I know how it sounds, Kathy, but yeah.”

  “Russell Houvnanian? Don’t you see—you’re scaring me now, Jay! Look, I know how tough it must be with Charlie and Gabby now. I know how Evan’s death has upset them . . .”

  “It has upset them, Kath, but that’s not it.”

  “Then what is it, Jay? Tell me. What is it you’re trying to find out there?”

  “I’m just trying to find out the truth. About what happened to him. That’s all.”

  “No. This is all going far beyond Evan. You’re stepping into things you shouldn’t be. Things the police ought to be handling if something’s going on. You’re going to get yourself hurt, Jay. Don’t you see I’m worried about you?”

  I knew I had to say something to convince her I hadn’t lost my mind. “I just need you to trust me, Kathy, that’s all. Like how you trusted me when you went up in the plane with me that first time. Like how you trust me every day to take care of you and Maxie and Sophie. And I’ve never let you down, have I?”

  “No, Jay, you’ve never let me down.”

  I said, “I realized something the other day. I know this’ll sound a little crazy. But how lucky we are. All of us. I tried to say it, but I couldn’t. You wouldn’t have understood.”

  “We are lucky, Jay. We are.”

  “I don’t mean that way. What I mean is, Charlie and my father, they were the same. You know what I’m saying, right? That’s why Lenny was so volatile. He just was never diagnosed. He just played it out on a different stage.

  “Being out here, and watching how Charlie and Gabby loved Evan, it’s made me think, maybe the only reason Charlie is where he is and I’m where I am is simply that I was lucky. That what they had didn’t get passed on down to me. Charlie got it, Kathy.”

  “You’re wrong about that, Jay. You’ve earned whatever you have. I’ve watched you. You’ve earned it all. And you say you’re out there to find the truth . . . But the truth is never the truth, Jay, when it comes to your brother. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Maybe so,” I said. “But I’m going to be there for them, Kathy. I’m in now. And all the way.”

  It was the second time in two days we had hung up with distance between us. I promised her I’d be back soon. Maybe not tomorrow, but the day after. Or the day after that.

  I sat up and looked in the mirror. And while the face that stared back at me was the same—the one who scrubbed in in the OR, who laughed at The Office or 30 Rock, who cheered on my son at his matches, and who drove my daughter down to college and hung her posters on the walls just right, and even cried in the car after I hugged her good-bye—I saw something different in the eyes that stared back at me.

  Something had changed.

  The phone sounded again.

  I hurried to grab it, wanting to say, Kathy, I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t know what’s taking hold of me. I need you too . . .

  Then I realized it wasn’t my cell at all that was ringing. It was the room phone. I thought maybe Sherwood was calling me back, or more likely, the front desk—I was way, way past my original checkout date.

  I reached it on the third ring.
“Hello?”

  “You know the one about the patient, doc, who waits too long to find out what’s wrong with him, ’cause he never wants to hear bad news?”

  The voice was male, a slight southern inflection to it.

  “Sorry?”

  “And then it’s too late. He’s got cancer. And the doctor goes, ‘How would you feel if I told you it was all a joke, and you just have high blood pressure now?’ ”

  “Who is this?”

  He didn’t say. Instead he said, “You’re a smart man, doc. Smart people like you ought to know when they put their noses where they don’t belong. When they should just back off. Before they get themselves burned. Or even worse, maybe someone else, someone close to them.”

  “Who the hell is this?” I said, my blood instantly on fire.

  “Don’t you worry your little medical degree about that, doc. You worry about what you’re gonna do. Comprende? I’m just trying to play the good citizen here and clue you in. Time to just pack up and head home, pal. Quit trying to make trouble here.”

  “What do you mean,” I said, my temperature rising, “someone close to me?”

  “Mine to know, doc, yours to worry about. The kid was sick, right? Why don’t we just leave it at that. And speaking of sick, let me ask. You smoke, doc?”

  I was about to hang up but answered, seething, “No, I don’t smoke.”

  “That’s funny then,” he said, “ ’cause I definitely smell something burning. Don’t you?”

  The guy’s voice had this cozy, insinuating sort of tone to it, which actually scared me a little. “Don’t call me again, asshole.”

  “ ’Cause it would be easy—you don’t know how easy—,” he went on, “to just burn that little nose of yours right off, any time we want. Remember, doc, you’re out west, not back in New York. Once a fire starts here, you never know how fast it might spread. Or to where.”

  I put down the phone, my heart pounding, anger pouring out of me.

  I definitely smell something burning. Don’t you?