Of course the canyon’s kind of had hold of my life since the night of the murders. Up till then there was still a chance me and Jude and Leo could be a family. She was nice to me, and even though he didn’t like kids, he gave me his name and didn’t abuse me none like a lot of stepfathers do. But afterwards she was so into herself that she didn’t hardly notice me except to criticize. And him, well, forget it.
Yeah, the ones who got killed weren’t the only victims that night.
Enough with this standing around feeling sorry for yourself. Get that money, and all your problems’ll be over.
So why do I have this feeling that nothing’s gonna turn out right? Why’s my skin all crawly, like somebody’s watching me, knows what I’m up to? Why—
Stop it, Chryssie!
But Jude said Susan knew something bad was gonna happen to her and her family. That’s why she told where she hid the money, so it wouldn’t go to waste when the bad thing came down. And it did come down.
No, I don’t believe in that premonition shit. No way.
Or do I?
Wednesday, October 11
Rho felt a hand gently shaking her. “You’re home,” Guy’s voice said.
She struggled upright from where she was slumped against the car’s door, looked around. They were stopped in front of her house and light glowed from behind its closed curtains. Inside, Cody was barking. How—?
Of course. Valerie knew where half the spare keys in the county were hidden. She must’ve delivered him and left the lights on for her.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Twelve thirty.”
A lifetime since they’d left Las Vegas. “How’d you find my house?”
“You may think you’re a hotshot detective, lady, but you’ve got nothing on me.” While she collected her bag and undid the seat belt, he came around and opened the door. “Actually,” he added, “I stopped in at the substation and the fellow on duty drew me a map. I took a wrong turn only twice.”
“And I slept through it all.”
“Yeah, you did. Once I checked to see if you were still breathing.”
She fumbled for her keys as she went up onto the porch. Cody stopped barking, recognizing her step.
“Nice-looking house,” Guy said. “Kind of isolated, though.”
“You get used to it.” She slipped her key into the lock, turned to face him. In the glow from the windows and the shadows thrown by the eaves, his profile was lean and chiseled. “I appreciate your coming with me today. You’ve been a big help.” She felt strangely edgy now, wishing he would go.
“I’d say we make a good team.” He put his hand to her cheek. Surprisingly, his fingers were rough, their tips calloused. As he leaned toward her she breathed in his scent, that combination of natural odors that is as individuated as a person’s fingerprint. His reminded her of autumn.
“Guy…”
His lips touched hers, silencing her protest. They were soft, undemanding. They lingered briefly and then, before she realized what was happening, he pulled away, turned, and hurried to the car, raising a hand in farewell.
She watched the taillights disappear down her drive, then simply stood there. On the other side of the door Cody whined. She put her fingertips to her lips. They felt strange, as if the kiss—and admittedly not much of one at that—had changed her physically.
Now what had made him do that? The only interest he’d previously displayed in her was as a conduit for information. And he’d certainly backed off and fled in a hurry. Afraid, maybe, that she’d whack him with her bag?
No, afraid because he’d closed the physical and emotional distance between them, and Guy, she sensed, was not comfortable with closeness.
Well, neither was she. Since Zach left she’d been with a few men, but the affairs were short-lived and she’d been relieved when each lover grew tired of trying to breach the wall she sooner or later put up between them.
With Guy Newberry it wasn’t even going to get to that stage. An involvement with him was something she couldn’t begin to imagine.
“Now why the bloody hell did I do that? To prove I could?”
Maybe you just like the woman, darlin’.
“There’s no future in it.”
Since when do you have to entertain expectations of a lifelong commitment to suck face?
“I do not suck face!”
In his agitated state, Guy managed to make four wrong turns before he found his way back to the highway, thus adding a profound sense of foolishness to his present emotional baggage. The road was deserted, and he tromped on the accelerator, arriving in Signal Port in record time. A drink, he thought, something civilized that would remind him of home and the life he’d led until that damned dinner party when he’d allowed Dun Harrison to seduce him into this lunacy. He remembered seeing a dust-covered bottle of Speyburn on the hotel’s backbar. Probably it had never been opened; nobody in this benighted burg would know single-malt scotch from malt liquor. Which was fine by him because he intended to partake generously of that bottle.
He was settled on a barstool, drink in hand, before he noticed Lily Gilardi at a window table, weeping into her wine. We’ve got to stop meeting like this, he thought, jerking his chin at her and raising a questioning eyebrow at the bartender, who shrugged.
“Put the whole bottle on my tab,” Guy said, holding out his hand.
The barkeep shrugged again and passed it over to him.
Guy left his stool and went to Lily’s table. “More Alex trouble?” he asked as he pulled out the other chair and sat.
Lily looked up in surprise. She really was a good-looking woman, he thought, even with a bruised face and snot dripping from her nose. He reached into his pocket and offered her his fresh handkerchief. She looked at it as if she’d never seen such an accessory before, then look it and blew loudly.
“Big Alex trouble,” she said. “He’s in county jail in Santa Carla.”
“Why?”
“Because this afternoon Mr. Smart Guy tried to hock the diamond ring he got off Samantha Lindsay, and the pawnbroker recognized it from the sheriff’s department circular and called the cops. Alex told them he gave me Samantha’s watch, so Detective Shepherd hauled my ass into the substation and told me they’d maybe cut a deal if I’d testify against Alex. So now I’ve gotta put him away, and they’re starting to ask about the other stuff, and Wayne’s gonna kill me.”
Guy shook his head, trying to make sense of her breathless account. “So you’re saying it was Alex who robbed the Lindsay woman’s body?”
“Yeah. He saw her car go off the road. She was dead when he got to her. It’s a bad thing, really bad. He didn’t even report the accident.”
“And what’s this ‘other stuff’?”
“Oh, shit, Mr. Newberry, the abalone poaching! Alex is hooked up with these guys outta Oakland, and what we don’t sell to them we sell to Tai Haruru, that restaurant at Calvert’s Landing Pier, and a couple of other places. Fish and Game and the sheriff’s department suspect what we’re doing, but so far they haven’t been able to prove anything. But now that Detective Shepherd’s got me on receiving stolen property, he’ll keep the pressure on till I spill my guts. And then I’m looking at jail time, plus a fine I can’t pay. All because that asshole Alex couldn’t wait to hock the ring outside the county!”
Lily’s voice had risen and was attracting the attention of the bar’s other patrons. Guy covered her hand with his and said, “If you cooperate, it won’t go so hard on you.”
“Yeah, right. Are you crazy? Wayne’ll be there in the middle of things, making sure we’re both behind bars.”
“According to what Rhoda Swift told me today, Wayne’s not held in high regard by the department. In fact, Detective Grossman’s trying to keep him on the periphery of the cases he’s working.”
Lily thought about that, alternately mopping her eyes and nose and sipping wine. “Mr. Newberry? What you said last night about Rhoda Swift—d’you think
she’d listen to me? Maybe convince them to make a deal?”
“I know she’d listen.”
“Then let’s go see her. Right now.”
The thought of returning to Rhoda’s house, where he’d just made a monumental fool of himself, made his blood run cold. “Lily, it’s late, and Rhoda’s had a long day—”
“Please! She might be my only chance!”
Last night he’d felt himself changing when he’d resolved to keep open the lines of communication with Lily and help her if he could. But then he’d gone and kissed a woman who was not the sort one kissed casually. Who was probably right now lying awake and contemplating cutting off his nuts. It was insanity to return to Rhoda Swift’s home tonight bearing the dubious gift of Lily Gilardi.
Insanity, but that was exactly what he was going to do.
Cody’s barking woke Rho from a restless sleep. She sat up in bed, saw the wash of headlights across the window. Shrugging into her long wool robe, she hurried across the room and peered out. Her breath caught when she saw a car that looked like Guy Newberry’s rental.
“Now what?” she muttered, and headed for the door.
When she switched on the porch light it illuminated two people: Guy and Lily Gilardi. Guy looked uneasy but in charge. Lily had been crying and seemed frightened.
“My God,” she said, opening the door, “is it Wayne…?”
Guy shook his head. “So far as we know, big brother’s tucked in for the night. But Lily has something to discuss with you. May we come in?”
“Of course.” She opened the door wider and they stepped into the front room. Immediately it began to feel too small, and when she glanced around its contents seemed drab and shabby. She saw Guy looking around too, his eyes cataloging and assessing.
The hell with what he thought. It wasn’t a New York penthouse, but it was hers and she liked it.
“Sit down, please,” she said and excused herself so she could pull on jeans and a sweater. When she came back she found them side by side on the sofa, Cody sniffing around their shoes. She told the dog to lie down, then looked with concern at Lily’s bruised and mascara-streaked face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. No. No, I’m not.”
“Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?”
“Could I have a drink? Some wine, maybe?”
“Certainly. You, Guy?”
He pulled a bottle from his pocket and held it up. Single-malt scotch.
“Trust you to travel prepared,” she said as she took it from him.
In the kitchen she poured their drinks and contemplated the coffeemaker where the dregs of yesterday morning’s brew remained. Then she poured a scotch for herself.
When she was settled opposite the sofa, she asked Lily, “What is it you need to discuss?”
Lily glanced at Guy and, when she saw no help coming from that quarter, said, “It’s about that murdered woman, the one they found off of Point Deception.”
“What about her?”
Another glance at Guy. He said, “Lily wants to help with your investigation, but what she has to tell you may incriminate her. She’s hoping you can guarantee her immunity from prosecution.”
“It’s not in my power to do that. Any deal has to be arranged with my superiors and the county DA’s office.”
Lily half rose from the sofa. Guy grabbed her arm and jerked her back down. He looked both annoyed and protective of her, and the latter surprised Rho.
He said, “If you were to go to bat for her, I’m sure you could persuade them to deal.”
“I don’t have that kind of influence, Guy.”
“I think you do. Detective Grossman’s given you major responsibility for this investigation.”
“Still, I can’t guarantee anything.” She had to stress that, even if it caused Lily to withhold her information.
Guy started to speak, but Lily’s voice overrode his. “The hell with it. They already got me on receiving stolen property. They already got Alex in jail for stealing Samantha Lindsay’s credit cards and jewelry. No way I can lie about that, so why lie about the other stuff? That’s what it was all about with me and Alex—a great big lie. You try to get me some kind of deal, Deputy Swift, but if you don’t… Well, I got myself into this mess, and now I want out.”
Rho nodded approval. “May I tape-record our conversation?”
Lily looked to Guy, who was regarding her like a parent whose wayward child had turned a corner. “It’s okay,” he told her. While Rho searched her desk for her cassettes and recorder, he took Lily’s glass to the kitchen for a refill, patted her shoulder when he returned.
He cares, Rho thought. And not just because he wants to know her secrets. I’ve misjudged him.
“Tell it however you want to, Lily,” she said as she turned on the recorder.
Lily took a big sip of wine. “Okay. I guess you suspect about me and Alex and the poaching. DFG’s onto us. It was just a matter of time.”
Rho nodded.
“Okay,” Lily said, “mostly we passed the abs off to these guys from Oakland, but then things started getting too weird with them. Like they didn’t want me to be involved because I wasn’t Vietnamese and when Alex said he wouldn’t cut me out, they threatened him. So he went around to some of the restaurants here and made his own deal. Anyway, last Friday afternoon around five o’clock we were coming up from Lantern Cove with the day’s harvest, and that’s when we ran into her. The murdered woman.”
“Wait a minute,” Rho said. “Five in the afternoon is too late for abaloneing.” The divers usually went out at first light.
“Yeah, it is. What happened was we filled our cooler that morning and were starting to leave when Alex spotted these guys he thought were DFG. They weren’t, I knew that, but Alex is sorta—no, he’s completely—paranoid. So he insisted on hiding the cooler in one of the caves off the cove and coming back for it later.”
“All right, you were there around five and…?”
“And that murdered woman… What’s her name?”
“Chrystal Ackerman.”
“Yeah, now I remember. She called herself Chrys. Anyway, she just popped outta this clump of pampas grass where she’d gone to take a pee. Was acting kind a freaky, like we’d caught her doing something she shouldn’t, but she seemed nice enough. Told us her car was broke down and her cell phone wouldn’t work, asked us to call Triple A for her, plus some number in Las Vegas. I said we would, and she wrote down the Triple A card number and the message to leave at the other number and gave me a twenty-dollar bill to cover the long-distance charge. When I told her it was too much she said we should use what was left to buy a drink on her.”
“What was the message for the person in Las Vegas?”
“Number was for some kind of hospital. I was supposed to ask whoever answered to tell Judith Ackerman that Chrys got in and out okay.”
Rho glanced at Guy, who nodded.
Got in and out of Cascada Canyon with a quarter of a million dollars.
“And did you make the calls?” she asked.
Lily looked down into her drink. “No,” she said in a small voice. “I wanted to stop in Signal Port and use a pay phone, but Alex said we were going straight to Tai Haruru, they were waiting on the abalone. He said we’d have our drink on Chrys in the bar there. And then the bastard took the paper she’d written the numbers on and tossed it out the window.” She paused, shaking her head. “I think that was when I started to hate him.”
Rho waited. When Lily didn’t go on, she said, “I gather this isn’t everything you have to tell me.”
“Not by half. There’s the Samantha Lindsay thing. But they’ve already got Alex on that, and I said I’d testify if they don’t charge me with receiving. At first I felt bad about it, but you know what? It’s starting to feel like the right thing.”
“Which detective made the deal with you?”
“The little guy. Shepherd.”
Rho suppressed a smile, imagining what Denny’s reac
tion to “the little guy” reference would have been. “Okay, what else?”
A sly look crept across Lily’s face. She, Rho sensed, was about to play her ace in the hole.
“This could really help your case.”
“Then tell me.”
Lily took her time, holding out her glass to Guy for a refill. This was her moment in the spotlight, Rho thought, and she was determined to enjoy it. When Guy returned with the wine, she sipped, set the glass down, and sat up straighter.
“Me and Alex, we know where the killer put Chrys’s body into the water.”
Guy had been annoyed at being relegated to the role of waiter, but Lily’s revelation made him forget that. He watched Rhoda conceal her surprise as she asked, “Where’s that?”
Lily seemed deflated by the cool response. She folded her arms and pouted.
“Lily?” Rhoda said. “Cooperation is key to making a deal.”
“Okay. You know where Quinley’s used to be?”
Rhoda nodded. To Guy she said, “In the fifties and early sixties it was a gas station, the only one on this stretch of coast. When the big oil companies came in, it sat empty for about fifteen years. A man named Quinley bought it in the eighties, turned it into a little burger stand, but there was concern about toxic contamination from leaking underground storage tanks, and he was forced to shut down. The building partly burned a few years later—probably Quinley was trying to collect on his insurance—and the land has been for sale ever since.”
“I think I’ve seen the place. All overgrown, with a chain-link fence around it, on the west side of the highway a few miles north of Point Deception?”
“Right.”
“Well,” Lily said, “what most people don’t know is that the cove behind it has some of the best abalone beds in the county, and the gate in that fence is never locked. Me and Alex, we’d pull in there and climb down the cliff, collect enough abs to fill our cooler in record time.”
Rhoda looked shocked. “Lily, the runoff from the contaminated soil could be affecting the shellfish. That’s why nobody ever harvests there. You and Alex may have been poisoning people!”
Point Deception Page 20