by Robert Lane
We worked things out, but it wasn’t easy, and I’m sure not rehashing it. Kathleen finally accepted that Paige—although Paige claimed total memory loss outside of the slap and kiss and in no manner came to my defense—and I had not slept together. She was only in my bed because my guest bedroom was without a bed. Would Kathleen harbor future doubts, assuming we had a future? I’d had no idea that a new bed could have made that much difference in my life. Next time the deliveryman calls, you bet I’m jumping all over that, survey and all. Garrett came in around the third inning and backed me up, but not before he played ignorance long enough to entertain himself, watch me squirm, and nearly dynamite the whole mess.
What I had done was place Paige gently into my bed and, still feeling guilty about the face slap, given her a light kiss on the forehead. I slept on the couch. I prefer to believe that her recollection of my kiss was a testament to the life force of my lips rather than her inability, as a drunk, to totally check out.
Morgan joined Kathleen at the end of the dock. Garrett said we had about fifteen minutes. I started in on Paige, who, not to make a big deal of it, still sat in my chair (it faced southwest) and drank from my mug. I had a list of questions to fly through. I paced the room as I fired them.
“Where did you meet him?”
“Do we have to do this now?”
“Where did you meet him?”
“Key West.”
“When?”
“Couple weeks a—”
“Tell me all about him.”
She blew her breath out the right corner of her mouth. She’d make a good Popeye. “He paid me to be pretty. Invited me on board. Said we’d do some cruising. Thought it’d be cool, you know? Said he was just back from Sint Maarten and London before that. Sounded like a good life.”
“Tell me about Paulo Guadarrama, the Guardian.”
“Why the monotone questions—you always like—”
“Answer me.”
She puffed out a breath that flipped her bangs. “On and off the boat. Held meetings but never talked much in front of anyone. Got the feeling that he stayed nearby. They yakked together on the phone.”
“Do you recognize this girl?” I held up a picture of Renée Lambert.
“Nope.”
“Do you know the name Renée Lambert?”
“Nope.”
“Did he tell you where he was going last night when he left the boat?”
“No—”
“Do not use that word again.” I took the chair next to her and leaned into her space. Her breath smelled like toothpaste. Probably used my brush. A strand of hair fell over her left eye. I reached out and tucked it behind her ear. Her shoulders trembled. A gold earring in the shape of a ship’s anchor hung from her left earlobe. Her right ear was naked.
“Last night.” I placed my hands on my knees; I didn’t trust them. “You told me that you recognized Renée Lambert, knew the name, and gave me a lecture on boomerang love. Sound familiar? Listen to me, Paige Godfrey.” I shifted my weight even closer to her. Her eyes never left mine, but she shrank away as if the chair was gathering her in. “I think you’re a good girl who stepped onto a bad boat. Just how bad that boat was you’ll find out in a few minutes when some men come to haul you away for what they refer to as official questioning. Are you with me so far?”
“I didn’t do anything. I just—”
“I know. Tell the truth, and you’ll be fine. Lie, and that face slap will seem like child’s play. Now let’s give it another try, shall we? Do you recognize this girl?” I held up the picture of Renée Lambert, but my eyes never lost contact with hers.
“Yes.”
“Do you know the name Renée Lambert?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you just lie?”
“You scare me—what the hell do you think?”
“Spill it.”
“She’s his ex.” She wiggled up in her seat and brought her knees up under her, Indian style. Her coquina toenails disappeared under her smooth, tan legs. “You know, he picked me up when she dropped out.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I was the next one.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Paulo brought her in, I don’t know, less than two weeks ago. They—Alex, Paulo, and Renée—start yelling at each other. They accused her of taking something. I tried to listen, but they were in the stateroom. I got bits and pieces.”
“Sally and Ace told me they never saw her.” Sally told me he saw Paulo and a girl who looked like Renée board the boat, but he wasn’t positive.
“They weren’t on the boat. Shore leave.”
“Why was she there?”
“Dunno. Like I said, Paulo hauled her in one evening. He still liked her.”
I assumed Paulo hauled her in the night he tracked her down at the Valencia. “Alex still liked her?” I said to clarify her last statement.
“Yeah, you could tell. He was taken with…Renée.” She glanced out toward the water. “I was—whatever. Give me a refill, will you?” She reached over and handed me the mug with my three buddies on it. I got up and went to the kitchen. When I returned, she had just finished raking her hands through her hair. She stopped when I entered the porch. I put the mug in front of her. She sat poised, with her legs crossed.
“You told me last night,” I took my seat but didn’t lean into her as I had done before, “that Renée said something about Alex killing a bird.” I was eager to move on to Paretsky but first wanted to clear the air about last night’s comments.
Paige gave a nervous nod. “First of all, I haven’t a clue what I said last night, so don’t trot out that lead again.” A brief smile and a nose crinkle. It was a classic combination, and I’m sure it opened about any door she desired. “After the shouting match, on the way off the boat, Renée grabbed me. Told me to get off, said she thought they were dangerous men. You know, save yourself. Stuff like that. Like I was going to let the ex tell me what to do? But I knew,” she left me and gazed over my shoulder, “that I was on a bad boat.”
“What exactly did she say about the bird?”
“Not much. Apparently, Alex was going to kill some bird, and I’m telling you, that girl—and she’s a wacko—was pissed. That’s not what they questioned her on, though. Like I said, they thought she’d stolen something. The bird thing was on her own.” She puffed out her cheeks and then lurched forward and gave a dry heave.
I went to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of water and a banana. “Here.” I placed them in front of her. “Eat. Drink.” She handed me back the water. I unscrewed the cap and gave it back to her. She ate the banana and took a long sip from the bottle.
“Tell me about last night,” I said. “About Alex and Paulo.”
She swallowed and draped the peel across the Copacabana ashtray on the end table. “Paulo, I don’t know about. Alex left about seven or so. I invited some people over that I met at the Valencia. We drank pretty heavy—bet you didn’t figure that out—and Alex suddenly said he had to leave.”
“Did he tell you where he was going?”
She explained that Paretsky had abruptly left the Southern Breeze, returned a short time later, and departed again with a suitcase. He’d returned within half an hour, placed the suitcase in the dinghy, and slipped away.
“You question him on the suitcase?”
“Said he’d be back later, that Paulo was dead. Creepy and calm—just told me. That’s when I went in my room and got my peashooter. The captain chased everyone off the boat and had Sally and Ace untie us. We took off.”
“Any way of contacting Paretsky?”
“No, sir. I do not.” She flashed a tease smile. Her color was starting to come back, and I saw a little bit of the woman I’d first noticed, whose body I’d wanted to smear oil on.
“They’re here,” Garrett cut in.
I dropped to my knees so my face was in front of hers. I placed my hands on the arms of her chair, boxing her in. “He’s a dangerous man. Tel
l me something that will help me out here.”
“I just don’t know that much.” She brought up her right hand and twirled her hair. She was not the wealth of information on Paretsky I had hoped for. My disappointment weighed on me like a backpack of bricks. “Do I look as bad as I feel?” She glanced at Garrett.
“You look swell,” I said.
“I was asking him.” She came back to me. “I can help you, though.”
“How?”
“That girl?”
“What girl?”
“Your woman.”
“Kathleen? What about her?”
“The part where you squirmed and explained that we didn’t really sleep together?” She paused, as if I might have already forgotten the conversation from ten minutes ago.
“Yes?”
“She knew that. She knew before you came in the house. She is ticked at you, but it has nothing to do with me.” Her pug nose crinkled up. How many men fell for that siren song?
Garrett again. “They’re waiting.” I shot him a look. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt.
“She say anything else?”
Paige smiled, brought up both hands, and swept her hair back. “I’m a mess. Mind if I take a shower?” She shifted her gaze from me to Garrett.
“She say any—”
“It’s Jake, right?” She stood up, and I did likewise, backing away to allow her space. She was taller than I thought. “All this stuff about Alex, yet you drop him in a nanosecond when I mention Kathleen. And the hippie?”
“Morgan?”
“Whoever. I heard them before I got up. They were talking about you. And if you want to know about what, you’ll need to ask them, slap man.”
She spun to leave. Garrett took a step toward us. “No shower. There’s a truck in the street. They’ll take you to MacDill Air Force Base, where you’ll be questioned—”
Paige slipped off her dress. No bra.
“—further on your knowledge of Alexander—”
She wiggled out of her panties in a playful manner.
“—Paretsky and any other knowledge that—”
With her right foot, she flung her panties into the air, caught them with her right hand, and tossed them onto Tinker Bell. My Tinker Bell alarm clock.
“—you might possess.”
“I’ll be in the shower,” Paige said and kept her eyes on Garrett. “In the event you want to drag me out. Otherwise, boys, I’m gonna need thirty minutes.” She sashayed out of the screened porch. She did a full-body turn just before she took the corner to my bedroom. No tan lines.
“Jake?”
“Yes, Paige?”
“Was there a cowboy on the boat last night?”
“Yes, Paige, as a matter of fact, there was. A real John Wayne.”
She gave a slow, comprehending nod, as if, at least for her, life’s big answer was finally laid out. “I wondered where they went.”
CHAPTER 36
Garrett greeted the men in the SUV, returned, and asked me to fix two plates of scrambled eggs. I’ve seen Garrett pin down seven men while medics attended the wounded behind him, but he can’t crack an egg. He disappeared back out the front door with the plates. Paige emerged from my bedroom, looking more like the million-dollar girl that Paretsky had enticed aboard in Key West and who I had salivated over while nursing a Bloody Mary at the Valencia. Her gold sundress wasn’t as wrinkled as it’d been earlier, and I wondered what trick of the trade she knew.
“One more for you.” I put down my empty coffee cup. “In Key West, did he ever leave the boat? Take you to dinner, shopping?”
“Listen,” she glanced down and smoothed out her dress, “did I have any shoes on last night?”
“No. I’ve got an extra pair of flip-flops you can have.”
“I’m a buyer. My other stuff on the boat?”
“It’ll be returned. Key West.”
“Right-o.” She punched her fist out. “You do like your questions. That’s how I met him. But I believe the only time and reason he left any boat was to pick up the next blonde. We had drinks at Casa Marina. Even got him to sit around one of the fire pits one night. But that was it. My turn.”
“Sure.”
“Your friend, Mr. Greek God. He single?”
I handed her my card. “Ask him, when he gives you the flip-flops.”
“I might if I get the courage. He’s a little intimidating.”
“You said I scared you, but you came around.”
“Silly.” Paige crinkled her nose again. Back in the game. “Bad boys—real bad boys—don’t wear shorts.”
Garrett came back in and escorted her to the black SUV in the street. My own truck occupied the driveway. Morgan and Kathleen returned from the dock, and Morgan said he’d be back in a minute.
“Morgan’s running me over to the college,” Kathleen said. Her voice dull, all business. “After that, if you want, I’ll go back on his boat. Your call.”
Casa Marina would have cameras on the bar. A chance for some clear shots of Paretsky. Maybe he goofed and paid with a credit card. I should have asked Paige how the bill was settled. Between Lynette and Casa Marina, Alexander Paretsky was like a pinfish with a ten-foot cast net sinking around him. I needed to—
“I’m talking to you.”
“Back on the boat.” I dropped my thoughts and put a hand on each of her shoulders. I wanted to pack her up and stick her in my pocket. “But after your class, and after we get a chance to talk.”
I placed my hand on her cheek and down to the edge of her mouth. Paige Godfrey was a beautiful woman, but I’d trade a full-body view of her for a single smile from Kathleen. Any day. Any time.
“Let’s walk the beach,” I said, “this evening. Sunset. You can tell me that everything’s going to be OK. Even if it’s a lie.”
“You’d live with a lie?” She rolled her tongue inside her left cheek.
“To my judgment day. I would revel in your—”
“Touching.” She patted me on my left shoulder like an object that needed minor attention. I didn’t mind the interruption, as I had no idea where I was going with that line. I felt awkward standing next to her, and I had never felt that way before. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d had forward momentum to our relationship. That’s right—London. Before I lied. Before I told her (for those not keeping track) for the second time to go back to her books.
“You think a sunset stroll will win the girl?” she said.
“Don’t you ever get tired of thinking?”
Her eyes narrowed, and her shoulders slumped. “I do. I really do. All the time.”
“Let’s give it a break. Walk the beach. Watch the sun slip away. If I get lucky, you’ll let me hold your hand, although I’ll lie in school tomorrow and say I copped a feel.”
The world’s most important person smiled at me.
Za-za-boom, baby. I’m comin’ up now.
Morgan returned, and Kathleen climbed on his Harley. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around him. As the bike roared away, the black SUV that had escorted Paige passed them coming back. It pulled up to the curb in front of me. The rear window that held my reflection eased down, and Paige Godfrey appeared.
“The bird?”
“What about it?”
“Remember I said that Renée told me that Alex was going to kill a bird? That wasn’t entirely it. She said that Alex arranged for him be killed, you know, like assisted suicide. I was like, what do you mean? She said this bird had killed her mother and wanted to die. Crazy, right? Birds killing people? Assisted bird suicide? You can understand why I tuned that wacko out. But, Travis, Jake Travis, you wanted details, so there you go. Alex helped a cardinal die. The cardinal killed some other lady. Screwed-up world, isn’t it?”
The window whizzed up and closed with a thud. I stared at myself until the SUV lurched forward. I was dying for someone to tell me something I didn’t know.
I nearly got my wish.
CHAPTER 37
A few hours later, everybody in the Milky Way had clear shots of Alexander Paretsky camped out at Benny’s Beach Bar sporting a ridiculous, slightly crooked Chaplin moustache. More important, we were able to lift numbers and addresses from the papers that Paretsky and his business partner exchanged. His compatriot was identified as an arms dealer who worked both sides of the fence. The outdoor bar at Casa Marina also came through. He paid by cash, but the pictures were gold. I told the group at MacDill to flip on the Garmin in Southern Breeze. It would track the boat’s movement in the event that Ace and Sally couldn’t recall the exact time and place of each port, although I knew that Ace was solid for one day a week.
We had recently gained access to the bank accounts of the arms dealer and had not shut him down for this very reason—to scoop more garbage into the net. They would pull the same play on Paretsky: don’t let the mark know that you have his banking information. Track his movement and gather names, associates, and more bank digits. Once you have a man’s banking information, you have him by the nuts. You milk it for all you can, pick the time and place, and step out of the shadows with force, timing your move to have extracted as much information as possible from him before he caused further damage. The downside? Although we knew where his money, or at least some of his money, was, Paretsky was still loose. The animal I’d been dispatched to kill was out there and likely knew that he was being cornered.
I called PC, who was still canvassing Donald Lambert’s neighborhood. I knew if he found anything he would call, but I wanted to check that box. Nothing new. I told him to stand down. We never found the boat the Guardian used to approach Donald Lambert’s house. He likely wired it miles away, and no way could we cover that much territory. The hard fact is that in any investigation, the majority of your casts don’t even register a nibble.
I hit Wayne’s number and told him what Paige said. He already knew. Whatever loop I was in, he was there as well.