Presumption Of Death

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  “It’s a long trip from Sweden to the West Coast,” Nina said. “How long have you been traveling?”

  “Forever. Honest, Mom, I lost track. I don’t even know what day it is.”

  “Bob, we need to talk.”

  “Sure, Mom. Go ahead.” His voice already sounded muffled.

  “Because…” Because Paul doesn’t know anything about this, she thought in despair. Because I’m afraid what his reaction will be, finding this kid ensconced in his private space without warning. Because he always said he didn’t want kids at all.

  “Because,” she started again, more firmly, “we have to find a better situation.”

  “It isn’t the most comfortable bed in the world,” Bob said, “but it’s fine for now.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming! I would have gotten a room ready.”

  “I tried to call! You were never around!”

  “What about my cell?”

  “I always got your message center. I hate that. It’s too complicated for a message.”

  “So what’s going on.”

  “I wanted to come home.”

  “So you did.” Home meaning… Mom?

  “Right. They only charged me a hundred bucks to change my ticket, and I paid for it out of gifts I got from Uncle Matt, so that’s okay, right?”

  “But, Bob…”

  “It’s okay, Mom. I don’t care that this bed is hard. I could sleep out on the deck until the weekend, and never wake up.” His voice was drowsy. “There’s more. Tell you later.”

  She couldn’t get another word out of him. His eyes rolled up and closed and that was that.

  The duffel was full of dirty, stinking, in some cases damp, clothes. She took them into the laundry area off the hallway and started to sort, whites, darks, permanent press, unable to think about Paul coming home, what he would say. After she sorted his things, she decided to add the growing pile in the laundry basket in the main bathroom.

  In the corner she saw the rolled-up pile of clothes Wish had left the night he appeared at their door.

  “Ugh,” she said, pulling them out. They should have tossed these the day Wish got back. Holding the reeking ball at arm’s length, she marched to the kitchen, to the main trash can. Before she dumped the contents, she forced herself to pick through the pockets, changing her mind in the process. Let Wish decide what to do with his motley assortment.

  Wish was a pack rat, like Bob. Bottle caps, crumpled paper, an old lollipop melted into its paper wrapping… he had an accumulation of goodies, some of which she couldn’t even recognize. Forcing herself to be diligent, she took it all, right down to the denim-colored lint, and stuffed it into a plastic bag. She set the contents on the kitchen counter to give to Wish later and, feeling productive, gathered up all the kitchen trash and carried a big load out to the Dumpster at the end of the buildings. She yawned. She was beat.

  It was five o’clock, the adults’ witching hour, when the work stops and, if you’re lucky, the fun begins. Right on cue, she heard Paul’s Mustang muscling into the driveway.

  He swept in, kicked his shoes off, and gathered her up into his cold arms. “Ah,” he said. “Alone at last.” His grin, so soon to be brutally erased, was one she knew well, and signified that he was feeling playful.

  “Paul,” she said.

  He put his finger over her lips. “Let’s have ourselves a TGIF nap. We are not going to discuss work. We are going to take our clothes off and frolic. I need a quick shower. Dinner after. I’ll take you out for barbecue.”

  “No, Paul, wait…”

  He covered her mouth with kisses, nudging her toward the bedroom. “I want you in bed, naked and ready in two minutes. Can you do that? I think you can.”

  “Really, I need to tell you!”

  He shut the door on her. “Shh. Save it.”

  She heard him slam the door to the bathroom, and the shower going on. Might as well do what I can to mitigate the shock, he’ll find out soon enough, she thought. Hint to investigator: no hot water.

  Meanwhile, she combed through her brown hair, sitting at the mirror. The woman in there was turning back into a mother right before her eyes.

  He took a long time in the shower, cold water or no cold water. She crawled between the sheets to warm her cold feet. She pulled a fuzzy blue blanket up from the foot of the bed. She would just get warm… she could explain everything…

  Paul wrapped the towel loosely around his waist and peeked into the bedroom. In the light of early evening through the deck doors, Nina lay on her side, pillow spread with her long soft hair, hands in prayer position under her head, knees bent. She was asleep, and he took a long moment, admiring her. What a beauty she was, and she was his now.

  Humming, he decided to take a second to check his E-mail. He opened the door to his den. He stopped.

  A form covered with blankets too heavy for summer lay on the sofabed. At its foot, Hitchcock lolled, eyes closed, lost in canine cogitation.

  Who?

  He moved in closer. Gingerly, he lifted the blanket from the face.

  Bob.

  Bob Reilly. Nina’s son. Home to roost.

  Stepping back into the living area, gently closing the door behind him, he thought about it. He considered Nina’s preoccupation on several previous occasions. He thought he now understood the source of her anxiety.

  He was feeling some anxiety himself.

  He decided to pour himself a stiff one. In the kitchen, in the cabinet near the refrigerator, he located the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s. However, a glass did not come as quickly to hand. No matter. He drank from the bottle.

  Better, he thought, and drank some more. After a while, a pleasant, welcoming attitude warmed his heart. Good old Bob! He liked the boy, after all!

  But Bob could not live here, no, no, no.

  He looked again for a shot glass. This drinking from the bottle seemed suddenly rude. Finding a souvenir from Caesars Palace at Tahoe, he filled it and downed it.

  But he was hungry. It was dinnertime. All is flux, people sleep at five in the afternoon, plans go aft agley…

  He checked the microwave, in case some plate was in there, still warm. Empty. He checked the refrigerator. Also nothing. The uncooked fish filet in there looked disgusting.

  On the counter, nothing but an ancient wrapped turkey sandwich and a sandwich bag full of pennies and acorns and loose, discolored peppermint Lifesavers and blackened scraps of paper. He discarded the sandwich, fiddling with the bag.

  Various things fell from the baggie onto the counter. They appeared to be the property of Wish Whitefeather, student, or so it seemed according to the filthy student ID he found. Finding nothing of redeeming value in the stuff, he tossed most of Wish’s bits in the garbage below the sink.

  But what was this?

  He examined a plastic card of electronic material, no more than a few inches long, narrow. Familiar, he thought, squinting. Oh, yes, but why here?

  He knew that he had drunk too much when he stumbled slightly leaving the kitchen. He would have some coffee, he promised himself, just as soon as he checked this out.

  Opening a cupboard by the television, he pulled out his camera, opened a small compartment, and pushed the thing into place.

  A memory card, perfect fit.

  He clicked through twelve pictures, all orange-and-yellow, flames, underexposed because Wish must have been using the automatic functions of the camera, which would not be able properly to process the brightness of the nighttime scene. Three showed people, men. Two men.

  He woke Nina up.

  28

  I N THE HARSH LIGHT OF THE fire, the whole forest around Wish was revealed, bit by bit, as he had spun around, twelve pictures in all. In nine of the pictures they saw nothing but creepy-looking bushes and trees, and whiteouts of smoke.

  “Blair Witch stuff,” Paul said. After sneaking into the den to retrieve it, he had moved the pictures from his camera to his portable computer screen. The b
igger pictures made the faces of the men easier to see. He double-clicked on his photo program, and began doing some easy enhancements to see if there were any details he had missed on first persual. He brightened the pictures of the men, compensating for the poor exposure.

  They now sat together on the couch in the living room, two cups of coffee steaming on the table, the warm body in the den behind the closed door nearby lurking between them like a monster under the bed. Nina had changed into jeans and a T-shirt. Paul now wore shorts.

  They were not touching.

  Wish had taken one photo of Danny in his spinning, the very first shot on the memory card, and now they saw the man who had brought Wish up the mountain, Wish’s dead friend, at last. Danny’s hand was up, shielding his face from the light, and he was grimacing. He wore a dark T-shirt over black pants. He must have flung off the Army jacket. His face was handsome, planed, stark in the light, with a thick neck and shoulders.

  He looked directly at the camera and his parted lips were arrested midword. He looked familiar to Nina, as though she had met him before, and she had indeed met his type before, strong young men who ought to be building families or serving in the military but instead drifted into purposelessness.

  “Good-looking dude,” Paul said, keeping his voice low. He clicked to the third and fourth shots and manipulated them so that they were side by side on the screen, and Nina saw that Wish had done it, managing in spite of his terror to take two shots that linked Coyote forever to the fire.

  In the third shot, they saw mostly Coyote’s lower body as he hid or stepped out from behind a bush. He wore a long white T-shirt and jeans, and his long dark face was somewhat shadowed.

  “Nothing in his hands,” Paul said, disappointed. “A can of kerosene would have been good.”

  “It’s incredible just to have the shot.”

  In the fourth shot he had stepped fully out and was advancing toward Wish, holding his hands up and looking scared and angry. He was built like Danny, muscled, tall, dark, and young.

  “Wish was lucky,” Nina said.

  “To get these pictures?” Paul’s hand moved to her thigh. They had both leaned back to study the three shots, now side by side on the computer screen, their necks stiff with the effort, as if the shots were Picassos. Which they were, lawyers’ Picassos, strong, timeless, and irrefutable.

  And as mysterious as a Picasso. The two shots still did not reveal why this young man had killed three people and almost killed another.

  Nina accepted his touch. “Yes, Wish was lucky to take the shots, but also to still be alive.”

  “So, after tucking the memory card into his pocket, Wish drops the camera and runs at this point, and Danny gets lost for a while but catches up to him on the trail. But Coyote has followed Danny. He kills Danny and grabs Wish, who manages to escape.”

  “That’s how Wish says it happened.”

  “Why didn’t Wish mention this memory card? How the hell could he forget it?”

  “He must have popped another one in before he ran. When the sheriff’s office found the camera on Robles Ridge it had a memory card with no photos taken.”

  “That’s it, then. Why are you grinning?”

  Nina said, “I’ve got something Jaime doesn’t have, and it helps Wish. Of course I’m grinning.”

  “Danny couldn’t have been in on it either. If he was, Coyote wouldn’t have had any reason to kill him.”

  “I know. That’s how it must be, and Wish won’t have it any other way. But Britta said Danny was in on it. She heard him plotting with Coyote, for Pete’s sake.”

  “She’s lying?”

  “Anyway, look at how a jury will see this. Wish up on the mountain, taking photos. Coyote caught in two of the shots. I don’t understand what part Danny may have played, but I do know this, it’s going to look like Wish was trying to catch an arsonist, and the rest is a tap dance. I don’t have to explain everything.”

  Paul got up and stretched. “You going to give the photos to Jaime?”

  “I have to in order to use them at the prelim. I’m going to have Wish take the stand, Paul.”

  Paul shook his head. “You are the only lawyer in the whole world who would do that. Then the D.A. has months to go over what he says and twist it into anything he wants. It’s a murder case. Are you sure?”

  Nina ticked the points off on her fingers. “First, he’s led a clean life, Paul. No ugly character evidence or prior felony convictions to come in and slime him if he takes the stand. They can’t mention any juvenile offenses. Second, he’s got a simple story and I think he can handle the cross-exam. Third, he’s innocent, and I think it’ll come across. Fourth, I need him to authenticate these shots and explain what he was doing up there. If he doesn’t take the stand, his story doesn’t come out, the prelim becomes a pro forma exercise, and Wish stays in jail for maybe a year.”

  Paul thought about this. “But-”

  “Mom?” Bob stood in the doorway in his rumpled skivvies, rubbing his eyes. Nina took in again his height, his long narrow feet, a slight shadowy hint of whiskers above his upper lip. The light fell on his face in a way that made her think of Kurt. “What time is it?”

  “Seven. At night. You had a good nap.”

  “Hi, Paul.”

  “Hi, kid.”

  “I am so hungry. Is there any food?”

  Nina jumped up. “Sure, honey. What would you like? Cereal? I could fix you some scrambled eggs. Or do you want a sandwich?”

  “Oh-whatever. Anything edible.”

  “Come on in the kitchen.” Nina went over to Bob and gave him a quick hug.

  They went into the kitchen and Nina got out the frying pan. It was seven in the evening and she and Paul had just found an important piece of evidence and Bob was sitting at the table drinking orange juice.

  She broke the eggs in the pan and put toast in the toaster. In the other room Paul had passed through the duffel area and sat down at his computer. Bob looked out the doors to the deck and said, “Check that foggy night. In Stockholm it’s summer. It stays light until midnight.”

  “It’s summer here too, silly.”

  “What’m I gonna do now?”

  “Eat. Bob-”

  “Yeah?”

  “I have to work tonight.”

  “On Wish’s case?” She had told him on the phone about Wish.

  “That’s right. We have a prelim in his case starting next week.”

  “I’ll help you. Sign me up.”

  “That’s a nice thing to say, honey, but-the best thing you could do is give Hitchcock lots of love right now and help him get better. Could you take on that responsibility? I would really appreciate your help.”

  “Sure.” He petted the dog, who lay at his feet. Poor Hitchcock’s bandages were soiled already. The vet had given him painkillers, which made him drag around and sleep a lot. Nina patted the dog too, and tried without much success to restick the gauze on his neck. “What happened, anyway? Did Hitchcock get hit by a car?”

  “A dogfight.”

  “Hitchcock fought with a dog? Who won?”

  “Hitchcock,” Nina said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like sh-not so good.”

  “Don’t worry, everything will be fine,” Nina said, too brightly. She served him the eggs and toast and watched him eat. “Do you want to talk?” she asked.

  “No, you’re busy.”

  Nina dropped into the chair beside him. “Not that busy. You’ve just come from a far country. I’m sure you’ve had a million adventures, and I want to hear-”

  “You have to work tonight, and we’ve got plenty of time to talk later. I have stuff to do. I have to call Taylor and Troy at Tahoe. Call Dad and tell him I made it.”

  “Call your grandpa too,” Nina said. “He’ll be happy you’re here in town.”

  “Yeah, I want to see Isaiah.”

  Nina left him eating and went into the bedroom to get her jacket. From the kitchen to the bedroom she had to go
through the living room, where Paul was now sitting on the couch talking on the phone and leaning over at an uncomfortable angle to look at the photos again. Bob’s open duffel lay in the corner, and his carry-on knapsack lay in the middle of the floor.

  She picked it up and set it inside the den, saw the sofa sleeper with its roil of blankets taking up most of the room, and got busy.

  Kitchen, bedroom, living room, and study. The place already felt like a tiny box, now that Bob was in it.

  Isaiah, Angie, Harlan. Family who had been comfortably distant, moving in fast on her radarscope, now that Bob had come. Her father, big, filling up emotional space she couldn’t spare right now.

  She sat down on the bed. Between Paul and Wish, she had thought the motel was full up. But now Bob was here. For a moment, she panicked. But following this, she thought of Bob in the kitchen, eating eggs, and inside her, something that had been tense and anxious and incomplete soothed and smoothed itself.

  The Boy was back. She was complete again. And happy.

  Paul, one finger looped in the top of his shorts, observed. “You’ll be going, then,” he said.

  “Not necessarily,” Nina said, punching in Elizabeth’s number.

  “Yes, you will. And you will avoid the inevitable confrontation.”

  She held the phone to her ear, desperate for an answer.

  “Can’t put it off forever, Ms. Reilly,” he said. He drank some cold coffee, making a face. “Things have changed. Must reevaluate options. I’m going if you go. Protect and serve.”

  “You can’t, Paul. You’ve been drinking.”

  Elizabeth answered. “Nina? You’re coming, aren’t you?”

  “I was wondering if we could make this tomorrow?” Nina asked.

  “I’m leaving for the weekend. I have to get away. You really ought to make it if you can.”

  She let her brown eyes rest on Paul’s bloodshot hazel eyes. “On my way,” she said. He looked away.

  Nina drove out Carmel Valley Road listening to the Cal State station blasting hip-hop. She didn’t want to think. Sometimes, and this was the human condition, wasn’t it, sometimes she relied solely upon emotions to inspire her next move.