by Jeff Shelby
“For a price,” I said.
His grin grew. “Right on, brother. Something with a one and a couple of zeros in it.”
I pulled four twenties, two tens, and one of my cards out of my wallet and handed them over. “I need to know as soon as possible.”
He shoved the money in his pocket and examined my card. “An investigator. Like Magnum, dude?”
“Just like him.”
“Cool,” he said, nodding his approval. He folded the key in my card and slid them into the front pocket of his jeans. “I’ll call you.”
“When?”
He smiled. “When I know, Magnum.”
I walked away wondering if I was the only normal friend that Carter had.
53
I drove home, not knowing what else to do, and unexpectedly found Liz waiting in front of my door.
I waved. “Hi.”
She wore faded blue jeans and a sleeveless navy blouse that buttoned up the middle. Her hair was swept over to the left side of her face, her sunglasses resting atop the mane. The thick-heeled sandals made her a couple inches taller than normal.
“Hi,” she said, a reluctant smile on her face.
“Just couldn’t stay away,” I said, walking up to her.
“I got your message yesterday,” she said, ignoring my comment. “Tell me more.”
I motioned for her to follow me in to my place. We sat on the sofa, and I told her about my conversation with Charlotte Truman.
When I finished, she shook her head. “Randall is one cool guy.”
“Sure—if by cool you mean an arrogant, self-important, spineless asshole.”
She folded her arms across her chest and crossed her legs. “Alright, alright. I admit he’s not as innocent as I originally thought, but I still think Costilla’s the guy, Noah. Randall has an alibi and this Truman lady doesn’t sound like much. We’ll talk to her, but you said yourself she didn’t seem like a suspect.”
“No, I don’t think Charlotte did anything other than make a poor decision,” I said. “But all this crap keeps leading back to Randall.”
“Alibi is airtight,” she said. “He was at the hospital. We already checked it out.”
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved,” I said.
“How so?”
“Could’ve hired someone, I don’t know. But he just seems wrong.”
“A lot of guys cheat on their wives. Doesn’t mean they want them dead.”
Her arms were lean and toned, her shoulders tan. I tried not to stare.
“I’m gonna tell you something and I just want you to listen for a second,” I said. “Okay?”
“I get nervous when you say things like that to me,” Liz said, shifting her weight on the sofa.
“What if I told you that Kate covered for him when she was arrested? That the heroin was his, not hers.”
She looked at me like I was the one with the drug problem. “What?”
I told her what Ken and Randall told me. She listened quietly, biting her bottom lip a couple of times.
“Noah, come on,” she said when I finished. “You really buy that? She was a user, a junkie. Lying is a way of life.”
“Ken was convinced and Randall confirmed it. He admitted that it was his.”
“Ken is her father. He’s always going to place the blame elsewhere.”
“How do you explain Randall then? Why tell me it was his if it wasn’t?”
Liz’s look was skeptical. “I don’t know why he’d say it, but what does that really give us? Even if that’s true, how does that give him motive to kill her? Jesus, if anything, Randall probably is living with the guilt complex to end all guilt complexes. Maybe telling you all this is a way for him to try and absolve himself.”
“What if Randall was afraid she’d turn on him? Recant her story and tell everyone the drugs were his,” I suggested. “Maybe going undercover and working with Costilla were harder than she imagined, and Randall saw that and started worrying that Kate couldn’t hold up her end of the deal.”
Liz leaned forward, tapping her fingers on her knees. “I know you’re having trouble with this, Noah.”
“This?” I said, annoyed that she wasn’t buying into my logic.
“Yeah, this,” she said, widening her eyes. “Kate was different. It wasn’t the same Kate. You can’t seem to grasp that, which I understand. I do. But, Noah, clean or not, she was different. You didn’t know her anymore. You had no idea about her drug problem or what was going on with her marriage. And, somehow, you’ve got it screwed into your head that you could’ve saved her.”
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head. “You think that if you’d stayed in her life, everything would have been different. And maybe it would have, but the chances that you could’ve prevented her from experimenting with heroin, marrying an asshole, and digging a legal hole for herself are slim. Slimmer than slim.” She paused, fixing her eyes on me. “And you need to deal with that.” She cleared her throat, and her look softened. “I’m sorry she’s dead, but Randall didn’t do it. I’m pretty confident on that.”
I stood up and walked over to the patio door, mulling over what she’d said. Outside, the gray sky put a silver tint in the water and there was a noticeable lack of runners and skaters, thanks to the cloudy weather. I wasn’t sure if Liz’s thinking was colored by the guilt she felt at letting Kate slip through her protection. I knew she wanted to nail Costilla. She had a lot more invested in him than I did.
But she had a point. It wasn’t so much that I thought I could’ve really saved Kate. My reasons for wanting to figure out Kate’s death were more selfish than that. I wanted to save the memories I had of her before all of this occurred. For so long, she had been the only good thing in my life. I never knew my father and my mother was a relentless drunk, incapable of providing me with the one thing that I didn’t know my life was missing until Kate had given it to me.
Love.
I had always associated that emotion with Kate, as she was the person who showed me how it felt to be cared about and to be loved for the first time. I didn’t want that memory ripped out of my life by the things that happened when we went our separate ways.
But maybe I didn’t have a choice.
“So if it’s Costilla,” I said, turning around to Liz, “there’s really nothing to be done. Right?”
She shrugged. “Not at the moment, no. It’s a matter of putting a case together against him. Her murder will be one more thing added to the potential list.”
“Can you add her murder if you don’t have direct evidence, though?”
She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No. We’ll need something.”
“Which you don’t have right now.”
“No.”
It was an ugly circle to think about.
54
Liz and I decided to head over to Roberto’s to grab some lunch. We sat down with my rolled tacos and her enchilada at a stone table facing the street.
“How’s Carter?” she asked.
“Better,” I told her. “Saw him yesterday. He’s getting antsy.”
She stabbed the enchilada with her plastic fork. “Big surprise there.”
“He’ll probably be out in another day or two.”
She set her fork down and wiped her mouth with the paper napkin. “You tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
“That Elvis lives.” She rolled her eyes. “About you and me.”
I laughed. “Oh. I didn’t know there was a you and me. Yet.”
“I don’t either. Yet. Just wondering if you opened your big mouth.”
I finished off the first of the tacos. “He sorta guessed.”
“You guys are like a couple of sorority girls,” she said, shaking her head.
“A little, yeah.” I bit into another of the tacos. “So, is there a you and me?”
A Harley went ripping down Mission, the engine tearing into the air. We wa
tched it zip past us.
“Last time didn’t go so well,” Liz said.
“Nope.”
“I’m not looking for that to happen again.”
“Me either.”
She finished off the enchilada and pushed the paper boat away from her. “I can’t guarantee that it won’t.”
“Me either.”
She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “You were the last person I expected to see show up at my house the other night. In fact, if you’d asked to come over, I probably would’ve told you no.” She touched her index finger to her lips for a moment, a gesture that I knew meant she was measuring her words. “But I’m not disappointed that you came over, I’m not disappointed that you spent the night, and I’m not disappointed that we’re sitting here.”
“I hate to disappoint.”
“Could be complicated,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “My job, your job. We’ve each wanted to tear the other’s head off just in the last week.”
“I never wanted to tear your head off,” I said. “Maybe kick it once or twice.”
“Exactly. Could be complicated.”
“Is this your way of not giving me an answer?”
She smiled and tilted her head. “I’m a bitch. No doubt about it. You said so yourself. I’m not gonna change.”
“I’m not asking you to,” I said.
“Plus, I hate Carter.”
I grinned. “You say you hate Carter, but you really don’t.”
“Most of the time, I’m pretty sure I do.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
She pointed at me. “If there is a me and you, that is your first official lie during the new me-and-you era.”
I waved a hand in the air. “Most people have trouble with Carter. I’m better than most.”
That earned an outright laugh. “If you do say so yourself.”
“And I do.”
We sat there looking at each other, the remnants of lunch dirtying the table between us. She may have been a pain in the ass, she may have been unreasonable, and she may have been hardheaded. She probably thought I was all those things, too. But I enjoyed being with Liz. She knew me differently than other people did, and I liked the intimacy of that. I struggled to feel comfortable with many people in the world, but with her, it happened easily. And to top it all off, she had never been unattractive. I was a sucker for blue eyes and black hair, and her blue eyes and black hair were better than most.
“Okay,” she said finally.
“Okay?”
“We’ll try the me and you thing.” She aimed a finger in my direction. “Try not to screw it up.”
“Same to you,” I said.
55
After lunch, Liz headed back to her office. She said she would check on Charlotte Truman and see if anything popped up. I didn’t think that it would, but I felt better that the investigation would be thorough.
I decided to drive up to La Jolla to the Criers’ home. When I arrived, Ken and Marilyn were sitting on the stone steps that led to their front door. Ken wore his usual sharply creased khakis with a bright-red golf shirt. Marilyn was wearing yellow walking shorts and a white tank top.
Ken waved at me as I got out of the Blazer. “Noah.”
Marilyn folded her hands in her lap and said nothing.
I waved back. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Ken shook his head. “Just getting some air.”
Marilyn looked at me, hopeful but skeptical.
“I thought I’d fill you in on something,” I said, leaning against one of the pillars that bordered the steps. “And tell you what the police are telling me.”
They exchanged anxious glances with one another and then looked back to me.
I told them about my encounter with Randall and my conversation with Charlotte Truman. I left out the part about Kate using again and softened Randall’s blackmail into simply pleading with his wife to cover for him. I didn’t see how either of those two facts would help them anyway, and I didn’t see the point in upsetting them further. I finished by telling them what Liz’s thoughts were.
Ken leaned back on his hands. “So basically they are going to wait out Costilla?”
I nodded reluctantly. “Most likely. They will do some more checking based on what I learned, but there’s really nothing else to go on. And, I’ve got to admit, Costilla’s a good fit. Motive. History.”
Ken shook his head and let out a long sigh. Marilyn put a hand on his arm, glancing at him. He tried to smile, but only got halfway there.
Marilyn looked at me. “What is your honest opinion, Noah?”
I shrugged. “I think that what the police are saying makes sense. I haven’t found a whole lot to contradict their idea.”
Her jaw tightened, and she shook her head. “What is your opinion? Are they right?”
“I’m not sure what I think,” I said. “On one hand, like I said, Costilla is the best suspect. There is no reason to believe that he didn’t do it, particularly with what we know about what he knew.”
“But you’re not sure,” Marilyn said.
I didn’t want to get caught up in a discussion about what my thoughts were. Their daughter had been murdered, and I didn’t want to give them false hope. The facts were the most important thing. Maybe not the easiest to live with, but the facts were where the answers would be found.
“I’m not sure,” I said carefully. “But the only reason I say that is because I’ve tried to keep an open mind. Anybody and everybody’s a suspect, you know? The police hypothesis is better than anything I’ve come up with.”
Ken leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, a look of angst and exhaustion on his face. “Is there anything else to look at?”
“Do either of you know anything about a key that Kate had with her?”
They both looked at one another, then back at me, shaking their heads.
“Emily gave me a key that Kate left at her place,” I told them. “She didn’t know what it was for. I have someone working on that now. But it may be nothing.” I paused. “I’m also going to try and locate this other woman that Randall may have been involved with. Honestly, though, I don’t expect her to be involved. Randall’s pretty much been cleared.”
Ken nodded sadly, and Marilyn lowered her eyes. It was clear to me that their daughter’s death would gnaw at them for years. Their body language and facial expressions indicated a unique pain known only to families of murder victims.
Marilyn sat up suddenly and stared at her husband. “Why did you do it?”
Ken looked startled. “What?”
She stood, and I could see that the rims of her eyes were red.
“You arranged this whole goddamn thing,” she said, waving her arms wildly. “With the police and the government! I said I didn’t like it. It was too dangerous for her!”
Ken’s face fell a little. “She was going to go to jail, Marilyn.”
“At least she would’ve been alive,” Marilyn said, crying now. “At least I could’ve gone and seen her!” A loud, violent sob forced its way out of her mouth, and she ran into the house.
Ken ran a hand over his face, his eyes glassing over. He stood and looked at me. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t be,” I said, feeling awkward. “It’s hard. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to give you any real answers.”
He nodded, the tears in the corners of his eyes clearly visible now. “Let us know what you find.” He turned and walked into the house.
I left the Criers’ home with the same hollow feeling I’d been carrying around since seeing Kate’s lifeless face in the trunk of that car. I despised that feeling. I refused to let that be the only way I remembered Kate.
Whoever had taken the old Kate away from me was going to pay.
56
I drove to the hospital to see if Carter could improve my mood.
He looked better. There was color in his skin, and the tube had been removed from his chest, leaving a lone IV
line trailing into the back of his right hand. There were a couple of bandages in different spots and he was maybe a tad thinner, but he looked like Carter again.
“Please tell me you brought me some real food,” he said, sitting up. “I can’t eat this crap anymore.”
“Sorry. Want me to get you something?”
“Hell, yes. The next time I see a tray come in here with covered things on it, I’m gonna jump out the window. Seriously.” He looked at me. “You alright? You look like shit. And I don’t mean from Costilla’s beating.”
I shook my head and sat on the edge of the bed. I told him about going to see the Criers and Marilyn’s explosion at the end.
“The problem is,” Carter said, “I have a hell of a time feeling sorry for them.”
I looked at him. “Hey. Their daughter’s dead. Easy.”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to look at them as anybody other than the people that made you miserable.”
“Your loyalty has its faults.”
“No, it doesn’t. I feel badly that their daughter is dead, but it doesn’t make me like them any more than I ever did.”
I didn’t feel like having the conversation with Carter. He was grumpy and tired of being in the hospital, and regardless of his feelings for the Criers, I didn’t want to hash it out there.
“How do you know Charlie?” I asked, moving us away from the subject.
“Charlie? Just a guy I run into now and then,” he said.
“He’s creepy.”
“Yeah, a little, but he’s alright.”
“Think he’ll be able to get me anything on that key?”
“If he can’t, no one can.”
I hoped that he could. I didn’t know if it would lead to anything, but at the very least, it would be a closed loop in the mystery.
“You know yet when they are going to release you?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes and made a face at the door. “I wanted to leave today. I feel fine. But they want me here for one more night.”