“About ninety miles.”
“What’s the hull speed of your yacht?”
“Around seven knots, give or take.”
“That means we’ll be traveling all night and into the morning. Do we have enough fuel?”
“Yes. By mid-morning we’ll be able to sail in.”
“And where are we going?”
“South.”
“How far?”
“Where the day turns into night and where the wind stops blowing.” I finished dressing and waited for her.
A smile creased her face. “You did tell me that once, didn’t you? And what if we don’t make it?”
“We’ll make it. Everything is arranged.”
“You mean dead and buried now, right?”
I nodded warily and thought of Lena, not quite buried yet, but definitely dead. I then thought of Roger, of Sam Ivy...
Catherine pulled a light sweater over her head. She began packing her clothes and belongings. I focused on the diamond necklace I gave her, watching carefully as she secured it inside the case and placed it in an inner compartment in her bag.
“Roger’s dead, Catherine.”
She turned slowly and faced me. I hated her suddenly.
“A loved one always dies in a story, Jack; even in this noir episode you’ve been sketching. You should know that.”
I stepped toward her and cocked my arm back, but before I swung against her exquisite madness, I saw for the first time fear in her eyes. I held my balled-up fist in the air.
“I did tell you that Lena was a wildcat, didn’t I? I deserve to be struck by you, I suppose. The one thing that was good about you was tested gravely tonight. But you played Roger right into the snare, Jack. After all, he was your best friend and willing to betray you. I truly had nothing to do with Roger’s death.”
I lowered my arm and said, “You knew Lena would try to kill me this evening, didn’t you?”
“Of course. I had to make sure she was eliminated and, most importantly, that you were worthy. It’s going to be a long boat ride. Shall we go?”
I gestured toward the bathroom door and said, “You should make a pit stop first.”
“Yes, of course. Excuse me.” She entered the bathroom.
I pulled from my pocket the small tracking device that Carmella had given me. I placed the device inside an inner pocket of Catherine’s handbag, concealing it with the close of a zipper.
I slipped my hand quickly inside the other inner pocket and found the 24-carat necklace I’d given her, the same necklace I had paid a jeweler to jerry-rig with a micro-sized tracking device. I pulled out the case and opened it and examined the necklace, confirming it hadn’t been tampered with. The added redundancy steadied my gamely confidence. I concealed the necklace back in her bag. A moment later Catherine came out of the bathroom. We both traipsed through the hallway and into the kitchen.
Desmond was there, pacing the floor. “It’s about bloody time, you two,” he said.
Catherine approached Desmond and kissed him lightly on the lips. “So long, Desi. Give my love to your pets and our steadies back in England.”
“Goodbye, sweet. I will.”
She exited through the backdoor and treaded the dock to the yacht. Bushmills Whiskey swirled inside a bottle clutched in Desmond’s hand.
“I got it out of your yacht,” Desmond said. “I didn’t think you’d be needing it.”
I nodded, trying not to smile.
“Before you go, it seems you have some unfinished business,” Desmond said. “There’s someone out front of the house. A constable, I think. He’s a tall, slender bloke and wearing clothes that a man should only wear to a wedding.”
“Is he alone?”
“It appears so. He doesn’t seem to be trying to catch anything, but rather see it on its way. I think you’d better talk to him.”
I went outside. Detective Frank Sullivan stood in the dim light of the covered entrance.
“Hello, Jack.”
“Hello, Frank.” I scanned the grounds, the driveway, the road.
“I’m alone,” Frank said. “You picked a good night to sail your yacht, Jack, a full moon, high tide, a gentle swell from the north. Should carry you nicely to where you’re going.” Frank leaned against a support column of the covered entrance and crossed his arms. “You ever have that feeling when a season changes or when something shifts into place?”
I didn’t answer.
“Oh, ‘the best laid plans of mice and men’,” Frank said with a chuckle. He studied me for a moment, then said, “I’ve been doing cases for thirty years, Jack, and there’s one thing I’ve realized about homicides, you can’t moralize them. The best a cop can do is file them away as just another statistic.”
“She’s not a murderer, Frank.”
“Believe it or not, they’re actually worse things in life than murder.”
“I got your killer—Roger’s killer. She’s on a road in the hills.”
“Good job on that, by the way. Actually, though, you only nailed one of the killers. It won’t be easy for you, taming a feral cat like her. Are you sure about all this, Jack?”
“Everything’s in place.”
“You have connections, I’m sure.” The sudden breakdown in Frank’s voice was obvious. “You’ll run that keel aground or sink your boat and swim to shore, but either way, you’ll make it. A flamboyant harbor house or some obscure beach just right for you and your stolen princess to pick up a plane and get lost inside some banana republic. Just a canopy of clouds over a tropical beach, huh, Jack? No extraditions treaties, familiar faces, things like that?”
I nodded subtly, helping him through it, then assured him, “There’s a desolate Oregon river waiting for you, Frank, with endless salmon and trout to reel in.” It was good to know that in a few days Frank Sullivan will hopefully be waist deep in serene watercourses with fly pole in hand, blissfully ignoring the statistics of murder and mayhem.
His head nodded slowly. “And what will be after Costa Rica, Jack?”
“The world’s a big place, Frank.”
“And getting smaller by the day.” A long moment fell between us until he said, “I don’t want to come in on it anymore, Jack...” A weighty lull had anchored his voice, a voice trying to justify why he’d taken my generous offer of a ten-acre spread next to the Rogue River along with a fully paid early retirement. “Those rooms, those scenes I’ve seen so many times, the bodies, the dead eyes...I’m damn tired of trying to figure out that fine line between guilt and innocence.”
“There’s a ranch house next to the river and not a person for miles. You deserve it, Frank.”
Frank nearly laughed and said, “Funny thing about women, they can make men do the damnedest things.” He unfolded his arms and stood as if he were at attention. “Those fruit groves and this harbor were never right for you, Jack. You know that, right?”
I didn’t answer.
“Internal Affairs had Mick pegged for a long time. So did I, but I had to play the chump as long as I could. The fool who went over the cliff that day on PCH was a plant, a hired gun. Three inside the force actually took the bribes. Big business, a county supervisor, they worked hard on this. At first you’ll be regarded as missing, then presumed dead. After all, there was clear intent for your murder. And the blonde, she’ll disappear just like she has before. All these juicy murders of late will only be back-page news once the indictments start. It’s too bad you won’t be around to see it.”
“Nor you, Frank.”
The tall detective nodded and smiled. “Oh, by the way, Granny-ass-gawker had nothing to do with this conspiracy regarding your land. Her attempt at nailing you must have been about something little more personal.”
I stayed quiet, refusing to be pulled in anymore to Frank’s final investigation. I took a deep, soundless breath.
Frank said, “Your girl Angela Bashir never showed up at the escape spot. I guess her zeal won out over her trepidation. In fact, all three slipped through
our net. They must’ve had one hell of a squeeze around Mick’s balls to get by us like that.”
I had a sudden, enjoyable of image of one badly dressed county supervisor and one fat toad drowning in Vaseline.
“Your boy William was a no show, too. We think he slipped out with Lena when she escaped out of the infirmary. And as a result, sorry to say, his body was found on PCH about an hour ago. It appeared he was pushed out of a vehicle traveling at very high speed.”
My eyes lowered; I shook my head. Stupid fool.
“Only two gold coins have been dropped so far,” Frank said. “The first one six weeks ago and the second one four weeks ago. Oddly, no gold coin was found on the fifty-yard line last night and nothing in Roger’s house. I think we both know what that sums up to.”
We looked at each other guardedly for a moment. I began to turn toward the house.
“One more thing, Jack.”
I stopped at the door.
“That weekend you and Catherine spent on your yacht...did she tell you anything about that orphanage she grew up in?”
“It doesn’t matter, Frank—”
“There’s a reason she paralyzes her victims, isn’t there?” Frank moved closer to me until I caught sight of his eyes.
“I got you the ranch house with ten acres, Frank; we’re square—”
“Several indictments were filed in an Irish court against that orphanage she grew up in regarding accusations of sexual and emotional abuse. Luckily for the clergy staff none of the charges brought convictions. However, five years later three of the clergy, one of which was Catherine’s adopted father, and one of the head nuns, were found savagely murdered. All sliced and diced and all unsolved. Once they finished their binge of vengeance, they began milling their claws through other perpetrators of rape and murder. Made a damn business out of it.”
“The bastards raped her, Frank.”
“Yea, I know.” I could tell Detective Sullivan was having a hard time filing this case to the cold file. “May I ask you a personal question, Jack?”
I nodded, then reached for the front door and began to push it open.
“Just what the hell do you plan to do out there, anyway?”
I paused over the threshold of the door. “Sail off into a white-hot crucible, Frank.”
He huffed out a laugh and said, “The same ol’ same ol, huh?”
“Goodbye, Frank.”
“So long, Jack.”
Back in the house, Desmond had resumed his nervous pace around the kitchen. “You’d best be on your way, mate,” he said.
We walked down to the dock. I set the large handbag I’d retrieved from the Ferrari in the cockpit of my yacht.
Desmond said, “I made arrangements regarding one of your contacts in Mexico. A woman by the name of Mari Ella was expecting my call. She said her people will slip you both through Tijuana and then have a plane ready for you. After that you’ll have other contacts. It appears you followed my outline to the T.” A show of pride gleamed from Desmond’s face as he recounted the plotted events: “You’ve got friends in strategic posts acting as gatekeepers for this labyrinth you’ve concocted. You also gave a good-hearted detective a way out of his trying career, thus waiving this getaway of yours. You executed this well.”
“Thanks to your outline,” I said.
Desmond drew closer, concurring with me privately, “Does she have the necklace?”
I nodded. “It’s in her luggage.”
“Do make sure you drop that dreadful bag of razors a few hundred fathoms deep, ey?”
“I will.” I handed Desmond a slip of paper. “Here’s the phone number for the owner of the Ferrari. Tell him that both his car and the thief were taken care of—oh, and tell him it’s time to learn to keep his gun loaded and also trade in that red stallion for a pickup truck; he’ll need one.”
Desmond took the slip of paper and gave me a sequence of puzzled glances until he said, “It’s a different kind of world you’ll inherit now, Jack. Be careful with it.” I felt the squeeze of his strong, boney hand as he tugged me toward him. “You’re really taking this muse thing all the way to the end, aren’t you, mate?” A sudden reticence carried in his voice. “Blokes like you and I...we know too much. It’s that pestering awareness we have about how the world operates.” He continued to stare me down, and also crush my hand with his grip. “You’re a bloody fool, Jacky.” He peered over at Catherine, then back to me. “It’ll be a hell of a turning point out there. Just remember this Brigham thing isn’t settled yet.”
He pulled me closer, enough for me to notice his blood-yellow eyes and the putrid odor of an alcohol-pickled stomach. “Goddamn it, Jack, just make sure you give yourself plenty of lifeline out there.”
I nodded and then unhinged my hand from Desmond's grip. I stepped onboard my yacht. Catherine had turned on the inboard engine and the running lights. I stood at the helm while Catherine sat nearby in the cockpit bundled in a blanket. Desmond untied the dock cleats, allowing the yacht to shove off into the night.
51
Entropy
The rising sun was crowning the mountainous line of the earth with an aura of yellow white. To the west, clouds spread a dark, purple labyrinth across the horizon. I sat at the helm, holding the wheel of my yacht. Catherine was wrapped in a heavy blanket and sleeping next to the gunwale in the cockpit.
My sight stayed fixed on the mainland. Because of the doglegged shape of the coastline, my yacht made way a steady southeast course three miles off shore, all dead reckoning. I checked my watch and decided a time when it would be best to raise the sails.
The steady drone of the engine caused my eyes to shut and my mind to drift, allowing both moments of rest and rapid, lucid dreams…dreams of friends and family, whispering into my ear, reminding me of bargained friendships and kinships. How it all had been born of a disease and had to end.
I assessed my present setting: an endless horizon, my reliable yacht, ample supplies to either end or journey forth this trek. It shouldn’t have been this way. It should be my wife in that cabin sleeping with perhaps my son or daughter. We should be traveling today on a weekend’s journey south to distant ports, to break the routine of career and school. Just us, my family... If only I had believed.
I heaved the bag of Freddie Kruegers overboard and watched the bag float like a bloated fish until it sank into the deep. I looked at Catherine sleeping soundly nearby and wondered gravely about a missing element, a young, passionate, reckless part of this equation, a third pretty cat, who had eluded Lieutenant Sullivan’s escort out of the hotel last night.
I studied the storage locker next to me. My mind focused on the contents. The combination lock came into view. Catherine began to stir from her sleep, then rose with the blanket wrapped around her. Her exhausted face battled against the damp coolness of the open sea. She stood, then shuffled along the deck and sat next to me.
“Go lie down, John. You look completely done in. I’ll take the helm.”
“I pulled off some winks. I’m fine.”
She huddled close to me beneath the blanket.
“How much farther?” she asked.
“Another four hours maybe. We’ll raise the sails in a couple of hours.”
“The morning sky and the open sea are delightful,” she said. “There’s nothing here but us.” Her head rested on my arm. Warm breaths pulsed against my skin.
“I love you, Catherine.”
She was silent until she stood and looked at me. “I’m becoming quite hungry,” she said. “And we both could use a strong cup of coffee. Keep a steady course, Captain, and I shall return with something of a breakfast.” She flashed a smile and entered the cabin, then switched on the lights and began rifling through the cupboards and drawers.
I focused on the bow and the distant horizon. I thought about how she ignored me, how my heartfelt expression seemed to pass right through her. Her behavior was distant yet leading, as if there was a certain point to where she c
ould listen but not understand. You’re on a boat with a sociopath, Jack, I reminded myself. What the hell do you expect?
A few minutes later she came out of the cabin with a cup in her hand. She steadied it toward me.
“Drink away, love, while I make another for me. Would you like a pastry? I noticed that you had some cinnamon rolls stored in the fridge. It’s best that we consume them before they spoil.”
I nodded, watching her.
“Did you notice I called you love?” she asked.
“I did.”
“That’s how it’s going to be now, John. We’ll have pet names for one another and everything will be all right, won’t it?”
“Yes, Cat, it will.”
“We made the right move, John. We’ll be fine living in Costa Rica and then eventually somewhere in the South Pacific where bad dreams will never bother us again.”
I looked down at the steaming cup of coffee, smelling its earthy bitterness. Then our eyes met. “How did the rabbits sound when they died, Catherine?”
She paused, as if unnerved, and replied, “They were silent...frozen in unblemished fear. Are you afraid of the silence, too, John? Is that the reason for your rude and unlike question?”
I looked at her, then offered an appeasing grin and said, “I’m just damn tired, that’s all.”
“Drink the coffee, then. It should help. Breakfast is coming up, shall we say in five minutes?”
“We shall.”
“Oh, and I love you, too, John.” She walked into the cabin and closed the hatch.
I considered the hot coffee, the tone in her voice, the gaze in her eyes, and how easily her mind shifted from one delusional pole to another. I reached for the locker next to the helm.
A few moments had passed; I kept my eyes on the hatch to the cabin. My thoughts raced, about many things, but mainly about my cozy man-cave back home that I had deserted to play out an endgame with an irresistible muse. I kept hearing Frank’s voice: “Just what the hell do you plan to do out there, anyway?”
The cabin door opened, then Catherine’s arm retracted inside the cabin. The contrast between the bright sky and the dark cabin made it difficult to see inside.
The Irresistible Muse of Jack Kidd Page 32