She lit one of my cigarettes and blew the smoke out dramatically. “Was I ever! And it all started so innocently . . . as a wonderful celebration.” Gazing sadly across the water, she looked like a waif from Jane Eyre’s orphanage. I didn’t know whether to be hopping mad or lovingly empathetic. But I knew we had to straighten this out. “Stop stalling Janet. What happened?”
“Well, you know how badly I want my restaurant. Terry told me he wanted a bookstore just as badly. One night sitting in our favorite bar, we realized what fun it would be to combine the two. We were just thrilled at the idea! And I do think it’s a great one, still. Terry wanted to celebrate with champagne and a big Alaska crab dinner, but it was near payday and we were both broke.”
“So you walked out on a tab?” Could pulling teeth be this hard? No. There would be no dentists.
“Oh, no. We would never do that. There was a nearby liquor store where Terry said he had spent loads of money. He said the old lady who ran it kind of liked him. He was sure she would lend him seventy-five dollars so we could have our dinner.”
“That sounds pretty unreal.”
“It did to me, too, Alex. But Terry could be unbelievably persuasive. So I walked over with him. To give him a little privacy, I moved toward the back and pretended to be shopping for wine. The next thing I knew, I heard the woman laugh and say something in a nasty tone. I looked up just in time to see Terry pop her on the jaw and scoop money out of the till. He screamed, ‘Run, Janet, run!’ And we both ran back to the bar.”
Her eyes were focused on a distant point, recalling the scene. “We got back to the bar. I was terrified, but Terry seemed sort of on a high. He gave the bartender a hundred to say we never left. He ordered a split of champagne, but I couldn’t even drink that. I couldn’t believe what he had done. And of course, when the old woman and the police arrived, they didn’t believe the bartender—or us—and took us in.”
“My God, Janet! Terry committed assault and robbery and you were with him! Did you get a lawyer?”
“Umm. Finally. A little pipsqueak lieutenant, J.G. from the base, who just got into a lengthy, silly pissing contest with the cops over jurisdiction. Finally, I said I was exhausted from answering all the questions and could I go. The J.G. woke up and asked if the cops had continued to question us after we’d requested a lawyer. We said, yes, and we were out. The cops broke the law.”
“Janet, did you have any idea Terry was going to strike and rob that woman?”
“No, and to be honest, Alex, I don’t think he did either. But she not only refused, she laughed at him and said something about his being a ‘kept pretty boy,’ and he just couldn’t take anymore.”
“Couldn’t take anymore!” I exploded. “He was the one who started it all! You were as innocent as the woman he hit. Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Well, it still wasn’t too late. We could get this cleared up. Chief Wood would know what to do.
“I told the cops. They didn’t care. I told the J.G. He was too busy congratulating himself for getting us out. My commander agreed with you. She said if I swore an affidavit to everything that really happened, I’d probably just get a CG letter of reprimand in my personnel jacket and that would be it. It might slow down my promotion a few months, but no more. But that would have meant squealing on Terry. I couldn’t do that. He was a friend. You do not let friends down.”
I could have shaken her until she squealed. “Janet, ratting on a school chum over who was smoking in the locker room is not the same as ruining a career over a self-centered, greedy, vicious, spoiled brat. Especially over an incident in which you played no active part.”
She sat with her knees pulled up under her chin, arms wrapped tightly around them, as if she might fly apart if she didn’t hold herself fast. “I don’t really disagree with you at this point. But at that time, Alex, I really cared for Terry. He was intense, fun. He was . . . classy. He was my friend . . . my friend. He was in trouble. I couldn’t do it. Surely you can understand that. Just as you must see that I did nothing wrong.”
Terry had been the Pied Piper to her. I understood that. I remembered a boy in my high school who was much the same. He convinced me and a few friends we were somehow above everyone else. And what fun we had—riding in his convertible, cutting class, sassing teachers, drinking beer and smoking pot he’d paid for. I damn near followed him right down the primrose path.
But I had family who cared, a very special teacher who wouldn’t let go and maybe a bit of the good sense that I’d absorbed from my mother and Aunt Mae. Things Janet had not had. If the little two-bit tootler I’d known had come so close to snaring me, what must Terry have done to Janet with his talk of Yale and country clubs and sports cars, his perfect speech and manners, the self-assurance of growing up with money? She never stood a chance.
I sighed. “I understand you blew a career and a future that meant the world to you over this slug. What was the outcome?”
She looked blankly into the cup of wine as if a suitable answer would miraculously float to the surface. Then she looked up at me as if her heart were broken. I could see tears welling up in her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was flat, as if any sound of emotion would make the wound bleed fatally. “We resigned ‘for the good of the service.’ They discharged us where we had enlisted. So there I was back in Connecticut with only the money I had scrimped and saved for my restaurant, knowing it would never be enough, that I would never have my dream.”
She drank some wine and continued. “Terry and I stood in the rain at the train station in New London, tickets to Stamford in our hands. We were back. Worse than when we started.”
I took her hands in mine. They were icy. “Janet, I know you’ve been through hell. Let me help. We’ll talk to Sonny and Chief Wood—get some people working for you for a change.”
She shook her head. “It won’t work, Alex.” She sounded hopeless. “There’s been too much.”
Too much. No, no there hadn’t been too much else. This situation had to be salvageable. She was one hundred percent innocent in the Seattle mess. That bastard Terry had indeed put her in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was all. And she’d had no one around strong enough to make her take care of herself. Well, I would damn well see to it!
It was vital to get it on record that she had been only present, or even a frightened, unwilling small accomplice, in the robberies. I had a sudden vision of her, in jeans and sweater, wearing a watch cap, sporting dark makeup and a little mustache. I bet she was cute as hell, like a little girl dressed up for Halloween. And then she cocked her tiny forefinger and thumb and lisped, “Give me all your money, and please give me a Milky Way, too. Bang, bang. You’re dead.”
But I had no time for those thoughts. The old man . . . no, it had to have been Terry who killed him. Assume she had shot Terry, it had to have been in self-defense. We had to get the facts in order, and as non-threatening as possible, before she was charged. And get her a good lawyer. That was paramount.
I squeezed her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Darling, you’ve got to trust me in this. It is not too late. The first thing we must do is get to Sonny, so you can explain this whole . . .”
“No, Alex, no cops. Even Sonny would never understand all this. He’s nice, but he is a cop, and I saw them in Seattle and how they reacted to us. They didn’t want to hear what really happened or why. They just wanted to put us in jail. No cops, no jail for me. I don’t deserve that and I will not have it!” She looked at me almost smugly.
“Then a lawyer,” I countered. “I know a bright guy in Provincetown. He can at least make sure you don’t make any mistakes until you can get a criminal guru over from Boston.”
“You still don’t understand, do you, Alex? I’m not about to turn myself in to anyone. Maybe you trust the law to protect me, but I don’t! I haven’t done anything really wrong. I’ve told you it was all Terry. All! I’m going back to Seattle and live my life.”
She spun on her toes and sprinted down the b
each. I stood, dumbstruck for a moment, and then ran after her. I had gotten a slow start, not realizing she was actually running away. She ran like a deer and I did not. My legs were longer, but I was barefoot—and heavier—and—hell, older. As I ran, I cursed every cigarette and donut I’d ever seen. I was falling rapidly behind. Fargo loped easily at my side, grinning and occasionally looking up at me with a gleeful glint in his eye. I knew what he was thinking: usually he ran and I walked. Now for some reason I was running with him. Ain’t we got fun!
By the time I reached the foot of the steps, Janet had scampered up them and was out of sight. Now I could only hope that maybe some total stranger had stolen my car while we were picnicking, or that my car battery would pick today for its expiration date or—the only realistic possibility—that Janet would misgauge the narrow turnaround and get the car stuck in the sand. When I reached the top of the endless stairway, my vision was blurred and my breathing sounded like an old steam locomotive idling in some deserted seaside station. Neither Janet nor the car was anywhere within sight.
I sank to my knees and tried to get my breath back. I thought of all the stuff left on the beach. Should I go back and get it? No. That would take too much time, and I wasn’t sure I would ever make it up those steps again. Most importantly, I had to stop Janet somehow. She was so frightened she was completely over the edge. She was fixated on Seattle and that double-damned restaurant as her sole salvation. If she could get to the one and open the other, then— in her mind—none of this God-awful mess would have ever happened.
I wondered where on earth I had been for the last week. Janet had thrown out warning signs like she was sowing grass seed. Obviously Sonny had had his doubts long before I did. Of course he hadn’t been looking at her brown eyes as an invitation to incredible delight, either. He hadn’t enjoyed the midnight giggles, or the first-light drowsy passion, or the shower-fresh smell of her hair. He would not be standing here, astonished and horrified that Janet was now truly a fugitive, going as fast as my car would carry her, into ever-deepening trouble. She had to be stopped. And I, as Dad used to say, was a day late and a dollar short.
Unfortunately, I was afraid she’d be so intent upon escape she’d drive the car into a bridge or a tree, or if some Nervous Nelly cop stopped her, she’d take a swing at him and get herself shot in the process. A phone was my first priority. I started walking as fast as I could down the road.
Within fifty feet I wished I’d gone back for my shoes. Within a hundred I was limping and muttering “ooh, ooh, ooh” and wincing with every step. At last, a house. I walked up to the door and knocked. A woman peered out a front window and yelled, “Go away! Get out of here or I’ll call the cops.” I wondered if she were some sort of hermit, or had some unreasonable fear of visitors.
“Do that!” I shouted back. “Please do so at once!” I limped on. I came to a house with several rental cottages grouped around it. And all still padlocked for the winter. Down the road a blue van approached. Two adults were in the front, two children in the back. My God, it had Jersey plates! It was the one I had seen on the beach the day I found Terry’s foot! I began frantically to flag them down. Surely they would recognize Fargo and me. Quite possibly they would even have a cell phone.
“Hey! Hey! It’s me! I saw you on the beach last week. Hey! I need some help!” Just before they reached me they turned into a driveway, then backed out and raced back down the road the way they had come. I couldn’t believe they hadn’t recognized me, especially with Fargo beside me. What was wrong with everyone? Onward, slowly and ever so painfully onward.
Finally, there was a house with signs of life around it. A car sat in the drive and lawn furniture was piled haphazardly in the yard. I knocked, the door opened and immediately slammed in my face. As I began to call out and knock again, I heard a woman’s voice through an open window, apparently on the phone. “A regular wild woman, with a slavering big black dog. Hurry, she’s pounding on my door, looks like a maniac, crazy as a loon. Probably as soon kill me as not! Hurry!”
I backed away from the door and took stock. Barefoot, limping and groaning, probably beet red, windblown, pouring sweat, shirttail flapping—I may not have been at my personal best, and Fargo was slavering a bit. I’m sure he was thirsty. Oh, maybe the people in the van had recognized us.
I shuffled away from the door and down the driveway to sit on a rock and await the Truro police I was sure were on the way. I lit a cigarette. Why not? It was too late now. And I thought how clever it was of me to have the cigarettes and lighter handily tucked in my shirt pocket, while my cell phone was in the compartment of my car, on its way to Seattle!
I wanted them to hurry, certainly as much as the distraught woman did. There were only two bridges leading off of Cape Cod to the mainland and the various Interstate highways. If the State Police could block both bridges before Janet could reach one of them, there was no question of her escape. The only other way off the Cape was by water and I couldn’t believe she could manage to steal another boat, this one in broad daylight. It was about a sixty-mile drive from where we were to the bridges. Janet had about a twenty-minute start, and these things did not take place in real life as quickly as they seemed to on television.
I was happy to hear a siren howling in the distance.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know either cop. One of them listened to my disjointed tale with a blank, polite face, while the other asked the homeowner endlessly if she were all right, if I had threatened or molested her in any way—not that I could think why anyone would.
At last, they decided I should accompany them back to the police station for further discussion, toward which they drove at an infuriatingly sedate pace. Fargo and I were in the back seat. He kept licking at the driver’s neck, while I leaned forward to hector the other officer unsuccessfully about radioing ahead for a roadblock. None of us was happy by the time we reached the station.
The senior officer at the police station had gone to school with Sonny, so things brightened at once. Fargo got a drink. I got a soda. Phone calls were made to the State Police. And our original driver provided Fargo and me with an ungracious lift to the Provincetown Police Station. There, Mitch took one look at me and shoved me into Sonny’s office out of sight, so I wouldn’t frighten any small children, visitors or prisoners, I guess.
Mitch reminded me that Sonny had driven down to Connecticut earlier that day with the purpose of interviewing O’Malley’s mother. He thought she might know more than she realized and hoped a friendly little chat might reveal something valuable. He was also going to see the Connecticut state cops and see if there was any way he could speed up an ID on the robbers’ car. Sonny had told me all this earlier that morning, but it seemed now like news from a lifetime ago.
As I nodded tiredly Mitch added, “The state police are cooperating regarding closing the bridges, but with all the time that passed, it’ll be a close run thing.”
“Yeah. But I tried, Mitch, I really did. That damn Truro cop just wouldn’t . . .”
“No, no. I didn’t mean you were at fault, Alex, not at all. But have you any idea where she is?”
“Route Six, I guess. Oh, I see what you mean.” My brain moved slowly. “Maybe Boston. She had an apartment—no, I guess she didn’t. Forget it. I can’t think of anything helpful.”
Mitch looked at me with concern. “No problem, Alex. Just take it easy. And if you’re okay to drive, take my car down and collect your stuff off the beach. One way or another it won’t be there very long. And don’t worry about the car, I won’t need it till tomorrow late.”
What an angel! One less detail to worry about. Fargo curled up on the front seat and immediately went to sleep. At that point I realized how tired I was and concentrated on my driving. It had been a long and draining day, begun with such bright promise and now coming to an end with—quite literally—heavy clouds, as the predicted cold front moved in.
I wondered if Janet had been caught. If not, what would she do? The ga
s tank of my car was almost full, but I doubted she had a great deal of money with her. And credit cards, if she had them, would leave a dangerous trail. I parked the car and trudged down the beach, Fargo walking close by my side, too tired to bother with any sideline adventures.
As we went along, I noticed that the surf was building on a grey and sullen sea, and the tide was coming in. When we reached the little cove, I was surprised to see the cooler now resting safely above the high tide mark with the blanket folded compactly on its lid. My sneakers and socks were placed neatly inside the cooler, weighting it against the rising wind. All the leftover food and drinks were gone, however, probably to a teenage picnic around the next curve in the beach. In my fatigue, my immediate thought was to contact the Chamber of Commerce with a new slogan: Visit Cape Cod, Where Even Thieves Have A Heart.
I laughed and the tears began. I sat down in the sand and donned shoes and socks and cried aloud, like a child. Fargo came and sat very straight and very still beside me, leaning close against my shoulder. I rested my cheek on his broad, silky head and felt immeasurably comforted.
Chapter 13
I pulled Mitch’s car into my driveway, relieved not to have to think about returning it right now. Waiting for the garage door to rumble up and putting the car back in gear to drive in seemed a terrible effort. I could not remember being so weary, so drained. I let Fargo out. I went to the utility room in the back of the garage, where I rinsed out the cooler and tossed the blanket on top of the washer for later.
I seemed able to focus only on one simple thing at a time. Lock the car. Close the little garage side door. My body was screaming for rest and my mind was definitely on some sort of overload. Maybe that’s how Janet felt. But it was probably a very bad idea to think of Janet right now.
As Fargo and I walked toward the house, the wind felt gusty, and it held little spurts of rain that hit my face and jacket like cool playful slaps. The rain felt good at that moment, but there’d probably be nothing playful about it later. The wind was increasing and veering to the north. I guessed our cold front was here.
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