Half a Mind (The Kate Teague Mysteries)

by Wendy Hornsby

  “Does he have a name other than Baby?”

  “A good name. Same as mine, Louis Michael Silver.”

  The front door closed, sending a draft into the cutting room.

  “Hey, Lou? You here?” Heavy boots crossed the scrubbed linoleum in the outer shop. “You know you left the front door open?”

  “Yeah,” Lou called out. “In here.”

  Tejeda recognized the voice and looked around for the closest exit, in case Theresa needed one in a hurry.

  “I think I got a line on a restaurant that will take two sides of beef …” Don Kelley saw Tejeda and made a similar check of the exits.

  “Hello, Kelley,” Tejeda said. “Missed you in San Quentin this morning.”

  Lou looked at Kelley and seemed confused. “You wasn’t up at San Quentin this morning.”

  “That’s what he just said,” Kelley said. “I was here, helping you clean up.”

  “Willie missed you too.”

  “Yeah? Well, I couldn’t help it. Lou needed me.”

  “How do you two know each other?” Tejeda asked.

  Lou shook his head. “Questions, always questions.”

  “We go way back.” Kelley patted Lou on the back. “Lou used to give us kids work in high school.”

  “You and Arty and Willie Tyler?” Tejeda asked.

  “And Baby?” Theresa added.

  “You know Baby?” Kelley asked her.

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so.” Kelley glanced at Tejeda. “New girlfriend? Kinda young.”

  “She is my daughter.”

  “Daughter, huh?” Kelley said, grinning obscenely. “Out doing a little family detective work?”

  Tedeja moved in front of Theresa. “I need to talk to you, Kelley, about something Willie had to say this morning.”

  “Sure. Come into my office.” He winked at Lou and walked off across the cutting room.

  Tejeda squeezed Theresa’s hand. “Get Lou to show you a telephone. Call Kate, tell her we’ll be home shortly.”

  He touched the small of his back as he turned to follow Kelley, missing once again the weight of his service revolver. When he caught up to him, Kelley was sorting tools on a rack near the back door. His hands moved quickly, as if he knew where every mallet and bit belonged. The USDA Prime tattoo danced as his thick forearm flexed.

  “What’s the news from Willie?” he asked.

  “He said he’s innocent.”

  “Surprise, surprise.” Kelley sneered. “They don’t keep him busy enough up there. Too much time to think.”

  “Enough time to rethink taking the fall for someone else?”

  “Is that what he told you?” Kelley slid a cutter disk into a slot. “Asshole. What else?”

  “He thought he was taking the fall for you.”

  “Yeah?” Kelley put the tools down and faced Tejeda, arms folded easily across his chest. His smile was broad, but there was no glee behind it. “If I were you, I wouldn’t pay too much attention to a guy who’s sleeping down the hall from the gas chamber. Does things to his memory, if you know what I mean.”

  “I want to talk to Baby. Do you know where I can find him?”

  “Leave Baby alone. I don’t think he can take much more shit out of life. He was a good kid, always trying to fix things up, make everything right for people. What did it get him? A spell in the snake pit. You ever seen those state hospitals, man?”

  “They could be worse.”

  “Not for Baby they couldn’t.”

  “I still need to talk to him. Do you have his number?”

  The corners of Kelley’s smile slipped for an instant. “Sure,” he said, “I have his number in my back pocket.”

  The move, when it came, was fast. Tejeda ducked from the slash of heavy arm that whipped up from below. Instinctively he blocked with his shoulder, but the black knob in Kelley’s hand found its way inside and clipped him on the temple. The blow felt soft, a little black balloon. As he slid to the floor he had time to realize that the give was all in his skull. Oblivion, when it came, was a godsend.

  24

  He descended through a long black tube toward a cool blue light that grew slowly larger until it was so bright it dazzled him. He came out into the bedroom his wife had decorated in a frigid mood: ice-blue drapes, blue spread, hard blue chairs. He wanted to leave; so much blue made his head hurt.

  Warm hands touched his face and went away too soon.

  “I know you’re in there.”

  He knew the voice and pulled himself up through the blue fog to find it again. He took a chance and opened one eye. Who he saw made it worth the risk.

  “Welcome back,” she said. He couldn’t say her name, but she was clear in his mind. Where he was and why he hurt so much was another problem. He couldn’t remember what he had done this time, but it was bad; even his hard-on hurt.

  She put a straw to his lips and he drank. The water was cold but caused no pain. Encouraged by this, he moved his legs, his arms, and his hands and found everything functional. He reached for his head, but there was only a gauze wad stuffed with agony—it had to be ten feet wide.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  He couldn’t shake his head, and when he tried to speak, the growl he heard scared him. She gave him the straw again. He drank and closed his eyes.

  “I know your head hurts, Roger, but please try to stay awake a little longer.”

  He cleared his throat. “Okay.”

  “It’s Sunday morning. You’re in the hospital. My name is Kate.”

  “What happened to Saturday? Where’s my head?”

  “You took a bump, but you’re intact. Do you remember what happened?”

  “Some.” Just the flash of thick arm smashing something into his skull. But everything before that began sliding into focus. His head seemed to be condensing back to normal size, like Jell-O being poured into a mold. It still hurt like hell. “Theresa?”

  “She’s at home helping Richie pack for school. I’m very proud of her. When she found you out cold at Silver’s she kept her head and took care of business, called the paramedics, me, and Eddie. In that order.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “Forget it. They can put wrist restraints on you here if necessary, hang on to you until you’re ready.”

  “I need to talk to someone.”

  “I’m here.”

  “Someone named Baby.”

  “Eddie Green is looking for Baby.”

  He closed his eyes just for a minute, and started to fall back into the black tube.

  “Roger.” Her voice came through and yanked him back. “Don’t go to sleep.”

  “I have to get up.”

  She smiled. “You can try.”

  He slid one leg over the side of the bed, braced himself on his elbows, and tried to raise his head from the pillow. It weighed far too much and he settled back down. The pain that shot through his head scared him awake.

  “Kate, am I okay?”

  “You need a shave.” She leaned over him to straighten his sheets. “And a shower wouldn’t hurt. Otherwise, you seem to be fine. You took a good blow, but Dr. Cassidy thinks there’s no real damage—just some brain swelling.”

  He put his hand up again and explored the boundaries of the gauze bandage. “How big is my head?”

  “No fatter than usual.” She caressed his cheek and looked into his eyes. “You were lucky, Roger. But do yourself a favor and stay put for a while. Dr. Cassidy said you can’t take any more blows.”

  “I think I’m going to cry,” Kate said. “This is like the last day of summer camp, with everybody leaving.”

  “I wish you would come with us,” Ricardo picked up the last of Lance’s bags. “I don’t like to leave you all alone.”

  “I’m hardly alone. Reece, Trinh, and one of the policemen are all here. Anyway, there isn’t room in your car.”

  “That’s true.” The back of his station wagon was solid with luggage, surfboards,
and books Lance and Richie had brought down for the weekend. Ever the organizer, Ricardo had arranged the gear in layers. The first tier would be unloaded at the airport with Lance, the second at Richie’s apartment in Santa Barbara, the last when Ricardo and Linda returned to their own house later that night. Ricardo tucked in a stray sweater and closed the hatch. “I thought a little drive would give you a break.”

  “How much break do you think Kate would have wedged into that back seat?” Linda handed Theresa a tin of cookies and came over to kiss Kate good-bye. She tugged on Ricardo’s arm. “You should know she isn’t going anywhere with Rigo in the hospital. Theresa, where are the boys?”

  “They’re coming.”

  Lance walked between Richie and Reece. They held his arms and seemed very chummy until she saw the frustration on their faces; Lance was balking.

  “What’s the problem?” she asked.

  “Lance isn’t ready to go,” Reece said.

  “What difference will a few hours make?” Lance whined. “I want to see the opening of Arty Silver’s trial tomorrow. Why can’t I stay for that? If you don’t want me to stay here, I have some friends in town. Maybe Carl can get me an extension.”

  “Maybe you don’t understand how close you came to going to jail, son.” Ricardo wrapped his arm around Lance, more half-nelson than fatherly, and quick-walked him to the car. “You’re going home now. When your plane lands in Billings at three, the local sheriff will be there to meet you. Anything goes wrong with that arrangement, and you’re going to start seeing stripes before your eyes.”

  Richie dropped his duffel of clean laundry and hugged Kate against his hard chest. “Thank you. I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too. Your dad said to tell you we’ll drive up for a visit in a couple of weeks, with Jena. In the meantime, don’t get another roommate.”

  He laughed, kissed her cheek, then slid into the back seat next to Lance.

  “We should have Theresa home around nine,” Linda said. “Have a nice, quiet afternoon.”

  Kate watched them go, waving, until Ricardo went out through the gates.

  “What’s so good about a quiet afternoon, huh, kid?” Reece said.

  “I can’t think of a thing. In spite of the circumstances, I liked having everyone around. This house was meant to be full of people.”

  “Have you noticed? Even the press has left us, gone on to the next twenty-four-hour wonder.” He yawned. “Now what?”

  “Change my clothes, take some things to Roger.”

  “Roger. I don’t know what it is, but you say ‘Roger’ funny.”

  “It’s not the way I say it, it’s the name. ‘Roger’ is his cop name. ‘Rigo’ suits him better.” She took Reece’s hand as they walked back to the house. “What are your plans?”

  “I’m taking Trinh and Lydia to a movie and to dinner.”

  “Which one is your date?”

  “That’s a dumb thing to ask. I thought Lydia was your best friend.”

  “So what? Doesn’t obligate you in any way, does it? I couldn’t help but notice you’ve spent more time with Trinh lately than with Lydia.”

  “Trinh’s a nice kid.”

  “Trinh’s a nice, smart, beautiful woman. And don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

  He nudged her with his shoulder. “Go change your clothes. Tell Roger we’ll stop by to see him on our way home.”

  Kate showered and changed, packed a few necessities for Tejeda, stopped for a pint of rocky-road ice cream, and made it back to the hospital at about the time Lance’s plane was scheduled for takeoff.

  She found Eddie Green dealing a hand of gin rummy, using Tejeda’s chest for a table.

  “What did I get?” Tejeda asked; he was flat on his back with an arm across his forehead.

  “Ten of clubs and hearts; two, four, and six of spades; nine of diamonds; queen and ace of hearts; queen of clubs; seven of hearts.”

  “Dump the seven of hearts,” Tejeda said.

  “You draw nine of spades.” Eddie fanned his own hand.

  “Feeling better?” Kate asked.

  Tejeda moved his arm to look at her. “When did the doctor say I can go home?”

  “Can you sit up?”

  “Sure.” The cords in his neck stood out, his face muscles worked, but his head didn’t leave the pillow. He relaxed. “I could do it if I wanted to. Did everyone get off okay?”

  “Yes. Everyone says hello, take care, I love you, and so on.”

  He put his arm back over his eyes. “There it is again.”

  “What?”

  “Love.”

  “That’s sweet.” She kissed him.

  “Not that kind of love.” Eddie discarded a king. “He means love and the mass murderer.”

  “I should have guessed,” she said.

  “No, I should have.” Tejeda pulled his sheet higher and the cards spilled. “From the beginning, I knew something was missing, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I’ve been having so many memory problems that I thought it was something monumental. But it was just a subtle little thing that was right in front of me the whole time.”

  “Love?” she repeated.

  “Love.” The huge bruise under his bandage had seeped into his left eyebrow like a grape-juice stain. He looked sad and grumpy and boyishly vulnerable. And absolutely irresistible.

  She held up the rocky road and a spoon. “Tell me about love.”

  And around spoonfuls of ice cream, he did.

  “I always thought that Arty loved his victims,” he said. “He loved them so much that he never wanted to give them up. He took pictures of them, he cut off little souvenirs. He wrapped their parts in pretty paper and wrote letters to the press about them.”

  She touched his cheek. “Do you have a fever?”

  “No, I’m absolutely okay.” He smiled. “Love was missing in the murders of Wally Morrow and Sean O’Shay. Someone has done a fair job of imitating the form of Arty’s work, but not the substance.”

  “No fun?” she said.

  “Exactly. It would take Arty a week to get a body ready for the freezer, not a few hours. What we have is a sham, a fraud, a forgery.”

  “But that doesn’t make two boys any less dead,” she said.

  “True. Spud, you want some of this ice cream?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Arty had a compulsion to kill,” he continued. “If he weren’t in jail, he would still be cruising for victims and enjoying every minute of it. I think our imitator only kills because it’s part of Arty’s ritual. And if it’s no fun for him, how long can he keep it up? He’s headed for a dive off the edge of sanity.”

  The telephone bell served as jarring punctuation. Eddie picked it up. “Psych Ward here.”

  He listened for a moment. “Aw, shit. I’m real sorry. I should have taken care of him myself.” He paused impatiently now and then, but there seemed to be simultaneous conversations over the wire. “You called the police? … No, that was the right thing. It’s not your fault…. Tell her not to worry…. Any idea where he was headed? … No, don’t rent a car. We’ll come right up and get you.”

  Eddie put the receiver down and looked at Kate with a face as pale and sick as Tejeda’s.

  “Can’t be that bad, Eddie,” Kate said.

  “Yes, it can. Roger, that was your father, calling from the airport. Somehow, when they were getting his luggage out of the car, Lance got hold of Ricardo’s keys and drove off.”

  “Figures. Dumb little shit’s determined to get himself hurt.”

  “He may come back to the house,” Kate said. “Think I should go home and wait?”

  “Don’t go anywhere near him,” Tejeda said. “Spud will get someone to watch the house.”

  “Kate, you talked to him a lot,” Eddie said. “Where else would he go?”

  “I don’t know. Until his brother died he lived in Santa Angelica. He said he still knew some people.”

  Tejeda gripped her hand. “Help
me up, Kate.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Eddie, while you’re at it, I want you to get someone to watch Roger, keep him in that bed. I’m going to the airport to pick up Linda and Ricardo.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Eddie laughed.

  “I could ride along,” Tejeda said.

  “You could.” She pinned his shoulders to the mattress and kissed him. “But I don’t have a hearse. Promise me you’ll stay put.”

  “On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “You bring me back a chocolate malt.”

  “It’s a deal. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  Freeway traffic was light—the holiday outbound exodus hadn’t reversed direction yet—but LAX was in gridlock. She managed to spot Ricardo, Linda, and Theresa among the mob waiting in front of the Western terminal. There were no curbside parking places, but she thought parking was redundant anyway, traffic moved so slowly. She simply waited for a standstill, got out beside her car, and flagged her riders down.

  Unencumbered by luggage, which she assumed had gone away with Ricardo’s station wagon, they easily wove their way across two clogged lanes. Theresa slid in beside Kate while Linda and Ricardo climbed into the back seat.

  “How’s Rigo?” Linda asked immediately.

  “He’s fine. Where’s Richie?”

  “He’s on standby for a flight to Santa Barbara.” Ricardo seemed shaken. “Kate, I’m so sorry about this.”

  “It isn’t your fault, Ricardo. We should have arranged a police escort for Lance.”

  In the rearview mirror she saw him shake his head. “I have worked with young people for many, many years. When a boy is upset the way that one is, he needs someone who cares about him. Not police.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “The same things, over and over,” Linda sighed. “If he had just a little more time he could find out what happened to his brother. But where can he look that our Rigo hasn’t already been? I asked him.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Rigo should stop looking around in the dark. Kate, if you could have seen his eyes when he drove away with our car. ‘Oh, lonely death on lonely life! Oh, now I feel my topmost greatness lies in my topmost grief.’”