“What’s that?” Ricardo asked. “Shakespeare?”
“Moby Dick. That’s what Ahab said just before the whale killed him.”
Kate turned to Theresa. “Would you call home? Maybe Lance has turned up.”
Theresa punched the proper codes into the car phone, handed the receiver to Kate. “Reece wants to talk to you.”
“Lance called here five minutes ago, asking for you,” Reece said. “Sounded like ‘Good-bye, cruel world’ to me. Said to tell you how sorry he is for all the bother, but he hopes you’ll understand.”
“Did he tell you what he had in mind or where he was calling from?”
Most of what Reece said was lost as she drove through an underpass, but she got the gist of it: Lance had one more bomb to light and he wouldn’t let anyone stop him.
“Reece,” she said, “would you consider standing up your dates to go for a drive with me?”
“Where?”
“To look around in the daylight.”
25
Kate had a stop to make before picking up Reece. She knew of only one connection Lance had made in town, Craig Hardy. It was a long shot, but Lance might have contacted the reporter.
When she entered the city room of the Daily Angel she wasn’t expecting to find a scene from Front Page, but she was nonetheless disappointed: three metal desks in a littered storefront office. The place seemed to share a ventilation system with the takeout fish stand next door—it reeked of rancid cooking oil and brine.
Craig Hardy took one foot off his desk when she came in, but didn’t bother to stand or clear enough space on his side chair for her to sit down.
“Would I sound clichéd if I asked if this was a case of the mountain coming to Mohammed?” He grinned.
“It would certainly be an overstatement.”
“Paper’s gone to bed twice now without the exclusive you promised. I don’t suppose you’ve come to give it to me now, have you? I surmise from your humble posture that you have come seeking favors.”
“Lance Lumsden is in trouble. I thought he might have contacted you for help.”
“What if he had? Why would I tell you?”
“Look, Craig, you and I have been on opposite sides of events too often for you to expect to be on my Christmas-card list, but I think you’re basically a decent guy. I’m appealing to your decency. Lance has gone off to look for a killer, all by himself. Just suppose he beats the odds and finds him.”
“All by himself?” Hardy tapped the desk with a pencil, eyeing Kate with suspicion. The tap-tap-tap was like a metronome, keeping time as he weighed the possibilities back and forth. Finally he dropped the pencil. “I don’t chase news stories for fun; this is how I pay the rent. A really good story might fly me out of this backwater, let me pay rent in, say, L.A. or New York. Before we talk about how I can help you, I want to hear what’s in it for me.”
“What do you want?”
“A big exclusive. Interviews with all the principals you’ve been shielding behind your palace gates.”
“That can be arranged.”
“I want signatures and all story rights.” He pulled out a notepad and a Nikon. “And I want to come along.”
“Come along where?”
“The kid did call me, maybe an hour, hour and a half ago. Said he was already in Montana, but I knew he was up to something. He wanted directions to the murder shack you and Lieutenant Tejeda found on the Marine base. But I couldn’t help him—the Marines wouldn’t let the press near the shack, said it was in a sensitive area. Lumsden said he would ask someone else, and he hung up.”
“Who would he ask?”
“Didn’t say.” Hardy stood up and tucked an extra roll of film into his jeans pocket. “Ready?”
“You think I’m going to take you down to Camp Pendleton?”
“I know it.” He grinned, shouldering his camera. “Because you know that’s where the kid’s headed.”
Hardy set a fast pace out to her car. By the time Kate slid in behind the wheel, he had already changed the radio station and readjusted his seat.
“We have to stop for my cousin, Reece,” she said.
“Chaperon, huh?” He sniffed the leather upholstery and stroked the wood grain on the glove box. “He better be ready, ’cuz I don’t think we should waste any time.”
Reece was ready, and so were his dates; Lydia and Trinh insisted on coming along. Kate didn’t know whether they had come for the adventure or to keep an eye on Reece, or on each other.
Kate mentally tried to cover every contingency. If Lance couldn’t find anyone in town who would tell him where to find the shack, he might go back to Clyde’s bar in Oceanside and try questioning the clientele. What if he ran into Don Kelley as she and Tejeda had? And what if Don Kelley took him to the shack?
Over the steady hum of her tires on the asphalt she heard the tap-tap-tap of Hardy’s fingers. He was an observer, taking mental notes for his big story. She felt this must be something like sitting beside a body snatcher; he was searching for some essence of each of them, some bit of their souls to use as background in his article. She thought about warning the others that if they gave him enough material, they might end up as featured players in a book.
Going south against traffic, they made good time. All the way down, Kate worried that there might be Marine patrols around the shack. The sudden notoriety had been an embarrassment to the Marines and they had gone to some lengths to keep the press away, as Hardy had told her. Surely they had done something to close off the access road as well.
She had a sudden sick feeling; if Lance had managed to find the shack, even without Don Kelley, what might he do if someone tried to stop him? Especially if that someone was carrying an M-16.
The immigration check station came up on her left, gates on the northbound lanes. Kate took the first off-ramp she came to, circled under the freeway, and joined the crunch of holiday traffic headed north. After they had themselves cleared the check station, she began watching for the access road she and Tejeda had taken Wednesday night.
By daylight everything looked very different; even her perspective of relative distances seemed warped. But she recognized the access road by the bent and BB-shot No Trespassing sign. She passed the dirt turn-off, staying on the freeway for another mile, trying to judge distance by time rather than a territory covered. She remembered thinking while struggling through the sagebrush with Tejeda that it might have been easier to get to the shack by scrambling down the freeway embankment than approaching from the access road. And her car sailing along through the dust would certainly be a flag to any patrols.
There were no significant landmarks; all the scrub looked essentially the same from the freeway. When she judged they were nearly abreast of the collapsed bunker, she pulled onto the emergency shoulder and got out to look.
Hardy followed. “You lost?”
“Not yet.” There was a glint of something shiny through the overgrowth less than a quarter of a mile ahead, possibly the tin roof of the shack. They drove on, Kate trying to watch both the side of the road and her rearview mirror; she didn’t need to be stopped by the highway patrol.
When she stopped a second time, she could see a corner of the shack roof and the collapsed mound of the abandoned bunker beyond it.
“That it?” Hardy asked.
“Yes.” She summoned the others to come.
“What about the car?” Reece said.
“Lock it up,” she said. “We passed enough breakdowns along the shoulder that I doubt anyone will notice.”
“Not notice a jade-green Jaguar?” he said. But he locked the car and joined the others down the steep gravel-covered embankment.
They were all very quiet, aware of being somewhere they were very much not supposed to be. Kate noticed Trinh especially. She was as swift and quiet as a Saturday-matinee Indian, and as well-rehearsed. Kate found this hidden skill to be oddly poignant; Trinh had grown up in a war zone. Keeping out of sight of the Marines mig
ht even hold some nostalgia for her.
At the bottom of the embankment they stopped to regroup and catch their breath and decide how to cross the next obstacle.
Lydia clung to Kate’s elbow while she dumped gravel from her shoe. “Going up will be a whole lot trickier. Had you thought about that?”
“No,” Kate laughed. “We’ll probably go out in a paddy wagon.”
“Comforting thought.” Lydia slipped her shoe back on and followed Reece to the next obstacle—three rusty strands of barbed wire strung between a snaggle-tooth line of wooden posts.
Reece, ever the gallant picnicker, was trying to spread the strands for the others to slip through. But Trinh tested a couple of fenceposts, selected one, manipulated it back and forth a few times, then laid it on the ground.
Lydia walked beside Kate as they picked their way across the flattened barbed wire. She was watching Trinh and Reece help each other through the dry weeds.
“Lydia,” Kate said, trying to think of something comforting yet not untruthful, “they’re good friends.”
“Forget it.” Lydia walked on with her. “Doesn’t bother me to see Reece and Trinh together.”
“I think he just feels very paternal toward her.”
“Paternal?” Lydia held back a branch of sage for Kate. “They put fathers who feel that way in jail. But trust me, Kate, it’s okay. Reece and I have been going together for a long time. I know that he’s probably the nicest man I have ever met. He’s smart, he’s considerate, he looks cute even when he doesn’t shave. But he’s just not for me. He’s a rich kid and, college professor or not, I’m strictly working-class. And ne’er the twain shall meet.”
“Now you sound like Roger.”
“Roger?” They ducked together through a stand of eucalyptus. “No way. Both of his parents are college graduates, schoolteachers like you, for Chrissake. They gave him music, literature, taught him which fork to use. My father works on the docks, my mom slings chili. I love them dearly, but they don’t know Mozart from Mantovani. Tell Roger he’s full of it.”
“I already have. Now you give Reece some credit. None of that matters to him.”
“I know. But, Kate, I think it matters to me. Even though Trinh comes from another culture, she has more in common with him than I do. She was certainly no peasant farmer. She has polish, and I don’t. And I don’t think I want it. I like whistling at basketball games and scratching when I itch.”
Lydia caught her pant leg on a bush and Kate stooped down to help unsnag it.
“Do you feel uncomfortable whistling and scratching around me?” Kate asked.
“Never. But that’s different. We’re friends, not lovers.”
“That’s it, isn’t it? You’ve found someone else.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m happy for you, but I’ll miss our old foursome.”
“No need.” Lydia kicked her leg free, ripping her cuff in the process. She had blushed a furious red, but she was smiling broadly as she gave Kate a hand up. “I’ve been seeing Eddie Green.”
The others had reached the edge of the clearing behind the shack and waited for Kate and Lydia to catch up. They all stood in silence for a moment in the last of the sage cover, looking for signs of Lance or anyone else. If someone was there, he was being very quiet; the only sounds were crickets in the weeds, occasional birds, and the background rush of the freeway.
Craig Hardy moved into the clearing first, and they all followed, moving in sets: Trinh and Reece, Kate and Lydia, with Hardy as a solo.
The clearing seemed larger by daylight, and the shack smaller. Kate saw evidence of the police search that Vic Spago and Eddie Green had led on Thanksgiving morning. The adobe-hard ground was scuffed everywhere with dusty footprints, and there were shallow trenches dug in regular rows, like corduroy, across the exposed area. Heavy-treaded vehicles had been driven up to the front door of the shed, and away again.
Kate followed Hardy around to the front and stopped beside two holes that were deeper, rounder, and cruder than the trenches. Hardy shot about half a roll on the holes, the police padlock and seal on the sagging door of the shed, the tin roofing Kate had tossed aside during her earlier visit.
“It’s too quiet,” Reece said, edging up beside her. “The place feels haunted.”
“I don’t think this is a good time to start believing in ghosts, because if anyplace is haunted, this one is.”
“Should we look inside?”
“The door’s locked, the window’s boarded up.”
“How big a head start did Lance have?” Reece asked.
“At the most, two hours.” She could hear an occasional truck pass by on the access road, but she couldn’t see anything beyond the chaparral until low hills rose in the distance. At night the sky full of stars and the lights of the freeway had made her feel vulnerable to exposure here. But by day she could see how isolated the spot was, how perfect for keeping illicit secrets.
Lydia came and looked into the holes. She shuddered.
“Lie down in the bigger one, Lydia,” Reece said. “Let’s see if there’s room enough for a body.”
“Fuck you,” she laughed, and turned to Kate. “Lance isn’t here. Any point in waiting around?”
“Maybe he’ll show,” Kate said. “There are some chairs inside if anyone wants to break the lock.”
“I’m not going inside.” Lydia sat down on the front stoop. “Isn’t that where they found all the blood?”
Hardy had backed toward the weeds to get a full frontal shot of the shack. Kate turned in a full circle—she had lost track of Trinh. As Kate turned to ask Reece what had happened to her, he seemed to notice her absence as well.
“Trinh?” he called softly, dashing around to the side of the shack. And then, more loudly, “Trinh!”
Kate had started in the opposite direction, when the command came.
“Freeze!” An enormous uniformed Marine crashed into the clearing and grabbed Hardy by the scruff of the neck. He trained his M-16 in an arc, showing each person he or she was within easy range. “This ain’t no public picnic ground, people. You are trespassing on restricted U.S. government property.”
Reece raised his hands theatrically, but he seemed fairly calm. “Sorry, we didn’t see any signs. We were just out walking, taking some pictures for the folks back home.”
“Walking from where to where?” The Marine snickered. His skin was very fair and deeply burned. Even his scalp, visible under his fine white-blond crew cut, looked sore. Burs clung to his camouflage fatigues all the way to his shoulders. “How about we all walk back out to the road and take a little ride to see the CO?”
“Kate, do we have time for that?” Lydia asked. “When is the general expecting us for tea?”
“The general is out on maneuvers,” the Marine said. “Let’s cut the talk and get a move on.”
He steered Hardy around by the neck and waved with his rifle for the others to follow.
Hardy wriggled under his hand. “Hey, man, you’re hurting me.”
“Move.”
There was no sound, only the flash of Trinh’s size-two body sailing through the air. She landed on the Marine’s back and locked his throat in the crook of her arm. Even though her feet didn’t reach the ground, the chop she gave the top of his head was sufficient to drop him. She pushed herself away as he fell and landed on her knees beside him, a brick-size rock poised over his head in case her first blow hadn’t cooled him.
Lydia leaned close to Kate. “That should give Reece something to think about.”
Reece took Trinh’s small hand in his and helped her to her feet as if she were a delicate flower.
“Good shot.” He held her close. “Where did you come from?”
“All Marine use Zest soap,” Trinh answered shyly. “I smell him coming, I think maybe I should make preparation.”
Kate went over to the Marine and bent over him. His pulse was strong and regular, the pupils of both eyes dilated to the same size
. Hardy was beside her, clicking his camera shutter in her ear.
“Now what?” Kate said. “I don’t think he’s going to stay out very long. And I don’t want to be here when he comes to.”
Hardy aimed the camera at her face. “What about Lance?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe if we put Junior here inside the shack and restrain his movement, we can wait a little longer.”
“I don’t believe it,” Lydia laughed. “The very refined Professor Kate Byrd wants to tie up a Marine. What next?”
“Lydia, Hardy, grab his arms.” Reece had already lifted the Marine’s feet. “The door’s padlocked, Kate. Go see if you and Trinh can hairpin it or something.”
Kate ran beside Trinh. “Think you can coldcock a lock the way you coldcocked that big lummox?”
“A lummox is a Marine?”
“Not always.” Kate knelt in front of the police padlock and gave it a trial pull; it fell away along a neatly sawed line. Trinh’s almond-shaped eyes grew round. “I didn’t do that. It’s broken.”
She got to her feet and gently pushed the door open, half-expecting some animal to run past her again. Trinh was pressed behind her, peering around cautiously from the side. Trinh seemed frightened, but after what Kate had seen outside, she could never again imagine Trinh being afraid of anything.
When the door was open about halfway, it stopped against something with a metallic thunk. Gripping Trinh by the hand, Kate eased inside, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness.
The big redwood log was gone from the near corner, but she had known it would be; Vic Spago had carted it back to his lab. She pushed the door further open so they could fit through together. As she pushed, the blockage gave a little but felt solid. Pulling Trinh up so their arms were linked, she peered around the edge of the door.
When she saw what was stopping the door she wasn’t surprised because it seemed somehow fitting, if that was the word. But she felt sick, just the same.
Lance lay sprawled on his back with his feet away from her, his head by the door. As she moved further in to kneel beside him, the door again hit the business end of a garden shovel so new that its $13.99 Sears price sticker was unsoiled. The only evidence of use on the shovel’s shiny tempered-steel end was a spill of red where it had cleaved his skull.
Half a Mind (The Kate Teague Mysteries) Page 22