26
“‘Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen.’”
“Shut up, Reece,” Kate groused. “Your cheerfulness is getting awfully goddamn tiresome.”
“Think the others got out yet?”
“Don’t ask me that again, either.” She drank the last of the tepid coffee in her cup, but it only made the sourness in her stomach worse. “What time is it?”
He looked at his wrist. “Don’t know. They took my watch when they booked us.”
“We’re not booked,” she said. “We’re being held for questioning.”
“So why did that amazon in uniform take my watch?”
“Maybe she liked it.” Kate picked some more at the burs in her socks. If she’d had it to do over, she decided, she would have asked Trinh or Hardy to run back through the thicket with her to call the authorities, and left Reece behind with Lance’s corpse, the comatose Marine, and his M-16.
Better yet, she would have opted for Lydia, who could be foul-mouthed and infuriatingly pushy when she wasn’t getting her way. Kate had learned to ignore her bluster, but Lydia could make the uninitiated snap to attention when she bellowed. And that’s what they needed now, Kate thought, a good show of unbridled aggression. All that politeness and cooperation had gotten them so far was a tongue-lashing from some local sheriff and an interminable stay in a stuffy interrogation room at the Oceanside police headquarters.
The worst part of this ordeal was not knowing what was happening to the others. None of them had been willing to leave Lance alone or to desert the Marine. So they had split up, some staying, some going for help. It had seemed like a sensible plan at the time. The Marine was far too heavy for them to carry out, but he was moaning strangely and they couldn’t leave him. For all they knew, Lance’s killer was still in the brush nearby.
Logic said help had to be summoned in a hurry. But now she thought it had been stupid to split up. Within ten minutes of leaving the shack, she and Reece had called the authorities from her car phone, everyone from the military police to the paramedics. Maybe they should have gone back to the others then instead of waiting on the freeway for help to show up. In every Saturday-matinee thriller she could remember, when the good guys split up it meant doom for one of them. She had survived; what did that portend for the others?
She slouched down in her hard chair and sucked at a splinter in her finger.
“Hey, Kate, I think I can remember all the words to ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.’”
“I’m warning you, Reece, don’t get started again.”
“Helps keep my mind off Lance. What was he trying to dig up outside the shack, anyway?”
“His brother. But Lance didn’t dig up anything—there wasn’t a mark on his shovel.”
“Except where it—”
“Don’t say it.” The bile she had to swallow had nothing to do with the three cups of inky coffee she had drunk to kill time. Lance’s face, frozen in wide-eyed surprise, kept flashing in front of her like a slide in a stuck projector. Thinking about the force that had been used to embed the dull-edged shovel into his skull made her scalp itch.
“Poor Lance,” she sighed.
“He was a good kid.” Reece stood up and stretched. “If he weren’t dead, though, I’d be madder than hell at him for getting us into this mess. Did you have time to call a lawyer?”
“Whom would I call, Carl? I left a message on Eddie Green’s machine. Why didn’t we let him handle Lance in the first place?”
Reece smiled. “Because we’re so fucking nice we wanted to save the little bastard from being arrested for skipping out at the airport in a stolen vehicle. I’m tired of nice, Kate. I think it’s time to rattle our cups on the bars.”
She handed him her empty Styrofoam cup. “You first.”
“Figuratively speaking.”
“Right.” She went to the door and tried the knob. When it turned, she was surprised. They had been questioned, bawled out, then given a pot of coffee and told to stay put. Their questioners had been so threatening that she had assumed something more dire was in the offing, and that she and Reece were locked in until the time came to lower the boom. She had had enough time to think, to work out a variety of guilt assignments and forgive herself for a few infractions along the way. Now she felt calmer and less contrite than she had been when she was brought in, her defenses shored up a bit as the numbness of shock wore off.
She combed her fingers through her hair, smoothed the front of her soiled jacket, and stepped out into the corridor.
The clock on the wall had stopped, but the pervasive aroma of greasy fast food helped her set the time—maybe six, six-thirty. There were voices coming from the squad room down the hall, some shuffling of stiff papers, and a good deal of hearty laughter of the sort offered in acknowledgment of jokes that are more raunchy than they are funny. She quailed for a moment, wondering whether she and Reece figured somehow in that discussion.
She looked back at Reece. “How do you feel about making a run for it?”
“They took my wallet, your keys. How far do you think we could get?”
“To Rio, if necessary. I have contacts.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stop on the way out and ask the amazon to give my watch back.”
“You won’t need a watch in Rio.”
“I want my watch.”
“Wait here, then.” Kate walked into the squad room and stood in the middle of things with what she hoped passed for assertiveness until someone noticed her.
The sergeant who had grilled her earlier looked up from his Big Mac. “Ladies’ room is down the hall, on the right.”
“We want to go home.”
“Don’t we all?” He grinned, showing a string of lettuce caught in his teeth. “Just hang on a little longer.”
“Where are my friends?”
“Last I heard, they were having dinner with the Marines.”
“Can the Marines hold civilians?”
“Around here, the Marines can damn well do anything they want. Why don’t you go back inside? Won’t be much longer.”
“Right.” She picked up the telephone on the nearest desk and punched in her MCI credit-card number and then her home phone number. When there was no answer, she called Lydia’s condo and left a message on her machine, telling her where she was. She left a second message on Eddie Green’s machine before calling the Santa Angelica Police Department and asking them to page Eddie. Finally she tried Vic Spago. If anyone in Santa Angelica knew what was going on, Vic did. Though she was feeling desperate for some definite answers, she also needed to hear a familiar, friendly, living voice. But Vic was not at home and he wasn’t in his office and the woman who answered his line could only take a message. At least it was a two-way conversation. Kate sighed as she hung up.
No one had challenged her use of the phone. “Any word on the Marine who was injured?”
“He’s okay.” The sergeant looked up from his dinner, eyeing her coldly. “Says a cougar must have jumped him. I never saw a cougar yet, though, that carried a blackjack. Maybe he’ll remember better when he wakes up tomorrow.”
“Where’s my car?”
“Out front,” the sergeant said around some fries.
“May I have the keys?”
“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” The lettuce between his teeth had worked partway out and hung over his lip like a limp fang. It was very distracting. “We could book you on a variety of charges, from abandoning a vehicle on an interstate highway to destruction of federal property—cost you some money to fix that fence. So don’t push it. Why don’t you just go back down the hall and wait quietly like a good girl?”
She weighed adding assault on a police officer to the charges. Instead, she leaned toward him and whispered confidentially, “You have something green stuck in your teeth.”
“Shit.” His face turned red and he slam-dunked the remains of his burger into the trash. She could see his tongue working furiou
sly behind his lips. Then he abandoned all those years of his mother’s training and picked out the chunk of lettuce with his thumbnail.
While he was thus engaged, Kate sat down on the corner of his desk and crossed her arms.
“Look,” she said, “I know I overstepped myself. None of us would be in this mess if I had thought somewhere along the way to call the authorities. We have no excuse to offer other than pure intentions, and I know what that’s worth. But why don’t you just talk to me? It’s not going to hurt you to tell me what you know about the others.”
“You think so?” He wasted some time shuffling papers on his desk before he seemed to come to a decision. He looked up at her over his glasses. “You ever hear of a cop named Tejeda? Lieutenant Roger Tejeda?”
“Yes, I’ve heard of him. I understand he’s very famous and very handsome.”
“We worked a big case together a few years ago.” He was bragging, the way people over in Orange County brag when they say they knew John Wayne, as if they had touched folklore. “I had a call from Roger Tejeda himself tonight, asking me to give you special treatment.”
“What special treatment? Thumbscrews and cattle prods?”
“You weren’t treated like that.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Too much coffee makes me cranky.”
“I’m holding you in protective custody until Lieutenant Tejeda sends for you.”
“He’s not coming himself, is he? He’s in the hospital.”
“Yeah, he told me.” The sergeant leaned back and grinned. “Sounds like a cougar attacked him too.”
“Right.” She smiled, but she was beginning to feel sick. Roger was the worst patient she had ever attended; he hated to be in bed. She hoped that his head hurt badly enough to keep him from coming to fetch her personally.
The sergeant answered a call on his desk phone, then got to his feet. “You’ve been sprung. Someone’s waiting for you out front.”
“Tell me it’s not Tejeda.”
“Desk watch didn’t say. You want to go get your friend?”
Kate found Reece lying on the table in the interrogation room, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest, and snoring softly. Must have forgotten about rattling the bars, she decided as she shook him awake.
“Time to go,” she said.
“Where?” He yawned.
“The big house. Get your shoes.”
Reece followed her and the sergeant toward the front desk, tucking in his shirt and combing his hair along the way. By the time they reached the end of the corridor, he looked completely fresh, as if he had never scrambled down a gravel-covered bank and back up again, discovering a dead man in between.
She almost stopped the sergeant from opening the door: she wanted very much to see Tejeda, but not here.
But it was Eddie Green who was waiting in the reception area, looking like a beleaguered scoutmaster after a long outing. His charges, Lydia, Trinh, and Craig Hardy, were a grubby-looking lot, their soiled clothes full of burs.
Kate gave up trying to answer the questions hurled at her, and grabbed Lydia by the arm. “Where have you been?”
“We had dinner in the officers’ mess. They think we’re heroes for saving one of their own.”
“Saving him from what?” Kate asked.
“When that big Marine Trinh sedated came around, he thought he’d been hit by a truck or half a dozen guys, at least. Things were just a bit unclear in his mind, and we didn’t do much to clarify the situation.”
“I’m not hearing any of this,” Eddie said. “What happens on federal land is the feds’ problem.”
Trinh giggled behind her hand. “That is not what you told the military police when you come for us.”
“I’ll fix things with them tomorrow.” Eddie sighed. “Now, can we please go home?”
“Wait a sec.” Craig Hardy was reloading his camera with film he had taken from a K-Mart bag; somehow he must have persuaded Eddie to make a stop on the way.
When Hardy aimed his camera at her, Kate turned it aside. “I don’t want to have my picture taken in the police station,” she said. “I’m sure you understand.”
He offered Kate a sly, crooked smile. “I have had the best day of my life. I only got one shot of the military police, but I think it’s a good one. I’m thinking now of an in-depth series to run during the Silver trial. What do you think?”
“I want to go home.”
There seemed to be general agreement that home was a good idea. They split up again, Kate riding with Eddie while Reece drove the others in her Jaguar.
Kate sank into the front seat next to Eddie and kicked off her shoes. “Where’s Lance?”
“Vic Spago came and got him.” He glanced at her. “Kate, how did you know where to find Lance?”
“He told Ricardo and Linda he had friends in town, but the only person outside of our household I knew he had talked with was Craig Hardy. So I called Craig and got lucky.”
“Whether that was luck or not depends on your viewpoint, doesn’t it? Why did you go looking for Lance without telling me?”
“I thought that if we could locate Lance right away and get him on a plane to Montana, he wouldn’t be in too much trouble. Ricardo wouldn’t press charges if he got his car back intact. Besides, I really didn’t think we would find him. Looking for Lance was something to do; I’m so sick of sitting back, waiting for shit to happen.”
“Hope it was worth it,” Eddie sighed.
“Okay, I’m sorry. Have you found Ricardo’s car?”
“Not yet.”
“Learn anything new?”
“Besides never tell a civilian about the case I’m working on?”
“Right. Besides that.”
“The holes at the shack were interesting. Something—actually, two things—had been buried and dug up within the last twenty-four hours; there was no rainwater in the holes.”
“Are we talking about body parts?”
“According to Vic, the size and shape of the holes, the patterns of compaction in the dirt at the bottom of the holes, and la-di-da like that, are compatible with a couple of missing body parts we have been trying to locate.”
“One big, one small?” she asked. “Like the head of Sean O’Shay and the body of Wally Morrow?”
“Consistent with that, yes.”
“Jesus, Eddie, what’s going on?”
“Roger thinks it’s cleanup time. Arty’s trial starts tomorrow morning. Our perpetrator needs to complete his program by then, let us know what the point of all this has been.”
“Something has to happen tonight?”
“Roger thinks so.”
“Where’s Theresa?”
“Ricardo and Linda are back at your house with her, and I’ve doubled the watch there. Richie arrived safely in Santa Barbara and he’s staying with friends for a few days. My only problem is Cassie—she’s alone and vulnerable but simply will not cooperate. She’d be better off if she went back to New Mexico.”
Kate shook her head. Cassie hadn’t finished her own program yet, whatever it was. Kate had the feeling Cassie was waiting for something, like a vulture waiting to pick the bones clean after the feast. But whose bones?
“Want to stop for some dinner?” Eddie asked.
“No, thanks. I couldn’t eat. But I’d like to say good night to Roger.”
They reached the hospital near the end of visiting hours. People with plants and books and a variety of goodies strolled the polished corridors like holiday browsers, walking people in fuzzy robes solicitously or sitting with them among a welter of wrapping paper, ribbons, and boxes. Enough of them walked around looking shell-shocked that the disarray of Kate’s clothes seemed to go unnoticed.
Tejeda’s closed door was guarded by a uniformed officer with a semiautomatic revolver on his hip.
“How’s it going, Mick?” Eddie asked.
“All’s quiet. The lieutenant’s asleep.”
“I won’t wake him.” Kate pushed the d
oor open and went in alone. There was only a night-light on beside Tejeda’s bed. His slow, even breathing told her he was asleep. She took his hand and leaned over him, taking inventory. The big gauze wad that had wrapped his head had been replaced with a smaller bandage that covered only the four stitches in his scalp. There was a lot of bruising, but in the soft light it blended with the shadows and didn’t seem so alarming.
He hardly stirred when she kissed his warm lips. Quickly she scrawled a note, telling him she would drop by in the morning and giving him an IOU for something especially delicious in the bedroom when he got home. She folded the note and propped it against his water pitcher. Then she fussed with his sheet, kissed him again, and reluctantly left him alone for the night.
27
“Did you sleep?” Ricardo poured himself a glass of juice.
“Off and on,” Kate said. “Kept hearing footsteps in the hall.”
“But all was quiet. Nothing happened last night.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“Of course not.” His voice boomed through the kitchen. “Maybe Rigo had a vision when he bumped his head, and he dreamed up all this danger.”
She patted his hand. “Maybe he just likes having you around.”
“I hope so,” he laughed. “You still driving me to school?”
“Yes. Do you have time to stop and see Roger on the way?”
“If we leave now.” He went to the door and called, “Theresa! The express to school is leaving.” He gathered his bulging briefcase and the two sack lunches he had packed. “What time is your first class?”
“Lydia is covering my classes today. I’m going to the Arty Silver trial with Eddie.”
“I would like to go myself, but there is so much to do at school, getting ready for the Christmas programs.” He opened the door again. “Theresa!”
“I’m here.” Theresa swept in, breathless, fussing with the bottom of her new sweater. “Kate, what’s wrong with this?”
Half a Mind (The Kate Teague Mysteries) Page 23