Motion to Suppress

by Perri O'shaughnessy

She had expected silence, but she had forgotten about the boat motor. Its low drone blocked out all other sound. The killer would have heard only the sliding water of the lake and hard breathing.

  Paul had collected some swimming histories for her. Michelle, to make things difficult, had won medals on her high school swim team. Tom Clarke took swimming lessons for eight summers as a child. Steve Rossmoor could do anything physical. Al swore he couldn’t swim. Sharon? Hard to imagine that hair ever wet.

  For a long time she stopped thinking. Stroke, stroke, breathe. Stroke, stroke, breathe. She paused again. She couldn’t feel her chin and her toes ached. She tried swimming harder to generate heat.

  Toward the end, she called up all her endurance. The water was too cold. She started to suck it in now and then, coughed, and lost her rhythm. She fought her way back. Without waiting to touch bottom as she finally came to the shore, she let her boatman come up alongside and pull her, breathless, into the boat.

  "What time?" she said, spitting out water and huddling under a blanket.

  "Three-fifteen," the kid said. Forty-two minutes. The swimmer in April must have been near drowning or death from hypothermia. What a miraculous performance.

  How could Michelle have done such a thing? How could anybody, with the possible exception of Carl Tengstedt?

  22

  RICK EICH MET her at his house, next door to Michelle’s former residence, the next day. The Patterson house was rented to a couple with several children. A silver tricycle and red skates littered the driveway. Dad wasn’t going to be happy about that.

  "Come on out back," Eich said. He wore nothing but a pair of red trunks that said LAKE TAHOE RESCUE TEAM in small white letters on the side, a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and sandals. He had a neat beard and well-cut hair in a dark shade of brown.

  Behind his house a small dock extended out over the water, the white Catalina moored securely at the end, its sails furled.

  "It’s a good-looking boat," Nina said. A breeze over the lake ruffled her hair and eased the heat.

  "Take a look." They climbed onto the deck, then down narrow steps to a small cabin with a booth and table. Eich sat across from her, their knees almost touching. Through the porthole Nina could see the deck and the slope of grass to his house. The boat didn’t rock; it jerked from trough to trough with the slap of the water.

  "What else is down here?"

  He showed her. An enclosed cubicle held the toilet. Behind it, on a shelf with high sides, the bed rested. A tiny galley with stove, sink, and fridge built into the wall by the booth completed the picture of a compact human habitat.

  "Shipshape. I’ve taken her all the way to Hawaii and back."

  Nina looked at the fresh red upholstery in the booth. "Had that redone," Eich said. "The police cut out the bloodstains." He indicated the side on which she was sitting.

  "Were there any on the bed?" Nina asked.

  "No. Just here and up on deck."

  Why hadn’t Anthony’s body been kept up on deck? It would be very difficult to get him down the narrow stairs and prop him in a booth. He must have regained consciousness at some point. These events just got more mysterious, layering infinitely.

  "Did you notice anything broken?"

  "Not a thing. Of course, everything’s tied down or bolted down on deck. With nothing loose lying around, it might be hard to tell."

  "I’d appreciate it if you would show mellow to start up the motor," Nina said. They went on deck to the steerage and Eich showed her how very simple it was; insert the key and turn it, start up, and start steering.

  "Where did you keep the key?"

  "I left it with Misty and Anthony while I was gone," he said. "I remember handing it to Misty. She set it on the kitchen counter." Nina examined this key. On the key ring dangled a transparent plastic boat. Anyone who looked around Anthony’s house would have found it and known what it was.

  "This is your original key?"

  "Found in the boat motor."

  "Did Michelle know how to take the boat out?"

  "In a way. She loved to sit there and make like a captain. Steering is half the fun. Of course, at night, with visibility down, you have to keep a sharp eye out until you get to the open water."

  "Does she know how to sail?" That would have done her dubious good in the dead calm of that night anyway. Nina didn’t suspect Eich was involved, for the simple reason that this smitten boat owner would know better than to head out on a night without wind in a sailboat without carrying extra gas. She waited for his answer.

  "That’s much more complicated," he said. "They helped me with the sails a few times. Anthony might have been able to, but Misty’s not into boats. She just came out to keep us company." He took a rag from under a minisink and swiped at the counters. "Say, Nina, I’d like you to give Misty my best. Whatever happened between them, I don’t hold it against her."

  "How well did you know them?"

  "Just neighbor stuff. They went out a few times with me and my girlfriend. The summer before, Anthony and I sat out on his deck a few times and drank beer. He was a beer aficionado. He always had something different for me to try — Sam Adams, Anchor Steam, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale...." Eich was far away, in beer land. Nina had seen that happen with Jack now and then.

  "Did you like him?" she asked.

  "Sure. He liked football, baseball, any kind of spectator sport. He liked to throw darts. He played golf. We were gonna have a game. When I saw him, he was hangin’ around his house on a Saturday, puttering around in flip-flops."

  It was hard to incorporate this picture of Anthony.

  "What about Michelle? How did you get along with her?"

  "She’s a nice girl, Nina. But ... she’s a teaser. She used to wear this bikini out on the boat ..."

  "Did she seem interested in you?"

  "Not really," Eich said. "Not with her husband there. She’d try to drive me crazy, though, the way she sat, touching me accidentally. I had a hard time keeping my hands off her, to tell you the truth."

  "What about the two of them?"

  "She stayed quiet around him. He kept his hand on her all the time, like he was afraid she was going to get away. He didn’t like her to go out alone. It must have been hard, living with a woman like that."

  Nina sat on the railing. It was about eighteen inches higher than the deck, about ten inches wide. Lifting an unconscious man that far would have been easy for just about anybody.

  After a nap at home, Nina felt recovered enough to dispatch herself to the grocery store for swordfish steaks and salad fixings. She picked up hot dogs for the kids and a large bottle of champagne, which she put in the refrigerator immediately. The day’s heat lingered in the kitchen.

  Matt arrived home first, disgusted with one of his parasailing customers. "This guy just couldn’t get off the ground, because he was scared to death to lift off in the harness. Ever heard of a deadweight? Lead, this guy. He took a couple of dunkings when the boat couldn’t stop in time and ran him right off the beach into the water. We finally got him flying and he had a good ride up there. Then it was time to come down and land in the lake and he started twisting and turning as he came down. The harness wrapped around his legs and we had to hustle over in the boat before he swallowed too much water." Matt popped a beer.

  "He doesn’t sound like someone who would go parasailing in the first place."

  "He told me it was a gift from a customer. An unsatisfied one, I’ll bet. He said he’s going to talk to his lawyer about negligent infliction of mental distress."

  "At least your insurance company will have to handle it, not you," Nina said, plopping the swordfish into a big bowl of marinade.

  "What insurance company?" Matt said. "For a parasailing business? The premiums would leave me with a net loss. Should have let the sucker drown." He went outside and she heard his ax splintering wood. He must be sweating.

  Andrea came in with her arms full of groceries. "Oh," she said. "I never dreamed you’d make
it to the store."

  "Special feast tonight. Paul’s driving up with Bobby. He stopped in San Francisco and picked him up."

  "Do I detect a certain enthusiasm that goes beyond the return of the prodigal son?"

  "Go read a magazine." Nina pulled out the lettuce to shred.

  "Matt said," Andrea began, "you told him once you were afraid of Paul van Wagoner. That he was out of control."

  "Matt has a long memory!" Nina said, showing her exasperation. "But for Matt’s information, I’m five years older now. So’s Paul. We have graduate degrees in controlling our antisocial impulses."

  Andrea sat herself on a stool and tidied lettuce leaves from the counter. "Do you think that his being one of Jack’s friends has anything to do with your ... hiring him?"

  Nina, aware of the real concern behind Andrea’s words, relented. "Nothing more than a sneaking thought that I might be able to get through to Jack via Paul. He disabused me of that notion right quick. Refused to act the intermediary. And now he’s turning out to be a fantastic help to me on this case. Believe me, we have very little else in common. He’s a womanizer and a hard ex-cop, and that makes him mud in my book."

  "But you like him," Andrea said.

  Nina laughed. "Yes, I do."

  By the time Paul pulled up in his van she was out on the front lawn in her shorts basting swordfish with marinade.

  Bobby ran to her, his hair flying. Then she was holding him to her, smelling the familiar smell of her son. She clung to him for a long time, feeling whole again.

  Within five minutes he took off to play with his cousins, showing them a handheld video game Jack had bought him.

  Two hours later the adults sprawled out on the lawn, watching the sun’s shadows grow long. The kids had gone in to watch TV. Lying on the warm grass with the last of the champagne, Nina could hardly believe in a few months the whole place would be under six feet of snow. She found herself talking about the case again.

  "I talked to Al Otis yesterday, Paul," she said. "He really loved that woman, his wife. Called me yesterday to grieve and carry on, saying how she was the best."

  "The best what?" Matt asked, dangling a marshmallow over the coals.

  "The best motorcycle mama in Reno," Nina said. "What she saw at the Keys that night may never be known. I believe she could have cleared Michelle."

  Matt gathered up plates.

  "Let’s take the last tram up to the restaurant at Heavenly," Paul said. "We can just make the sunset."

  "Not me, thanks," Andrea said. "Time to put the small ones in bed." Matt shook his head, carrying empty platters into the house.

  Paul looked inquiringly at Nina. "Let me get a jacket," she said.

  They stood in a short tram line, whispering about their fellow passengers. Paul bought the tickets. They climbed into the lurching car, rising rapidly from the lake level along the Gunbarrel, a black-diamond run at Heavenly. At this time of year the steep slope showed only beaten-down dirt, flanked by the dark forest. Stepping out onto the platform several thousand feet up the mountain, they walked to the deck of the Top of the Tram, which maintained a year-round bar on top of the world for tourists seeking memorable photographs. Chairs and tables with Cinzano umbrellas oriented themselves toward the edge of the deck, which dropped off precipitously. They put elbows on the railing, admiring the last glow of sun on the lake, Nina acutely sensitive to Paul’s hulking presence beside her.

  "Now this ... this feels like a date," Paul said. He put his arm lightly around her. "About time we went on a date, don’t you agree?"

  "I never liked dating. That’s something you have to go through with people you don’t know."

  He studied her. "And you think you know me?"

  She shrugged, remaining silent, enjoying the feel of his arm around her.

  After a moment, he said, "Say something."

  "There’s so much I know and so much I don’t know about you. Jack envied you, I think, and that colors my feelings, you could say."

  Paul shook his head.

  "Secretly, he did. Life was fairly easy for him. He saw you struggling and fighting against your nature and the status quo all the time. That’s what he expected, even wanted to do all his life, but his kind of WASP always flies through a golden field."

  "If Jack envied me, it was only in the way everyone has a yen to be something they aren’t once in a while. Didn’t you ever want to be a ballerina? Or a king?" He grinned.

  "You’re getting to know me, at least!"

  "I’d like you to know me, too, Nina."

  "You know what I need, Paul? I need to keep things clean. I need to focus on the Patterson case. I don’t want to get ... swept up. You’re my friend now, and a colleague. That can last. Anything beyond that right now I can’t face."

  "Commitment, Reilly style?"

  "Anything, anybody that relates to work, that I can get serious about."

  "Sexy."

  Nina found she was not ready to let it rest quite yet. "Paul? I’m not your usual type. Is Marilyn?"

  "I wanted to talk to you about that, Nina." They started walking.

  "You’re living with her?"

  "I was. Not anymore."

  "Since when?"

  "Since yesterday. A showdown that ended with her throwing all my stuff out the window. Defenestration, I believe it’s called." He didn’t laugh. "She was ready to settle down."

  "And you’re not?"

  "Not with her." He removed the arm from around her that had been a warm link to him. Facing her, without touching her, he said, "Don’t believe everything about me you heard from Jack."

  "Which part shouldn’t I believe?"

  "Anything at all unflattering." They both laughed.

  "You saw Jack today. How is he?"

  "You sure you want to know?"

  "I do."

  "He seems okay. He’s living with Evanelle Cherry, light-haired, too skinny, tall. Late thirties."

  The words made her shiver. "Like someone we knew once." The woman Jack had loved before Nina looked like that.

  "I prefer a woman who dances and spills wine on her clothes, myself," Paul said, smiling.

  "I miss him terribly. I ..." Now she was ready to bawl on his shoulder.

  "Jack’s an idiot. And I told him so."

  "Oh, Paul. Thanks." The sun faded behind the mountain, a still, orange landscape.

  "Did you ever wonder, how much who you are had to do with who Jack wanted you to be?"

  "Every day," said Nina. "Every single day."

  "Almost forgot," Paul said as they got off the tram in the dark below the mountain. "Stopped by the office and Sandy foisted this on me."

  She tore open the big envelope and read the fax inside.

  "It’s from Sandy’s Aunt Alice." Under a light in the parking lot she studied it. "Payroll records for Carl Tengstedt, from Subic." They walked a few steps.

  Nina read out loud. " ’Dear Sandy, glad I can help you with this. How’s your ma? And did you grow up half as wild as your daddy? Does he still trap rabbits in the Pine Nut Mountains? Write soon, love, A.A.’ "

  "What else is there?"

  She leafed through a messy sheaf of copies in various sizes. "We’ve got his pay records here, nothing too exciting. His pay went up as he was promoted, whoopee. Hardly seems like he made enough to live on. Got his insurance benefits records, W4’s. Just a bunch of nothing. Shoot. Personnel files might’ve done us better."

  Paul drove her home and walked her to the porch. Reaching beyond her to push open the door, his hand brushed against her soft blouse and the nipples unprotected as rose-buds under a spiderweb. Nina froze, feeling the blood rush to her throat. He pulled his hand slowly back, and then, carefully, delicately, he took both breasts in his hands, looking into her eyes as his fingers lingered, exploring her. Gathering her to him, pressing his body against her, he blistered her neck and breasts with the heat of his kisses, never once raising himself up to kiss her on the lips, concentrating himself over he
r heart. Nina closed her eyes and absorbed him. When they finally parted, she took both his hands and said good night. Paul said nothing, just turned and ran down the driveway to the van.

  Stumbling just inside the door, drowning in confusion and lust, she managed to get to her room without seeing anyone.

  She threw Aunt Alice’s envelope on top of the teetering stack beside her bed, threw off her clothes, and climbed between the covers, every small hair on her body alive.

  Okay, so she told him what she wanted. She hadn’t asked him what he wanted. He had his own goals. She could accept that. Paul was not going to be easy for her. He wouldn’t be controlled by her, she could see that now. And what about controlling herself? Why were her mind and body so often at odds? Though these thoughts usually left her numb, tonight she let the physical shock waves his touch left behind course through her body, this traitor to her mind that had its own desires and needs, this neglected waif of a body that cried for attention when she gave it none. Face it. She needed to forge peace between these warring selves before another plumber was required.

  After a long time, unable to sleep, she picked up the envelope, rereading the letter, imagining Sandy’s father hunting in the mountains, a long time ago.

  Going through the material again, forcing her way to the bottom, she waded through the incremental financial changes in the life of Carl Tengstedt. Yawning, she stacked the old W4’s, and read the last form, Form C360, "Notification of Change in Beneficiary." She read it again. She hunted for another form. She read it again.

  She reached for the phone.

  "My God, Paul."

  "What?" When she didn’t answer, he repeated, "What?"

  "Form C360, change of beneficiary, and Form 61936-872, number of dependents claimed. Michelle and Barbara Tengstedt were added."

  "So? They met and married in the Philippines right? He was already there, right?"

  "No!" she replied, the springs under her mattress creaking as she jumped off the bed, still holding the phone. "The dates! He added them on when Michelle was ten years old!"

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning, she’s adopted. Meaning, Barbara was married before. Meaning Carl Tengstedt is not Michelle Patterson’s biological father."