J is for JUDGMENT

by Sue Grafton

  I had to let that one pass. “So what’s your suspicion?”

  “I think he went back for the Lord. God only knows where he means to go after that.”

  “Why would he steal Eckert’s boat?”

  “He’d steal anything. Don’t you get that? The Lord was his boat to begin with, and he wanted it back. Besides, the Fugitive’s a coastal cruiser. The Lord’s a blue water boat, better suited to his purpose.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Getting as far away from here as possible.”

  “Why come to me?”

  “I thought you’d know where the Lord was slipped. You said you talked to Carl Eckert on the boat. I didn’t want to waste a lot of time at the harbormaster’s office trying to track him down.”

  “Wendell told me Carl Eckert was out of town last night.”

  “Of course he’s gone. That’s the point. He won’t even miss the boat until he gets back.” She checked her watch. “Wendell must have left Perdido about ten this morning.”

  “How’d he manage that? Did he get the car fixed?”

  “He took the Jeep I keep parked on the street. Even if it took him forty minutes to get up here, the Coast Guard still has a chance to head him off.”

  “Where would he go?”

  “Back to Mexico, I’d guess. He knows the waters around the Baja, and he’s got a counterfeit passport that identifies him as a Mexican citizen.”

  “I’ll get my car,” I said.

  “We can take mine.”

  We clattered down the steps together, me in front, Renata bringing up the rear. “You should notify the police about the Jeep.”

  “Good point. I’m hoping he left it somewhere in the marina parking lot.”

  “Where’d he go last night, did he say? I lost track of him around ten. If he got home at midnight, what’d he do for two hours? It doesn’t take that long to walk a mile and a half.”

  “I’m not sure. After you called, I got in my car and went looking for him. I scoured every street between t my place and the beach, and there was no sign of him. From what he said later, I got the impression somebody , came and got him, but he wouldn’t say who. Maybe one of his boys.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I talked to Michael a little while ago. He says Brian called this morning. Wendell was supposed to be there last night, but he never showed.”

  “Wendell’s never been good at promises.”

  “Do you know where Brian is?”

  “I have no idea. Wendell made sure I knew as little as possible. That way if I was ever questioned by the police, I could claim ignorance.”

  This was apparently Wendell’s standard operating procedure, but I wondered if this time keeping everybody ignorant was going to work against him.

  We’d reached the street by then. Renata had defied all the parking gods and snagged a place right in front where the curb was painted red. And did she have a ticket? Of course not. She unlocked the Jag, and I let myself into the passenger seat. Renata took off with a little chirp of her tires. I found myself holding on to the chicken stick. “Wendell might have gone to the cops,” I said.

  “From what he told Michael, he intended to turn himself in. With somebody shooting at him, he might have felt safer in the slammer.”

  She made a little snort of contempt, flashing me a cynical look. “He had no intention of turning himself in. That was bullshit. He mentioned he was going to see Dana, but that might have been bullshit, too.”

  “He went to Dana’s last night? What was that about?”

  “I don’t know that he went, but he said he wanted to talk to her before he left. He felt guilty about her. He hoped to get things squared away before he took off. He probably wanted to have his conscience clear.”

  “You think he left without you?”

  “I certainly think he has it in him. Spineless bastard. He never faced the consequences of his own behavior. Never. At this point, I don’t care if he ends up in jail.” She seemed to be catching every traffic light. If there was no cross traffic visible, she would sail through red, skipping four-way stops altogether in her haste to reach the marina. Maybe she thought traffic laws were meant only as suggestions, or maybe the traffic laws simply didn’t apply to her that day.

  I studied her profile, wondering how much information I could pump her for. “Do you mind if I ask about the logistics of Wendell’s disappearance?”

  “Like what?”

  I shrugged, not quite sure where to start. “What arrangements did he make? I don’t see how he could have managed it alone.” I could see her hesitate, so I tried a gentle coaxing, hoping she would open up. “I’m not just being nosy. I’m thinking whatever he did then, he might try again.”

  I didn’t think she’d answer, but she finally slid a look in my direction. “You’re right. He couldn’t pull it off without help,” she said. “I single-handed my ketch down along the coast of Baja and picked him up in the dinghy after he abandoned the Lord.”

  “That was risky, wasn’t it? What if you’d missed him? The ocean’s a big place.”

  “I’ve sailed all my life, and I’m very good with boats. The whole plan was risky, but we pulled it off. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so.”

  “What about you? Do you sail yourself?”

  I shook my head. “Too expensive. “She smiled faintly. “Find a man with some money. That’s what I’ve always done. I learned to ski and play golf. I learned to fly first class traveling around the world.”

  “What happened to your first husband, Dean?” I asked.

  “He died of a heart attack. He was actually number two.”

  “How long has Wendell been traveling on his passport?”

  “The whole five years. Ever since we took off.”

  “And the passport office never checked?”

  “They slipped up on that, which is what gave us the idea in the first place. Dean died in Spain. Somehow the papers were never processed here. When his passport expired and the time came to renew, Wendell filled out the application and we substituted his picture. He and my husband were close enough in age to use Dean’s birth certificate if the documentation was ever questioned.”

  We reached Cabana Boulevard and turned right, the marina visible, with its forest of naked masts, to our left. The day was thickly overcast, a mist floating on the dark green waters of the harbor. I could smell brine shrimp and diesel fuel. A strong wind was blowing off the ocean, bringing with it the smell of a distant rain. Renata turned into the marina parking area and found a space in the tiny lot just outside the kiosk. She parked the Jag and the two of us got out. I led the way since I knew where the Captain Stanley Lord was slipped.

  We passed a funky little seafood restaurant with a few outside tables and the naval reserve building. “Then what?”

  She shrugged. “After we got the passport? We took off. I would come back at intervals, usually by myself, but occasionally with Wendell. He stayed on the boat. I was free to come and go as I pleased since no one knew of our connection. I kept an eye on the boys, though they didn’t seem to be aware of it.”

  “So when Brian first got in trouble with the law, Wendell knew all about it?”

  “Oh, yes. At first he didn’t worry. Brian’s run-ins with the law seemed like childish pranks. Truancy and vandalism.”

  “Boys will be boys,” I said.

  She ignored that. “We were off on a round-the-world cruise when things got out of hand. By the time we came home, Brian was in bigger trouble than we knew. That’s when Wendell really went to work.”

  We passed a yacht brokerage and a fish market. The navy pier extended to our left, a big marine travel rig in place. A boat had just been hoisted out of the water, and we had to wait impatiently while the long-legged mobile rig crept across the walkway and down the short avenue to our right. “Doing what? I still don’t understand how he managed it.”

  “I’m not sure myself. It had something to do wi
th the name of the boat.” The breakwater was nearly deserted, the threatening weather probably driving boats into port and people under cover. “Not directly,” she went on. “From what he told me, Captain Stanley Lord was always blamed for something he didn’t do.”

  “He ignored the SOS from the Titanic, is what I beard,” I said.

  “Or so people claimed. Wendell had done a lot of research on the incident, and he felt Lord was innocent.”

  “I don’t get the connection.”

  “Wendell was in trouble with the law once himself…”

  “Oh, that’s right. I remember. Somebody mentioned that. He’d graduated from law school. He was convicted of manslaughter, wasn’t he?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know the details.”

  “He told you he wasn’t guilty?”

  “Ob, he wasn’t,” she said. “He took the blame for somebody else. That’s how he was able to get Brian out of jail. By calling in his marker.”

  I stared at her without slowing my pace. “Did you ever hear of a guy named Harris Brown?”

  She shook her head in the negative. “Who’s he?”

  “An ex-cop. He was originally assigned to the fraud investigation after Wendell disappeared, but then he was pulled off. Turns out he’d invested a lot of money in Wendell’s company, and the scam wiped him out. I was thinking he might have used some of his old connections to help Brian. I just can’t figure out why he’d do it.”

  The ramp for Marina I was another fifty yards down on the left, the gate locked as usual. Seagulls were pecking intently at a fishing net. We stood there for a moment, hoping somebody with a key card would pass through so we could slipstream in behind them.

  Finally I grabbed on to the fence post and held on while I climbed around on the outside of the barrier, working my way along the fencing until I reached the other side. I opened the gate for her and let her through, and we started off down the dock. Conversation between us dwindled. I turned into the sixth line of slips on the right, marked J, counting down visually to the slot where the Lord was tied up.

  Even from a distance, I could see the slip was empty and the boat was gone.

  Chapter 21

  *

  Renata’s mood darkened as we moved up the ramp toward the harbormaster’s office, which was located above a ship’s chandler selling marine hardware and supplies. I half expected an outburst of some kind, but she was remarkably silent. She waited on a small wooden balcony outside while I went through the explanations with the clerk at the counter. Since we weren’t die legal owners of the missing boat and since there was no way we could prove Eckert hadn’t taken the boat himself, it soon became clear that for the time being, nothing much could be done. The clerk took the information, as much to appease me as anything else. When and if Eckert showed, he could file a report. The harbormaster would then notify the Coast Guard and the local police. I left my name and telephone number and asked if they’d have Eckert get in touch if they heard from him.

  Renata followed me downstairs, declining to accompany me as I walked over to the yacht club next door. I was hoping somebody there might know where Eckert had gone. I pushed in through the glass doors and welt upstairs, pausing outside the dining room. From the second-floor deck, she looked cold and tired, sitting on the low concrete wall that bordered the breakwater. At her back the ocean thundered monotonously, wind tearing at her hair. In the shallows a yellow Labrador charged through the surf, chasing pigeons off the beach while the seagulls wheeled above him and screamed with amusement.

  The yacht club dining room was empty except for the bartender and a fellow with a vacuum cleaner, mowing the wall-to-wall carpeting. Again I left my name and number, asking the bartender to have Carl Eckert get’ touch with me if he came in.

  As we walked back to the car, Renata gave me a bitter smile.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I was just thinking about Wendell. He had all the luck. It’ll be hours before anybody starts to loot for him.”

  “There’s nothing we can do, Renata. It’s always possible he’ll show up,” I said. “Actually, we can’t really be sure he left. Hell, we can’t even prove Wendell toot the boat.”

  “You don’t know him like I do. He rips everybody off one way or another.”

  We cruised through the parking lot in search of the missing Jeep, but it was nowhere in sight. She drove me back to the office, where I retrieved my VW and drove out to Colgate. I spent the next two irksome hours getting the rear window replaced. While I was waiting, I sat in the chrome-and-plastic reception area, drinking free bad coffee from a foam cup while I leafed through tattered back issues of Arizona Highways. This lasted four minutes before I left the building. As was my habit, of late, I found a public telephone booth and conducted little business from the parking lot. Once I got the hang of it, I could probably dispense with an office altogether.

  I put a call through to Lieutenant Whiteside in Fraud Id brought him up to date. “I think it’s time to run mug shots in the paper,” he said. “I’ll contact the local TV station, too, and see what they can do for us. I want the public aware these guys are out there. Maybe someone will dime ‘em out.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  Once my rear window had been installed, I tooled on ck to the office and spent the next hour and a half at my desk. I felt I should stay near the phone in case Ekert called in. In the meantime, I gave Mac a buzz d filled him in on what was happening. I no sooner the phone down than it rang. “Kinsey Millhone Investigations. Kinsey Millhone.”

  An instant of silence and then a woman said, “Oh. I thought this was an answering machine.”

  “No, this is me. Who is this?”

  “This is your cousin Tasha Howard, up in San Francisco.”

  “Ah, yes. Tasha. Liza mentioned you. How are you?” I said. Mentally I’d begun to drum my fingers, hoping get her off the line in case Wendell phoned in.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Something’s come up and it occurred to me you might be interested. I just had chat with Grand’s attorney down in Lompoc. The house where our mothers lived is either being moved or torn down. Grand’s been fighting with the city for the last several months, and we’re supposed to hear something soon about the disposition of the matter. She’s trying to have the house protected under the local historical preservation act. The original structure dates back to the turn of the century. The house hasn’t been lived in for years, of course, but it could be restored. She owns another lot where she can put the house if she call get the city to agree. Anyway, I thought you might want to see the place again since you were there once yourself.”

  “I was there?”

  “Oh, sure. You don’t remember? The four of you – Aunt Gin, your parents, and you – came up when Burt and Grand were off on the big cruise for their forty-second anniversary. It was really meant for their fortieth, but it took’ em two years to get organized. All the cousins got to play together, and you fell off the sliding board and cut your knee. I was seven, so you must have been about four, I’d say. Maybe a little older, but I know you weren’t in school yet. I can’t believe you don’t remember. Aunt Rita taught us all to eat peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwiches, which I’ve adored ever since. You were supposed to come back in the next couple of months. It was all set up for when Burt and Grand got home.”

  “Only my parents never made it,” I said, thinking, Jesus, the peanut-butter-and-pickle sandwiches aren’t even mine anymore.

  “I suppose not,” she said. “Anyway, I thought if you saw the house, it might jog your memory. I have to come down on business, and I’d be happy to give you the nickel tour.”

  “What sort of work do you do?” “I’m an attorney. Probate and estate administration, intervivos trusts, tax planning. The firm has an office up here and another one in Lompoc, so I end up flying back and forth all the time. What’s your schedule look like in the next few days? Are you free any time soon?”

  “Let me th
ink about that. I appreciate the offer, but I’m currently tied up with a case. Why don’t you go ahead and give me the address? If I have a chance to get up there, I can take a look and if not, well… so be it”

  “I suppose that would do,” she said reluctantly. “I was actually hoping I could see you. Liza wasn’t entirely happy with the way she handled the situation. She thought maybe I could smooth the waters a bit.”

  “No need for that. She did fine,” I said. I was keeping my distance, and I’m sure the maneuver wasn’t lost on her. She gave me the address and a sketchy set of directions, which I jotted on a sheet of scratch paper. I was already struggling with an urge to toss it in the trash. I started making good-bye noises, using that airy tone that says, Okay, thanks a lot, nice talking to you.

  Tasha said, “I hope this doesn’t seem too personal, but I get the impression you’re really not interested in cementing any family ties.”

  “I don’t think that’s too personal,” I said. “I guess I’m in the process of assimilating the information. I don’t really know what I want to do about it yet.”

  “Are you angry with Grand?”

  “Of course I am, and why wouldn’t I be? She threw my mother out. That estrangement must have gone on for twenty years.”

  “That wasn’t all Grand’s doing. It takes two to make a rift.”

  “Right,” I said. “At least my mother was on her way to make amends. What did Grand ever do? She sat back and waited, which I notice she’s still doing.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, where’s she been all these years? I’m thirty-four years old. Until yesterday I never even knew she existed. She could have gotten in touch.”

  “She didn’t know where you were.”

  “Bullshit. Liza told me everybody knew we were down here. For the last twenty-five years I’ve been an hour away.”

  “I don’t mean to argue about this, but I really don’t believe Grand was aware of that.”

  “What did she think happened, I was eaten by bears? She could have hired a detective if she’d cared enough.”