J is for JUDGMENT

by Sue Grafton

  His expression became bland, and his tone shifted into officiousness. “I don’t think this line of talk is going to be productive,” he said.

  “All right. Let’s forget about the first escape and just talk about the second. You must have owed Wendell a big one to risk your job that way.”

  “I think that’s enough. Let’s just say we drop it.” This had to be the manslaughter charge that Wendell had pleaded to, a felony conviction that would have barred Tiller from his job in law enforcement. “Tiller, l heard the story about the manslaughter charge. You’re safe with me. I promise. I just want to know what happened. Why did Wendell take the fall?”

  “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

  “I never said you did. I’m asking for myself. It isn’t anything official. It’s a piece of information.”

  He was silent for a long time, staring down at his desktop. Maybe his was one of those fairy-tale families where you have to ask three times before your wish is granted.

  “Tiller, please? I don’t want any details. I understand your hesitation. Just the broad strokes,” I said.

  He sighed deeply, and when he finally spoke, his voice was so low I had to squint to hear him. “I don’t really think I can say why he did it. We were young. Best friends. Twenty-four, twenty-five, something like that. He’d already decided the law was corrupt and he wasn’t going to sit for his bar exams. All I ever wanted was to be a cop. The situation came up. The girl died by accident, though it was all my fault. He happened to be there, and he took the blame. He was innocent. He knew it, I knew it. He took the rap, that’s all. I thought it was an incredible gesture.”

  It sounded weak to me, but who knows why people do what they do? A certain earnest idealism takes hold of us when we’re young. That’s why so many draftees are eighteen and dead. “But surely he didn’t have any real hold over you. The statutes would have run out on a charge like that years ago, and it was his word against yours. So he claims you did something. You claim you didn’t. He’d already been convicted. After all this time, I don’t understand what the big deal was.”

  “No deal. It wasn’t like that. He didn’t threaten me. I was paying off an obligation.”

  “But you didn’t have to do what he asked.”

  “No sir, I did what I wanted, and I was happy to do it for him.”

  “But why take the chance?”

  “You never heard about honor? I owed him. It’s the best I could do. And it’s not like I baked a file in a cake. Brian’s a bad egg. I’ll admit that. I don’t like the kid, but Wendell told me he’d get him out of the state. He said he’d take full responsibility, so I figured good riddance.”

  “I think he had a change of heart on that score. Well, only I’ve heard mixed reports,” I said, correcting myself. “He told both Michael and Brian he was going to turn himself in. He was apparently trying to talk Brian into following suit. But his girlfriend claims he bad no intention of going through with it.”

  Tiller rocked on his swivel chair, staring off in the middle distance. He shook his head, mystified. “I just don’t see how he’s going to pull it off. What’s he doing?”

  “You heard about the boat?”

  “Yeah, I heard. Question is, what’s he think he’s going to do with it? I mean, how far can he get?”

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see about that,” I said. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have a thirty-mile drive ahead of me and it’s past my bedtime. Is there another way out of here? I don’t want to run into Dana Jaffe again. I’ve about had it with that bunch.”

  “Through the next department. Come on. I’ll show you,” he said, getting to his feet. He moved around desk and took a left through an interior corridor. I followed. I thought he’d caution me to silence, extracting a promise about the confidentiality of our conversation, but he never said a word about it.

  It was nearly 1:00 A.M. by the time I rolled into Santa Teresa. There was very little traffic and few pedestrians. Streetlights drew a pattern of overlapping pale gray circles on the sidewalk. Businesses were locked, but lighted. Occasionally I spotted one of the homeless seeking out the shelter of some darkened alleyway, but for the most part the streets were deserted. The temperature was finally beginning to drop, and a mild ocean breeze was offsetting the humidity to some extent.

  I was feeling itchy and restless. Nothing was really happening. With Brian in jail and Wendell still missing, what was there to investigate? The hunt for the Captain Stanley Lord was currently in the hands of the Harbor Patrol and the Coast Guard. Even if I could charter I plane and do an aerial search – an expense Gordon Titus was never going to authorize – I wouldn’t know one boat from another at altitude. In the meantime, there had to be something I could do.

  Without even meaning to, I made a detour, easing through all the motel parking lots between my place and the marina. I spotted Carl Eckert’s sports car at the Beachside Inn: a one-story motel, arranged in a T-shape with the short bar along the front. The parking slots were lined up, one for each room, the numbers marked on the pavement so that no one would poach. Every room on this side of the building was dark.

  I drove through to the alley and circled back to Cabana. I parked on the street, a few doors down from Eckert’s motel. I slipped my penlight in my jeans pocket and returned on foot, grateful that my tennies were rubber-soled and silent. The parking area was illuminated for the safety of the occupants, the fixtures aimed so as to cast light away from the windows. I could see my own shadow, like an elongated companion, follow me across the lot. Carl had secured the tonneau cover across the open body of his car. I did a thorough visual scan, taking in the darkened windows and the dimly lighted parking area. There were no signs of movement within range of me. I didn’t even see the gray flickering light against the motel drapes that would indicate a television set in use. I took a deep breath and , started popping snaps on the tonneau, loosening the driver’s side first. I slid my hand down along the inside, feeling through the map pockets in the door. He kept his interior immaculate, which meant he probably had a system for all the gas slips and detritus. I felt a spiral-bound notebook, a road map, and some kind of paper booklet. I brought everything to the surface like a net full of fish. I paused to check my surroundings, which seemed as benign as before. I flicked the penlight across the spiral notebook. He was keeping track of his gasoline mileage.

  The booklet I found was his business log, noting odometer readings, destinations, purpose of meetings, names and titles of those in attendance. Personal and business expenses were neatly separated into columns. I had to smile to myself. This from a con artist who’d spent months in jail. Maybe prison had some rehabilitative effect. Carl Eckert was behaving like a model citizen. At least he wasn’t trying to cheat the IRS, as far as I could tell. Tucked in a slot at the back of the log was his itemized Best Western hotel bill, two gasoline receipts, five credit card vouchers, and – what ho! – the speeding ticket he’d picked up last night on the outskirts of Colgate. According to the time so obligingly noted by the CHP officer who issued the citation, Carl Eckert could easily have sped the remaining distance to Perdido in plenty of time to take potshots at Wendell and me.

  “You want to tell me what the fuck you’re doing out here?” I jumped, papers flying, barely managing to suppress a shriek. I put a hand to my chest, heart pounding. It was Carl in his stocking feet, his hair rumpled from sleep. God, I hate sneaks! I leaned over and started picking up papers. “Jesus! Warn a person. You nearly scared me to death. What I’m doing is blowing your alibi for last night.”

  “I don’t need an alibi for last night. I wasn’t doing anything.”

  “Well, somebody was. Did I mention the fact that my car engine cut out, leaving Wendell and me stranded on a very dark beach road?”

  “No. You didn’t mention that. Go on,” he said cautiously.

  “Go on. That’s good. Like this is news to you. Somebody was shooting at us. Wendell disappeared shortly afterward.”
/>   “You think I did that?”

  “I think it’s possible. Why else would I be out here in the dead of night?”

  He shoved his hands down in his pockets and looked around at the darkened windows, realizing that our voices would carry into every room. “Let’s talk about this inside,” he said, and padded off toward his room. I trotted along behind him, wondering where all this was going.

  Once inside, he flipped on the bed table lamp and poured himself a tumbler full of Scotch from a bottle on the desk. He held it up, a silent query. I shook my head to decline. He lit a cigarette, this time at least remembering not to bother offering me one. He sat on the edge of the bed, and I sat on the upholstered chair. The room didn’t look that different from the one Brian Jaffe had occupied. Like any other liar once confronted, Carl Eckert was probably preparing another set of lies. I settled in like a kid waiting for a bedtime story. He thought for a little while, adopting his sincere look. “Okay, I’ll level with you. I did drive down from SLO-town last night, but I didn’t go to Perdido. I got back to the hotel after a day of meetings and checked with my service. There was a message from Harris Brown, so I called him back.”

  “Well, you’ve got my attention. I’ve been wondering how Harris Brown fits into the picture. Fill me in. I’d t love it.”

  “Harris Brown is an ex-cop –”

  “I know that part. He was assigned to the case and taken off because he lost his life savings, investing in CSL, blah, blah, blah. What else? How’d he pick up Wendell’s trail down in Viento Negro?”

  Carl Eckert smiled slightly, like he thought I was cute. Sometimes I am, but I wasn’t sure this was one of those occasions. “Some pal of his called. An insurance agent.”

  “Right. That’s great. I know the guy. I wasn’t sure, but that was my guess,” I said. “Obviously Harris Brown knew Wendell, but did Wendell know him?”

  Eckert shook his head. “I doubt it. I was the one who brought Brown in as an investor back then. They might have dealt with each other by phone, but I’m pretty sure they never met. Why?”

  “Because Brown was in the room right next to his, hanging out in the bar. Wendell didn’t seem aware of him, and that puzzled me. What next? Harris Brown calls you last night and you call him back. Then what?”

  “I was supposed to connect up with him this afternoon on the way back from SLO-town, but he was suddenly in a hurry and said he had to see me right away. I got in the car and met him at his house in Colgate.”

  I stared at him, uncertain whether to believe him or not. “What’s his address?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “So I can verify what you’re saying.” Eckert shrugged and looked it up in a small leather address book. I made a careful note. If the man was bluffing, he was good. “Why the rush?” I said.

  “You’d have to ask him that. He had some bug up his butt and insisted I come down last night. I was annoyed and time was short. I had a breakfast meeting at seven, but I didn’t want to argue the point. I jumped in my car and came barreling down, which is when the CHP stopped me and gave me the ticket.”

  “What time did you get to his place?”

  “Nine. I was only there an hour. I was probably back in my hotel in SLO-town by eleven-thirty.”

  “By your account,” I said. “Actually either one of you could have driven to Perdido in plenty of time to use Wendell and me as target practice.”

  “Either of us could have, but I didn’t. I can’t speak for him.”

  “You didn’t see Wendell at all last night?”

  “I already told you that.”

  “Carl, what you already did is called lying through your dentures. You swore you were out of town when you were here in Colgate. Why should I believe this?”

  “I have no control over what you believe.”

  “What was the deal with Brown once you got there?”

  “We talked and I came back.”

  “All you did was talk? About what? Why couldn’t you talk on the phone?”

  He looked away from me long enough to flick the ash off his cigarette. “He wanted his money back. I delivered it.”

  “His money.”

  ‘The pension monies he invested in CSL.”

  “How much?”

  “A hundred grand.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “He lost that money five years ago. What made him think he could suddenly collect?”

  “Because he found out Wendell was alive. Maybe he bad a conversation with him. How the hell do I know?”

  “During which he learned what? That there were funds available?”

  He stubbed out one cigarette and lit another, squinting at me stubbornly through the smoke. “You know, this is really none of your business.”

  “Oh, stop that already. I’m not a threat to you. I’ve been hired by California Fidelity to find Wendell Jaffe so we can prove he’s alive. All I care about is the half million dollars we paid off on his life insurance. If you have a cache of money somewhere, that’s really lilt my concern.”

  “Then why should I tell you anything?”

  “So I can understand what’s going on. That’s all I care about. You had the money Harris Brown was demanding, so you drove down last night. What happened then?”

  “I gave him the money and drove back to San Luis Obispo.”

  “You keep cash like that around?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much? You don’t have to answer. This is curiosity on my part.”

  “Altogether?”

  “Just the ballpark,” I said.

  “About three million dollars.”

  I blinked. “You keep that kind of money around in cash?”

  “What else can I do with it? I can’t put it in the bank.

  They’d report it to the government. We’ve got a judgment out against us. The minute anybody finds out about it, the litigants will swoop down on it like a bunch of vultures. Anything they don’t get, the IRS will come after.”

  I could feel indignation rising up like acid indigestion. “Of course they’d swoop down. That’s the money you cheated them out of.”

  The look he gave was pure cynicism. “You know why they invested in CSL? They wanted something for nothing. They expected to make a killing and got kill instead. Come on, use your head. Most of ‘ em knew was a crooked deal from the get-go, including Harris.

  He was just hoping to collect his share before the whole scheme collapsed.”

  “I can see we’re not talking the same language here. Let’s skip past the rationale and get down to the facts. You kept three million in cash on the Lord?

  “You don’t have to take that tone with me.”

  “Excuse me, right. Let me try it again.” I adjusted my tone, gearing down from judgmental to neutral.

  “You kept three million dollars in cash hidden on the Lord.”

  “Right. Wendell and I were the only ones who knew about it. Now you,” he said.

  “And that’s what he came back for?”

  “Of course. After five years on the road, he was flat broke,” Carl said. “He not only came back for it, that’s t what he sailed away with when he stole that boat. Half of that belonged to me, which he bloody well knew.”

  “Oh, wow, babe. I got news for you. You got hosed.”

  “You’re telling me? I can’t believe he’d do such a thing to me.”

  “Well, he did it to everyone about equally,” I said. “What about his kids? Did they figure into this, or was I it just the money he came back for?”

  “I’m sure he was concerned about his sons,” Carl said. “He was a very good father.”

  ‘The kind of parent every kid needs,” I said. “I’ll pass that on to them. It’ll help with their therapy. What are you going to do now?” I got up from the chair.

  His smile was bitter. “Get down on my knees and pray the Coast Guard catches up with him.”

  From the doorway, I turned. “One more thing. There was talk about Wendel
l turning himself in to the cops. Do you think he meant that?”

  “It’s hard to say. I think he was hoping to join with his family again. I’m just not sure there was any room for him.”

  I finally crawled into bed at 2:15, brain buzzing with information. I thought what Eckert said was probably true, that there was no longer room for Wendell in the family he’d left. In some curious way we were in the same position, Wendell Jaffe and me: trying to understand what our lives might have been if we could have enjoyed the benefits of family life, looking at the mislaid years and wondering how much we’d missed. At least, I assumed that was some of what was running through his mind. There were obvious differences. He had voluntarily surrendered his family, while I’d never known mine existed. More telling was the fact that he wanted his family back and I wasn’t sure I did. I couldn’t understand why my aunt had never told me. Maybe she’d tried to spare me the pain of Grand’s rejection, but all she’d really done was postpone the revelation. Here I was, ten years after her death, having sort it all out for myself. Ah, well. She wasn’t very good at that stuff, anyway. I drifted in and out of sleep.

  My alarm went off at 6:00, but I didn’t have to get up and jog three miles. I turned off the buzzer and squirmed down in the sheets, sinking back in sleep. I was awakened by a phone call at 9:22. I reached for the receiver, brushing hair from my eyes. “What.”

  “This is Mac. Sorry if I woke you. I know it’s Saturday, but I thought this was important.”

  His voice sounded odd, and I could feel caution flashing in me like a yellow traffic light. I pulled the sheet around me and sat up in bed. “Don’t worry about it That’s okay. I was up till all hours and decided to sleep in. What’s happening?”

  “The Lord was found this morning about six miles offshore,” he said. “It looks like Wendell pulled off another disappearing act. Gordon and I are down here at the office. He’d like to have you come in as soon as possible.”