SUMMER of FEAR
Page 31
"Damn. Maybe you two could take a vacation or something. Get away. Get clean.” "We will." "Go after some birds this fall?" "Let's think about that one, Marty."3
CHAPTER THIRTY
Now it is winter and we can begin to forget. The wind blows, the rain steadies down, the old withers and the new awaits birth.
Mary Ing identified the body of her only son. The county seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief at the death of the Midnight Eye—there were candlelight vigils in three cities to mourn his victims, endless editorials in the papers and on TV, and an intangible lightening of the human spirit that prevails over a place as surely as the weather.
But even with these, in the wake of the Eye's slaughter, the county looked at itself as it never had before. As psychologists and sociologists looked for patterns and causes for his behavior, they could find nothing in Ing's past truly to account for his character. There was the usual talk of biochemical imbalances and sociopathic personality disorder, but the Ing who surfaced in continuing interviews with his mother and people who knew him revealed little more than a typical Orange County kid, raised middle-class, publicly schooled, introduced to religion, who found himself with a job at the phone company and a rage he could not—or would not—control. His hatred of minorities remained largely inexplicable, though a small incident from his high school days—shy Billy Ing had developed affections for a Mexican girl who eventually jilted him—might have shed some tiny bit of light upon his development. The girl had kept his love poems, which were reprinted in the Journal. They were simple, touching, dear.
Moreover, the county's stark realization that Billy Ing was their native son coincided with a lingering economic recession that found property values falling, housing starts down, and a general feeling that the "Orange County Dream" gone bad. For the first time in my memory—and I have lived here all my life—the easy optimism that had prevailed for decades was suddenly shattered, and in its place arose sense of self-doubt and questioning that the people here heretofore done without. We were like a seemingly robust woman, just told by her physician that she has cancer. We were, in our souls, aghast. And though we could sleep with our screen doors open and our guns locked safely away, there was always the chance that the Midnight Eye would through our dreams, or that some new evil might arise from us and begin it all again.
Alice Fultz was exhumed, examined, returned to Florida by Amber for a more proper burial near her parents.
Grace, within the jail, is timid and withdrawn with everyone except for Isabella and me. We visit every day that Izzy strong enough, which is three or four times a week. Grace seems like a creature just born; she is curious about the world outside and seems to assume nothing.
In late fall, the preliminary hearing established sufficient evidence to try Grace and Wald on charges of murder. During that proceeding, the basics of what happened on the nights of July 3 and 4—and in the days following—were outlined in Grace's deposition. She and Wald had entered the house together, though Wald had parked on a side street below Amber's home. (This accounted for Parish seeing Grace leave but not Erik.) Wald had carried the club in a tennis bag slung over his shoulder—not an altogether-odd accoutrement for Amber's neighborhood. They had found "Amber" sleeping, and Wald had killed her while Grace waited downstairs in the living room. It was only while they were setting out the evidence to direct authorities toward the Midnight Eye that the answering machine betrayed Amber's real location—she was calling from Santa Barbara to tell Alice she'd be late. It had been Wald's decision to try to cover up the whole thing—hoping to conceal fully one crime and save his framing of William Ing for another attempt on Amber. Together, they had returned to Amber's house the next afternoon and done their best to erase all evidence of what they had done. Grace was tasked with delivering Alice's body to my game freezer, which she had just accomplished late on the night of July the Fourth, when I found her waiting for me in my driveway.
Grace has been cooperative with Haight's attorneys, as well as her own, and from what Haight has told me, they will try to use Grace's testimony to convict Wald of first-degree murder, offering a more lenient prosecution of my daughter. This means he must be willing to drop the conspiracy charge against Grace, which, if proven in court, would qualify both Erik and her for the gas chamber. The DA seems more intent on nailing Wald well than on trying to prove the always-difficult conspiracy to commit murder. A second-degree rap against Grace will land her a sentence of about fifteen years. It appears that Wald's lawyers will argue that their client was seduced by a vengeful daughter, blinded by love, and eventually tricked into being in Amber's house on July the Fourth. They have been predictably mum with regard to details.
Some portion of her inner life seems to have left Grace and she is more tender now and sweet, resigned to the truth and its consequences.
It took me almost a month to muster the courage to ask her the question that had been torturing me most since learned of her liaison with Erik Wald: Did Grace know that .45 Wald ordered her to steal from my study would be used kill both me and her mother? It was the first time since arrest that Grace truly broke down, and the rush of her tears convinced me that Wald had convinced her that only Amber would be there the night that we had sprung the trap on him. I believe her, and it is what I want to believe.
She told me just the other day that she is almost ready to see her mother.
Amber has visited us twice at home. Needless to say, undercurrents prevailing during a visit from Amber Mae do not encourage comfort or intimacy between husband and wife. Amber knows this, and her second visit—at our invitation—was, believe, probably her last. She is off to New York next week. I walked her down the road to her car when she left that second time, an uneasy silence between us.
"Stay my friend, Russ. We're not getting any younger, you know."
"I know. I will. I am."
"Am I as bad a person as I seem, given certain standard of measure?"
"No. You made yourself and I love you for that."
"Made myself, like a science project. Crude, bubbly, but to no particular effect."
"You had a disadvantage."
"What was that?"
"You were alone."
She considered this. "You know something? I was always happiest that way."
"I know."
"Do you think that somehow, in a different time or place, it might really have been good for us, together?"
"Yes."
"That's a nice sentiment. Thank you."
"Does it matter?"
"If we think it does, then it does. Take care in Mexico,
Russ."
"Thank you, Amber."
"Please know the offer is there, if you need money."
"We'll make it. That wasn't what I meant."
She smiled, actually blushing a little. I kissed her on the cheek, then held the car door open for her. The car is a red Maserati. It roared and echoed down the steep street. I could hear it all the way to Laguna Canyon Road. Amber Mae Wilson— surrounded by herself, and alone as always—guided her fast car around the bend of Our Lady of the Canyon and disappeared toward town.
Isabella greeted me back to the porch with a knowing look on her face. She had always been able to carry on a conversation without the words, and I wondered if, in the future, this subtle capacity might serve us well.
She was sitting in her wheelchair, with a cap on her head. I guided her over beside the patio bench, then sat next to her. Fall was approaching. A warm breeze filtered in from the desert and the shadows had begun to change. We looked out at the canyon, my hand in hers. She squeezed it.
"This is what we have, Russ."
"Yes."
"It isn't what we wanted, but it's what we have."
"I’ll take it, Izzy."
"No matter what happens, remember how I loved you. Please don't ever forget that."
Next month, Isabella and I will leave for Mexico. Our destination is the unglamorous hamlet of Los Mochis,
where Isabella's relations—a great many of whom she has never seen—live. She yearns to know the people from whom she came. They have prepared a home for us, cleaned and painted and furnished. It is reputed to have a nice view of a small valley. Joe and Corrine will arrive ahead of us.
There has been some assumption on the part of friends---unvoiced but nonetheless apparent—that we are going to Mexico for Isabella to die. When viewed from the outside, this idea is understandable. Three days ago, I received in the mail condolence card from a distant friend, comforting me in my great loss. I had the notion that Izzy would get a laugh out of this ill-timed gesture but then decided she might not. I chuck it, sent the friend a photograph of Izzy holding a current newspaper (date visible!) and a brief note of correction. Isabella pressed me for an explanation of the newspaper ploy, but I refused, good-naturedly, to give one. She has since lost interest in the incident. We are not a man and woman who live in terror of secrets. The known is terror enough.
Our secret, if we have one, is this: We are going away next month not for death, but for life.
THE END
Copyright
This novel is a work of fiction. All of the events, characters, names, and places depicted in this novel are entirely fictitious or are used fictitiously. No representation that any statement made in this novel is true, or that any incident depicted in this novel actually occurred, is intended or should be inferred by the reader.
SUMMER OF FEAR.
Copyright © 1993 by T. Jefferson Parker.
Reprinted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Parker, T. Jefferson.93-15064 CIP Summer of fear T. Jefferson Parker. p. cm. span>
ISBN 0-312-09396-9 I. Title. PS3566.A6863S86 1993 813'.54—dc20
First Edition: July 1993
10 987654321
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE