You Say Goodbye

by Keith Steinbaum

  Arranging a switch of workdays with another employee three weeks before, Sean recognized the importance of the upcoming day, but couldn’t predict his reaction. Now, as he drove away in radio-free silence toward his destination, statue-faced and misty eyed, he felt the push and pull of emotions--relief for fulfilling the promise to himself and fear of regret for revisiting the scene of the nightmare.

  Exiting the 101 freeway in Studio City, Sean arrived several minutes later at the tree lined cul-de-sac location of Parkway Condominiums. From her years of hard work in various jobs, Merissa saved enough money to move there, eventually bringing her pride and enthusiasm as one of the board members of the association. Although he disliked those time consuming, nighttime phone calls discussing projects, financial issues, or prospective vendors she’d been assigned to hire, he understood how much her participation in Parkway’s affairs meant to her. So today, on her birthday, he just wanted to walk the grounds and feel her spirit again.

  An immediate aftereffect from that night confronted him as he approached the entrance and spotted something new--a guardhouse with a mechanized lowering bar to prevent automatic access into the condominiums. Easing forward to the window about a foot above his own, he eyed an earnest-looking dark-haired man appearing to be in his mid-thirties with a large head and thick neck protruding from his shirt collar. He displayed a clean-shaven face but the promise of dark stubble seemed evident from the approaching shadow on his cheeks and chin. Behind him, Sean spotted a bank of small television monitors revealing areas of the complex now possessing security cameras.

  Maldonado mentioned a couple of old cameras that existed before, one for the garage and the other for the pool, and as Sean gazed at this too-little-too-late protective system, a spasm of resentment shook his composure and left him temporarily speechless. Sean acknowledged the guard with a nod of his head.

  After a slight lean forward, the man addressed him. “Hello, sir.”

  A period of silence followed, and Sean realized the guard expected him to identify himself and his reason for visiting. The awkwardness of the situation sent a tremble through his fragile, fault line psyche, making him question his actions. Unsure what to do or say, he decided to simply tell the truth. “My name’s Sean Hightower,” he told him, “and I’m not here to see anybody. But that guardhouse you’re in,” he said, pointing, “and the security bar in front of me,” then redirecting his finger toward the front of his car, “was no doubt a reaction to what happened to my girlfriend, Merissa Franklin, six and a half months ago.” His voice broke, but he suppressed the pain to finish his reply. “She was murdered here on April eleventh.”

  The guard’s head and shoulders retreated several inches in apparent surprise.

  “I haven’t been back here since I collected her clothes a few days later, but today would have been her birthday.” A small, tight smile appeared on his face. “I just wanted to come here for a few minutes and walk around.”

  The guard responded with a small shake of his head.

  “I’m very sorry, sir.”

  Sean’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. His intolerance toward unbending, compassionless rule followers like this caused his heart to pound in frustration. How could this man turn him away?

  “I don’t know what I would do if that ever happened to my wife,” he said in a soft tone. “I can’t even think about it.”

  Sean looked up and saw the guard reach for his phone.

  “Just let me make a call,” he said. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem, but I have instructions I need to follow.”

  After the bar rose to allow his entrance, Sean veered left and headed for the garage. His eyes darted in a direct line toward Merissa’s old spot, occupied now by the black Mercedes reminder of the new reality. The vacant guest area to the left, the same one Sean used on numerous occasions, seemed smaller now. Quashing the urge to park there, he drove toward the back corner where the half-dozen visitor spaces allowed people like him temporary access.

  He walked in a slow, deliberate manner through the garage, observing the bank of long, bright tubular lighting extending north to south and east to west along the entire overhead structure. Unlike the dim, tambourine-colored floodlights hanging from the ceiling before, these new ones offered a sleek and modern ambiance, providing a definite all-around upgrade.

  Sean detected other changes as well. Bracketed along the upper walls on each side of the garage, silver hued surveillance cameras stood guard, keeping an electric eye on everyone’s parking lot behavior. He reflected on Merissa’s continual frustration over the roadblocks she often faced with the ownership group because of their reluctance to spend money on anything. But this time, after what happened to her, Sean felt sure the decision makers didn’t hesitate in giving the go-ahead for a top of the line security system.

  Walking up the one flight of steps from the garage to the first floor, Sean stood staring at the closed door of the second unit--Merissa’s place. His legs grew heavy, and he leaned against the wall for support. The comfortable eighty-degree temperature of the moment couldn’t prevent the hair on his arms from standing on end from the sudden chill spreading through his body. He spotted the camera at the end of the hallway, and looking up, saw a second one overhead.

  As long deep breaths chronicled his solitude, he directed his attention toward Merissa’s door again, picturing her in his sweats, opening the door, maybe smiling, and letting someone she trusted inside. But who? Over a half year later, The Beatles’ Song Murderer remained nothing but a shadowy figure in his head, elusive and ridiculing. No matter how hard he tried, how intensely he gazed at that door and repeated the scene in his mind, the image of the person walking in that night remained a mystery--a mocking, faceless shape representing a stark contrast to the clarity of those surveillance cameras now locking him in their sights.

  Chapter 32

  Sean offered a cursory wave to the guard and accelerated away, sensing he’d seen the last of Parkway Condominiums, and anxious to create a rapid separation in miles and emotion. Until the moment he entered his driveway and reached for the remote to open his garage door, his hands maintained the same grip on the steering wheel and his body remained motionless. After a fleeting acknowledgment that three of his four garage lights flashed on and off again in harmonious malfunction, he turned off the engine and closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of his breathing. The tranquility soothed him, easing his way toward the enticing allure of entering the womb of his home for welcome seclusion.

  A sudden tapping on his back window startled him. Glancing at his rear view mirror, the sight of an obviously female torso from the shoulders down to the waist captured his attention, but the face remained unseen. Placing his cell phone in his pocket, he opened the door, looked to his left, and felt an immediate boost to his spirits when he gazed up at Jenny.

  “Hi, Sean,” she said, smiling. “Hope I didn’t scare you.”

  She wore an unbuttoned black sweater over a full-length blue and green cotton dress that allowed a bit of cleavage to show and accentuated a shapely figure previously unnoticed. Her dark brown eyes seemed softer and more welcoming, offering a magnetism that drew him in. At that moment, Sean recognized something he’d overlooked--Jenny offered more than just kindness. He found himself staring at a lovely, sexy woman.

  “Well, I admit I was in my own little world,” he replied, looking up at her from his seat. “How are you, Jenny?”

  “Fine, thanks,” she said, approaching him. “Work’s taking up a lot of time, but that’s a good thing, so no complaints. You and I drove up the street together, so when I saw you pull in I wanted to say hello before you went inside. How are things with you?”

  Sean exited his car. Standing close, he felt relaxed and sensed a mutual sensation with her. He leaned back against the side of his hood and tendered his own smile. “Well, today hasn’t been the best, but it’s better now.”

  Jenny reared her head back in apparent surprise, and for the brie
f silence that followed, Sean wondered about the appropriateness of his reply. Maybe she disliked the appearance of his flirtatious answer. “That’s the nicest thing that anyone’s said to me in a long time. Thank you, Sean.”

  “Perhaps I should be the one thanking you,” he responded.

  This time they eyed each other in a longer period of silence, each maintaining their smile.

  “I better go now,” she said. “I’m helping Kayleigh with her homework.”

  “Would you mind accompanying me to my mailbox before you leave? I might have bills waiting to be caressed by these grateful hands.”

  “Well,” she said, grasping his arm, “it’s a little out of my way, but I’ll manage.”

  As they walked down his driveway, Jenny stopped in mid-stride and brushed his shoulder with her fingers. “I had lunch again with Adam this week,” she said. Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes and chuckled. “And he still insists on keeping it a secret from you.”

  Adam’s name caused Sean’s stomach to knot, and he forced himself to avoid volcanic thoughts of a Merissa repeat. He hadn’t yet spoken with him as Maldonado requested, but another “secret” lunch with Jenny concerned him. Maybe she could provide some insight.

  “I forgot why he doesn’t want me to know.”

  “It’s so silly,” she said, giggling. “He’s afraid you’d think he’s being unfaithful to his wife.”

  Sean took a long, slow breath. “First of all, why should he care what I think? And, secondly, I wouldn’t think that anyway.”

  Jenny held her hands out and shrugged.

  “I remember you said you went to high school with him, so what do you talk about? Is it one of those ‘Glory Days’ Bruce Springsteen conversations, reliving past accomplishments of your youth?”

  “Oh, please!” Jenny shot back, making a face. “Just shoot me if I ever get like that.”

  Sean’s body tightened at the response.

  “You look upset,” she remarked.

  “I’m sorry,” he replied, forcing a smile. “It’s just...it’s just that Adam can be such a fool.”

  “In that sense, yeah, he’s weird,” she answered. “I’ve tried to understand his secrecy, but all I’m left to think is that he’s a sweet, timid man, married to a dominating wife, and he’s scared to make waves in any way.”

  “So, my unfortunate Springsteen reference aside, what do you talk about?”

  For several moments Jenny didn’t answer him, but the fullness of her subtly painted lips formed a tight smile. “Wrong of me to divulge this, but most of the talks have centered on Eleanor and his marriage. On the one hand, he seems to idolize the woman, but then he’ll also talk about how frustrated he gets with her sometimes. He uses the word ‘handcuffed’ a lot.”

  “Handcuffed?” Sean repeated, his muscles tightening again.

  “Yeah, but then he goes back and talks about God and the holy matrimony idea, and his kids, and how blessed he is to have all of that. ‘Blessed’ is another word he uses a lot. But, you know, that’s Adam.”

  “What I don’t understand is if he cares so much about keeping your lunches a secret, why even take the chance getting together with you? What if somebody he knows sees him?”

  “I see your point,” she said, “but this was only the second time I’ve had lunch with the guy, and both times it was at a Chinese restaurant miles from his neighborhood, so we didn’t expect any surprises.”

  “Think you’ll have another marriage counseling session with him?”

  Jenny smiled. “I don’t know. Maybe. I feel sorry for the guy because I can relate to that kind of emotional abuse. My ex was a real jerk, and it took me a while to overcome those scars.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at the ground in a moment of apparent contemplation. Biting her upper lip, she looked up again and chin-nodded toward the mailbox. “I think those bills have waited long enough for some TLC.”

  Sean stared at Jenny, admiring her kind face and vulnerable honesty. “Thanks for saying hello, Jenny. I was having a rough day until you came along.”

  Jenny reached out for his arm and offered a gentle squeeze. “You just made my day, Sean Hightower.”

  “Are you still dating Stan?”

  The question surged forth in a quick and unexpected way; a lightning bolt that leaves an undeniable reaction after the initial impact. She stared at him, her expression a blank canvas devoid of clues. Sean felt a sudden acceleration of his heartbeat, wondering if he’d overstepped his bounds.

  “No,” she answered, shaking her head.

  Sean noticed how her soft brown hair fell across her cheekbones as she nodded back and forth.

  “I like having a good time as much as any girl, but dating a married man isn’t worth the trouble.”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I asked a personal question.”

  Jenny looked at him and smiled, the tiny crinkles from the corners of her eyes exposed and endearing when she started to laugh. “No, that’s all right,” she said. “The relationship wasn’t going anywhere, anyway. Even a magician can’t make certain realities disappear, like a wife and kid at home.”

  They smiled in silence again.

  “Something else I should tell you,” Jenny said, “but don’t kill the messenger, okay? Adam’s coming over on Saturday.”

  Sean’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his head in an uncomfortable curiosity, waiting to hear the rest.

  Jenny waved her hand in the air, brushing off any concern. “Oh, it’s no big deal,” she told him. “He’s going to set up my sound system to play in different rooms. I moved into my condo over three months ago and still use my laptop to listen to music.”

  Sean raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Your sound system, huh? Looks like there’s more to Adam than just God and selling cars.”

  Jenny chuckled. “He told me he worked in the entertainment section at a Best Buy store before becoming a car dealer. He’s got some parts he’s going to bring over, so if he’s offering, I won’t say no.” She looked into his eyes and smiled. “Why’d you want to know about Stan?”

  The sudden sound of Sean’s ringtone interrupted the moment, and when he read Maldonado’s name, he held up his hand for her to wait there.

  “Hi, Ray, can you give me a minute? I’m just saying goodbye to someone.”

  “Yeah, go ahead,” Maldonado replied.

  Looking at Jenny, Sean rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, feeling his skin tingle as a sudden schoolboy nervousness overtook him. “I have to take this, and I know Kayleigh’s waiting for you, but...would you like to go out sometime?”

  With a single definitive nod, she brushed his cheek with her hand. The warmth of her touch and the radiance of her smile almost made him drop his phone. “I would love to.” Reaching into her purse, she removed a business card. “I’ll talk to you soon, Sean.”

  Watching her turn and walk away, Sean smiled as he glanced at her card before placing it in his pocket. “Sorry, Ray,” he said, grasping the envelopes, “what’s up?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that first meeting we had at the station,” Maldonado said, his voice softer than usual. “When I told you The Beatles’ Song Murderer could be someone Miss Franklin knew. And you, as well.”

  Sean closed the lid and stood still, staring up at the darkening late afternoon sky in anticipation of Maldonado’s admission of error, validating his fear that all the months of speculation and suspicion meant nothing. “All I know is that it’s been a long six and a half months and a lot of sleepless nights wondering who the fuck it is.”

  Maldonado uttered a laugh, brief and sarcastic sounding. “Sleepless nights, huh? Like the one I had last night after a phone call I got at two in the morning? I’ve been up ever since and I have a feeling tonight won’t be any different.”

  Sean tightened his grip and closed his eyes in the expectation of another rape and murder report. “Did it happen again?” he asked.

  Several moments passed before Maldonado replied.r />
  “Maybe, but not the same way.”

  “I don’t understand. Wouldn’t you know by--”

  Maldonado cut Sean’s question off in midsentence.

  “And if it is him,” he said, “because I did something I shouldn’t have done, I feel largely responsible for the homicide that took place last night.”

  Sean realized he hadn’t moved, remaining in the street by his mailbox. Hurrying back toward the garage, he headed for his car seat.

  “What happened, Ray? And why are you calling me about this?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that first meeting we had when I showed you the photos of the suspects,” he said. “In addition to Ulysses Stanley Claiborne, who wasn’t in any of them, it seems that over the last few months we’ve kept a more watchful eye on two others: Roger Peterson and Adam McBride. You with me so far?”

  Sean stared at the murky nothingness through his windshield, his lone functioning overhead light’s five-minute duration now expired, transforming the near blackness of his surroundings into something ominous. Looking behind him, he gazed down his driveway toward an ineffectual street lamp across the street before reaching up to push the remote button, triggering the one overhead light as the other three repeated their on-and-off problematic behavior.

  “I’m confused, Ray,” he said. “And to be honest, you’ve got me on edge without knowing why.”

  “Listen, Sean,” he said, his voice sounding tired, “you’ll know as much as I do by the time I’m done, all right?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “Remember Lucy Sweets, the woman Roger said he was with the night Ms. Franklin was killed?