by Susan Dunlap
"I don’t know. Things change. That’s what I’m saying: Things change.”
Announcements came over the PA system. I’d been ignoring them. I looked toward my gate. People were grabbing their coats and carry-ons and wedging themselves into line. I walked toward the gate.
I swallowed hard. "I’m pretty sure why she did it, but my flight’s starting to board. Right now I need to think about the other side—Varine. Why have it appear that Varine Adamé killed herself?”
"To cover her getaway,” he said as if it was too obvious to put into words. "So, what’s she escaping from?”
What was Varine Adamé running away from? That was a no-brainer. "The cockroach, who else?” I couldn’t keep from saying it in exactly the same tone. But now I was talking to myself as much as him. "Serrano’s after Adamé big time. So, Varine books a flight to Miami, gateway to points Caribbean. It gets canceled. Then why didn’t she reschedule for Miami?”
"Because she’s dead.” Had he said that or had I? I went on, "Why did Tessa Jurovik fly to Raleigh last night? Why is Adamé flying to Raleigh? Did his wife—”
"—find out?” my brother mused. "And Adamé has to murder her to cover his own escape?”
"The line’s moving, Mike. I’ve got to pay attention; I’m on standby. I’ll call you.”
39
I’m a city girl. I used to have a serious—and seriously humiliating—fear of forests. I’m better now; I can walk under leaves and fronds without going queasy, but dark green overhead blocking out the light is never likely to be a favorite with me. It was going to be dark when I arrived, but that was hardly going to make things better. In the meantime, I employed one of my great talents: I can sleep anywhere. I put my new warm, water-resistant protect-all jacket over my head and didn’t come up for air till Nashville. But sometimes sleep isn’t just sleep. Not exactly dreams, either. Like meditation, it skims off the surface of flurry and drops you into a great formless pool of common sense. As the plane descended toward Nashville I wondered: Can I just wait and let Serrano go and collect Aaron Adamé? Facing down miscreants and murderers, it’s what he does. He’s got the phone number, plus a serious lead on me. Why not? See Adamé behind bars? No one hotter was for that than the cockroach. And snag the money Adamé’d made off with? Ditto.
If Adamé and Tessa are in this together and she gets away? Not my problem! Not at all!
But if Tessa got caught in the cross fire? Would Serrano care? Maybe. If saving her meant losing Adamé? Not likely.
What about Tessa? She’d made the deal for Ginger, but once the check cleared and I’d pulled her back, then what? Why didn’t she get away? That was the question that I’d always be asking.
Was she even Tessa? I didn’t know that. Only Serrano knew.
As I headed for the next gate, I turned on my phone. The message icon danced. I dialed.
"Listen, Darce,” Mike said, without letting me speak, "maybe you don’t realize what scum the cockroach is.”
"I believe I do. I’ve heard about him for years and—”
"That’s family chat. There’s stuff John’s not saying at dinner.”
"I can read between the lines.”
"Maybe. But I know Serrano. Know him better than you think. You know that call I got Sunday—”
"The one that was not from Mom? Yeah, Mike, I do know.”
"I could hardly tell you it was from him, not then, right after the bridge, when you—”
"I know you know him. He told me.”
"He told you what?”
Knew your brother when he was running smack. "Not over the phone.”
"Listen—”
"That’s my boarding call.”
"Wait, Darce. Serrano lies. Remember that. Guy lies all the time. But here’s the truth, the guy’ll do anything—anything—for power. Did he give you that righteous rant about how safe he keeps the Mission? You think he cares whether girls can walk home from clubs without being raped? Power and money, that’s it! He . . . ”
"Seriously, I gotta go!” I clicked off.
The pre-boards rolled and hauled down the chute, and the A pass holders picked up their carry-ons. I was not an A, or a B.
Mike wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know, just what he thought I didn’t know. And Declan Serrano already had over an hour lead on me.
Still, Mike’s call made me nervous and when the phone rang again I checked the number and steeled myself. I barely got out hello when my brother John started in. "Don’t you think SFPD is onto Adamé? Why do you think Adamé ran, Darcy, tell me that, will you? We’ve got an agent in Miami Dade right now. We’re working with the department there. We’ve alerted border control. Do you think SFPD is a nursery school? We’ve been working this case for close to a year now. We’re ready to snap it. Serrano’s not on that case. He’s rogue. Rogue! Guy figures he sees what no one else does. Thinks he walks a wild side we don’t know exists. An egomaniac. Department should’ve sacked him years ago—”
"Why didn’t it, then?”
The pause was so long I thought he’d driven out of range. "Because sometimes he delivers.”
"So, tomorrow he could be dragging Adamé into the mayor’s office and stepping out of there with a promotion?”
"What I’m saying is you are way, way over your head. You’ve got no business with him. Where are you?”
"Nashville.”
"Turn around. Get on a plane home.”
"Fat chance! It was only Serrano pulling strings that got me on this flight.”
He sounded like he was choking.
"My plane’s boarding. To Raleigh. Serrano’s already—”
"I’ll have someone meet your flight there. You can brief them. They’ll deal with this business. I’ll get you a flight home. Call me then.”
"What? What? . . . you’re breaking up.”
"I’m telling you—”
I clicked off. I was fuming, not because of what he’d said, though maybe I should have been, but because Mike had ratted me out to him. We’d had a compact, Mike and I: No matter what, we had never ever ratted out the other.
Was Mike that worried? About Serrano?
Or maybe things really had changed between us. Enough, anyway, that when he called back I didn’t pick up.
Despite my sleep trick on the next leg, I was still edgy when I walked off the plane in Raleigh.
My first surprise was that there was no local law in sight. No county, state, or feds. There could be a dozen reasons, not the least of which was John was not as well connected as he thought. Or else this case wasn’t as high a priority as he thought. Or who knows what?
But I didn’t have time to find out, because my second surprise was Serrano, standing there.
"How come you’re still here?”
"Don’t want you out there driving around in the woods.”
"Boy, you’ve got more concern than a lot of guys I know give you credit for.”
He took my arm. "Time passes. Come on.”
I shook free. "Not so fast! Biggest danger in the woods could be you.”
He laughed.
"I’m not joking. You know about the idiot in the attic?”
"I’m not even going to guess.”
"Girl, alone, no weapon but a candle. There’s a crazed killer in the neighborhood. She hears a strange sound in the attic. Does she call the police?”
"No?”
"Does she even flee out the front door into the safety of the street? Nope. She lights the candle, climbs the stairs, and opens the attic door. So convince me you’re not in the attic.”
"I’m going to be straight with you.”
"As opposed to?”
He took a deep breath. I couldn’t tell if he was merely organizing his thoughts or forming them. "Okay, just between us, right?”
"Lips zipped.”
"I don’t have a car.”
"Excuse me?”
"If I’m on a case, the department handles everything.”
I rolle
d my eyes. "You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”
"No, really—”
"Don’t even bother.”
"I could give you a list of reasons, some of them true. I could get a car but it’d be a hassle.”
"And you’d have to do it in your own name.”
"Look, Tessa Jurovik’s in the woods with a killer. I don’t have time to deal with her. You want to be sure she lives, then come.”
Bingo! "How can I be sure it’s her?”
"It’s her,” he said resignedly. "She knew what she was getting into. Not when I first hired her, but the instant she saw a picture of Varine Adamé she put it together. Remind me never to hire a woman who reads the society pages.”
"She knew you could get her killed?”
"You pulled her back over the railing of the Golden Gate Bridge! She wasn’t afraid to live on the edge. She knew I was looking for an angle with Adamé and that she might be it. She was aware of my reputation. I don’t sugarcoat that, not with anyone.”
"Not called the cockroach for nothing, huh?”
Serrano ignored that. "Okay, here’s your deal. Call your brother. Tell him the plan. Let him do whatever he wants. Fair enough?”
Whoa! There had to be a catch, but I couldn’t spot it. Except for a small hole which I could circumvent. "Fair enough.” I pulled out my phone and called my brother. But I wasn’t about to give the cockroach the pleasure of listening to Detective John Lott sputter and threaten over the phone. "Mike, just listen. I’m here with Serrano, at Raleigh-Durham. I’ve rented a car. The two of us are heading out now, him to collect Adamé, me to do my best to protect Tessa. Tell John. Also tell him that not a single law enforcement employee was visible anywhere when I got off the plane.”
"Darce—”
"I’ll call you.” I clicked off, leaving him hanging. Again. I turned to Serrano. "So, what’s your plan?”
40
I was driving. And happy about it. I followed the signs to 40 heading southeast. It’s a major highway, but it could’ve been a two-laner for all the traffic it carried. Maybe Tar Heels didn’t do their traveling after midnight.
I glanced over at Serrano. He was shifting restlessly, wedging his feet against the dash. He hesitated, then dropped them back to the floor. "I’ll scope the scene and call the locals.”
"Yeah, right! If you were going to call in help you’d’ve done it. So, what’s your real plan?”
"Scope the scene, grab Adamé, let you call the locals.”
"As you sail into the sunset waving good-bye?”
"Sunrise. But you don’t have to wait that long.” He laughed. "He’s a San Francisco felon. I don’t want the asshole vacationing in the Raleigh lock-up while his expensive lawyers—paid with money he laundered through my district—throw up every roadblock to extradition.”
"Why don’t you just shoot him?”
I’d meant it sarcastically. Sort of. "No can do. I already don’t have the best reputation. Now if you’d take him out . . . ”
"What about Tessa?”
"Tessa?”
"Tessa Jurovik! The woman you dragged into this?” I was trying—failing—to keep calm. "It’s the old cockroach problem. You haven’t given her a thought, have you?”
"Did you ever stop to think I might be doing her a favor?”
Okay, I thought a minute and got it. Why would Tessa be here if she didn’t have some relationship with Adamé? Why hadn’t she just headed for the San Francisco city limits and kept on going? Meeting up with him across the country, that showed her in a whole different light. Why—
"If he has some hold over her now, she’s free,” he said. "If she’s not as innocent as you want to believe, well, once he’s in the lock-up, she can say whatever she wants. If there’s evidence against her, she’ll have time to disappear. All good. And, best of all for her, she’ll have you there to protect her.”
Oh, please!
I looked over at Serrano. He was nodding off. Just as well. I was glad to be "alone.” There was only the occasional flash of white to remind me that beyond the dark clumps to my left were westbound lanes. A vehicle passed and then it was darkness again. Our Bay Area freeways are never like that. There are always lights from the cities beside them or at least headlights coming and taillights ahead. There’s always the sense of moving toward. But here, I felt like I was alone in a black box.
What is life?
If I were alone in a black box would I still be alive?
Or was the question itself the black box?
As I drove, I felt the resistance of the pedals, tested the give of the steering wheel, felt the tires grab—grab was too strong a word for these tires. I shifted in the seat, noted the push button windows—I don’t trust electric releases in emergency. I felt myself in this car the way I did in a stunt car.
What is life? Having come so close to throwing it away, how would Tessa Jurovik answer that now?
I rolled down the window. The air was cold, but the aroma of pine was strong and fresh. I felt my body releasing as I breathed.
In the silence time passed without clocking in. It might have been an hour, or a goodly range on either side when Serrano jerked awake. "How long before the turnoff?” I asked, hardly expecting him to know.
"Twenty minutes.”
"Wow. I’m impressed.”
"A detective always sleeps with one eye open. That eye’s on the road.”
I had plenty of questions. Now, with no distractions, it’d be easy for him to sidestep or fabricate entirely. I asked the one he’d be least likely to shirk. "Where’s Varine in all this?”
"Varine?” he said so blankly, I wondered if he had slipped back into dreamland. "Ah, the too-bright-to-be-bothered Mrs. Adamé. One of those pain-in-the-ass free spirits. With a husband to float her, she can make a career of having no responsibilities.”
"Did she care about Tessa?”
"Doesn’t appear so.”
"You don’t know?” One thing I understood about Serrano was he hated not knowing, or, at least admitting it. But now he just grunted.
I wasn’t giving up on this. "You jumped at the chance to hire her double.”
"Look, you gotta be open. I wasn’t expecting much, but one slip would’ve made the whole arrangement pop.” He shifted to face me. "Adamé said—convinced himself. I believe this, that he convinced himself—that he did his crimes for her. But, see, not really for her, for the idea of her.”
Someone else’d said that about Adamé. Oh yeah, Warren Llekko, my old classmate, and not the most perceptive of guys. He’d been skeptical. But from Serrano I was getting a different take.
"He made her into an icon—his icon—because a guy needs that, he needs someone to trust. Someone who binds it all together. Someone for whom he’s number one. It makes all the difference.”
"How come you know that?”
"’Cause I never let myself do it.”
"How come?” I repeated. The darkness and the car let me ask that dreadfully personal question: How could you get through life without this most basic of comforts? I let the question hang, not expecting an answer.
"Here’s the irony,” Serrano said after a few moments. "Varine’s sharp, sharper than Adamé.”
"Not sharp enough to avoid him killing her. How do you see that?”
"Could’ve been anything from a double cross to a lovers’ spat. No difference in the end, though.” He peered through the windshield. "Or maybe he was just tired of living with someone who could see through him. He’s slick and he hates to lose.”
Him or yourself? Something about Adamé’d sure gotten under his skin. Maybe it was just what Serrano’d told me—Adamé invading his turf—or maybe—
I had to swallow hard not to laugh. Dale! "You know what Mac told me? He said the Adamés paid him to hassle you. Could that be—”
"Turnoff’s coming up. Third one.”
"Mac caused you a ton of problems—woke up the neighbors around our set, called the mayor�
�s office, and that’s just what I know about. He pissed you off, distracted you—And, he bought Adamé some time.”
And he was laughing at you!
I didn’t expect Serrano to comment on that, either, but his silence said it all.
Suddenly, the exits were beside us—all three virtually together—and our ramp was a dark chute into nothingness. The width of the highway had given some illusion of options, but now, as we slowed onto a two lane with trees marching in from both sides, we might as well have been in a tunnel. In a hundred feet the road had narrowed even more to two skinny lanes banked by shrubs that could pass as landmarks only to a local, a cold sober local. I wanted to speed up, but forced myself to slow. Something shot across the road. I just about stood on the brake pedal, but whatever it was was gone. Leaving me ridiculously shaken and aware of how vulnerable I was.
At the first sign of life, a two-pump gas station with a snack shop, I pulled in and hopped out, leaving Serrano in the car.
"We’re looking for the Adamés on Hopkins Island and I think we’re lost.”
The woman, about my age but with a harder history, nodded. Despite the night’s chill she was wearing cut-offs and a T-shirt that said Carlene’s a Gas! "Adamé? That name’s not familiar, and I know everyone who owns here. You got an address?”
I handed her the reverse Serrano’d gotten.
She eyed it a moment. "Out on the county road. Those places there, lot of them are abandoned.”
"Really? Coastal property? I’d’ve thought—”
"Too marshy. Not worth the cost. Someday, sure. But now, things as they are, no one goes down that road for anything but to dump trash they’re too cheap to run to the incinerator or too lazy to burn.”
"I’m amazed. I’ve been to this area in the spring. When the dogwood’s in bloom, there’s no prettier place on earth.”
She’d been wary but now she gave me a big, knowing smile. "You can say that again, girl.”
I liked this woman. I wanted to settle in here and chat behind the safety of the counter. But I bought a couple bottles of water, stuck the change in my coat pocket, along with my phone, just in case, and asked how to get where I was headed.