by Allen Wyler
Later, Lucas and Josh sipped scotch in silence, seeming mired in thought. He wondered what his son was thinking. Did he hold him responsible? Was he responsible?
Josh broke the silence. “I could move back here if you want.” Which sounded more like an attempt to comfort Lucas than a sincere desire. “You know, transfer. I’m pretty sure I could transfer to the U, and it’s not a bad department.”
Lucas loved him for that. But Josh needed the experience of being on his own. He had a great start on life: a good job as a teacher’s assistant, a girlfriend he adored, an inexpensive apartment shared with two compatible roommates. His professors knew him. And Lucas didn’t want Josh here out of sympathy. But at the moment, they were totally controlled by grief and unable to think clearly. He said, “I don’t think either one of us should make any decisions for a while. Neither one of us is thinking straight. For now, let’s just try to get through the next couple days, then see where we stand. Okay?”
42
FIVE DAYS LATER, SAINT MARK’S CHAPEL
THE CLOYING SCENT OF white morning lilies and incense thickened the chapel air. The oak pew felt as hard and unforgiving as the priest’s voice. Lucas sat in the front row for everyone to see and sensed accusing eyes boring into the back of his head. Even if they didn’t know where he was when Laura died, they knew he wasn’t there. He knew where he was, and he hated himself for it. No need for him to go to hell. The fire of guilt was singeing his soul with each passing second. Regardless of who triggered the explosion, he, and no one else, bore ultimate responsibility for Laura’s death. The guilt was bad enough. Missing Laura made it exponentially worse.
Laura’s memorial service. No funeral. The medical examiner hadn’t released Laura’s remains because her death was under investigation, and he continued to be the prime suspect. And everybody here knew it. Was there anything he would ever be able to do to atone for her death? He’d talk to a priest if he thought it might help, but he wasn’t religious. That psychiatrist he wanted Laura to see, would that help?.
Josh sat on his right, cheeks glistening, sniffing occasionally. Lucas hung his own head and dabbed his eyes with a Kleenex and held Josh’s hand, squeezing it now and then, as much to comfort himself as his son. To Josh’s right sat Laura’s sister.
Lucas put his arm around Josh’s shoulder and held him as tightly as he possibly could and silently swore that he would do everything humanly possible to protect and love him and not allow his anger at Ditto to place Josh in harm’s way.
He thought of some of the arguments he had with Laura over the past year, how trivial they now seemed. If he’d put as much effort into the marriage as he had in his practice, this never would’ve happened.
He thought of Andy, how there had been no memorial service for him, how he wasn’t even declared legally dead yet. He vowed to make certain Andy received a service once that happened.
Which brought up DFH. And Ditto again. The man was responsible for planting the explosive in the car. Would the police be able to prove his culpability? Was there anything he could do to help prove it?
Josh worked himself free of Lucas’s arm and began massaging his hand. Lucas realized he’d squeezed him too tightly and patted Josh on the knee to apologize.
The congregation was singing a hymn. He had no idea which one or when it started. Another thought hit. What if … ?
No, it wasn’t possible. Was it?
LUCAS AND JOSH STOOD at the chapel door, shaking hands and thanking people as they shuffled out. He hugged Laura’s teary sister and kissed her cheek.
She whispered to him, “A detective called. Lange, I think. He asked about you and Laura …” Eyebrows arched, she searched his face.
“Tell him the truth. I have nothing to hide,” he said, then turned his attention to the next person in line.
He couldn’t believe it; Andy’s ex-wife hugged him and said, “I know you miss her. I do. She loved you, Lucas. And I know you love her.” It was the only warmth she’d shown him in years.
He noticed Wendy working her way forward. When she finally reached him, they shook hands. She said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He nodded and introduced her to Josh. Then said to her, “I have an idea I’d like to talk to you about. Maybe tomorrow.”
She nodded solemnly. “Whenever you feel up to it.” She walked away as he greeted the next person in line.
After the chapel emptied, Lucas wrapped Josh in his arms and hugged, and for a moment they stayed like that, staring past the rows of empty pews toward the altar. This wasn’t the same Episcopal church his parents forced him to attend as a kid, but the interior evoked the same hollowness in him as it had back then, as if he were supposed to feel something he couldn’t. And he always marveled at those who could believe in their religion of choice and the comfort it seemed to give them. Or at least that’s what people claimed. He wished it could give him some comfort now, but it didn’t. He wanted to cry from the ache in his heart for Laura, but he also wanted to be strong for Josh.
Okay, so maybe there was a supreme power. If so, Lucas wasn’t about to give it a formal name. He believed when you die you’re gone, completely leaving behind only a decomposing body. Your legacy is only in the memories of the living. But at this moment, he wanted more than anything to believe in a heaven and that Laura was there. Most of all, he wished things had been different between them, that he’d been able to wrap his arms around her while telling her how much she meant to him. Instead, she left life with the bitter taste of a deteriorating marriage and the beginnings of a divorce.
Josh said, “Sure you’ll be okay if I head back?”
They’d talked at length about whether Josh should stay or return to school to classes, a girlfriend, and a part-time job. Josh had said, “I need to get my head around Mom not being here. It’ll be easier if I’m not in the house. It’s so strange to be in my room and know she’s not coming home. And the garage … it’s …”
As much as Lucas wanted his son near him, he decided Josh knew how best to handle the grieving process. After all, it was only a few hours drive and they could talk on the phone. Lucas hugged him, said, “I’ll be okay.”
Josh looked at him. “You sure?”
Lucas nodded.
His son hugged him back. “I love you, Dad. Call if you want me back. I’ll be here as soon as possible.”
They descended the few stone steps to the asphalt drive and started across the empty parking lot to where they’d parked both cars. Lucas noticed three males loitering at the far end of the lot. Low-hanging baggy pants, baggy shirts. They didn’t seem to be paying him or Josh any attention, but their unexplained presence left him edgy, so he waited until Josh was inside his car, doors locked with the engine running, before he stepped away and waved good-bye.
Josh returned the wave and drove out of the lot.
Lucas checked to see what the bangers were doing. They were heading straight toward him.
43
LUCAS GLANCED AROUND, SAW no one else in the lot. Without trying to rush or show concern, he headed toward his car, thinking maybe he could make it before they caught up to him.
“Yo, McRae.”
They know me? He turned to look at them.
The lead guy pointed at him in that overhand-elbow-extended-from-the-shoulder sort of way. “Hey, chill, man. Ain’t gonna do you no harm.”
The other two hung back as the lead guy pimp-rolled over and swung his hand out. “Luis Ruiz.”
A zigzag scar crossed Ruiz’s left cheek, and his nose was never set correctly after being fractured. Shitty blue tats marred his right deltoid.
Lucas reached out, half-expecting to be embarrassed by some sort of complicated ritual shake. But Ruiz simply pumped his hand once and let go, very businesslike, but the move didn’t put Lucas any more at ease. He hoped a cop would cruise by and take an interest.
“Do I know you?”
“No reason you should.” Ruiz rolled his neck, like working out a k
ink. “Lupita Ruiz. That name mean anything to you?” The guy sounded more inquisitive than threatening, and his body language was loose instead of hostile.
Lucas answered, “No. Should it?”
“I think so. She’s my sister. Or maybe I should say was my sister. That’s one of the problems. And the reason this should interest you. My sister dropped out the same time as your homie, Andy Baer.”
For several seconds Lucas stood openmouthed, shocked this guy knew about Andy. “How do you know that?”
“The cop, bro. Detective Elliott. She and Sis were tight.” He raised two fingers squeezed together.
It clicked. Lupita must be the missing prostitute Wendy mentioned. Lucas nodded slowly. “So what’re you saying? There’s a connection?”
“Don’t know for sure, but here’s what I do know. Your friend had a thing for girls like her. His car was found near where she worked. His head turns up in fucking Hong Kong, and a Suburban belonging to DFH was definitely seen in the area. I ain’t no A student, but I sure as hell ain’t stupid.”
“How do you know all this?”
Luis Ruiz ignored the question. “I need to find out what happened to her. Elliott seems to think your friend’s the key. And that Ditto’s the man.”
“I have no proof.”
“You saw your man in Hong Kong.”
“I think it was Andy, and I told the police everything I know.” The frustration and rage about the situation bubbled up to the surface, and he felt his jaw muscles clamp tight and loosened up.
“There’s got to be a way to find out what really happened.”
“Christ, you don’t think I’ve thought about this? I’ve gone through everything I can possibly do hundreds of times, and believe me, there’s not a damn thing more I can do.”
“That’s where you wrong, bro. There always something you can do. You just haven’t thought about it long enough. Maybe I can help you.”
“What can you do?”
“I don’t know. We just starting to talk. But we know a couple things. One, is the heads you saw in Hong Kong came from Seattle.”
“We don’t know where they came from. They were brought from Seattle, but Ditto denies the one I saw was Andy. What can I do about that?”
Ruiz shifted his weight and looked around. “What you can do is think. Think back on anything that happened around the time your homie went missing.”
“Why you so interested in what happened to Andy?”
“Because my sister went missing about the same time he did. What if they’re related? Too many things give me strange thoughts about this. Too many coincidences.” He shook his head. “Way too many. It’s not fucking right. That’s all I’m saying.”
What could he say? Frustration and anger at Ditto and the helplessness of the situation was blinding him.
Ruiz handed him a folded slip of paper. “This is my cell. You need help on anything, call. I’ll, do whatever to help. But my gut tells me that if we find your man we find out what happened to my baby sister.”
44
“LUPITA WAS A GOOD person. I got to know her well. We got close.” Wendy shook her head. “No way she should be missing.”
It was almost dusk. Earlier in the church parking lot Lucas had watched Ruiz and company walk away before he climbed into the Volvo and fired the ignition. He’d sat there thinking over Ruiz’s words before calling Wendy on her cell. Now they sat in Lucas’s car facing a six-foot galvanized fence intertwined with thick blackberry vines. Beyond that stretched a breath-stealing panorama of Elliott Bay and downtown Seattle stretching west to Alki Point. Wendy’s car was parallel to his. At the other end of the parking lot a brood of Asian shutterbugs milled around a tour bus.
Elliott said, “Luis hated what she was doing. I mean, he isn’t a model citizen himself. Nor is the gang he runs with. But he really loved her. And he made sure she didn’t get into the drug thing or any of the other occupational hazards.”
Lucas nodded for her to continue.
“The impressive thing is that these two kids were able to survive on their own by living on the street after their parents died.”
Lucas realized he was only paying half attention to her; the other half was zeroed in on Ditto, ruminating over what role he played in Andy’s death. Or had he only brokered his body after the fact? Either way, Ditto was involved. The question was: how to prove it?
Wendy said, “If we want to take down Ditto, we have to do it in a logical sequence. Find a direct link to him. And that just has to be Andy. Which brings us right back to where we started. Is there anything you can think of to prove whose head that was in Hong Kong?”
“Jesus,” he snapped at her, “don’t you think I’ve been over that a thousand times?”
“I thought you called this meeting. If you want to leave, go right ahead.”
He held up his hand. “Sorry. It’s just … I’m so goddamn angry I …” Words failed him.
She appeared to soften. “Apology accepted. Believe me, I feel your frustration. But one thing I’ve learned is to keep going back over things again and again, looking for something to help jog your memory. Can we do that one more time?”
Lucas really didn’t see how that would help. Truth be told, he was sick of spending so much time discussing it. But he knew Wendy only wanted to help. “One more time and that’s it. I can’t do this any longer.”
She pulled out a small recorder from her purse. “I appreciate it. Tell you what. How about this time we listen to the tape of your initial statement?”
“Wait!” His pulse accelerated. It was too obvious. Worse yet, it’d been with him all along. How could he have missed it? “I can do it. I can prove it.”
45
WENDY LOOKED AT LUCAS with suspicion. “Prove what?”
“That it really was Andy’s head in Hong Kong.”
“How?”
“HDTV.”
“Come again?”
“The dissection. They recorded the whole thing in high-definition.” A hundred and ten volts of excitement rippled through him, his mind running at warp speed, going back over the sequence of events that morning, making sure he had it right. Entering the room, walking to the table, looking to his right as he passed the rack of Sony equipment with the glowing blue lights and dials and the smell of warm electronics. They were recording before he removed the towel, meaning Andy’s face must’ve been clearly documented. “Yes. It should all be there. Everything I told you.”
She just stared at him.
“And now that I think about it, Andy had a scar … behind his right ear. When he was a kid he had a bad case of mastoiditis and ended up having his mastoid cleaned out. There was a scar behind his ear. The camera over the table should be able to show us that. Wouldn’t that help prove it was him?”
She stared at him a moment longer before saying, “I hope you’re not kidding. And if you’re not, please tell me you can get a copy.”
“I don’t see why not. Jimmy said after he edited it he’d send a copy, so no reason I can’t just ask for the unedited version. All we need are the initial shots that show his face.” Were they recording when the group using Andy’s head turned the head to the side? And would the recordings be clear enough to look for the scar? Probably. So, yeah, that should be there too.
Wendy held up a hand. “Hold on. Before we get too excited, let me think about this. We want to do it right. Not have any chain of evidence screwup. What was it? Tape or DVD?”
“I’m not sure. But I want to say DVD.”
“Where is it?”
“Hong Kong. Jimmy Wong has it.”
“No, I mean is the recording at the hospital or someone’s home?”
“I don’t know. The hospital, I suppose. That’s where they recorded it.” But Wong intended to edit down the files to just the essential teaching parts. Were the DVDs gone by now?
“Got a phone number, some way to contact Wong?”
Lucas had to think about that. The invitation t
o come to Hong Kong had come by mail, he remembered. But did he still have it? They’d exchanged a few emails, but again, they’d been deleted from the computer. Could he find them? “I don’t know.”
46
LUCAS LEANED AGAINST THE kitchen counter. Holding a copy of Wong’s emails in his left hand, the paper still warm from the printer, he picked up the phone in his right and used his thumb to punch in the long string of numbers for an international call to Wong’s office. Wong’s contact numbers—in Mandarin and English—were included in his signature on every email.
A female voice answered in Chinese.
Lucas asked, “Do you speak English?”
She answered, “Yes.”
“This is Dr. McRae. I need to speak with Dr. Wong. It’s an emergency.”
“I’m sorry. Dr. Wong is in surgery. May someone else be of assistance?”
He left the message for Wong to call back as soon as possible and emphasized this was an emergency.
Wendy sat at the kitchen table in the same spot Laura favored for various tasks—reading the newspaper, writing letters, playing solitaire on her laptop—as if it were her desk. Lucas felt uneasy about Wendy sitting there, but said nothing.
Wendy asked, “She say when he might be back in the office?”
“No. Just that she’d give him the message. When he’s not available, he’s usually tied up in surgery.”
“Probably wouldn’t hurt to email him too.”
“Good idea.” Lucas picked up his Droid from the counter and started thumbing through the menu, searching for the contact.
A moment later, he was finished with the email. He looked at Wendy, said, “I can’t stand it, not knowing when he’s going to call.”
She nodded and fidgeted in the seat. “You’re not done.”
“What do you mean?”
“We made a deal. You get me into Andy’s condo, I let you tag along. We haven’t been there yet.”