by Sue Grafton
"Why the tears? He wasn't worth it."
"I miss him. I didn't think I would, but I do." She: pulled the belt on her coat and let it slip off her shoulders. She was naked underneath, slim and white, shivering. Like an arrow of flesh. "Renata, don't!"
I saw her turn and propel herself into the boiling ocean. I pulled my shoes off. I yanked my jeans down and pulled the sweatshirt over my head. It was cold. I was already soaked with spray, but for a moment I hesitated. Below me, out about ten yards now, I could see Renata swimming, slender white arms cutting through the water methodically. I didn't want to go into the water at all. It looked deep and cold and black and bitter. I flew forward, feeling birdlike, wondering if there was any chance of staying airborne forever.
I hit the water. It was stunning, and I gasped and then heard myself sing aloud with the surprise. The cold took my breath away. The weight of the water forced my lungs to labor. I caught my breath and started moving. Salt stung my eyes, but I could see the white of Renata's hands, face bobbing through the water a few yards in front of me. I'm an adequate swimmer, but not a strong one by any means. To swim for any length of time, I'm usually forced to shift from stroke to stroke – the crawl, the sidestroke, the breaststroke, rest. The ocean was buoyant, nearly playful by nature, a big liquid death, cold as torture, unforgiving.
"Renata, wait!" She looked back, apparently surprised that I had braved the water. Almost as a courtesy, she seemed to slow down a bit, allowing me to catch up with her before she started off again. I was already winded from exertion. She seemed tired, too, and maybe that's why she consented to the rest. For a moment we bobbed together, water lifting us up and down like some kind of bizarre attraction at an amusement park.
I went under, coming up again face first, washing the hair back out of my eyes. I wiped my nose and mouth, tasting brine. Pickled by death, I'd become a human olive. "What happened to the money?"
I could see her arms move in the water, the motion keeping her near the surface of the water. "I didn't know about the money. That's why I laughed so hard when you told me."
"It's gone now. Somebody took it."
"Oh, who cares about that, Kinsey? Wendell taught me a lot. I hate to sound trite about it at a time like this, but money really can't buy happiness."
"Yeah, but at least you can afford to rent a little bit." She didn't even bother to laugh politely. I could tell her energy was flagging, but not nearly to the extent mine was.
"What happens when you can't go on swimming?" I asked.
"Actually, I've done some research. Drowning isn't such a bad way to go. There's bound to be a moment of panic, but after that, it's euphoric. You simply slide into the ether. Like going to sleep, except you have nice sensations. It's the oxygen deprivation. Suffocation, in effect."
"I don't trust the reports. Gotta be from people who didn't really die, and what do they know? Besides, I'm not ready. Too many sins on my conscience," I said.
"You better save your strength then. I'm going on," she said, and moved off through the water. Was the woman a fish? I could barely move. The water did seem warmer, but that was worrisome. Maybe this was stage one, the preliminary illusion just before the final full-blown hallucination. We swam. She was stronger than I was. I went through all the strokes I knew, trying to keep up with her. For a while, I counted. One, two. Breathe. One, two. Breathe. "Oh, Jesus, Renata. Let's rest." I stopped, winded, and turned over on my back, looking up at the sky. The clouds actually seemed lighter than the night around us. Almost as a form of indulgence, she slowed again, treading water. Out there in the darkness, the waves were pitiless, inviting. The cold was numbing.
"Please come back to shore with me," I said. My chest was burning. I was panting in the water, but I couldn't get enough air. "I don't want to do this, Renata."
"I never asked you to."
She started swimming again.
I experienced a failure of will. My arms felt like lead. For a moment I thought about trying to keep up, but I was close to collapse. I was cold and tired. My arms were getting heavier, burning down the length of them from total muscle fatigue. I could barely breathe. I'd begun to miscalculate, gulping down saltwater every time I tried for air. I might have been crying, too. Hard to tell out there. I trod water for a bit. I felt like I'd been swimming forever, but when I turned and looked at the shore lights, it was clear we'd gone only half a mile, if that. I couldn't imagine what it'd be like swimming to exhaustion – in the dark, in black water, until fatigue overtook us. I couldn't save her. There was no way I was going to match her, swimming stroke for stroke. And what would I do if I caught up with her, wrestle her into submission? Not likely. I hadn't practiced any lifesaving skills since I was certified back in high school. She was on her way out. It wasn't going to make a bit of difference to her if she took me out with her. Once people get into killing mode, they don't always know how to stop. At least I understood now what had happened to Wendell and what would happen to her. I had to stop. I trod water, conserving energy. I simply couldn't go on. I couldn't even think of anything pithy or profound to say to her. Not that she was paying attention. She had her own destination, just as I had mine. I heard her briefly, but it didn't take long before the splashing sounds were swallowed up by the night. I rested for a while and then turned and started back to shore.
Epilogue
* * *
Wendell Jaffe's body emerged from the Pacific nine days later, washing up on Perdido Beach, trailing kelp like a net. Some peculiar combination of tides and storm surf had freed him from the ocean bottom and brought him ashore. Of the family survivors, I think Michael took it hardest. Brian had issues of his own to deal with, but he could at least take comfort in the fact that his father hadn't willfully abandoned him. Dana's financial problems were resolved by the hard proof of Wendell's death. It was Michael who was left with all the unfinished business.
As for me, having cost California Fidelity half a million dollars, I thought it was safe to assume I wouldn't be doing business with them anytime soon. That should have been the end of it, but a few facts began to filter in as the months went by. Renata's body never surfaced. I heard, inadvertently, that when her estate was probated, both her house and her boat were mortgaged to the hilt and all her bank accounts had been stripped.
That bothered me. I found myself picking at the past, like a little knot in a piece of thread. Here's what I think about when I wake in the dead of night. I'm not sure anybody really knows what happened to Dean DeWitt Huff. She claims he died of a heart attack in Spain, but did anyone ever check it out?
And the husband before that? Whatever happened to him? I'd been viewing this as Wendell Jaffe's story, but suppose it was hers? The missing millions never showed. Suppose she knew about the money and persuaded him to come back? Suppose she had a boat anchored out there somewhere in the dark? She could have dived off her own dock if she wanted to drown. You really want to kill yourself, why drive thirty miles to do it? Unless you need a reliable witness – like me. Once I made my report to the police, the case was considered closed. But is it?
I've never believed the perfect crime was possible. Now I'm not so sure. She told me Wendell taught her a lot, but she never really said what it was. Please under- stand: I don't have the answers. I'm simply posing the questions. God knows I have questions about my own life to answer yet.
Respectfully submitted,
Kinsey Millhone