Angry Buddhist (9781609458867) (24 page)

All of this is racing though his mind as he pulls up to the guardhouse at the gates of Casa Sereno. Hard recognizes the uniformed man at the gate. Rolls down the window of his truck and identifies himself the way a celebrity would introduce himself to a fan, we both know you know who I am but I'm doing this to be polite. The man greets Hard and then looks over his head, like he doesn't want to make eye contact.

“Ms. Swain's not there, Chief.”

“Her campaign schedule says she's home with the kids today.” The man nods his head. Laconic. He'll wait. “You see her leave?”

“Don't know where she is.”

“Maybe you want to call the house and check?” Hard grips the steering wheel a little tighter. In the rearview mirror he sees a BMW 750i pull up behind him. The driver is a woman who appears to be in her sixties. Her lacquered hair rises in a pompadour several inches above her head.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No I don't have an appointment.” The security guard holds up his index finger to the driver of the BMW, indicating that she should be patient. Hard fixes his stare on the security guard. “Pick up the phone and call her.” The man hesitates, then dials. Tells whoever it is on the other end that he has Chief Marvin here and he would like to stop by. After a pause, he hangs up and tells Hard that Mary Swain can't see him right now.

“Did you talk to her?”

Now the security guard looks Hard directly in the eye and says, “I talked to
Mr
. Swain,” invoking the male territorial prerogative for which he is the proxy and suggesting by his tone that Hard should have the good sense to infer their conversation is now officially over. But Hard did not get to be a leader of men by hanging back, and he is not going to let this wage slave who couldn't get hired as a real cop determine how this scrape in which Hard finds himself will play out. So he steps on the gas and rolls past the gate and into Casa Sereno.

The guard must have called reinforcements immediately because in less than thirty seconds Hard notices a security vehicle in his rearview mirror. Exhausted from lack of sleep and psychologically disoriented from finding himself in the unfamiliar role of suspect, Hard desperately tries to remember the way to Mary Swain's home but the palm lined streets all look alike and he realizes he has no idea where he's going. When the distorted and magnified voice blares, “You in the truck, pull over!” there is a brief internal debate during which he weighs the pros and cons of having a roadside conversation with the rent-a-cop on his tail, or just turning around and trying to get out of there with a scrap of dignity. In no mood to talk, he executes a three-point turn and heads in the direction he thinks will lead him out of Casa Sereno. The guard in the patrol car sticks to him and in the rearview Hard can see the man talking into the dashboard-mounted microphone, probably relaying Hard's whereabouts to the guard at the gate who is going to be calling the Palm Springs Police Department if he hasn't already. If only he could take back this entire day, Hard thinks, no, the week, the month, the year, if only he could go back to the night he met Nadine and walk right past her. Then he would not be desperately searching for a way out of this gated community, stage set for his mad dash to the girl of his heart, the perfect woman and now he aches at the situation in which he finds himself, his political future in jeopardy—his political future? His life!—the private patrol car right behind him now “Pull over,” but Hard knows if he does the police will arrive in moments so when he rounds a corner and sees he's headed back to the gate, he guns the truck and hopes the security guard on his tail won't follow him on to public property.

 

When Kendra returns from church, she changes out of her dress and into a cotton nightgown. Then she pulls the shades in the bedroom shutting out the relentless desert light and crawls back into bed. The morning has been an ordeal. To have to sit in church between Randall and Brittany and act as if nothing was wrong had seriously taxed her capacity to cope. For an hour, she had stared at the cross that was mounted on the wall behind the pulpit so she wouldn't have to look at another human being. It struck her as a miracle on the order of the loaves and fishes that she was able to maintain her composure.

Her daughter is at a friend's house and Randall is campaigning. She did not even bother to ask where he would be. Kendra has taken a sedative and is hoping this will allow her to drift off to sleep. She is alone in the house. Which is why she is surprised to hear footsteps outside her bedroom. And then someone's voice calling her name. Kendra climbs out of bed and throws the door open.

“I didn't want to walk into the bedroom,” Jimmy says. He's standing in the hall, ten feet from the bedroom door.

“Who let you in, Jimmy Ray?” Kendra says. Despite the sedative, she notices one of her legs is shaking.

“I rang the bell but no one answered, so I went around back. You should lock your doors before you lie down.”

Kendra leans against the doorjamb, head tilted back. Tries to steady her leg. The door to the bedroom remains open and she becomes conscious of the unmade bed and the intimacy of the nightgown, the top two buttons of which are undone. She's not wearing panties or a bra. Whether because of her nervousness or the air conditioning the outlines of her nipples are visible against the flimsy cotton. Kendra briefly recalls flying home a day early from a weekend holiday after catching her husband with a chambermaid. The drive to Jimmy's condo, the bottle of vodka. Was that the last time she had been alone with her brother-in-law?

“Randall's not here. I'll tell him you stopped by.” Her voice is granite.

“I don't want to talk to Randall.”

“I don't feel well. I was trying to take a nap.”

“Take it later. I want to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“All right if we sit in the living room?”

“I said I wasn't feeling well.”

“This won't take long.” His tone says it's all business, that he doesn't want to trade in forgotten intimacies.

In the living room Kendra and Jimmy sit in adjoining chairs overlooking the backyard and the mountains. She has put a bathrobe on. Kendra is glad she took the tranquilizer before Jimmy arrived. She feigned surprise when he brings up the subject of the murders at the Super #1 Convenience Store. What could this possibly have to do with her, she asks. Then he describes the evidence found in Nadine Never's computer, the matching tattoos, the women kissing. Despite the tranquilizer, Kendra's mind is a Catherine wheel. Exactly how much does Jimmy know? Has he somehow already figured out what happened? Is he here to toy with her? Does he have some kind of plan to make her expose her complicity in this distasteful mess?

“The police will want to talk to you.”

“I knew her and she was killed. What else is there to talk about?”

“Probably not much.” He leans back in his chair. His body language is relaxed.

If he knew anything, wouldn't he be bearing down on her? Or is he feinting, waiting for her to stumble? “Were you still friends?”

“Sure.”

“Doesn't sound like you're convinced.”

“We didn't see much of each other.”

“But you went on a vacation together?”

“Jimmy Ray, in what capacity are you here?”

“As your brother-in-law,” he says, momentarily dropping the all-business affect. “This kind of thing gets out, people could misinterpret it. Believe me, I'm doing you a favor.”

“Do the police know we're talking?”

“They wouldn't like it if they knew so you probably shouldn't mention it. I want you to be ready if they start leaning on you.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“They already have someone they think did it. But they have to cover all their bases. Don't want you to get caught by surprise is all.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah, that's it.”

But that isn't it. Since they were kids, Jimmy has always known Randall to have his eye on the main chance, to be a man who would not let small things like other people get in the way of his grab for whatever glittering prize he had his eye on. The way Randall served Dale into the meat grinder back in law school, the way he rationalized it by saying Dale was a juvenile and
I have a lot more to lose.
He has seen Randall run his first campaign for the House of Representatives, the way in which his organization shamelessly slimed the opposition candidate. When Randall was through with the woman you would have thought she was a personal friend of Osama bin Laden's. Jimmy couldn't claim with certainty that Randall knew anything about the murders, but one of the victims was a potential threat to his political career and this is a coincidence that, given what Jimmy knows about his brother, must be explored. Never mind that Jimmy has been instructed to stay away from this case because of the history with Hard. He needs to know for his own peace of mind. Maybe he'd like it if Hard were guilty. It would make things easier on him. But he sees the outline of Randall's hand. And he doesn't like being lied to.

The tension in the back of Kendra's neck has hardened into a peach pit. Reaching behind her head, she kneads the muscle with the fingers of her right hand. She sees Jimmy looking at her, waiting. She knows a good interviewer will just listen and bet the person from whom he is trying to elicit information will find the quiet so intolerable they will be impelled to fill it with words. Jimmy continues to wait. Is he an ally to be trusted or an enemy whom she must evade? The toast Jimmy gave at her wedding is a resonant memory, his sincerity that long ago afternoon never in doubt. And she believes their connection remained when she visited his condo the night she first thought about leaving Randall. She suspects he would have taken her to bed if he had liked her less.

“I'd offer you a drink or something, but as I said, I'm kind of under the weather. I'll tell Randall we spoke. He'll appreciate it.”

“Who killed those people at the convenience store?” The turn in Jimmy's manner is so abrupt that it penetrates the fog in her frontal cortex. He's leaning forward now, staring into her eyes. “Do you know?”

This is the moment Kendra hikes her nightgown over her knees, places her head between her legs and vomits on the floor. It is an involuntary action that could not have been better timed. She moans as a rope of saliva descends from her mouth. Jimmy goes into the kitchen and returns with two dishtowels that he uses to clean up the mess. Kendra is reclining in the chair, her head thrown back when he returns from the laundry room where he has deposited the soiled towels.

“Do you know anyone who had a grudge against Nadine?”

“Aren't we done?”

“Almost.”

“No, I don't.”

She looks right at him. The eruption from her stomach had a relaxing effect and the stress is gone from her body. It enables her to convey a sense of fatigue and shocked innocence. Still, she is not certain that Jimmy does not know everything already. When the silence lasts for a minute she asks him if he would mind if she didn't see him to the door.

After he departs she returns to bed and calls Randall. She leaves a message telling him that Jimmy just broke into their house and did an unofficial police interview with her. Then she falls into a thick sleep.

 

 

H
ard hits the Twentynine Palms Highway and the tension drains away. He castigates himself for acting so impulsively. The Sunday traffic is light as he drives home. Thinks about stopping to pick up a sandwich but doesn't want to chance running into anyone he might know. Vonda Jean is at the dojo, so when he gets home he makes himself a ham sandwich and falls into an uneasy nap. The two hours of sleep he gets barely rejuvenates him and the shower he takes when he wakes up doesn't do much good either. Toweling off, he goes to check his email then remembers the Desert Hot Springs Police Department has seized his computer.

Hard hasn't barbecued since the heat arrived back in May but he wants to buy a little good will with Vonda Jean—the woman of his dreams having let him know he is not welcome in her world—so he goes to the garage and takes two thick venison steaks out of the freezer. Then he gets in his truck and heads for the supermarket where he buys a couple of baking potatoes, some greens with which to make a salad and a six pack of beer. Standing at the grill he seasons the venison with salt and pepper and contemplates his day, the face off with Cali Pasco, the run to Mary Swain. What had made him drive to her home other than an unacknowledged weakness he had better take some time to examine? Why did he think Mary Swain, a woman with whom he is barely acquainted, an aspiring politician who, for all he knew, would say absolutely anything to get elected, could be depended upon to speak on his behalf? At least the rent-a-cops had not pursued him out of the gated community and on to the public roads. He should be thankful for professional courtesy. The way things were going he might find himself asking them for a job.

The woman with whom he had shared his life for over twenty years was a much better bet than Mary Swain and it was to Vonda Jean that Hard realizes he should have gone for succor today. They may have had their ups and downs but she is the mother of his sons and has been a rock for nearly half his life. He puts Mary Swain squarely in the past and thinks about his wife, their future together. He congratulates himself for defrosting the venison steaks and preparing this meal for her tonight. A husband should periodically show his appreciation for his wife and Hard vows to do this on a more regular basis. He nervously glances at the clock, as if he's waiting for a date to arrive. Has the brief thought that he should have called Vonda Jean but reassures himself she will appreciate the surprise, Hard not one for romantic gestures the last few years and he thinks this will buy him some much-needed good will.

He places the grilled steaks on a plate beneath an upside down metal bowl so they'll retain their heat then parks himself in the recliner where he waits for his wife to return home, which she does around six thirty. When Vonda Jean walks in Hard says he wants to do something special tonight as thanks for her being understanding of the difficult circumstances in which he finds himself. She's wearing a turquoise tracksuit with dark red piping and her hair is tied back with a rubber band. The ease with which she carries her body looks particularly good to Hard right now, her athlete's gait a familiar comfort to him. He considers kissing her hello but given the thorny nature of their recent relations decides not to try his luck, doesn't want to go for lips and find himself being offered cheek. Vonda Jean is teaching a night class in an hour and had just planned on resting until she had to go back to the dojo so she seems happy when Hard informs her he's made dinner.

Seated at the table in the kitchen, Hard tells her about Mary Swain, how he tried to get a little face time today, how she let him down. Vonda Jean listens sympathetically, says she never particularly liked that woman and is not surprised at her behavior. She asks him how the interrogation went and he tells her not to worry, it's all under control. Hard is famished and devours his steak, washing it down with a couple of beers. He looks up at Vonda Jean who is picking desultorily at her plate. When he asks her how she likes the food she tells him it's good and thanks him for cooking it but something in her voice makes Hard think all is not well. Tonight he doesn't want to push it, just wants to have dinner with his wife and maybe watch a little television together before she goes back to the dojo. He won't even argue if she chooses a program he doesn't like. He's bought ice cream and chocolate sauce and Hard makes her a sundae that she seems to enjoy although the conversation, which tapered off during dinner, does not improve with dessert. Hard clears the dishes and when he asks Vonda Jean if she'd like coffee, she tells him she intends to move out.

“You were with that girl who showed up at our house, weren't you?” Vonda Jean is still seated at the table. Hard has done the dishes and wiped the counters. Now he leans against the sink. “And if you deny it and I find out it's true . . . ”

Hard has thought about this, weighed the pros and cons of further lying and decided if he expects Vonda Jean to stand by her man, her man better come clean.

“I made a mistake.”

“I'd say you did, yeah.”

“You know I didn't kill her right? Didn't have anything to do with it.”

“I want to believe that.”

“I want you to stay.”

“I need to think about the rest of my life, Harding. And I don't want you around when I'm thinking about it.”

The ray of hope she presents, the suggestion that he might be given a second chance, makes him generously offer to be the one to move out, but Vonda Jean tells him she's going to be the one to leave. As she packs, he sits in the living room pretending to read a hunting magazine. Until now, it has not occurred to Hard that what he feels for his wife, despite the way the years have worn the two of them down, made them less tolerant of one another's foibles, less patient and understanding of the strain the burdens of simple existence cause in the other, is something like love. After what seems like a short time, he looks up to see her holding a suitcase.

“I'll be at the Best Western,” she says. “You can call me if there's an emergency.”

“If there's an emergency?” Trying to keep his panic at bay. “Like if things get worse?”

Hard gets out of his chair and walks toward her. She looks down as if examining something on the rug and when he goes to kiss her she offers him her cheek. There is the hint of a smile, one that feels wrung out of her, and then she is gone, the only evidence of her presence a hint of perfume in the air. Had she been wearing that when she came in? Or had she put it on to go teach the evening karate class? He tries to remember if she has worn perfume to class before but quickly realizes that is not a productive line of thought.

Hard collapses into his recliner and stares straight ahead. Vonda Jean leaving is not something he had anticipated and he silently berates himself for not seeing it coming. He takes comfort in the notion that she has left the door open, however slightly, to a reconciliation. Settling back into his chair, he reaches for the remote control and clicks on the local news. The first story is about a group of Marines from the Twentynine Palms base who are preparing to deploy. It is not without a certain degree of envy that Hard watches the young warriors, torqued and ready to rock. Sips his beer, wishes he were accompanying them. Enough of this pansy civilian bullshit. The second story is about the upcoming Congressional election. Randall Duke and Mary Swain are all smiles and great hair as they assess their chances the next day.

The face of Lacey Pall, a young correspondent Hard likes appears on screen. “There's been a new development in the Convenience Store Murders in Desert Hot Springs,” Lacey intones. Hard leans forward in the chair, grips the beer can tighter. “Sources in the Desert Hot Springs Police Department have informed me that suspended Police Chief Harding Marvin is now a person of interest in the case.” The dissemination of his personal situation was not something Hard thought he would be dealing with quite this quickly. He has assumed the investigation would take several more days before anything definitive occurred, at least that is what Jolene Ryder has assured him. But this development seizes him by the throat and yanks him directly toward where he had hoped he would not go. A
person of interest
is not something anyone ever wants to be
.
Hard does not hear the rest of Lacey Pall's report. The program has moved on to a story about a local artists' collective that has painted a mural of George H.W. Bush's life when the telephone rings the first time. Before three minutes go by, there have been five more callers. Hard does not check caller ID. After the fifth caller, he turns off the ringer.

Hard gets another beer and drains it standing at the refrigerator. He belches loudly then notices a piece of stray dog kibble on the floor. Silently berates Vonda Jean for not keeping a cleaner home then remembers Bane is dead and that a few minutes earlier he had been desperately wishing his wife were here. A wave of impotent sadness washes over him and he vows that he will treat Vonda Jean more kindly should she decide to forgive him and return. This thought is interrupted by the doorbell.

A bulky white guy in a uniform is standing there: Don Crenshaw, someone Hard knows from the Highway Patrol. Out of respect, he's got his hat under his arm. Ordinarily, Hard is happy to see a uniform, but he knows
ordinarily
is over. His first thought is that something has happened to Vonda Jean and he feels a quick tightening in his chest. When he sees Crenshaw is holding a piece of paper, he adjusts his thinking.

“You're not here to search the house, are you?”

“It's a restraining order, Chief. From Mary Swain.”

Hard grabs the paper out of Crenshaw's hand and quickly scans it.

The Honorable Judge Alma Meserve has signed the order.

If someone had asked Don Crenshaw whether Hard seemed bothered to be on the receiving end of a restraining order, the patrolman would have said that the man took it entirely in stride, thanked him and said goodnight. This is because Hard was able to hide the hot shame that ran riot through his body, burning his tendons, his blood and his bones.

http://WWW.DESERT-MACHIAVELLI.COM

11.4 – 6:12
P.M.

I was looking at some poll numbers and it seemed to the Machiavelli that the Stewardess was coming on strong. I had her picked to win, but right now they're saying it's still too close to call. Late this afternoon she spoke to news crews and attacked the elites, the media, and those who want to make America weak. If she loses, the Machiavelli senses she's going to cultivate her sense of grievance and resentment, then take another crack at getting Randall's seat. Actually, it may not be his seat at that point. I'm hearing rumors that he's going to make a run for the United States Senate. That election's in two years and he would have to declare relatively soon so he could start shaking cash from the trees. But that's not even the biggest piece of local news today, readers. What's the over/under on Hard Marvin being arrested? When you're pulling the lever, you Blogheads should remember that he was campaigning with the Stewardess only a few days ago and now he's suspected of a double murder. The Machiavelli isn't saying she has bad judgment. But if this is the kind of person she associates with while she's campaigning, try to imagine the kind of person she'll associate with in Washington. Can Randall Duke, the former Army bomb technician, defuse the ordnance that is Mary Swain?