Freeze Frame (14 page)

We stood quietly for a while, looking out
over the water. Hart Lake was small and round, no more than a half
mile across. Only two boarded-up cottages, one white the other
blue, broke up the array of green, orange, red and yellow foliage.
The bright sun, coming from almost directly overhead, made the blue
water sparkle with silver.

I caught Sean’s profile in the corner of my
eye, and inhaled a hint of his cologne. I was beginning to
experience a closeness to this man I hadn’t felt since my early
days with Garry. I fought an urge to lean against him; afraid he'd
move away.

Then I felt him brush against my arm. On
purpose?

We stood like that awhile, enjoying the
beauty of the vista and the feeling of being close. A breeze wafted
by, carrying the pleasant aroma of dry autumn leaves. We were in
the eye of a hurricane: calm here, but violent winds were swirling
somewhere out there; winds neither of us could control.

It seemed too soon that Sean spoke. "Ready to
go back?"

"Sure."

The spell broken, we headed back along the
trail.

It was a beginning.

53

8:36 p.m.

I got through to Carter later that evening,
sitting on the living room couch, portable phone to my ear. As we
talked I gazed out the front window, squinting into the darkness at
a growing ball of light on the beach where Higgins nursed a
bonfire.

"What the hell's going on, Darcy? Cops are
all over the place looking for you and Higgins."

"It was an accident, believe me." I gave
Carter a quick synopsis of the events.

"I knew it, Darcy. Higgins may be a jerk, but
he’d never kill anyone. Not that policeman, not Darren Cato. Cops
are calling Cato’s death murder, but I’m sure it wasn’t
Higgins."

"Glad you feel that way, Matt. We need your
help, desperately."

"What can I do?"

I ran through my theory and Carter agreed to
visit Channel Four the next day. He had spent a summer there as a
college student several years ago, and still knew many staff
members.

"Can you be there first thing in the
morning?"

"I've got to spend time on the Ampere
commercial with Klein. Cunningham’s called for a progress report by
three. Promising the Ampere spot on air next Monday might have
gotten the account, but it's put a hell of a burden on us."

My pause telegraphed the disappointment I
felt. Carter picked it up.

"Darcy, I’ll have the Avion commercial on the
monitor at Channel Four as soon as I can after that. I’ll call you
by four o’clock."

54

I picked my way through the darkness,
following light from Sean's fire, now a roaring blaze on the
beach.

Standing by the fire, I related my
conversation with Carter: his reaction to my explanation of the
shooting and the plan to visit Channel Four tomorrow. The news
called for a toast and Higgins ran up to the cottage for two
glasses of wine.

Sitting on a log close to the flames, I heard
waves lapping at the shore behind me. I welcomed the warmth.
Despite the unseasonably mild temperatures of the day, the October
night was downright cold. The crackling fire shot sparks upwards,
into a sky so peppered with stars they seemed to meld together in
spots, forming glowing white masses. The screen door slammed, and I
saw Higgins’ silhouette against the cottage lights, making his way
with two glasses of wine.

We clinked glasses, and I felt the pleasant
warmth of the wine blend with the heat of the fire. Why couldn't we
be two people on vacation, enjoying the moment? I wished our
problems would disappear.

"I hate this waiting," I said. "Sitting up
here seems like we're in limbo."

"What would you suggest? Riding back to
Detroit on a white horse and putting the bad guys in the
hoosecow?"

"Not hoosecow...gow. Hoosegow. If you’d
watched old cowboy movies on TV with your dad like I did, you'd
know all about hoosegows."

"I never knew my father that well. He never
seemed to have time for me. At least until I was all-state in
football.

"It was my mom who insisted I go to Catholic
school. She would give my butt a good whipping when I complained a
nun had paddled me for screwing up."

"What was it like? I mean, being a football
star."

"Okay, I guess. Football saved my parents a
lot of money...got me through college on a full ride."

"That was it? Saving your parents money?"

Higgins looked at his glass. "You know the
most important thing I ever got from football?"

"Tell me."

"My father's attention." He spoke slowly, on
a journey into unfamiliar territory. "It’s the old story: the
father who's married to his job; too busy for his wife and kid.
Other dads came to Little League games. Mine was at the office.
Uncle Frank was more of a father. I couldn't wait for summers, when
I'd come up here."

I’d never seen this side of Higgins. He
exhibited a tenderness, a vulnerability, miles from the
hard-driving advertising agency vice president I thought I
knew.

"Football changed that?"

"It did when I made all-state. My father
suddenly realized he had a son. But it was almost too late."

"Too late?"

"He died the summer between my freshman and
sophomore years at Michigan."

"I'm sorry."

I waited for Higgins to speak, but when he
sat looking into the fire, I changed the subject. "Tell me
something: what was it like running out of that tunnel in front of
a hundred thousand screaming idiots in Michigan Stadium?"

It did the trick. Higgins turned back to me,
a grin sliding across his face. "Trying to get a rise from me,
calling U of M fans 'idiots,' huh? I'll tell you one thing: it was
a hell of a thrill. You can't believe how juiced you’d get."

"Must have been a kick being Big Man on
Campus?"

"Sure. Everybody wanted to be your best
friend. But it’s a two-edged sword."

"How do you mean?"

Higgins fell silent again. For a moment I
thought he hadn't heard my question.

“When I was a kid,” he said finally, “we used
to play a game. I'm going to tell you a secret I've never told
anyone."

"I'm listening." Did it concern Darren
Cato?

"But in return, you have to tell me something
you've never told anyone."

"How will you know I'm not making it up?"

"I'll believe you."

"Okay. You first."

"When I was at U of M, my girl friend...the
one I dated in high school, went to Michigan State. I loved her,
and thought she loved me too."

"She didn’t?"

"I found out she dated a guy who played
halfback for State. We broke up between our sophomore and junior
years.

“That fall we played State at home. I was a
linebacker then...before they switched me to fullback."

“We were up by four with ten seconds to go.
This guy, her boyfriend, had been trash-talking me all afternoon,
and it was my last chance to give him a shot. They were on our
fourteen, and their quarterback dropped back to pass. Our defensive
coordinator had called a blitz, and I got by the first blocker. All
I could think about was that SOB... how he probably slept with my
girl...the girl I loved.

"Anyway he was blocking for the quarterback,
who had dropped back farther than he should. I had a clear shot,
but I only saw that damn halfback. I hit him with everything I
had...drove his butt into the ground."

"Must have been satisfying.”

"Yeah. But it would have been a hell of a lot
more satisfying if the quarterback hadn't lobbed a pass into the
end zone for six."

"The coaches were mad?"

"Mad? The coaches were always mad when we
lost. But on the game films it looked like I made an error in
judgment. Not one person, no one...until you...has ever known we
lost the game because I went after the wrong guy on purpose."

"What about the girl? Did you see her
again?"

"I wasn't exactly best man at their wedding,"
Higgins shook his head and smiled. "Now it's your turn."

I thought for a moment. "I know some women do
it sooner, but I was about eighteen."

"Yeah?"

"Well, some friends of my parents, the
Moores, were in Europe on a business trip. Their son Mark stayed
with us. One night, when my parents were out at a party..."

"Yeah?"

"Mark came up to my room."

"Yeah? Yeah?”

"He had some pot...some marijuana."

"Uh-huh. Go on.”

"We smoked it."

"And then..."

"That was it. We smoked pot."

"That's it? That's all?"

"Well, we opened the windows, of course. The
place absolutely reeked from the smoke."

"Your deep, dark secret is that you smoked
pot when you were eighteen?"

"That's right."

"I tell you about blowing a football game
that cost us a trip to the Rose Bowl...and you tell me you smoked
pot?"

"Hey, I was weak," I said, trying not to
laugh out loud. "What can I tell you?" Just when I thought Higgins
would explode, he started to chuckle. It turned into a funny,
high-pitched sound that seemed entirely out of character for a man
his size. Hearing him, I broke out too.

My hysterics got Higgins laughing harder.
With tears rolling down his cheeks, holding his sides, he fell
backwards off the log he had been sitting on. I tried to stop his
fall, and rolled with him.

We stopped laughing, and for a moment we laid
looking at each other, our faces glowing in the firelight. Then
Higgins leaned closer, and I closed my eyes.

We kissed. It was tentative at first, but
developed into a warm, lingering embrace that neither of us wanted
to end. Our tongues met, and I felt a dizziness that had nothing to
do with the wine.

"I'm sorry," Higgins said. "I've wanted to do
that for a long time."

"I didn't exactly fight you off."

"If we ever get out of this mess, I hope we
can spend some time together. Go to dinner, a football game...”

"We're going to have a lot of time the next
few days. And funny as it sounds, Sean...if I had to be in this
disaster with anyone, I'm glad it's you."

Our lips met again. The kiss was longer this
time, the warmth of it making me forget the coolness of the
air.

"I...I think we'd better get to bed. I...I
mean to sleep," Sean stammered as we parted. I could almost see him
blushing in the darkness.

Sean found the small shovel he had used to
dig the fire pit, and threw sand on the coals. I picked up the two
empty glasses and headed for the cottage.

Tomorrow was another day.

55

6:26 p.m.

Carter had promised to call by four with his
findings at the television station, but the hour came and went. It
was well past six when the phone finally rang.

"Darcy, Matt."

"Yes, Matt; what did you find on the
DVD?"

"There is no DVD. Channel Four doesn't have
'Avion on the Beach.'"

"What?"

"I checked Channel Seven, too. Same
story."

"What about the other stations?"

"The people who work in their video libraries
have all gone home by now. I'll call tomorrow. But I've got a
feeling I'll hear the same answer."

"What happened? Where are the DVDs,
Matt?"

"They were recalled. By the agency."

"Recalled? DVDs don't get recalled. Stations
are forever bitching because they have to store them."

"Yeah, well these DVDs were. And get this:
who do you think recalled them?"

"Curt Neumann," I said. "He's media for AVC,
isn't he?"

"That would have been my guess. But it
wasn't. It was Andi Hall."

"Andi Hall? Who the hell is Andi Hall?"

"She's new. She's the media buyer for the
VanBuhler team."

I broke the news to Higgins. Standing beside
the kitchen table, he ticked off his assessment of our
situation.

"No DVDs at the stations. No way to find out
what's on the DVD we have. And the cops wanting to arrest me for
murder. Can it get worse?"

I shrugged my shoulders. It couldn't, I
hoped.

But the next morning I’d learn how wrong I
was.

56

Thursday, Oct. 21 -- 9:01 a.m.

"You're front page news again," Matt Carter
announced. “Not only is Higgins a suspect in Cato’s murder, now
they’re saying he shot Vince Caponi."

“What?” I nearly dropped the telephone.

"Police ballistics say the gun Higgins
dropped after the cop was shot is the same one that killed Vince
Caponi.”

"Sean didn't kill Cato. I’m sure of it. And
he didn’t drop that gun. Roland did."

"Unfortunately the cops think otherwise."

“What about fingerprints?”

“The only prints on the gun are Higgins’.
Roland wore gloves.”

"Higgins grabbed the gun during the
struggle."

"You don’t have to convince me. It shows
you've been right all along. Roland shot Caponi and I’m sure he
killed Cato, too. Those guys play for keeps."

"Are the police still hanging around?"

"Kaminski practically lives here. Between the
cops and all the talk about Monday night's party, it's damn hard
getting any work done.”

"What’s that about Monday night?"

"The agency's throwing a party for the
Jets-Forty Niners football game. Sort of a thank you to us grunts
for our part in winning the AVC business. The game will be on two
giant TV screens in the lobby. They're setting up bleachers, hot
dog stands, the works. And of course, the Ampere commercial debuts
at half time."

"Is it ready?"

"Jimmy Klein says it will be. Oh, and I
almost forgot: more good news."

"Lay it on me. Good news I can use."

"It seems Channel Two still has a copy of
'Avion on the Beach.' They neglected to send it back to the
agency."

"Can you get it?"

"The station manager, Ed Blake, is taking it
home after work. He lives about a mile from my apartment."