Golden Orange (42 page)

“Don't ya see? I thought it'd be easier for you if you thought the guy that got drowned was a murderer. A guy who maybe killed Conrad Binder and
wanted
to kill your lady love. I figured then you'd say he got what he deserved. God settled your problem with a nice clean boating accident. That's what I
thought
you'd say. But no, you gotta put on a hair shirt and beat yourself to death with chains like some fuckin nut case in Tehran! You gotta
demand
to go to jail! Nobody wanted you to get hurt, Win! I didn't want you to get …”

Suddenly Winnie cranked off two more rounds past Buster's left ear. The only creature to see the fireballs was a terrified pelican that shrieked and wheeled.

“Goddamn you!” The words got swallowed in a sob. Cowering down on the rock: “Goddamn you, you bastard!”

“You went to all that trouble to keep
me
from getting hurt? You and your murderous little bitch of a girlfriend?”

Buster looked like he might weep. He said, “She
wasn't
my girlfriend. She's
nobody's
girlfriend.”

“You were worried about me? You. A guy that murders a man without a twinge of conscience. What happened out there in Isthmus Cove? Did he fight for his life a lot harder than you planned? Were you forced to cut his throat and swim his body to your boat and weigh him down and drop him in the middle of Catalina Channel on your way home?”

Buster looked at Winnie in astonishment. He said, “You dumb bastard!”

“How'd you get out to La Quinta so fast to fire those shots at us? You were working with Hadley on the beach patrol that day when Tess and me went to La Quinta.”

A long moment. Then Buster said, “That was so stupid I still can't believe it happened, those shots.
Her
idea, of course. But then, she's basically a stupid bitch. Cunning but stupid. Wanna know somethin, pardner? I fed her most of her lines. I told her all about you. A soft guy that everybody likes: old Winnie. Watches all those teabag shows on public television. Don't you,
old son
? Likes cool jazz. Even likes to drink at the American Legion, for chrissake. I put it all in her empty head. That bitch thinks of nothin, nothin at all, unless she can live in it, ride in it, wear it or fuck it. I been sittin here believin you had it all worked out. But I shoulda known better. Winnie Farlowe,
ace
detective! You were
never
more than a mediocre cop! Know why? Because you
trust
people!”

Winnie extended his gun hand and said, “You haven't answered me. How did you get out to La Quinta that evening to fire those shots? Did you leave work early? Did you hire a pilot and a private plane?” He aimed at Buster's left eye.

Buster was livid. He was trembling from the cold, from terror, from rage. He covered his head as though his hands could stop the bullet, but the fury took over. He looked up at Winnie and screamed: “YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH! I DIDN'T FIRE THOSE SHOTS! WARNER STILLWELL DID!”

23

The Cub

W
innie backed up until he was sitting on top of the jetty, then told Buster he could climb up to a drier rock. He kept his gun aimed while Buster dragged himself up higher, until he sat shivering and wet, his arms wrapped around his knees.

Buster said, “You
don't
have it figured out! It ain't about murder, Win! We didn't want to hurt nobody! You understand about the trust, don't you? It couldn't be broken. That property couldn't be sold till Stillwell died, and he's a very healthy guy with a long life ahead of him. This ain't about murder! It ain't even about theft! It's about fixin a legal technicality!”

“But his life on the ranch was …”

“Bullshit! That was bullshit! Get real, Win! Warner Stillwell
hated
the fuckin ranch! Tess's old man was the one who wanted to live on the ranch. Stillwell never had a dime of his own 'cept what Conrad Binder gave him when he was alive, and what was provided for in his trust. Warner Stillwell loves the Riviera, he says. Him and Tess worked out the plan. They needed a guy like me and a guy like you.”

“You're trying to make me believe Warner Stillwell's alive?”

“As you are.”

“Where?”

“Search me,” Buster said. “He thinks Portofino's gettin too expensive, but he's not too far from there, I imagine. I'd give you the name he used for the passport but I don't know it. Tess does. She'll be sendin serious money soon as she closes escrow on the ranch.”

“You always could think and talk fast,” Winnie said. “But even for you this is
good.
”

“Jesus Christ, I'm tellin you the truth! Why should I lie?”

“Because
you
murdered Warner Stillwell and let me think I was responsible for his death. And you're trying to save your ass. You still carry your dive knife when you go down?”

“Yeah, I still carry my knife,” Buster said.

“You stuck him because he wouldn't drown peacefully. Then you couldn't leave the body. You swam the corpse out to your boat and …”

“I tell ya he's alive! If the goddamn probate and trust laws weren't so strict those two woulda just terminated the trust and divided up the inheritance back when Conrad Binder killed himself! Don't you see, Win? All
we
did, all three of us, was make the law more workable. More fair. It was
her
money! She wanted to spend it! Warner wanted to spend it! I wanted to spend a little piece of it!”

“Why did you need a fourth?”

“Back in the beginning we were gonna do it
without
a fourth. Without a Winnie Farlowe. I was gonna witness the boat accident where Warner disappears. But the more we learned about probate law the less we liked it. A judge wouldn't declare him dead without an absolutely
convincing
witness. And if the judge had doubts he'd just put it all on hold and declare Warner dead after five years of being missing. Well, we decided we didn't
have
five years to spare, none of us.”

“Then you thought of me.”

“
She
did. After she saw your picture she called me and asked is this the guy that came to your apartment that night so ripped he fell down on your porch. Wait a minute! Is that it? Did you finally
remember
her from my apartment that night?”

Winnie said, “Keep going, Buster. My patience is limited.”

“Anyways, she said with your history as the boat parade drunk, nobody'd doubt how it happened. Not for one minute. And when I told her what a straight-ahead guy you are, well … she said you were jist
perfect.
A perfect …”

“Fall guy.”

“Nobody was supposed to get hurt!”

“Fifty-four days in jail, Buster. It
hurts.
”

“That was
your
fault! Nobody wanted that. Not even her. Fact is, I think she got a little soft on you. That ruined my own plans. I was hopin to be her fourth husband when she got rich.”

“Maybe I can spoil
everybody's
plans,” Winnie said.

“It's over!” Buster said. “Warner Stillwell's been declared dead and Tess has the property. She's in the middle of closin a deal with a developer for almost twenty million. What can you do? You think I'm gonna go into the D.A.'s office and tell him about this? Man, I already got a down payment on a little dive-boat business in Maui. You can go to the D.A. with a wild story if you want, but people'll jist say your brain's too marinated to come back to normal. You been in the news
twice.
You're a big-time drunk. They'll jist think you got wet-brain.”

“Where's Tess now?”

“You can find Tess livin at her club. She already sold her house and closed escrow on that. I hear she's leased a big yacht for a trip to Mexico. You can go ask if she'll take you along as a deck hand if you want. But if you leave it alone, I bet she'll take care a you. You'll get something for yourself outta this.”

“I got a real problem,” Winnie said. “If I let you walk away from here I'll never know if I got conned one
more
time, will I? I'll never know if it happened the way you say, or if it always
was
a two-person conspiracy to kill Warner Stillwell. I'll never know for sure whether or not you stuck your dive knife in that old man's guts and dumped him in the Catalina Channel. You always were
real
fast on your feet, Buster.”

“I guess you gotta trust your instincts,” said Buster Wiles. “You known me a long time. You think I'm a murderer?
You
gotta decide. Either way, there's nothin you could ever prove, is there? Now, I'm freezin to death. So whaddaya gonna do, Win? Shoot me or what?”

Winnie studied Buster Wiles, sitting there on the black rock, teeth chattering, the surf exploding like thunder beneath him in churning foam, then in a swirl of black water. Winnie said, “I wanna believe you for my own sake. I wanna believe he's still alive. But if his body's
ever
found in that channel, I'll go to the D.A. whether they listen to me or not. Whether I can
prove
anything or not.”

Then Winnie tucked the gun under the sweatshirt. The last thing he ever said to Buster was, “Did you get
enough
, Buster? Was it worth it?”

“Enough to start a new life,” Buster said above the shrill hiss of wind. “I wasn't all that greedy. But then, I'm not a cold-blooded killer. I'm jist your basic nonviolent opportunist, is all I am. And you, you're jist a loser and you always were.”

There was no more to say. Winnie Farlowe stood up then, turned and climbed down to the beach, leaving his friend Buster Wiles shivering and alone while the sea lashed the black granite rocks.

Winnie drove straight to her club. He went to the front desk and asked if they could take a message for Tess Binder who was living in one of the apartments. He wrote out a message and put it in a sealed envelope. It said:

Dear Tess,

I understand you've leased a yacht for a cruise to Mexico. I don't know when you planned to go but you're going
tomorrow.
If you're not out of my town by four
P.M.
I'm going to the D.A. whether or not it does any good. Then I'm going to the newspapers whether or not they believe me. Remember, you're leaving here tomorrow and you're not coming back. Not ever.

Yours,

Win

Winnie drove home then. He held the steering wheel in a death grip when he passed Spoon's Landing. He thought about Polish vodka and about a cocktail called The Golden Orange. He wouldn't be having one tonight. That's all he knew for sure. Not tonight.

He slept fitfully. Theta sleep. If he dreamed about the stone nymph he didn't remember it in the morning. He
did
remember a sweet lovely dream about climbing Mount Blackjack with his father, back when he wore Cub Scout blue.

24

The Seawall

W
innie cleaned his apartment that morning. When he was finished it was more than shipshape. In fact, he'd never lived in a place as clean and orderly as his was that morning. He phoned his mother to tell her he was going out to look for a job. He told her he was thinking about selling sailboats, and that she shouldn't worry about him; he'd be all right.

Talking to his mother made him feel better. He suddenly craved an omelet with jalapeño chilis, but there wasn't even an egg in his refrigerator. He was preparing to go out for breakfast when the phone rang. It was Sammy Vogel from Newport Beach PD.

“Win,” Vogel said. “I just wanted to tell you there's an A.A. meeting tonight at seven-thirty, over on Thirty-second Street. A speaker meeting. I think you'd enjoy it. I'll be there if you wanna come.”

“Thanks,” Winnie said. “Can't make it tonight. Maybe tomorrow night.”

Before hanging up, the detective said, “Don't try to do it on your own. A do-it-yourself circumcision'd be easier.”