Lion Plays Rough (21 page)

Chapter 27

I'd called ahead and reserved us a room at a motel just down the street from the vet's office, a block from North Lake Boulevard on a narrow, pine-shaded street. We checked in a little after midnight. The temperature was just above freezing and the wind spit pellets of rain, but in the morning when we awoke there was a fresh cap of snow on the mountains across the lake and the sun was out. We could see the vet's office from our window.

We had a better view from the picnic table outside the motel office. We sat playing cribbage for a dime a point, taking turns watching the place as we drank the coffee and ate the donuts Car had picked up. The vet's office couldn't have had much space for a kennel. The sound of barking came from the small fenced run in back.

“So you left Jeanie,” Car said as we studied our cards.

“She didn't want this case. It was either leave or stay and represent drunk drivers for the next year.”

He looked up at me over his cards. “I was wondering when you'd get around to it.”

“I was hoping for a few more years' experience before I made the leap.”

“You don't know what the fuck you're doing, but that doesn't mean you won't make it. I'll say this much: I don't want to see you fail. That's the least I owe Teddy. I'll help however I can.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“I don't work for free, but I've been in this business a while. You got a question, I probably know the answer.”

“I don't even know what the questions are.”

We played a few more hands. Then a big pickup turned at the next block and came toward us, moving slow. It was black, with dual tires in back. I froze, the cards suddenly slick in my hands. Lucas probably didn't know what I looked like, I reminded myself. He wouldn't think twice about a pair of tourists sitting outside a motel, and besides, his wasn't the only black pickup in the world.

The truck slowed, about to turn in to one of the clinic's parking spaces. Then the driver hit the brakes. The engine gunned and the truck raced toward us, cutting across the lane. Car and I jumped up, me hobbled by the picnic table. At the last instant, the truck veered back to the correct side of the road. “Shit,” I said, catching a glimpse through the driver's window of a face registering fear and astonishment. “She's alive.”

It was Lavinia.

Car was already halfway to the rental car, a few feet away. I ran after him and jumped in on the driver's side.

I reached the lake road in time to catch a glimpse of her fleeing eastward. I followed, but kept my distance on the busy undivided highway that climbed up the mountain from Kings Beach. She put distance between us, going faster than I dared through the resort town. But as we neared the state line she slowed.

Car made a sound of frustration. He sat pressed back in the seat. I could tell that he wanted to be driving. “What now?” he said, his voice tight.

“Keep following her.”

“And then what?”

“What else? We can't lose her.”

“The alternative is we let her pick the place where we confront her, somewhere nice and secluded. She's probably on the phone to Lucas.”

“You think they're up here together.”

“That's the only explanation I can see. She's not dead, but according to you she knows everything he's been doing. That means they're in it together.”

“So what do you think we should do, if you don't want to keep following her?”

“Call the police. She already tried to kill you once.”

“You think it was her driving the pickup that night?”

“Doesn't that make sense? It's her driving it now.”

“What are they going to arrest her for, low gas mileage?”

“Call your buddy Campbell. I bet he'd be interested to know where she is, who she might be with.” He was right.

I took out my phone, started to dial, then dropped it in the center console. “She knows we're here and she's not trying to get away. I think she wants to talk. If we call Campbell now, we'll lose that chance.”

“You'd make a hell of an investigator, with reasoning like that,” he said.

We crossed the state line. Nature gave way to casinos and fifties-era motels. She kept just below the speed limit, and faster drivers passed us both.

“Maybe she doesn't realize we're behind her,” Car said.

“She knows.”

“At some point we've got to peel off, kid.”

“Whose blood was that in the trunk of her car? If she killed Nikki, that explains the blood on the front seat, but not the blood in the trunk. Someone died back there. It was sprayed across the underside of the lid.”

He glanced over at me, maybe realizing that I'd been holding out on him, that I knew more than I told him. “She's on the phone with Lucas, man. She's telling him where to go. She's setting us up.”

“I don't think so. I think she wants out and I think she'll talk.”

“Keep thinking that. Blind faith seems to work for most people.”

In Incline Village she turned off, and I gripped the wheel tighter, but she just circled to the lake road and headed back the way we'd come.

I could only speculate what must be going through her mind. I imagined her loyalty torn between Lucas and the need to escape, between fear and bravery. I imagined all sorts of things, but in the end Car was right: I didn't know her. The confidence I pretended was wishful thinking. She retraced our path to Agate Bay and Trigger, waiting for her. I parked a few slots down from the spot she chose.

“Look, I only want to get my dog,” she said as we got out. “Won't you just let me do that and let me leave here, please?”

“Who's stopping you?” I said, keeping my face blank, my heart racing.

Car stood leaning against the rental, his arms folded. She studied him warily, then looked back at me. “What do you want?”

“There's a lot of people looking for you. Probably a few others who are hoping you don't get found. Campbell thinks you're dead, and so did I until ten minutes ago. It's evidently not your blood in the trunk of that car, but it's somebody's. You're going to have to explain that.”

She glanced at Car again. “Not to you.”

“Maybe not. I want to help you if I can. We've got some time. I haven't called Campbell yet. I will before this is over—I promised him that—but first I want to give you the chance to explain some things. We've got a room across the street. Why don't you and I sit down there and talk.”

Her eyes narrowed, her body going rigid. “I'll give you five minutes.”

I tossed Car the keys. We crossed the street, Car following a moment later in the rental. I opened the door and held it for her to follow me in. We hadn't made the beds; my jeans from the previous evening lay wadded on the floor. The smell of Car's cigarette smoke hung in the air.

“Please,” she said, catching the door. “I can't. Not in here.”

Car was at the picnic table. When he saw us come back out he rose wordlessly and moved away to lean against the wall near the manager's office. I wondered if he was really armed or just trying to make it seem that way. If he'd brought a gun, I hadn't caught sight of it.

There was no one else around. We sat at the table, the cards still scattered where we'd dropped them. Some had blown to the ground in the light mountain breeze, dry and insubstantial, cool on my cheeks and scalp, smelling of pines and dust.

In the sunlight I noticed the ashy cast to her skin. She had a scrape on her forehead, the swelling of a bruise. She wore a denim jacket and jeans, boots with a low heel. Traveling clothes. Clothes for running away in?

A maid came out from behind the building with her cart and went into one of the rooms on the other end.

“You're unlucky,” I said. “If you hadn't stopped for the dog, everyone'd think you were dead. You'd be home free.”

“Why are you tormenting me? It doesn't have anything to do with you. I got you involved, and that was a mistake. I'm sorry about that, but you're out of it now. I don't know how to convince you just to forget you saw me here.”

“I may be out of it, but my clients aren't. Debra Walker and Tamara deserve justice for Jeremy's death.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Of course you do. That's why you're running.”

“I'm not running. I'm leaving. There's a difference.”

“Fine, let's call it leaving because you know you'll get killed if you stay. Only why bring the dog? It's just going to make it easier for him to find you.”

“Easy for who to find me?”

“Who else? Lucas. Your boyfriend. He killed Nikki Matson, and he tried to kill me when I homed in on you. You're next. That's why you have to leave. In your situation, I'd do the same.”

I watched her face for a reaction but there was none. If anything, she seemed to become calmer. It was a disconcerting calm, and I wondered if Car was right, if she could have been the one in the pickup the night Nikki was killed.

“What did you think you would accomplish by finding me?”

“You ought to be able to answer that one yourself. We've got the same problem. We're both dead unless we can get Lucas off our backs. You know he's serious. He killed Jeremy, after all.”

I flipped over one of the cards on the table. The three of clubs. I swept it to the ground with the others.

I went on. “She deserves to know what happened, don't you think? Her daughter-in-law is disabled. Jeremy was their only support. They ought to get some compensation, don't you think? Some money to help them live.”

“Compensation. That's a joke.”

“The department ought to pay for what Lucas did. Lucas ought to pay. But first Mrs. Walker needs someone to tell the truth.”

“Tell me, what does a criminal defense lawyer care about the truth?”

“Like I said, I represent Tamara and Mrs. Walker. It'd be a civil case.”

She tried to regain her composure. “So you've heard some rumors, you see a chance to make a score, and you want me to help put on the squeeze.”

“You know where to find Lucas, don't you? Or maybe you're still with him. Maybe he's waiting for you now. You make any calls during our little tour of the state line?”

“What makes you so sure he did these terrible things?”

“In Jeremy's belongings at the house, he had a statement written out. Telling how he saw Damon's men raiding a house, and there Lucas was. Just sitting there in his car, like he was standing guard or something.”

“You're making it sound like this big scandal,” she said, something finally seeming to crack open between us. “It wasn't like that. It was policy. It wasn't written down but that's what it was. If we don't have probable cause, or if some judge won't give us a warrant, we'd get out of the way. Stand back and let Damon and his men clean up. We'd be on the perimeter to make sure no citizens got hurt. It wasn't my idea, and I wasn't the one in charge.”

“That's not my point. What matters to me is that Jeremy saw something that day that got him killed. Unfortunately, he then talked to the wrong person about it.”

I studied her face very closely and was rewarded by a glimpse of something dark, a look of dread and shame.

“So I guess Jeremy must have known you were a cop?”

“It was what broke us up.” Her voice was hard, still angry after all these years. “He didn't think women should be police officers. Or not his woman.”

“Were you there when he was killed?” I asked.

“No. I found out about it from—from my husband.”

“Jeremy came to you, didn't he? From what he wrote, he would have wanted an explanation for why the police were just standing by, letting black men kill each other. He must have thought he could trust you.”

She didn't say anything. Her expression said it for her.

“I'll tell you what I think. I think it's your fault Jeremy's dead. I think that's what you're running from. I think he came to you and told you he was thinking about filing a citizen complaint, and you went to Lucas and told him what Jeremy said, and next thing your old boyfriend is gunned down on his walk to work.”

“I—” She shook her head, eyes shut. Her body shook faintly.

“You've got to own up to it. Campbell hasn't stayed on the case this long because he wants to see you locked up. You may be responsible, but you aren't the one who pulled the trigger.”

Her eyes were shining; her shoulders slumped. “Who's going to be my lawyer?” she challenged me. “You?”

“No way. I've got another dog in the fight. For now the priority is getting Lucas off the street. You know where he is, don't you? You know how to find him?”

She looked away. “I know where he is.”

“Campbell will listen to us. He'll have to. He wants Lucas for Jeremy's murder.”

“Campbell's very angry with me,” she said. “You have to realize—”

“He'll be glad to know you're alive. Believe me. And he wants nothing more than to bring Lucas down. I'm not saying you can solve all your problems, but you can solve this one.”

“He doesn't know how it was. I started taking the money. Then Lucas decided he was going to take me.” She stopped, shutting her eyes again. “He made me believe I didn't have a choice, that he could end my career.” A shudder ran through her. “He was . . . violent. When I decided to become a police officer I told myself that at least I would never have to be a victim . . . but with him that's exactly what I was.”

“Where is he now? Is he expecting you?”

“He's dead.” She straightened her shoulders and looked me in the eyes.

Now her gaze was steady, without remorse. “He's up in the hills near the Briones Reservoir.”