Reilly 12 - Show No Fear (18 page)

A
RMANO PUSHED A MAN OUT THE DOORS OF THE RESTAURANT
onto the deck with its fire pit. “Here’s our proud Ferrari owner. The bartender knew him. Talks about his hot-shit car. We’re going down to find a sandwich.” The man shook him off and walked on ahead, pulling a leather jacket over his flannel shirt. He was middle-aged and pissed off. “We have to get some food,” Armano whispered urgently to Paul as he approached. “Or else I’ll have to eat him.”

The middle-level café was on an outdoor patio that sat high above the ocean and in the daytime offered spectacular vistas. A young guy with his hair in a topknot and a right arm covered with black-ink tattoos wiggled a dishcloth at them. “Who left the gate open?” he called. “We’re closed.”

“No, you’re not,” Armano said firmly.

“Just a quick order,” Paul said, flashing his ID.

“A Reuben,” Armano specified as the cowed waiter began to scurry. “Extra cheese. Extra sauerkraut. Extra hot.”

They sat down on chairs across from a wooden plank. On the bench, they placed their witness. The sandwiches came quickly, huge and steaming. Armano bit and chewed. “That’s one fine vehicle you got,” he said with a full mouth.

“Correct.” The witness lifted one nicely pressed jeans-clad leg over the other. He was about fifty, mostly bald, and would rather have been anywhere else. He grimaced, exhibiting the whitest teeth Paul had ever seen on a human. Another problem with Californian smiles, this uniform white they all worked so hard to maintain.

“Guy in the restaurant says you come in often, always with a different woman. Braggin’ on your car,” Armano said.

Paul took over, introducing himself and Armano, apologizing for Armano’s rough handling. “We have reason to believe you were a witness—”

Recognition flitted across Armano’s face. “Hey, you were the guy in that old movie—ah, what was it called? The one about—at the Dream? Last week? A retrospective.”

“I’m Dan Fordham.”

“That woman you were with upstairs?”

“On her way back to L.A. by now. She’ll find a ride.” Fordham turned his attention to Paul. “You’re here about that 911 call. I guess this means you found something. Bad luck for me.”

“Much worse luck for the dead lady.”

Fordham acted as if he hadn’t heard. “I can’t add to what I said on the phone. We’re all better off leaving me out of the picture.”

“You’re an eyewitness to a possible homicide,” said Paul. “We want the whole thing, with details, please.”

“On the cliffs?”

“Yeah.”

“The lady’s dead?”

“Yep.”

“Whew.” Fordham worked his jaw. “I was late for my date, speeding some. What a stunning drive.”

“How fast?”

“Fifty-five. Okay, eighty. Slower on the curves. But there was hardly any traffic. I was heading south on Highway One, coming down from Carmel. Left there about three thirty.”

“It’s a dangerous road for speeding.”

“This car’s built to demolish that road. So I rolled around this tight curve. There at one of those scenic pullouts before Bixby Creek
Bridge sat one of those blah American cars. White, maybe. A Monte Carlo, maybe. Not a classic car, you understand. Just far enough past banal to rate ugly. I spotted two heads above the car, then whizzed by.” Fordham shook his head. “The wind was blowing. I guess they didn’t hear me coming. Anyway, I saw an old woman standing there, I thought with another person, for just a second, then she went flying.” He sat back.

The waiter hovered. “You done? I’m due home an hour ago.”

“Soon,
hermano,
” Armano promised.

The waiter scowled and cleared a couple of plates.

“At first it just didn’t register,” Fordham continued. “I guess I assumed car trouble or people stopping to look at the view there, which is pretty stupendous. I had my stereo on right in the middle of a song we—I really like. Maybe it’s being in the movies—I didn’t believe what I saw. Then I thought, ‘Oh hell, that woman just got—unbelievable,’ I thought, ‘I have just witnessed a murder!’ I looked back in the rearview mirror, as I said before. I couldn’t see anyone else anymore.”

“You passed very close by when you drove by. I can’t believe that someone would push another person off a cliff right in front of you. It’s stupid.”

“It happened, though. Must’ve started pushing her before I rounded the bend is all I can figure out. And like I said, when I looked back, there was no one at all by the car. They ducked down.”

Paul said, “So, tell us. Who was in the car with you? The woman who’s now on her way to L.A.? We need her name and number.”

Fordham reddened slightly. “I’ll be glad to provide whatever information you need. She wasn’t with me, though. It was a girl I picked up hitching. Nobody ever hitches anymore, do they? It’s rare. Dangerous. But I’m a sucker for a young, pretty girl. Her name’s Becky, but that’s all I can tell you about her, except that I picked her up a little south of Carmel, near the Highlands Inn, and dropped her at the store where I stopped to call. She’s a carrottop. Young. I think she was staying at one of those cabins down by the river.”

“You’ll have to go back up to Monterey to give a statement,” Paul said.

“God dammit,” said Fordham.

Five minutes later a deputy arrived to make sure he didn’t head back to Hollywood.

Armano, sliding into the driver’s seat beside Paul, said, “He was showing off for the hitchhiker. Speeding, showing he still had balls. His movie? Did you see it?”

Paul shook his head.

“Vampire movie. The guy’s a terrible actor. Still riding on history.” Armano pulled a hunk of chocolate out of the glove compartment and waved it at Paul, who shook his head.

“He looks just like Malcolm McDowell,” Paul said. “A little less hair. Can’t be all bad.”

“Should have asked him to autograph a napkin.”

By the time they got back to the River Inn cabins, hidden in the tall pines that sloped down to the Big Sur River, it was nearly ten o’clock. They parked near a trailer that said
OFFICE
but looked deserted and began knocking on doors.

At the third cabin, a yellow bulb lit a porch decorated with forlorn laundry, and a young girl in a tight tank top answered the door. She pulled a sweater off a peg, stepped outside, and pulled the door shut behind her, first looking anxiously back into the room.

“Who are you?”

They explained.

“Don’t mention the hitching, okay? My mother will kill me. She thinks I was with someone I knew. Well, I guess everybody knows Mr. Fordham, don’t they? Awesome, wasn’t it, that he stopped?”

Paul assured her that they would only tell if necessary, and that was all she needed before her story began pouring out.

Her name was Rebecca Barjaktarovich. Becky was sixteen. She and her mother were living temporarily in the cabin, while her mother applied for jobs as an attendant for an elderly, handicapped person. They had lived in Castroville for several years with Becky’s father, but following a nasty breakup ended up broke and without a home. A long time ago Becky’s mom used to come down to Big Sur
to hang around and still had some good friends here, one of whom was loaning them the cabin during the off-season, till they were able to get back on their feet again.

“See, I was applying for a waitress job in Carmel for after school, which I got by the way. All you have to do to get a job is to lie and say you’re eighteen. It’s something to do with insurance. They want you to lie; they beg you to lie. So I did. I start tomorrow.” Becky sat on a rusty, pink metal chair, twisting her red hair between her fingers. “I hope you’re not here to put me in jail for that, because then for sure the world’s totally pathetic.”

“There’s a bus you can take,” Paul said. “No more hitching. You’ll get hurt eventually.”

“How’m I supposed to pay for the bus?”

Paul opened his wallet and handed her a $10 bill. She gaped at it.

“Bus fare,” Paul said. “After that, use tip money. I don’t want to find your body by the side of the road one day. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“We need to know what you saw at Bixby Creek Bridge.”

“You mean the car? Hmm. White. One of the big, plush kinds old ladies love. And what I thought were just a couple of people admiring the view.”

“What did they look like?”

“Oh, jeez. It went by so fast.” She pursed her lips, looking down. “I wasn’t paying much attention. I was singing along with the radio, then Dan—Mr. Fordham—got all excited and told me to look back, which I did. I didn’t see anything, but he went on and on about how there were two of them and where’d everybody go. Stuff like that.”

That was all she had, and it wasn’t enough. They thanked Becky, got the inn’s telephone number and the name of her new employer, and headed back north toward Pacific Grove.

“You hear anything more about the Filsen thing?” Paul asked Armano.

“Helio and the Santiagos are the only ones on that second floor, and we already know their stories. That gun must’ve sounded like explosions. Here’s what I’ve heard. There’s a grocer on the ground floor, Mr. Gomez. He said he was opening the store. He opens at
seven in the morning to cater to the local winos. He heard the shots. I went around yesterday to check it out. He says he just ducked until the shots stopped. Then he hung around at the back of the store for a few minutes. Didn’t want to see anything, you know? Then he closed up shop, pronto. I also checked the neighborhood. Nobody else admits to seeing anything.”

After dropping Armano off, Paul arrived in front of Nina’s house at about quarter to eleven. He took a couple of breaths in the car, dreading what was to come. Here he came again with more bad news, the worst kind. The lights were on in the living room. She answered the doorbell immediately. She wore cutoffs and a tight little T and was barefoot. The kid must be in bed. Why, she’s just a girl, Paul thought with surprise, sadly. She wasn’t very tall, but she stood tall.

“What are you—”

“I have more bad news, Nina.”

She had already taken note of his expression and her eyes widened. “Not Matt?”

“No. Not your brother.” Paul drew her inside and made her sit down on the couch. “I’m so sorry but…” He told her quickly and simply, and didn’t say anything about the possibility that her mother had been pushed.

Again, Nina wept, this time for a very long time and Paul didn’t rush things. He didn’t try to hold her hand either. This was business.

After a few minutes and many questions, Nina’s face began to harden. “My mother did not—she never would—commit suicide!”

“I didn’t say she did.”

“She wouldn’t have gone there alone, stood on the edge of a cliff like that. It’s impossible.”

“She might not have been alone.” He told her the rest of it, and watching strong emotions cross her face as he spoke, he had two thoughts about Nina Reilly: that she hadn’t had anything to do with it herself, and that she’d make a good lawyer someday, the way she was holding herself together now.

Nina marched mechanically to the closet. “Bob’s not home tonight. He’s at a friend’s, sleeping over.”

“I need you to come with me.”

She nodded. “I need to see her.”

After that, she sat stony-faced in his car, hugging a leather jacket. She had changed into jeans and hiking boots. “Could you turn the heat on?” she asked once, then lapsed back into silence.

She lost it as they drove along a winter field, bare earth now. They had left the shoreline and were driving inland. Paul looked over to check out the silence. She cried soundlessly.

The morgue in Salinas served the entire county. Susan Misumi had checked out hours before. An attendant pulled out a slab and lifted the sheet, and Nina, as gray as the cold aluminum drawers, nodded and cried out, “Mom! Oh, no, no.” She put her hands on her mother’s face as if to warm it, then began stroking it.

“I’m so sorry, Nina,” Paul said.

“Mom.”

He held her while she puddled against him.

“Mom.”

B
Y THE TIME
N
INA FINISHED AT THE SHERIFF’S OFFICE, EARLY-MORNING
fog had fingered its gray way all the way to Salinas. She wouldn’t let Paul take her home even though he insisted on someone escorting her there.

Once home, she had a talk with herself and decided not to collapse, which turned out to be easier said than done. She sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and didn’t move for a long time.

She saw her mother falling into an unruly wind, into the sands below, the ocean waves pounding, eternal and eternally indifferent.

She saw her mom’s sweet face from before she got sick and thought about how her mother loved to argue, laugh, dance. Mopping herself up with a napkin, she made a list. She called Matt. Nobody answered. She called the mother of Bob’s friend and asked her if she could keep Bob for one more day, not saying why. She called the Monterey College of Law and said she had a family emergency and would not be able to make her Wills and Estates exam. She called the Pohlmann office and told them she couldn’t work today. She called her father and heard his sleepy voice on the line.

“You and Bob want to come over here?” Harlan asked.

“No, thanks, Dad.”

“How could this happen?” he kept asking. “This doesn’t sound like Ginny. Throw herself over a cliff? Never. She loved you all too much.”

“I need to reach Matt, Dad. If you hear from him, tell him to call me, okay?”

He became all business. “You haven’t told me everything, Nina. You said you spent the evening with the police. Tell me the rest.”

Harlan badgered her for a few minutes for details until she finally said, “I’m sure you’ll get a chance yourself to have a nice long talk with the police. Ask them then.”

“You sound so angry.”

“I’m not angry at you.”

“Nina. In spite of the money pressures on us, things that made me say things, do things I regret now, I never meant to hurt your mother. You know that, don’t you?”

How absurd, she thought. Everything you did hurt her. She said nothing.

“Makes me wish—” He broke off.

“What?” When he didn’t answer, she prodded, “What does it make you wish?”

“I’d loved her better. I’m ashamed of myself. I can’t believe she’s gone and I’ll never see her again. I miss her, too, just so you know.” His voice broke.

“I’m going, Dad,” Nina managed to say. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“What about the arrangements?”

“An autopsy. Then I’ll call a mortuary.”

“An autopsy? Aw, hell.” A long pause followed. “Call me if you need me, honey.” Then he gave her four different phone numbers.

She tried calling Matt again and again, but there was no answer. She didn’t have his number at the store where he worked and couldn’t remember the name. She went into the bedroom, crying again, cleaned her eyes up with water from the bathroom, and cried some more on her way out to the car.

Once in the car, driving, her tears dried up. She began thinking about Paul, wondering how he managed to be both cop and human—it had been a relief to have his solid, heavy-shouldered presence there with her at the morgue. Once she had officially identified her mother’s body, he had filled her in on the rest, though he wouldn’t let her ask questions, just arranged for her ride home.

He had made her feel like a kid in the middle of a tantrum whose parent says, “When you stop crying, we’ll talk about it.” He had an old-fashioned streak to him that frustrated and even angered her. Then, before saying good-bye, back in cop mode, he had asked for keys to her mother’s house so that the police could inspect it for signs of forced entry.

She provided them, unable to decide if it was wise, only thinking about her mom.

She stopped in at the office first.

“Oh, Nina,” Astrid said, standing up, face stricken. “We’re all so sorry!”

“Is Remy in?”

Astrid paused. “Yes. Yes, she is.” She buzzed Remy’s office. “She’s ready for you.”

Nina opened the door to Remy’s office. Remy, immaculately clad as always, spoke into the phone. “Don’t worry. It’s taken care of. We’ve got it handled.” Et cetera.

She hung up, stood up, and reached out to hug Nina. “I’m so sorry, honey. So sorry.”

All Nina’s strength fell by the wayside. She fell into the hug and allowed her tears to flow. Finally, she composed herself, stepping back. “Can I sit?”

“Of course.”

She sat in one of the plush leather client chairs, leaning her head against the headrest. She closed her eyes.

“Nina?” Remy finally spoke. “Can I get you anything?”

“You really upset my mother the last time you saw her. Can you tell me exactly why you decided not to pursue her case against Dr. Wu?”

“Yes, of course.” Remy’s brow creased. “Nina, in spite of the
fine work you did researching Raynaud’s, we had some rock-bottom, insoluble problems with your mother’s claim.” Remy went into a long, involved explanation that Nina barely heard. The collapse was beginning inside her. She wasn’t going to be able to hold it back now, and she didn’t want it to happen at the office. She held a hand up.

“Okay. Okay.”

Remy nodded. “I want you to know, I believed every word your mom said. I never believed Dr. Wu. But the question always comes down to, can we convince a jury?”

“You thought we couldn’t.”

“He’s smart. No, let me correct that. He’s canny. He had things to show and say that cast doubt on her story. And the medical side of it—I’m so sorry.”

Nina finally found Matt at the counter at Barney’s, ringing up a couple of six-packs for a man in expensive sunglasses and a torn T-shirt. Matt took one look at Nina and pulled her into the back room.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have very bad news, Matt. Please sit down.”

“Mom!” he breathed, and read confirmation in her face. He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Tell me.”

“Sit.”

He sat.

“Mom is gone.”

“Gone? You mean she died?”

“She fell off a cliff by Bixby Creek Bridge.”

“Fell? Huh? What?”

“I saw her. I saw her body. She’s dead, Matt.” Nina barely got the words out, then sobbed into her handkerchief.

“Holy shit!” Matt said. “What was she doing in Big Sur? How did she fall? Do you think she jumped?”

Nina couldn’t stand to tell him. She didn’t want to feed his paranoia. “Right now, what matters is she’s gone.”

Matt got up. This time, his arms around her were loving. “God,
Neen. I’m so sorry. Really? This can’t be! This can’t be! She’s dead?” He paused. “It’s got to be that maniac who tried to kill her! You know, that quack? Believe me, she never said a word to me about those needles until after it was too late. You saw at the hospital. I didn’t know till then or I would have found a way to stop her.” He waited for Nina’s nod.

“That fucking butcher, Dr. Wu. He hurt her, and when she fought back, he killed her. They better arrest him before he gets away.” His face screwed up in agitation and his voice rose. “Do you remember her in that red dress at Christmas? Before Bob was born? God, Mom was beautiful! If he’s still loose, I’ll kill him myself!”

Matt let go of her. He stood staring at boxes stacked against a wall, speaking almost under his breath. She strained to hear. “It’s my fault.” He kicked the boxes. “Do you know what she’d say to me?” Now he was suddenly shouting.

“Matt, come home with me today, okay? I’ll take care of you. Please, just come outside with me. Let’s be together. Play with Bob, watch something stupid on television. We’ll call your boss later.” Nina tried to sound soothing as she took his arm and tried to wheedle him out of the store.

He shook her off. “I should be punished for what I’ve done,” he said in an angry voice. Then, drawing himself up: “You go on, Neen. It’s okay.” When she didn’t move, he said, “Go ahead now, I have to do something.” Then he was pushing her out, putting her in the car, helping her with her seat belt, advising her to drive carefully.

She buckled up to please him, worrying about her brother. He needed help; he wasn’t well, but it was all she could do to start up her car and pull away, crying helplessly.

“Go!” he shouted after her.

She dragged slowly along the road, accumulating a pile of angry tailgaters without noticing. When she arrived home, she thought at first she would go get Bob. Instead she called the office. She called Jack.