The Black Silent (37 page)

They walked through the living room, passed the table where they had eaten a little ham, to the side of the house. Sam watched her smile when she led him right to the boat.

"They have a beautiful dory. We can put it in, row out of the bay, down the coast a bit, and around the point, down the beach, and we're there."

Sam had had enough time in the ocean for one night, but he agreed that the sea approach would be best. It was turning into an unusually calm night, if the present lack of wind was any indication. Earlier, the wind had been building from the southwest but now was calm out of the northwest, unusual for this time of year, so the sea in this area at the southern end of the islands might have calmed outside the bay. If it hadn't, this dory idea would not work.

The Williamses had a well-constructed steel track to get the dory to the beach. Once at the beach they would have to take the boat from its cradle and carry it.

They carefully turned off every light, leaving the place just as they had found it. They needed to get the Blazer well down the road and completely hidden. Haley drove.

They put a blanket between Sam and the wet seat. Haley imagined Sam's hand touching her, rubbing her back in reassurance. She groped for an excuse to touch him over the center console, but wouldn't allow herself.

He turned and looked at her. For a second she switched on the interior light, then turned it off. His eyes were amber and earnest, keeping with the rock-solid nature of him.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine." She started the truck.

Frick had ruined or threatened all she knew. Maybe she saw Sam as the human embodiment of desperately needed proof that she really was okay, even desirable. She wanted to believe there was more than that behind her feelings, but life at the moment was such a tumbled turmoil that she couldn't think clear thoughts, much less feel unadulterated emotions.

She still felt the great sense of caution, but now she wanted to overcome it. Precisely because he seemed unreachable, because he had gone away, because of the summer of

'94, because he had married Anna Wade, and even more important because her whole life had seemed designed to prove that she was a born loser—Haley had been angry.

Now, at least, she could look at all that, even if she wasn't over it. Maybe this thing with Sam was something so boring as having to prove herself, and in this condition, how could she discern love from desperation? It was a question that she had begun asking herself.

Abruptly she realized that she was perhaps, on top of everything else, struggling with falling in love. People who thought this way got soft in the head and interpreted every little gesture as proving some great attribute in the beloved. But history was intervening.

Her emotions were twisting in the wind.

Oh, my God, this is confusing.

Then her mind returned to the problem at hand. "These people are gone for the entire winter, normally," she said. "Can't quite think of their names." She pulled into a driveway, drove back past a shed, past the house, and on a narrow grass strip drove behind a woodshed. They seemed to be well hidden under a tree.

They were quiet for just a moment, and Sam was acutely aware of her hand, of her body. He thought about taking her hand, but didn't. They had to go. Without speaking, they each hurriedly exited the Blazer. Walking in the dark and talking were not mutually conducive. They forced themselves to jog back to the house along the road. Fortunately, they saw no cars and did not have to jump in the bushes.

The calm in the weather seemed to be holding. Sam was grateful but still worried about the wind resuming a strong southerly or blowing in a westerly direction in the midst of their short voyage. He was acutely aware that they might have to escape Ben's with papers and the wind could resume during their return and oppose them or create a serious beam sea. On their return they might be required to land on a different part of the shoreline. In places it was steep and hard to make the shore.

When they arrived back at the house, they went inside for a moment to reexamine a chart on the wall and raid the kitchen one more time. The unspoken truth was that they could end up back in the water, and if that happened, they would need great energy.

They found a can of tuna and some frozen whole wheat bread.

"We gotta leave, but we have to eat," Sam said.

"I don't want to go back in that ocean," she said, reading his mind.

They waited for the microwave to thaw and ruin the bread, while struggling with impatience. Haley seemed energized, alert, and attentive, especially in her face, and that was strange for such a late hour and such dire circumstances. He imagined her in one of her hats, smiling on the dock, and then he studied her in the softer light and decided she was beautiful everywhere, all the time.

They yanked the bread from the microwave and found some mayonnaise.

Sam didn't usually like watching people eat, but not Haley. Next he knew he would be telling himself that she was unique among women and that there would never be another like her. Finally he would think her worthy of poetry and special gifts. Of course, he knew that this was the beginning of a strange chemical change in his brain that mankind had dubbed love. It could be fed or starved; he could come close or walk away. He had made promises to himself about these sorts of feelings.

There was a look in her eye, even in the soft light.

"We're in the middle of more than a bad tuna sandwich," he said. "It's crazy to even think about what we're thinking about. It needs a long talk and we don't have time for one."

"Yes. No one knows that better than I." Then she seemed to agree, or at least relent.

They could talk about it later.

"How can we help Sarah?" she said. "I feel so helpless. We're just running around, not really doing anything to help her. It's frustrating."

"Find Ben and his secrets. It's the only reason they have to keep Sarah. Maybe we can feign a bargain. Aside from that, after Ben's we'll try calling her friends and see if she's shown up. We'll call Rachael and tell her to tell the state. But the odds of them letting her go before somebody finds Ben, or brings in the state, are very bad." Sam didn't tell Haley his belief that they would kill Sarah once she was no good to them.

"Why is Ben working on all these topics at once?" she asked. "That's the key question for me. I mean, he seems to give them all equal space and emphasis. This is not all about youth retention."

"You're absolutely right," Sam said, "and there's a reason why we can't put it together.

We don't understand his motive."

"Let's get rowing," she said.

Frick drove to Sheriff's Boat 1 in Friday Harbor with Rafe Black. It was dark and swathed in winter quiet, the streets relatively deserted. A few residents scurried into the waterfront pub. There was no one in the marina parking lot, no one coming or going from the public showers at the head of the dock. They were headed to Fisherman's Bay at Lopez Island, and from there they would drive to Ben Anderson's beach house. After walking in silence down the wide main dock to the boat, they climbed in as the deputies cast off.

The big diesels purred, a marvel of mechanical achievement taken for granted like gravity.

They had Sarah James at Ben Anderson's Lopez place. Things were getting organized and starting to work at last.

Frick had a large leather bag in his lap containing his drugs and instruments: tools of his trade. Rafe Black drove.

"We were lucky to catch her so fast," Rafe said.

Frick didn't reply. He was debating how exactly he should squeeze her. He planned to use drugs, which he did not like because she would go off into a sort of stupor. Thinking about having her under his control was like the excitement that a hunter feels when he's very near his quarry, combined with another kind of feeling like a boy on his first date.

"I'd like to be there when you question her," Rafe said.

"Like the last time, when you lost Haley Walther? You and the others will remain outside the house while I question her. I'm in a hurry and I don't have time for games. So shut the hell up about turning this into entertainment. We've got to find Ben Anderson and get out of here before we end up on death row. You got that?"

Rafe sat surly and silent.

Speed in getting the information was everything. Frick ordered them to sail at maximum speed. He was in a hurry to get started on Sarah James.

Sam picked up the boat, which was stout and heavy, and he turned it upside down to put it on his back. When he looked like he would founder because of the bad leg, she got under and helped lift. Haley was strong for a slight woman.

It required great strength to move it to the water and it meant getting cold again. His limp was terrible and so was the pain, but with her help he managed to get it launched.

Sam rowed with a steady rhythm, and the pull on his arms and the flex of his muscle was familiar and good. His bad legs only interfered slightly with the movements, and even in his terrible weariness he found the exercise oddly comforting.

As they rowed past the silent yacht he'd spotted before, he listened for the sound of the generator and heard none, which was a clear indication on a yacht this size that there was no one aboard.

He had set into a regular rhythm and knew that his mind could separate from the physical task at hand. He looked at Haley, wondering about her thoughts.

"Nervous stomach, before the battle?" he asked, remembering his own encounters with what amounted to war.

"Uh-huh," she said. There was an understanding between them. They had shared battle.

"A sip of Dewar's about now would really hit the spot," Sam said.

"You don't need Dewar's," she snapped.

The emotional intensity came out of nowhere. He thought about it in the ensuing silence.

"I'm sorry I went off like a cannon," she said.

"Nobody much needs a Dewar's," Sam said.

"Now you're trying to be polite."

"People fly off the handle. Usually a reason."

"My mother drank Dewar's."

"I see."

"Maybe this is just an excuse to talk about it. I don't know."

"I'm officially asking—if that helps."

"Just before she gave me to Ben and Helen, her sister was coming over. Really, it was an inspection. Mother was completely drunk after two o'clock every day at that stage.

Gertrude, her sister, wanted to take me. She had boys. No girls. So I try to keep Mom sober, so Gertrude won't go to court. It was a struggle. I clean. I straighten the house out.

I do all the old dirty dishes, throw out all the old garbage, haul a ton of bottles out back.

I work very hard to make it look normal."

"I think I got the picture. You always were type A."

"She's coming at six. At five forty-five Mom gets the shakes really bad and throws up all over the living-room floor and all over herself. I stick her in the shower and go after the floor.

"At about five fifty-five my mother screams at me. I go in the bathroom. She wants her Dewar's. I went and got it, brought it in the bathroom, and at age nine I defy her and pour it down the toilet. She freaks and stumbles out of the shower. She runs through the house naked and gets another bottle, which she has hid, and starts chugging. About then, Gertrude shows up and she's got my cousin with her. He has a really big mouth. Next day it was all over school. My mother was standing naked in the living room, in the middle of a bunch of vomit, drinking. Everybody looked at me."

Even with the moon, the oars disappeared into water that looked like black silk. On Iceberg Point, the flashing red beacon offended the soft hues of the night while giving Sam a clear bearing by which to row. The water boiled around the boat and the silence made even the oar drips a noticeable part of the water symphony. On the hard pulls the bow dipped slightly, making its own regular
swish.

"How did your mother get you to Ben?" Sam asked after a moment of peaceful silence.

"The next day I told my mother what happened. Told her the rumors that Aunt Gertrude was going to get a court order. She took me over to Ben and Helen's. She begged them.

Helen had already taken care of me, and I think even then she loved me. Ben's love came later, but when it came, it was a torrent. My mother managed to stay sober just long enough for the court proceeding. I said I wanted to be with Ben and Helen and the judge agreed."

Sam let a minute pass.

"So I guess we could say that despite the alcoholism, at the moment you needed it most, your mother overcame the disease and was your champion to give you a good life."

"Funny I never looked at it that way."

"Might try it out for size."

They drove toward the south end of Lopez Island in borrowed automobiles that were being used to supplement the five squad cars in normal use. Frick and Rafe rode in a Yukon lent to the police by a resident anxious to help with the manhunt for the cop killer. Behind them in a borrowed Ford Taurus, which was actually a retired sheriff's vehicle loaned by one of the Lopez officers for this particular occasion, rode four of the Las Vegas men. These were the roughest of the rough.

Frick again looked through his leather satchel containing his tools and his drugs. He was figuring which drugs and how to administer them, hoping that just with the beginnings of physical torture, she would spill her guts and give him what he needed.

Then perhaps he could trade her for Ben or his secrets or just go get what he needed.

Time was wasting.

His cell phone rang. Irritated and in a hurry, he answered it. It was Nash. The surprise of the call immediately got his attention. This was not like Nash.

"We need to talk."

"Well, I am terribly occupied at the moment trying to solve your problem."

"I need you to go to a public phone and call me now."

"This is interfering with my job."

"I've got to insist unless you are at this moment rescuing Ben Anderson."

"All right." He hung up, seething. "Divert back to the nearest public telephone." He still might need Sanker's money.