A Wild and Lonely Place (40 page)

I was on my back deck trying to keep my mind off Langley Newton by fashioning a new tail out of some old silk scarves for
W. C. Fields when Joslyn arrived on Tuesday afternoon. Her eyes were deeply shadowed, her face strained, and there was a tentativeness
to her normally jaunty step. It would be a while, I thought, before she recovered from her ordeal.

“Cat got him, huh?” She motioned at the silk parrot.

“Right.”

“Which one?”

“So far neither is copping to it.”

“Those repairs aren’t gonna last five minutes around the beasts.”

“I know. I’m taking him up to Bootlegger’s Cove, where neither of them can ever lay filthy claw on him again.”

Adah dropped a key on the table next to me.

“What’s that?”

“Your spare. When you didn’t answer the door, I used it. I’m giving it back now.”

“Don’t,” I told her. “You never know when you might need it.”

Our eyes met and after a moment she nodded and pocketed it. “Thanks.” Then she set a paper sack on the table and pulled out
a bottle of wine. “For you. Deer Hill ninety-three Chardonnay. I had to visit six wine shops before I found it.”

I noticed that the bottle was chilled. “Why don’t you go inside and get the corkscrew and a couple of glasses?”

“Thought you were saving it for your fortieth.”

“What’s a birthday, compared to us both surviving the other morning?”

She grimaced. “Amen to that.”

When she came back I took the corkscrew from her and used up some time opening the bottle. Joslyn was here to deliver news;
I suspected it was negative and didn’t really want to hear. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit, but I’ll mend.” She took the glass I offered and tasted. “Good stuff.” Then she toed off her athletic shoes and
headed for the lounge chair. “I tell you, McCone, I am
never
going to go through anybody’s trash again, no matter how fascinating it might be. There’s nothing like getting waylaid by
a maniac and spending Memorial Day weekend trussed up in a moldy little room in his moldier little bungalow. Not to mention
having Barbara and Rupert on my back for upsetting them.”

Her mention of Langley Newton made me sick all over again.

Adah peered keenly at my face. “Just glad I was below deck and didn’t see it. It’s gonna take you a lot of time to get over
that. Some ways, you never will.”

“I know. Did he…say anything to you?”

“You mean about the woman? Not really. He was a very withdrawn guy, McCone. He just didn’t connect with other people, especially
at the end—even though he had every means of connecting at his disposal. Computer, cellular phones, fax, tape recorder, you
name it. I did pick up on one thing, though: he never had a relationship with her.”

“Oh?” It didn’t surprise me.

“Nope. You know what the task force found at his bungalow? An album of pictures, probably taken by him at some party at Das
Glücksspiel. Love was in every one, posing with staff and customers. It’s where the one of her and Lateef that he planted
in the apartment came from. There wasn’t a single picture of them together, though; too shy to ask, I guess.”

“And yet she touched him in a way nobody else ever had, just by being nice and going to bat with the D.A. for him. That’s
why all this happened.” I tried to imagine how it must be to live in an emotional void, distanced from one’s fellow creatures.
It wasn’t difficult, since I’d had some experience along those lines myself. But to imagine having the one person who made
the void bearable violently torn away…

I thought of Hy, of almost losing him—not once but twice now. Maybe I could understand Newton’s grief and rage, as I’d earlier
understood his addiction to fear and power.

I pushed the thought away. Understanding him more deeply would only make it harder to live with the memory of killing him.

“McCone?” Joslyn said. “Aren’t you going to ask me about the reward?”

“I was waiting for you to bring it up. They’re not going to give it to me, are they?”

“Well, Parkhurst didn’t want you to get anything. He says the bomber came to you, rather than you tracking him down. And that
you didn’t even get his identity right. He blames you for Kahlil Lateef threatening to file suit against the SFPD for false
arrest; he was having breakfast in the dining room at the Stanford Court, where he was staying yesterday morning when they
nabbed him. Parkhurst also claims it was a task force member—me—who first made the Diplo-bomber, conveniently forgetting he’d
suspended me, of course.
And
he’s pissed about you blowing Newton away and letting Hamid get killed. Actually that’s only the short list of his reasons
for denying you. I won’t bore you with the rest.”

“Jesus!” I dropped W.C. on the deck, jumped up, and began to pace. “What the hell did he expect me to do under the circumstances?
You’re alive, aren’t you? There won’t be any more bombings. What else does he want? He damned well knows Hamid provoked Newton,
and wasn’t worth the powder to blow him to hell anyway. You found Newton by
accident,
for Christ’s sake! Talk about a situation that illustrates why we have the word ‘coincidence’ in the language! And it’s not
my fault that Lateef’s litigious—”

“You’re getting part of the money.”

“I’m…” I stopped pacing and stared at Adah. “How much?”

“A quarter.”

“…A quarter of a
million dollars?”

“Uh-huh. Craig and I leaned on Parkhurst, and a number of the others on the task force backed us up. You know what he said
when we settled? ‘It should keep that dreadful woman off my back until I can pack up and leave town.’”

“Asshole.” But I said it without much rancor. My mind and emotions had slipped into low gear. A quarter of a million dollars.
So much money. What the hell would I ever do with it?

“I want you to have part of it,” I told Adah.

She shook her head. “Can’t accept, much as I’d like to. If I did, the tarnish would really be on the old shield.”

“They’re reinstating you?”

“To Homicide, providing I see a shrink for a while.” She scowled.

God help the poor shrink, I thought.

“Craig convinced me that I should at least give it a shot,” she added.

“Craig, huh?”

Adah looked down into her wineglass. “He’s not so bad, McCone, once you get to know him. And he’s sure let me lean on him
in the past twenty-four hours.” Quickly she changed the subject. “So, what’re you going to do with the dough? Take a trip
around the world? Buy yourself a fancy car and duds? Upgrade your sorry lifestyle?”

I hadn’t a clue. Fortunately, I was saved from contemplating it by the doorbell. “Excuse me a minute.”

Anne-Marie, Hank, and Habiba stood on my front steps. The little girl’s hand was tucked into Hank’s and she stared down, her
head bent, much as she had throughout our long journey from the Caribbean. Well, small wonder: First she’d lost her mother.
Then she’d lost her father, her grandmother, and her home all in the space of forty-eight hours.

“Hope you don’t mind us stopping by,” Hank said. “We’ve just come from a conference with Ambassador Jalil.”

“Of course I don’t mind. And I’m very glad to see you, Habiba.” When she didn’t respond, I squatted and tipped her chin up.
Her eyes looked dully at me, but she took her hand from Hank’s and thrust it into mine.

“Let’s go out to the deck,” I told all three of them. “Adah’s here too.”

I ushered them back there and, with Habiba clutching at the leg of my jeans, fetched wineglasses for the adults and a Coke
for her. When I sat back down she crawled into my lap and I cradled her protectively. “So,” I said, “tell me what happened
with Jalil.”

Anne-Marie glanced at the little girl, smile lines crinkling around her eyes. “Kahlil Lateef was also there; he’s been named
to succeed Mrs. Hamid as consul general. Both he and Jalil feel that since Habiba’s been raised in America and attended American
schools, going to live with relatives in Azad would prove very difficult for her. And they also feel that remaining in familiar
surroundings will help her to get over her loss.”

Hank added, “Lateef’s going to be operating out of a hotel for some time, and while he wants to play a major role in Habiba’s
life, he admits he doesn’t know a thing about child rearing. As a result, Jalil’s consented to grant Anne-Marie and me temporary
custody of her. Mavis had no family, and he’s her next of kin, so it should pose no problem.”

The little girl was sitting with her back against my chest; all I could see was the top of her bowed head. “Are you happy
with that arrangement, Habiba?”

She mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“That child-rearing stuff? They don’t know anything about it, either. But that’s okay. My”—her voice faltered briefly—“my
nanny Aisha and my Grams already taught me table manners and things like that. Besides, I like Anne-Marie and Hank, and Uncle
Kahlil promised I can see him whenever I want to. And…” She tipped her head back, presenting me with an upside-down view of
her pale face. “And if I stay in San Francisco, I can see you and Hy, too. If you want to.”

“Of course I want to, and so does Hy.”

Habiba regarded me solemnly for a moment, gave a brisk nod, and went back to staring down at her lap.

Joslyn asked, “So which one of you is she going to live with?”

“Oh, Hank,” Anne-Marie said quickly. “I’m too much of a…cleanliness Nazi, but he won’t mind the…disorder a child can create.”

“What she means is she hates kids.” Allie had just jumped onto the deck’s rail; Habiba pushed off my lap, went over, and began
petting her.

We all exchanged concerned looks.

Habiba looked over her shoulder and flashed us a weak grin. “Joke. This morning she told me that I’m a lot more interesting
than most adults she knows, and next week she’s taking me to the Academy of Sciences.” She went back to petting the cat.

Anne-Marie watched her thoughtfully—and affectionately. She saw me observing her, shrugged, and quickly changed the subject.
“So how’re you two doing?”

“Fair,” Adah said. “McCone has some good news, though: she’s a quarter of a million dollars richer.”

“The reward?” Hank asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“What’re you going to do with all that money?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Buy Mick a new cellular phone, I guess; he’s heartbroken over the demise of the old one.” I paused. They
all looked expectantly at me. “And there’s a woman in the Caribbean who helped me a lot; her organization could use a donation.”

“That’s it?” Joslyn asked.

“Hey, let me get used to the idea of the money before I start spending it.”

Hank glanced meaningfully at Anne-Marie. She nodded. He said, “I’d better bring this up now, because I hope it’ll affect your
plans. I’m leaving All Souls.”

“What!” Hank had founded the co-op. He was its senior partner. No, more than that—he was the soul in All Souls. “Without you,
it’ll wither up and die.”

“No, it’ll just become something else. We’ve agreed to dissolve the existing partnership; the partners who choose to remain
will reincorporate under a different name. I’m betting they sell the building and move downtown before the year is out.”

A wave of sadness swept over me. Every time I’d considered moving my offices elsewhere it had comforted me to think that my
old friends and associates would still be there for me in the big Victorian in Bernal Heights.

“Don’t look that way, Shar,” Hank said. “The co-op you’re mourning doesn’t exist anymore.”

“I know, but…What’re you planning to do?”

He smiled at Anne-Marie and took her hand. “How does Altman and Zahn, Attorneys-at-law, sound?”

“You’re leaving the Coalition for Environmental Preservation?” I asked her.

She nodded. “I’ll still act as counsel to them. And guess what else? Ted’s coming along as our office manager.”

Suddenly my sadness vanished. I knew what they were about to propose.

Joslyn said, “Well, all three of you are going to be in the market for office rentals. Anybody have an idea where you’ll relocate?”

My friends looked hopefully at me.

I said, “I don’t know about the neighborhood, but I’m certain of one thing: I want to be next door to a brand-new husband-and-wife
law firm.”

It was a high beautiful world up there and not the least bit lonesome, because a fully recovered Ripinsky rode in the rear
seat of the Citabria.

Through the headset he said, “You told Clearance Delivery we were VFR for Little River.”

“You bet I did. We’re going straight to Bootlegger’s Cove and not stirring for a good long time. You need to convalesce, and
I want to sleep for a week.”

“Sounds good to me.” He was silent for a moment. “How’re you dealing with what happened?”

I shrugged, my attention on the controls.

Again he was silent. A few minutes later he said, “Maybe you should consider it your personal Ban Kach.”

My breath caught. He had only once discussed the incident that for nearly two decades had lived in the darkest corner of his
psyche. I’d thought it forever off-limits.

He added, “You knew you were setting Hamid up to die, just like I did those Cambodians. When Dan Kessell changed my return
flight plan from Chiang Mai to that abandoned village near the border, it was clear what would happen. I told myself it didn’t
matter because I was being well paid and they were corrupt, murdering druglords. And when one of them came at me begging for
help in that clearing where the other corrupt, murdering druglords were slaughtering them, I didn’t think twice about putting
a bullet through his head so the guys with the Uzis would think I was on their side. It was only afterwards that it mattered.”

In the intimate confines of the plane, with his voice coming close through the headset, the retelling took on special meaning.
I nodded, turning it over, seeing the parallels.

He added, “Just let it go, McCone.”

Below us farmland gave way to the foothills of the Coast Range as I set course for the South Bay and a quick jog up the continental
shelf. I found my thoughts drifting to early June at Bootlegger’s Cove—a time of foggy beach walks and woodsmokey lovemaking
in front of the fireplace.