Beneath the Cracks (3 page)

"Do you know what you need to do to make
this official? You need to have a housewarming party. Don't look at
me like I've lost my mind. I'm not talking about inviting all of
Darkwater Bay in for a tour. Just a few people, friends you've made
since you arrived."

"That would be you."

"I was a friend before you breezed into
town. Charlie will forever be your friend, Helen. He's so grateful
for the opportunity you gave him –"

"He and the others deserved the promotions
to detective. It wasn't like central was overflowing with competent
men."

"True enough. Ken considers you a
friend."

"Forsythe?" I scoffed. "I haven't seen or
spoken to him in months."

"Tony and Crevan adore you."

"That may be, but they're hardly –"

"And then there are the guys from OSI who
haven't stopped asking how you're adjusting to civilian life."

Code for Orion and Darnell.

"Maya, I don't want a bunch of virtual
strangers traipsing through my house and peeking into my medicine
cabinet. I've enjoyed the quiet, the solitude. Can't I simply enjoy
the fact that there isn't a single orange shag carpet fiber in the
place before you start sending out invitations to an open
house?"

She chuckled. "It could be very simple. Of
course it will be elegant. Wine and cheese perhaps. We could light
that gorgeous fireplace…  Who did the stonework on that thing?
I've never seen anything like it."

Thin slabs of slate were arranged in an
asymmetrical pattern that climbed jaggedly up part of the wall in
the great room. I didn't want to deal with the mess of a wood
fireplace, so the glow of the gas logs wasn't quite as cozy as Maya
imagined. In Darkwater Bay's chilly climate, the aesthetic was less
important to me than the heat.

"I hired a mason who had some creative ideas
about using the space in a more artistic and less traditional way,"
I shrugged one shoulder. "I'll think about having a little soiree
if you promise not to hound me about it. Deal?"

"The irony in your lack of foodstuff is that
I'll bet you've got a wine cellar that's fully stocked. Am I
right?"

She was. I rolled my eyes. "I can take a
hint, Maya. You want the grand tour, so the grand tour you shall
have."

"Then get on with it cupcake," Maya
grinned.  "I've got a doctor's appointment in about an hour,
and we've got a party to plan too."

The sun beat down on Preacher's shoulders,
high overhead already in the midmorning.  Thirst plagued
him.  Hunger rubbed his belly against his spine with painfully
throbbing pulsations.  The heat above only served to
underscore the misery that lie beneath his cracked skin. 

He vaguely wondered at the oddly warm
weather for so late in October.  Then again, being inside the
cocoon of Darkwater Bay these past two years had rendered his skin
pale and sensitive to so much sunlight.  It was like a mole
emerging from darkness after years of seclusion underground.

The work wasn't what he expected either, and
through his thirst and hunger-muddled thoughts it frustrated
him.  He toiled alone, absent the hostile strangers in the van
with whom he'd met before leaving Downey, out in a field digging
irrigation troughs from what he could surmise on his own. 
Farming after all, wasn't his field of expertise. 

Another dead end.  Another glaring
failure in his quest to uncover what was really going on in the
veiled world of the homeless.  For a week and a half he'd been
out here, baking under the Indian Summer sky, staring down the
golden stalks of corn yet to be harvested, digging through rich,
black soil, wondering how he'd ever figure anything out when
nothing was what he once thought it was, or at the very least,
suspected.

Even now, that he'd caved to the strong pull
of common sense and followed the last possible lead, Preacher found
himself wondering if he possessed even a shred of a clue.

A shadow loomed a moment before it merged
with his, distorted in the muddy ditch.  He lifted one hand
and muttered the first phrase of the twenty-third Psalm.  "The
lord is my shepherd, I shall not want …"

"Cut the crap, you fuckin' lunatic," a
canvass-sheathed canteen smacked the back of Preacher's neck. 
"I ain't comin' out here to water you so I can listen to more of
your bullshit."

Preacher's fingers greedily grasped the
flask.  The heat beating down left him feeling flushed and
burnt, his mouth dry, energy sapped by more than just the
back-breaking work of shoveling mounds of heavy soil in the growing
fingers of turned earth.  He twisted the metal cap away from
the neck and poured the icy liquid down his parched throat. 
He drained it, held it aloft from his lips waiting for the last
precious drops to soothe a leathery tongue.

No, this was not what he signed on
for. 

And in the swift moments that followed,
Preacher didn't question the resurgence of energy, the mental
acuity that allowed him to plot how much time it would take to
reach the end of this particular trough of muddy soil.  He
missed the sudden cessation of hunger pangs that usually gnawed at
his ribs and twisted his belly into knots.  Hell, he stopped
noticing that his clothing bagged more than usual in this wretched
disguise.

Instead, Preacher looked up at his minder in
soft question.  "More?"

The man's forehead glistened with a light
sheen of sweat in the morning sunshine.  "Later," he
grinned.  "You knock off this Jesus bullshit, and you can
drink as much as you like." 

Fingers closed around the canteen and yanked
it away from Preacher's hand. 

"In fact, you do a good job out here today,
and tonight, we might throw in a bottle of somethin' a little more
to your liking, Preacher."

Preacher fisted one hand around the spade
he'd been wielding for days in this futile attempt to learn that
perhaps his compadres were simply worked to death.  "How much
more before we go back?"

The man's eyes seemed to be swallowed by
large pupils.  "The end of the row."

"This one?" he gestured with a light swing
of the spade.

"Sure, man.  I think maybe you're ready
for a break when you're done with this row.   They say
it's gonna rain this afternoon anyway."

Preacher's eyes drifted skyward.  Not a
cloud as far as he could see, which out here, was pretty damned
far.

"But you know, if you wanna dig in the rain,
that's cool, man."

"I could have the afternoon off?"

His bald head tipped back, raucous laughter
parting thin lips.  "I never said that, man, but we can find
something for you to do indoors.  Be a shame to waste all this
raw energy, huh?"

Preacher nodded.  Energy.  Waves
of it rippled through his muscles, tightened his spine and itched
along nerves suddenly eager for movement.  Rain, shine, hell,
through the black of night, he suddenly felt that he could do
anything.

"Yeah," the man muttered softly.  "I
think you're about ready for a new job, Preacher.  I think
you're just about ready for anything."

Chapter 3

An unhealthy dose of merlot sloshed in my
belly, jostled by an increasingly nervous stomach.  The first
cars were lining the circle drive in front of my house. 
Yeesh.  Hadn't anybody carpooled to this stupid thing?

"Hors d'oeuvres are ready, wine is
breathing, dinner under candle warmers in the butler's pantry,
table is set in the dining room.  Music.  We forgot
music!"

"Calm down."  I pulled the tiny remote
for the compact Bose hi-fi from one pocket and pressed a
button.  Soft music floated through the room.

"This is so exciting!  I hate it that
the guys from central couldn't make it on such short notice, but
that was a stroke of genius to ask Zack to come too, Helen. 
You really need to get to know him better."

"And here I thought you were not-so-silently
pulling for Orion."

"Ha!  Keep your options open.  See
who brings the most flowers," Maya grinned.

Melodic chimes startled both of
us. 

Maya started laughing. 

"Stop it.  I'm not used to the sound
yet.  Go on.  Greet your guests."

"Oh no you don't.  These people are
here for
you
."  She planted one hand on the small of my
back and gave me a shove.  "Your adoring public awaits
you."

Zack stood with a regal looking woman of
obvious Arabic ancestry at his side.  My mind put her in
eighteenth dynasty Egyptian garb and imagined the female pharaoh
Hatshepsut.  Thinner than the literal incarnation.  There
was something about her that intrigued me.

He smiled warmly.  "Helen, this is
Lieutenant Shelly Finkelstein from Downey Division.  She tells
me you haven't been introduced yet."

I extended my hand.  "It's a pleasure
to finally meet you.  Tony has told me so much about you."

She laughed.  "All of it good, I'm
sure."  An accent spoke of parents whose first language was
not English.  "We should've met long ago, Dr. Eriksson. 
I know that Tony and Crevan both have appreciated your insight into
some of their investigations.  And the fact that you made my
career considerably less stressful is a debt I'm not sure I can
ever repay."

Of course she meant Lowe.  "Please,
call me Helen.  Won't you come in?  Maya's already here,
probably pouring the wine as we speak."

Briscoe and Conall weren't far behind. 
They came together, dressed for duty.

"Are you guys on duty tonight?"

"Our turn for graveyard," Briscoe
chuckled.  He pulled me in for a hug before I had time to
protest.  "You got any of that killer java brewing?  I
know Maya said this was more the wine tasting sort of gathering,
but we gotta keep our wits about us."

"I think that can be arranged.  Go on
in and let Maya know that we've got a non-alcoholic contingent to
the guest list."

Forsythe approached Briscoe from behind with
Steve Smith, his crime scene photographer and Billy Withers from
the morgue.  He smacked the back of Briscoe's head.  "You
on later tonight, old man?"

I ushered them into the great room and let
Maya play hostess.  Strange.  I could see the camaraderie
between them, knew that they were here because I opened my home,
yet I felt oddly disconnected from them.  An outsider in my
own home.  Maya thrust a glass of wine in my hand and jerked
her head toward the crowd.

"Get over there."

"I –" was saved by the chimes.

Darnell showed up in uniform.  It
would've been comical if I wasn't aware of the fact that the man
was unfamiliar with the concept of down time.  He probably
slept standing, pressed, crisp and ready for a news
conference.  He was alone.

"Commander Darnell, thank you for
coming."

He extended a bottle of wine.  "I am
truly happy that you were able to put your life back together so
quickly after what happened, Dr. Eriksson."

I hooked my arm through his.  "How
about if we make a deal?  When we see one another outside the
law enforcement world, you call me Helen, and I call you…"

"Of course.  I didn't want to be
presumptuous, Helen.  Please, call me Chris.  Or
Christopher, if you prefer."

Headlights shined up the drive and
illuminated where we stood in the doorway.

"That'll be Johnny, Helen.  Not
everyone is aware of his position in law enforcement."

"Understood."  I mimed locking my lips
and tossed the key over my shoulder.  "Shall we wait for
him?"

"You wait.  I can find my way
inside."

Orion parked his car and walked toward me as
if I were the sole person standing on a vast and desolate
landscape.  He indulged in a slow perusal, close enough that I
could smell the scent of soap on his skin.  His hair was
longer than I remembered.

I rubbed my chin.  "This is new."

"The goatee?"  It was darker blond than
his hair and added roguish appeal to his face.  "It's that
time of year, Doc.  The weather turns cold and men's thoughts
turn to keeping warm."

"We should probably join the party. 
Everyone else is inside already."

His fingers manacled my wrist before I could
turn away.  "Or you could tell me why you haven't called in
all these months.  Don't get me wrong.  I'm thrilled to
rate an invite to this impromptu gathering tonight, but I've been
worried about you.  Guess I was hoping we'd have a chance for
a private meeting before dinner with the gang."

The warm hand sent a cold chill through
me.  I shivered.  Moonlight peeking out from behind puffy
clouds magnified the blue in his eyes.  My nerve endings
hadn't forgotten the effect his touch had on me.  My stomach
hadn't forgotten how to summersault under the intense gaze
either.  I looked away quickly.

"Maya told you I've been busy."

His thumb caressed the inside of my
wrist.  "She also said you're fine.  She didn't tell me
that your hair is longer and chestnut now, or that you don't look
at the world through harried eyes."  Johnny leaned close and
brushed his lips against my temple.  "You look beautiful,
Helen."

"We should really…"

"Go inside," Orion sighed.  "If I must
share, I must share."

He kept his word – sharing me with the other
guests.  While Maya fluttered around with hors d'oeuvres trays
and wine refills, Johnny drifted from the great room to the
kitchen.  I wondered how far he'd wander in curiosity about
the new house.  I slipped into the kitchen after him while
Maya played hostess and chatted up the other guests.  I
wondered why they were really here.  Morbid curiosity about my
house?  About me?  Were they aware of the bloody images
of Datello's suffering at my hands playing on a continuous loop in
my blackened brain?