Life or Death (23 page)

Being a woman automatically put Desiree at a disadvantage when it came to pissing and her height made her the constant butt of the jokes, but Senogles seemed to regard her very presence in the FBI as a personal affront.

The task force briefing is at midday. Senogles arrives in a flurry of swinging doors, handshakes, high-fives, telling everybody to gather round. Office chairs roll into position. When the circle has formed, he addresses the agents, appearing to grow in stature as he listens to the sound of his own voice. He’s early forties with highlighted blue contact lenses, a blaze of bridgework and a JFK haircut.

‘You all know why we’re here. A mother and daughter are dead. Our prime suspect is this man, Audie Palmer.’ He holds up a photograph. ‘He is a convicted killer and a fugitive, last seen on foot in this vicinity.’ He identifies the area on a large map of Houston.

Senogles turns to another of the agents and asks about the deceased.

‘Cassandra Brennan, aged twenty-five, born in Missouri, her father is a preacher. Her mother died when she was twelve. She quit school in ninth grade and ran away from home a couple of times. Later she trained as a beautician and make-up artist.’

‘When did she come to Texas?’

‘Six years ago. According to her sister she was engaged to marry a soldier who died in Afghanistan, but his family wouldn’t recognise the relationship. Until a month ago she was living with her sister and working as a waitress, but there was a problem with the brother-in-law.’

‘What sort of problem?’

‘He took a little too much interest in Cassandra’s welfare. Her sister told her to leave. Since then she’s been living in her car.’

‘Any other history?’

‘Two outstanding warrants for unpaid parking fines and failing to repay $650 of a single-parent allowance that she was overpaid. Apart from that, no rap sheet, no aliases, no other immediate family.’

‘How did she meet Palmer?’

‘She’s not on the visitors register at the prison,’ says another of the agents.

‘And she didn’t come up in the earlier investigation,’ adds a third.

‘She would have been all of fourteen,’ says the first.

‘Maybe she was hooking out of the hotel,’ says Senogles.

‘Not according to the night manager.’

‘Maybe he was getting a slice of the action.’

A photograph is pinned to a whiteboard – a shot from Cassie’s high school yearbook. She looks coltish and shy, with white blonde hair and a fringe.

‘State police are going door-to-door in the surrounding streets, using dogs to search yards and sheds. They’re likely to pick up Palmer before we do, but I want to know where he’s been, who he’s contacted and where he got the gun. Talk to Palmer’s family, friends, acquaintances – anybody who knew him or might offer him assistance. See if Palmer had any favourite places that he hung out as a kid. Did they ever go camping? Where does he feel comfortable?’

Desiree raises her hand. ‘He grew up in Dallas.’

Senogles looks surprised. ‘I didn’t see you there, Special Agent Furness. Next time you’ll have to stand on a chair.’

There is laughter. Desiree doesn’t react.

‘So what brings you here?’ asks Senogles.

‘I was hoping to be part of the task force.’

‘I have enough people.’

‘I’ve been keeping tabs on the original robbery and the missing money,’ says Desiree.

‘The money isn’t the issue any more.’

‘I’ve read Palmer’s psych reports and prison files. I’ve talked to him.’

‘Do you know where he is?’

‘No.’

‘Well, you’re not much good to me.’ Senogles slips the sunglasses from his forehead and puts them in a case.

Desiree remains standing. ‘Audie Palmer’s mother now lives in Houston and his sister works at the Texas Children’s Hospital. Ryan Valdez was one of the law enforcement officers who arrested him eleven years ago.’

Senogles props one foot on a chair and rests his elbow on his knee, as though he’s leaning on a fence. There are little webs of wrinkles in the corner of his eyes like hairline cracks in old china.

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘I think it’s odd that Audie Palmer escaped the day before his release and then turned up outside the house of the officer who arrested him.’

‘Anything else?’

‘I also think it’s odd that Valdez tried to apprehend Palmer without calling for backup after the motel night manager had positively identified Palmer from a photograph.’

‘You think Valdez is dirty?’

Desiree doesn’t answer.

Senogles gazes at the officers around the room. He seems to be caught in two minds. He straightens. ‘Okay, you’re on the team, but don’t go anywhere near the sheriff. He’s off-limits.’

Desiree tries to argue.

‘Palmer was outside the man’s house. Valdez had every right to be concerned. Remember who we’re chasing here. If Palmer is launching some sort of revenge campaign, we should be looking at other people who could be targets – the judge, the defence attorney, the DA. They all have to be notified.’

‘What about protection?’ someone asks.

‘Only if they request it.’

34

The old Granada Movie Theater in Jenson Drive has been derelict since the mid-nineties. Boarded up. Spray-painted. Stained with bird shit. Abandoned for the multiplex half a mile away. It was built in the 1950s, when North Houston was the last major shopping area south of Humble and families made a Saturday morning ritual of grocery shopping while their kids watched a double feature.

Lamont’s Bakery, where Audie had worked part-time during college, had been across the street, but was now a Chinese restaurant called The Great Wall. His boss at the bakery, Mr Lamont, had once told Audie how he met his namesake, the Texas war hero Audie Murphy, at the Granada Theater when he came to Houston to promote
To Hell and Back
, a movie about his life.

‘That’s why I gave you this job – you’re named after the bravest man I ever met. You know what he did?’

‘No,’ said Audie.

‘He stood on top of a burning tank firing a machine gun while flames were licking at his feet. He was shot to shit but he refused medical attention, not stopping until his men were safe. Guess how many Krauts he killed.’

Audie shrugged.

‘Go on, guess.’

‘A hundred.’

‘Don’t be stupid!’

‘Fifty?’

‘Damn right! He killed fifty Germans.’

Audie promised Mr Lamont that he’d watch the movie one day, but had never got around to it. It was something else to regret.

Skirting the side of the theatre, he now climbs a fire escape and kicks at a padlocked door that bangs open on rotten hinges, knocking clumps of damp plaster from the wall. He searches the empty building, which smells of mildew and decay. The rows of seats have been ripped out and removed, leaving a sloping cavern strewn with scraps of carpet, twisted metal and broken light fittings. The walls, painted in dark greens and reds, still have decorative mouldings along the architraves and skirting boards.

This is where Audie tries to sleep, curled up in a fetal clutch, resting his head on his jacket. He has forgotten how old he is. He has to count back the years and comes to thirty-three. The night arrives, trembling and shimmering with lightning. It reminds Audie of all those nights in prison, curled on his rack, reliving tragedies against the brickwork.

‘You’re going to be scared,’ Moss told him. ‘So when you start getting scared, remember that the longest night is only eight hours and the longest hour is only sixty minutes. Dawn is always going to come – unless you don’t want it to – but you got to fight against that thought. Give it one more day.’

Audie didn’t think he would miss anything about prison – but he misses Moss. The big fella had been partly a bodyguard, partly a sponsor, mostly a friend.

They’ll have questioned him about the escape. Maybe he copped a beating or two. It pains Audie to think about, but it was safer not to tell anyone about his plans – not even Moss. One day he’ll write to him and explain.

Forcing his mind to move on, he thinks of Belita and remembers the first few months of their affair, marvelling at how vividly he can recreate particular moments. Love was an accident waiting to happen, he decided. It was like throwing a parachute out of a plane and jumping after it, convinced that you could catch it on the way down. He was falling but it didn’t feel like a death plummet.

During those early days he saw Belita four or five times a week, driving her between pickups and drop-offs. They made love in the car and in Audie’s room and at Urban’s house when he was at a farm or away on business. Never overnight. Never falling asleep in each other’s arms or waking up together in the morning. Instead they stole moments like thieves, staring at the ocean afterward, or the night sky or the ceiling of Audie’s room.

‘How many people have you ever loved?’ she asked one day.

‘Only you.’

‘You’re lying to me.’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s all right. You can keep lying to me.’

‘How many men have you loved?’

‘Two.’

‘Does that include me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who was the other one?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

They were lying in the back of Urban’s SUV, parked above a beach where the surf curled and crashed on the sand, sucking to and fro like a mighty set of lungs. There were so many things that he wanted to know about Belita. Everything. He thought that if he gave up the details of his own life she might give up details of hers, but she had the ability to take part in long conversations while saying very little. At the same time her eyes, dark and unblinking, seemed to contain memories and knowledge that Audie couldn’t begin to fathom or should leave well alone.

What had he learned? Her Spanish father had owned a little store in Las Colinas and her mother sewed the wedding dresses that he sold. They lived above the shop on two floors where Belita shared a bedroom with her older sister, whom she wouldn’t speak of. She didn’t like dogs, ghost stories, earthquakes, thrush, mushrooms, candy floss, hospitals, leaking pens, tumble driers, infomercials, smoke alarms, electric ovens and offal.

Her room told him nothing. It was uncluttered by personal possessions and most of the drawers were empty except for her underwear. The wardrobe had a half-dozen dresses, along with the clothes they had bought on their shopping trip.

When he asked her more questions about her family and where she grew up and when she came to America, she would react angrily. It was the same when he professed his love for her. Sometimes she accepted it and other times she called him stupid, pushing him away. She made fun of his youth, or diminished what they shared. Perhaps she hoped to drive him away, but it had the opposite effect because her mockery meant that she cared.

Belita glanced at Audie’s wristwatch and said it was time to go. They had grown complacent, taking too many risks, riding their luck.

Audie hated dropping her at the house. He didn’t know if she went to Urban’s bed every night, but he feared as much and the thought of another man touching Belita made him groan into his pillow. Torn between jealousy and desire, he would lie in bed, his eyes closed, indulging in the cinema of his fantasies. He smelt Belita everywhere. She had scented his world.

‘Do you like living like this?’ he asked her, as they drove along the ocean road. It was one of the half-days they sometimes managed to steal. That was how he measured his life now – in the hours he spent with Belita.

She didn’t answer, her expression neutral.

He asked again. ‘Do you like living with Urban?’

‘He has been good to me.’

‘He doesn’t own you.’

‘You don’t understand.’

‘Explain it to me.’

Audie saw the heat rise in her neck and cheeks.

‘You’re too young,’ she said.

‘No younger than you.’

‘I have seen more.’

Audie turned his gaze toward the ocean for a moment. Frustrated. Sad. Confused. He wanted to ask if hidden love was still love or if it was like a tree falling in a forest when nobody is around to hear it fall. These moments with Belita seemed so real to him and everything else was an illusion.

‘We could leave here,’ he said.

‘And go where?’

‘East. I got family in Texas.’

She smiled sadly, as though listening to a likeable idiot.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘You don’t want me.’

‘Yes I do.’

The window was open and the wind lifted her hair, blowing it into the corners of her mouth. She raised her knees to her chest and bowed her head.

‘What happened to you?’ he asked.

She didn’t answer. Then he realised she was crying. Audie pulled to the side of the road. It was almost dark. He leaned across and kissed her cheek, saying he was sorry. Her skin felt almost cool. He brushed his fingertips over her face, through the hollows and grooves, as though reading her beauty like a blind man. And he understood for the first time that love could bring misery and cruelty and obliteration as easily as it brought goodness and joy.

She pushed his hands away and told him to take her home. Later he showered and stood for a long time motionless at the mirror, holding his toothbrush, not focusing on himself. He was haunted by Belita’s face, which was so close yet so far away, looking through him and beyond him. Her eyebrows were so definite and strong, her lips slightly open, the smoothness of her skin, the brown of her eyes, the shallow panting of her breathing and cascade of sighs. He felt as though their passion could light up cities, yet she was already moving past him, using his body to make a journey to a distant place that he could never hope to reach.

Afterwards he went down the hallway to the payphone and called his mother in Dallas. He hadn’t spoken to her in six months, but had sent postcards and a present for her birthday, a picture frame lined with seashells (which was bad luck according to Belita, who was full of superstitions).

He could hear the phone ringing and pictured his mother navigating the narrow corridor, avoiding the side table and the hat stand. There was an echo on the line. He wondered if the wires were actually carrying his words or turning them into signals.