Secret Light (6 page)

“That’s not funny.”

“I don’t
feel
funny.” Rafe struck the steering wheel with his fist. “I feel angry. I feel

ashamed.”

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“Why ashamed?" Ash poked his thumb in the direction of the patrol car. "That guy

should be ashamed.”

“That man, that horrible
feixender Hurensohn
who ate my sandwich, knows I am

powerless against him because he carries a badge.”

Ash covered his face to hide his laughter. “What does that—whatever you said—

mean?”

“It means
smirking son of a bitch
.”

Ash’s head bobbed in agreement. “That fits.”

Rafe gripped the wheel and took a deep, calming breath. When he was done, he

was able to let go and slip the key into the ignition. “Let’s go.”

“At least I got my beer. You didn’t have lunch.”

“I’ll pick something up later. I need to get back to the office and make some calls.

Then I’ve got an appointment with a man from Mar Vista who wants to see that duplex

on Ninety-eighth. Wish me luck.”

“You don’t seem to need luck.”

Rafe started his car and pulled into the traffic on Manchester Boulevard. This he

knew. He was very good at his job. He couldn’t help but smile. “No, I don’t. Do I?”

Ben drove the squad car in angry silence. Calhoun continued to act like he’d done

nothing wrong. When he’d first been partnered with Jim Calhoun, Ben thought it might

work out. Jim was hard working, diligent. He could be intuitive. But he could be mean-

spirited and, sometimes, even a downright bully. For Ben—who had more to fear from

a bully than most—every day was dangerous and every call uncertain. Ben worried that

one day Jim would simply snap and take his rage out on someone he was supposed to

be protecting. Today was as close as he’d ever come to crossing the line.

“I don’t have to say that was completely uncalled for, do I?”

“What, that burger thing? Come on. It was a joke.”

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“It was anything but a joke. It was an abuse of the public trust.”

“You’re going to take me on over some German fairy?”

“You better believe it. What did he do to you to make you go after him like that?”

Calhoun’s eyes narrowed. “What did he do to you that you’ve suddenly become his

knight in shining armor?”

Morgan flushed. “What are you talking about?”

“What’s with you and him, anyway? You’ve been all hot and bothered about his

case. Following him around. You’re not a detective. It’s not your job.”

“He was the victim of a crime, and your abuse just made it worse. He doesn’t dare

stand up to you. He’s an immigrant, he’s—”

“You’re making my point for me. I’m beginning to think I don’t know you at all.

You got anything you need to tell me?”

“Yeah. I need to tell you if you ever abuse the badge like that again, I will go

straight to the captain. I will see that you’re censured, whatever it takes.”

Jim grinned. He had a ready smile, but it made Ben’s gut clench. He’d never noticed

until just then. It was a mean smile. It was the smile of a boy about to do something

awful.

“A real cop doesn’t take some civilian’s side over his partner’s. Didn’t they teach

you that? The only thing we got standing between us and them is loyalty.”

“You deliberately baited him. How do you expect me to be loyal if my partner is

out of control?”

“Are you going to take his side over mine?”

“He could file a complaint against both of us.”

“And if he does? Whose side will you be on then?”

Ben said nothing.

“Guys like you don’t last on the force.”

“What do you mean,
guys like me
?”

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Calhoun considered him. “You’re soft, Morgan. Soft guys can’t do the job.”

“Maybe not the way you do it.”

“Bad guys have to believe we’re worse than they are. That we’re tougher and

stronger. They have to know we’re not afraid of them.”

“This is 1955, not 1948 and—”

“You have to be loyal to the badge. The badge always comes first, or bad things

happen.”

Ben understood what Calhoun was saying, but he couldn’t let the incident go.

“The badge doesn’t come before justice, Calhoun. Just so we’re clear, if I see you do

something like that again, I will report you myself.”

Calhoun stared at him. Eventually he laughed, but it was mirthless. “Nah. You

won’t. You’ll want to, but you won’t because you’re
soft
.”

Ben hoped he’d never have to find out. “And you’re a dinosaur, and I don’t have to

tell you what happened to them.”

Ben clenched the steering wheel so hard his knuckles paled.

“It’s cute that you’re hopping mad about it, though. Shows you got class. I like

working with a guy who’s got class. It makes the ride smell cleaner somehow.”

A few blocks down the road, Ben spotted a phone booth and pulled over. “Gimme a

second. I gotta call my mother and tell her what time I’ll be there for dinner Saturday.”

“Oh Christ. Mama’s got you on her apron strings too, huh? You’re like an open

book, you know that?”

“That’s it.” Ben turned before getting out of the car. “I’ll meet you in the ring after

work, Calhoun. I am going to beat on you like a drum, and we’ll see who’s soft.”

“I’ll fight you. You think you got what it takes to win?”

“Glove up or shut up.” Ben got out and slammed the door. He could wipe the floor

with Calhoun. It was an excellent plan. Maybe the man would be less mouthy with his

face swollen and his spleen lodged in his throat.

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He took out his tiny notebook and a pencil and put a dime in the slot. He dialed the

phone, perfectly aware that Colman would probably hang up on him, but he had to try.

“Paradise Realty.”
A woman’s voice, calm and professional.

“I’m calling for Rafe Colman.”

“He just walked through the door. One moment, please.”

Thank heavens she didn’t ask who was calling; he’d foreseen a problem there. On

the one hand, he couldn’t lie, and on the other, Rafe was bound to dodge him after the

incident in the coffee shop.

“This is Rafe Colman.”
Oh, that gut-stirring accent. Women must go mad for him
. “How

may I help you?”

“Don’t hang up. It’s me…Ben.”

“I can’t decide whether to complain about intimidation or harassment. I’m going to

call everyone into my office now and let them hear exactly—”

“I swear to you, I’m on the level, Rafe. Please, just listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Calhoun is a sack of turds. I’m sorry.”

“Thanks for that, anyway.”

“And about last Saturday night, I’m… Can you please forgive me? I made a

mistake. I am not harassing you, and I won’t let Calhoun intimidate you. I won’t bother

you. I just want you to accept my apology. I just… I thought we could be friends.”

Silence. So much goddamn silence. Ben strained to hear Rafe’s soft voice above the

traffic and past the noise of his pulse, drumming in his ears.

“I accept your apology.”

“Thank you. I swear, I am sincerely sorry. I just wish I knew—”

“Since you want to be a detective, perhaps you would like to solve a mystery?”

Ben’s mouth went dry. “Yeah?”

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“I’ll say two words, and you must find out what they mean.”

Ben could hear something tapping. Maybe a pen? Maybe it was a nervous habit?

“Two words?”

“Two words only. Walter Hart. H-A-R-T.”

“Walter Hart? Hart with no ‘e’ like the deer?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“What am I supposed to do with Walter Hart?”

“You say you want to be my friend. Well… Walter Hart was my friend. Solve the

mystery, Detective Morgan.”

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Chapter Five

December 7, 1955

Some unexpected noise woke Rafe. Whatever it was roused Mooki too—and, given

recent events, every muscle in his body tensed. He rose to sitting in the still darkness of

his bedroom and listened. When he heard a soft tap at the back door, he froze. A fresh

flood of adrenaline caused his muscles to tighten. Even Mooki froze. She scampered up

onto his chest, quivering with fear. Instinct so old it had no name kept them both silent.

No one ever came to his back door. They would have to walk up his drive, past his

car and the hedges that secluded his house from the front, and up the back porch stairs.

Even the milkman never came up his drive.

While his imagination ran wild, Rafe peered out the window but saw nothing.

There was no car parked outside. The half-moon cast enough light that he could move

through his house without switching on the lights inside. He grabbed the
Spazierstock
—

walking stick—he used when he walked Mooki, and with her slinking along at his

heels, he headed for the service porch.

There was definitely someone there. The lace curtains—hung there by the home’s

previous owner—bore the silhouette of a large man. Standing to one side as if he were

in some kind of gangster movie, Rafe twitched the curtains back and glanced cautiously

out.

At first he didn’t recognize his visitor’s profile, but then it became clear from the

cropped, dark hair and chiseled face that Ben the cop, once again dressed in civilian

clothing, was peering into his house and tapping lightly on the window glass.

“Rafe?” came the whispered query. “It’s me.”

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Fear held Rafe utterly still. Mooki whimpered at his ankles, nosing his bare skin as

though she wanted to crawl inside. He was really going to have to make more of an

effort if he couldn’t be brave enough to reassure his dog.

“What do you want, Officer Morgan?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? I have something to say, and I wanted to say it in

person.”

Rafe didn’t move. “What is it?”

“I did your detective work. I found out what happened to Walter Hart. I—I think I

know what you were trying to tell me.”

Rafe clutched his stick in his hands. Now what? He hadn’t thought this far ahead.

What had he expected to feel? Vindication? Relief? What had he expected Ben to do

with the information?

“What about it?”

“I’m so sorry, Rafe.” The flat of Morgan’s workmanlike hand pressed against the

glass. “I know that’s all I seem to say to you. But for what it’s worth, I know about

Walter Hart, and I’m sorry.”

“Walter Hart was like family to me.”

“Was he?”

“He taught me to ice skate.” Rafe said this through the door, like confession.

“Did he?” Ben leaned in, waiting.

“I was afraid to skate when I first came to this country. I’d had a mishap on some

ice—I fell into a pond when the ice cracked and barely got out alive—so I never really

learned. But when I came here, I used to go to the ice rink with school friends. I slipped

and slid and smashed myself to smithereens. Or I would cling to someone and die with

shame when I took them down with me.”

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“And Walter Hart helped you?”

“He took me under his wing. Skating. Skiing. Baseball. He was a tremendous

athlete, and he made me his protégé. He was such a big, burly man. It was astounding

to watch him skate. He was all muscle but on the ice…like a swan.”

“Look, Rafe. Can I come in please? I’d like to talk about your friend.”

Rafe hesitated. Did he dare let Ben in, even that far? Talking to him about this,

about Walter Hart, could be the first fatal step toward sharing Walter’s fate.

“Mooki, ich bin so ein Idiot.”
Rafe swallowed hard and reached for the doorknob. “I

hope I shall not regret this.”

When Ben entered, Mooki seemed relieved enough to brush his leg with her

abundant fur, but she returned quickly enough to Rafe, who picked her up and buried

his face against her back.

“You were saying?” Ben asked. Rafe stepped back and allowed Ben to pass him.

When the light from the window caught him, Rafe gasped.

“What on earth…?” The side of Ben’s face was swollen and purple, his eye nearly

closed shut. His upper lip bore a fresh cut that cracked opened when Ben grinned at

him. A drop of blood pooled there, and Ben wiped it away with his thumb.

“Damn. Split again. Do you think I could get a piece of toilet paper or something?”

Rafe rummaged around in the shelves above his stationary tub until he found some

clean washcloths. He gave one to Ben and then headed to the kitchen to fill the other

with ice. “What happened?”

“I gave Jim Calhoun the beating he so richly deserved in the ring. Unfortunately he

got a glove on me once or twice. I’m out of practice, or he’d never have been able to

touch me.”

“Come with me, and I’ll make an ice pack.”

“I’ll get it.” Ben took the cloth from Rafe’s hand. “You don’t have to wait on me.”