Shimmer (6 page)

He'd only begun stressing
after
he'd left Wilmington about how he was bound to have left behind some microscopic traces of himself, because that was when it came back to him that the cops probably had his DNA on their files, so even though it hadn't been his fault that the woman had died, it had made him paranoid for a long time after. But no one had come looking for him either on
Baby
or in any of the places he'd moored her, so after a while he'd stopped fretting and had decided that maybe she'd had a husband who hadn't liked the idea of other people knowing that his wife went out looking to pay for her jollies.

And Cal figured that he had, at least, given her a happy exit.

It had changed him, though.

Cal had come to believe that people who'd never actually presided over the death of another human being could not begin to understand how it felt. And that was how it had felt to him – as if he'd been somehow in charge – because even though it had been her body's fault, not his, he had still been inside her when it had happened, so he was, in a sense, responsible for it, which was, when all was said and done, pretty damned impressive.

Not as impressive as what had happened early Friday morning.

His
heart hadn't stopped until after the cord had choked off his breath and finished his life. But after that part was over, something entirely different had overcome Cal. A rage totally unprecedented for him, part of it directed at the dead man for being what he was to begin with – one of
them
– part at himself for wanting him, for allowing himself to share physical contact with such a person, physical
pleasure
, for fuck's sake.

Mostly, though, Cal knew, the rage had been directed at Jewel, who'd taught him so well about racism and hate and fury – wanton fury, he guessed it was, and he thought that ‘wanton' was a word he remembered from the Bible, and he'd liked it enough to include it once in his Epistle.

He hadn't planned any of it, though, neither the killing nor the destruction that had come after, but it had seemed to him at the time that he'd had no choice, that he just had to do it.

And then after the rage, after the
out
rage, once his rational mind had begun functioning again, he'd been surprised by how well he'd been able to go on thinking and planning.

But now the cops were out there looking for him – at least they were looking for someone, for an unknown
killer
– and he was shut away in this hole, and he knew he was going to have to be damned careful for a while, stay here for about as long as he could stand it, before he could risk going out again.

Being a joy-boy again.

12

His sister-in-law was in the kitchen when Sam came down in the morning.

Two-and-a-half hours' sleep before going back to work on a weekend morning – and that scrap of rest had been disturbed at around four thirty by Joshua's crying, though Sam had a fuzzy recollection of Grace waking instantly and saying she'd take care of him – but now his wife and son were still sleeping, which was good, and Sam had showered and shaved and was feeling at last half human, and he, like most of his colleagues, had been known to go to work on less rest than this.

‘Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?' he said as he walked in and saw Claudia, in a black satin robe, standing watching the kettle reach boiling point.

‘You, too,' she said.

Their hug was warm, their fondness real, though they'd seldom spent more than a matter of days together in the seven years or so that they'd known one another. But Claudia was Grace's beloved sister, which was all that mattered to Sam, and pulling back now to check her out, he saw what his wife had meant yesterday.

Strained was how she looked to him, and he'd like to have stayed home, caught up with her, spent time with his family, but there was a brutal killer to be caught and the usual stresses of his overdue paperwork mountain – and Sam had woken up worrying about Mildred Bleeker, even though he had given a cell phone to one of the night patrol guys to pass on to her. He and Martinez had agreed that it might be as well to put out a BOLO (police shorthand for ‘be on the lookout for') on her silver stranger, and even though that man had probably had zilch to do with the killing, it was still troubling Sam that he might have seen Mildred watching him.

‘Tea?' Claudia offered, aware of his antipathy to coffee.

‘No, thanks.' Sam opened the refrigerator, took out the jug of squeezed orange juice, poured himself a glass and went to take Woody's leash from its hook, creating a wag-fest and eager cries at floor level.

‘I know you got in late,' Claudia said, pouring water on a teabag. ‘I could take Woody for his walk, if it would help.'

‘It would more than help.' Sam put the leash back, and the dog subsided in disappointment. ‘You sure?'

‘I'd enjoy it.'

He downed his juice, rinsed the glass, kissed the top of her head. ‘Tonight,' he said, ‘I promise we'll have some time.'

‘Don't make promises you can't keep,' Claudia told him.

‘I can promise to try,' Sam said.

It was comfortable, affluent suburbia. Lovely houses, lush palms, thick bladed lawns, colourful flowers and shrubs, well-maintained sidewalks.

The kind of road people could feel safe in.

Yet Claudia, changed into jeans, T-shirt and sneakers fifteen minutes later for Woody's walk, found she did not feel safe.

She'd had this feeling before.

Of being watched.

Not here, of course, but back on Bainbridge Island, all too recently, and on the mainland, too, on one occasion, in Seattle.

There she knew now that the feeling had been all too well-founded, but there was no one watching Claudia here, she knew that perfectly well, too, unless perhaps it was a neighbour taking a look out of their window at an unfamiliar dog walker; but still, it was unsettling enough to remind her of why she'd abandoned her husband and sons to come here.

She knew full well that she was going to have to tell Grace soon, not because her sister was inquisitive, but because she loved Claudia, and, of course, she was also a psychologist, accustomed therefore to picking her way over sensitive terrain until she struck emotional oil.

‘OK, Woody,' she said to the dog. ‘Time for me to face the music.'

Woody peed against a palm, and then he stood perfectly still, and growled.

‘What?' Claudia said, the small hairs at the nape of her neck rising.

And then she saw the ginger tomcat, sitting on the path of a house just ahead of them, staring out Woody.

‘Fool,' Claudia told herself, and went on walking.

13

No witnesses or leads as yet.

Nor a single clue as to where their John Doe had been slain.

No Missing Persons reports matching his description.

No instant miracles from the ME's office either.

Sam had received a text from Mildred a little while ago.

NOT CONCERN YOURSELF ABOUT ME. YOURS, MILDRED
.

‘She texts better than I do,' he said, showing it to Martinez.

‘Maybe she had some help.'

‘I wouldn't bet on it,' Sam said. ‘Mildred's an enigma.'

‘Doesn't mean her silver dude's our guy,' said Martinez.

‘Means I'd like us to talk to him, though,' said Sam.

‘You and me both,' said his partner.

14

‘
I had an affair,' Claudia told Grace, and then swiftly, desperately, added: ‘Please don't hate me.'

Grace stared at her. ‘I could never hate you. You know that.'

‘I do,' Claudia agreed. ‘But still.'

It was almost eleven, and they were in the den, a room often used by Grace in the past – and, she hoped, in the future – for seeing her young patients, its walls covered with their own brightly coloured paintings; though for now it, too, had a playpen and a stack of soft toys – one of which Joshua, dressed in comfy blue and white rompers, was now contentedly snuggling up to after a fine game of ‘find the rattle' with his Aunt Claudia.

‘Do you want to tell me about it?' Grace asked.

She felt more than a little shocked, and mad at herself, too, for feeling that way, because as a psychologist, she knew she ought to know better. Except, of course, this was not a patient, this was her own sister, so she guessed she was entitled to feel a degree of shock, because Claudia had her sons to consider, and so far as Grace knew, with the possible exception that he might have railroaded his wife into relocating to Seattle, Daniel had always been a decent man, a good husband and father.

Things change
, she reminded herself.

‘It's all over,' Claudia said. ‘It was almost before it began.'

It sounded crazily simple, as she told it. She had been at a very low ebb, low enough to be in a park on the island having a weep, when this man had stopped to ask if she needed help, and he was a stranger, but he was also kind and attractive.

‘So you had an affair?' Grace could not conceal her amazement. ‘On the basis of a pick-up in a park?'

‘Do you want me to tell you or not?' Claudia asked quietly. ‘Because I'm finding this very hard, and I doubt that you could disapprove of me any more than I already do myself.'

‘I'm not disapproving,' Grace said, knowing that wasn't entirely true. ‘More surprised, I guess. And of course I want you to tell me.'

‘There's not much more to tell,' Claudia said. ‘It was very brief, but also very sweet. And, in some respects, good for me.'

‘OK,' Grace said, and waited for her sister to go on.

‘I'd been feeling so cold,' Claudia said, ‘as if nothing could ever really warm me through again, and then suddenly there he was, and we had this
connection
, which I know sounds like a terrible cliché, but . . .'

‘Go on,' Grace said after a moment.

‘I knew right away – and I told him – that it was never going to be more than that, just those moments, nothing else.' Claudia shook her head. ‘But truly, sis, he did make that cold go away for a little while, and though I guess he was using me, in a way, I was much guiltier of that than he was, and he knew that and he was OK with it, he was very kind to me about it.'

‘Do you want to tell me his name?' Grace's first shock had given way now to a strange kind of intrigue.

‘Kevin,' Claudia said. ‘He's from Australia.' She looked into her sister's blue eyes for an instant, found the even gaze too hard to cope with, looked away again. ‘Do you mind if I don't tell you any more about him than that?'

Grace found that she did mind, because it seemed to emphasize the distance that had opened up between them over time. ‘It's up to you how much you want to share.'

The door opened a little wider, and Woody came into the room and settled with a soft grunt of contentment on the rug beside the playpen.

‘My guilt,' Claudia said. ‘That's what I think I need to share most.'

‘From my point of view,' Grace said, slowly, ‘what I'd like you to feel able to share with me is why you were feeling so cold in the first place.'

‘Loneliness,' Claudia said. ‘Silly bitch that I am, with a good husband and two great kids, I still felt alone. Isolated, you know?'

‘Sure,' Grace said. ‘At least, I can imagine.'

And was, for about the millionth time, keenly aware of her own great good fortune.

15

Cal had emerged, relieved to be outside even if it was daytime, not
his
time, but beggars couldn't be choosers – which was not really true, it seemed to him, because panhandlers and street people seemed to have plenty of choice, seemed to have almost unlimited freedom in this great land, which was a damned sight more than he had right now.

Dangerous enough to be outside at all, but he needed food, and he'd bought a
Herald
and a bagel with cream cheese and a pint of Seagram's and a gallon of water and just a pint of milk because of the heat, and some apples and two Hershey bars and a big bag of Cheetos and some tall kitchen bags for trash. It was too goddamned hot for him, and he resented being forced to come out at this time because too much sun often made him feel nauseous.

Still, he'd decided he was going to take a little stroll along the beach, might as well now he was out, and it wasn't so bad, wandering over the sand like some aimless tourist, his sneakers dangling from one hand, his shopping in the other, but now he was moving past the piece of beach that he knew, from the Channel 7 News, was where the rowboat had been hauled ashore by the swimmer, and which he hoped to hell was still the closest the cops had to an actual crime scene.

There were plenty of people around, the rowboat long gone, of course, and all the tape too, and the cops. And Cal guessed he ought to feel relieved by that, by the reassuringly swift eradication of the human drama, yet instead he felt a pang of disappointment, as if he'd been cheated.

He'd expected a little more . . .
something.

No one so much as glancing his way, either, which was no real surprise since he guessed he looked like a regular guy walking on the beach today; no make-up, no gorgeous shimmer, and anyway, this was not his time, these people were not his kind, neither as playmates nor prey.

He spotted a pair of uniforms on the horizon, heading his way.

Cops.

Time to go back to the hole.

16

‘
How much does Dan know?' Grace asked.