The God's Eye View (22 page)

CHAPTER
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34

M
anus was pacing at the periphery of the giant Columbia Mall parking lot. The sun shone headache-bright in his eyes as it approached the horizon, then cast a lengthening shadow on the pavement in front of him as he headed the other way. He flexed his hands as he walked. Open. Closed. Open. Closed.

He hadn’t liked it when Delgado hit the woman to stun her, but he understood it had to be done. Delgado had tossed Manus her purse, and Manus had done his part, picking up the shoe she’d lost, getting out her keys, driving her car away from the scene of the snatch. He was supposed to search the car and the purse and then text Delgado when he was done, regardless of whether he found anything. Well, he hadn’t found anything, not even in her shoe. But he hadn’t texted Delgado. He doubted the woman had on her person what the director wanted—the purse or the car were more likely. So if he told Delgado he hadn’t found anything, Delgado would think the woman had hidden it somewhere else. At which point, he would make her tell. Manus didn’t want to think about how. He didn’t like the way Delgado had been looking at her in the Sprinter, when he was kneeling on her back. Manus knew what that look meant. He’d tried to tell himself he was wrong, but he knew Delgado. Knew what he was like.

You should never have left her alone with him. Never.

Stop it. It’s what the director wanted. You had no choice.

He paced, the sun below the treetops now, their shadows overtaking his. With every other step, he smacked a fist into a thigh, harder and harder.

But you’re supposed to tell him. You have to find what she took from the director. It’s something she could hurt him with. That’s why the director had to do this.

He’d told Delgado not to hurt her. Delgado had given him a strange look, as though Manus had asked him not to hurt a fly, an ant. He’d responded, “Why do you care?” And Manus hadn’t answered. Couldn’t.

He told himself he should have gone to her earlier, before any of this had happened, even before he had gone to the director. He could have explained, made her understand she had to give back the thumb drive. Maybe she would have listened.

Or maybe she wouldn’t have. And what would he have done then?

But he could explain now. Now she would understand. Now she would listen. Because . . .

If the thumb drive is what the director wanted, once he has it why couldn’t he just let her go?

Open, closed. Open. Closed.

But what if he’s afraid she could still hurt him, somehow? Because of what she knows. And he must be afraid of that. He must be. That’s why he’s doing this. Not just to get the thumb drive back. To make sure she can never say anything to anyone afterward. That’s why. She was going to do something bad and she still could and you had NO CHOICE.

He stopped and clutched the sides of his head.

Why did she have to do whatever she did? Why?

He thought of the way she had put her hands on his face, the way she had kissed him.

I’m sorry, Evie. I’m so sorry.

He sat on the curb, covered his face, and started to cry.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want her to get hurt. He didn’t want her to die. But it wasn’t up to him. She’d done something, something to the director. But why? Why did she have to do that?

His phone vibrated and he yanked it out of his shirt pocket. A text from Delgado:
You checked the car and the purse? And that shoe?

Manus’s heart started pounding. He hesitated, then texted,
Yes.

And?

He had to tell Delgado. It was what the director wanted. But if Delgado was asking, it meant he hadn’t found it on her person. So if it wasn’t in the car or the purse or the shoe, it meant she had hidden it. Which meant the next step was, Delgado would make her tell where.

He pressed his palms to his temples and squeezed.
What do I do what do I do WHAT DO I DO.

You there, genius?

Manus looked at the text. Suddenly, he wanted to go to work on Delgado. Everything else was so confusing, but that was so clear.

Yes.

Did you check her shit?

Yes.

Holy shit, are you fucking mute now, too? Did you find anything?

Tears running down his face, Manus typed,
No.
And hit Send.

He blinked and looked at the text. Had he meant to send it? He hadn’t thought. He’d just typed the two letters and then hit Send. And now it was done. Now he didn’t have to think about it anymore. But he couldn’t
stop
thinking.

He stood and began pacing again. A moment later, another text came in.

Yeah, that’s what I was expecting. She says she hid it. Thumb drive, as expected. In the nursing home next to the supermarket. Ladies’ room, on the left as you go in through the side entrance. Handicapped stall, taped to the back of the toilet near the floor.

Manus was so relieved his knees went rubbery. Delgado must have scared her into telling, but he wouldn’t have hurt her. Not yet. Manus knew how it worked. It was better to hold the pain back, if you could.

But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come later.

He texted,
Okay.

Okay as in, you’re going to check it out now?

Yes.

How long?

I don’t know. I’m not there right now.

Wait a minute, didn’t you bring the car back to the supermarket?

No. Why?

You have to bring it back.

Why?

So things look right.

Manus shook his head, not liking this at all.

What does that mean?

Do I have to spell it out for you, dummy? Her car just needs to be where she was last seen. So it looks right. Jesus, I hate this fucking texting. Can’t you get a hearing aid or something?

Looks like what?

We’re wasting time. Check the nursing home and let me know what you find.

You’re not supposed to hurt her.

Yeah, I got that the first time, genius. It’s cute that you like her but I didn’t care then, either. This has to be taken care of a certain way. Director’s orders.

He’d known, hadn’t he? Even if he’d tried to hide from it. The thumb drive alone wasn’t going to be enough. The director wanted her dead.

But . . . a certain way?

What way?

It’s not your fucking concern, okay? You have one job. The nursing home. Now do it. Don’t think about anything else. I’m doing what I was told to do. You need to do the same.

What were you told to do?

Hey fuck off, okay?

I’m not helping until you tell me.

Hey asshole you want me to tell the director you said that?

Manus didn’t care. He wasn’t going to back down.

Almost a minute went by. Then another text came in:

Make it look random, okay? Like a crime that could happen to anyone, not something targeted. You getting the picture now, idiot? Now, can you get to work, or do I have to call in backup?

Manus felt a cold fury settle behind his ears, in his chest. He held the phone at his side for a moment and flexed his free hand. Then he texted back.

No. I can go to work. Happy to.

CHAPTER
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35

M
anus drove Evie’s car back to the Safeway, trying to keep his mind clear, to force himself to focus.

One thing at a time. One thing at a time.

He circled the lot before moving in, looking for police, a crowd . . . any evidence
that the snatch had been noticed. There was nothing. He parked the car where he had taken it and killed the engine, then placed her purse and shoe inside a plain canvas grocery bag, the same kind ecologically minded shoppers c
arried in and out of the supermarket every day. He got out, pulled off the work gloves he was wearing, and dropped those in the bag, as well.

He walked over to the nursing home and tried the side entrance. Locked. Well, slipping in and out unobserved was probably too much to hope for.

He circled around to the front and went in. Immediately he was struck by the smell of strong antiseptic. He suppressed a gag and kept moving.

A pretty black woman was sitting behind a large, circular receptionist’s station just beyond the foyer. She smiled and raised her eyebrows as he approached, and he didn’t need to be a lip reader to make out what she said: “Can I help you?”

He stopped in front of the station, smiled awkwardly, and said, “My father can’t care for himself anymore and I think it’s time. If you have some brochures I could show him, I think . . . it would make things easier.”

She nodded sympathetically, eyeing him just a moment too long. He was accustomed to the reaction. It happened whenever he spoke in front of someone for the first time. She was wondering what was wrong with him. Deaf? Retarded? He didn’t mind. He knew there was something about his presence that made people uncomfortable, edgy, even afraid. The strangeness of his voice gave them something to focus on, something to explain away a feeling produced by something else.

She gathered up a few forms and handed them over. He glanced through them for appearance’s sake. Slick-looking materials depicting laughing, well-dressed, healthy-looking old people with perfect dentures and salon-coiffed white hair enjoying strolls and shuffleboard under brilliant blue skies, gourmet meals lit by chandelier. No one alone, everyone part of a pleasant, happy community. He’d never seen such bullshit.

He looked up and saw that she was speaking. Either she hadn’t figured out he was deaf, or she didn’t know how to talk to deaf people.

“. . . and we strongly encourage residents to join in all the activities we offer. I’m sure your father would be very happy here, if you decide to enroll him.”

Manus wondered whether he had read that right.
Enroll? Commit
would have been more honest.

“Thank you,” Manus said. “I think he would.”

“And your name is . . . ?”

“Miller,” Manus said, wondering if the woman stood to receive a commission if she reeled him in. “Mark Miller.”

“Well, Mr. Miller, the main office is closed now, so I can’t offer a tour of our facilities. But if you’d like to come back . . . ?”

“I think I’ll go through the brochures first. Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. Oh, is there a men’s room I could use?”

“Of course.” She gestured to her right. “Left at the end of the corridor, restroom’s on the right. You can’t miss it.”

Manus nodded his thanks and headed off down the corridor. He turned the corner and saw a black man almost as large as himself sitting in a chair halfway down the hall, his elbows on his knees and a newspaper opened before him. The man was wearing green surgical scrubs, and Manus realized he was a nurse or something like it, stationed near the side entrance to make sure the “residents” didn’t wander off.

Manus continued on. The man looked up, and Manus gave him a friendly nod. The man returned the nod and went back to his newspaper. He wasn’t terribly interested in Manus, which was good. But as he got closer, Manus could see the man was positioned just beyond the restrooms. Manus wasn’t going to be able to enter the women’s room without the man noticing. He considered for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of various possibilities.

“Excuse me,” he said, pausing in front of the restrooms. “Is anyone in the women’s room?”

The man looked up and frowned. “I don’t think so, no.”

“My aunt thinks she left her glasses in there. Okay if I take a quick look?”

Plan B was to drop the man, check the bathroom, and head out the side exit. And Manus had gamed out other possibilities, too, depending on what the man did next. But there was no need. The man simply shrugged, said, “Be my guest,” and went back to the newspaper.

Manus nodded his thanks and headed in. The bathroom was spotless, the tile almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. Surprisingly, the antiseptic smell was much less strong here, and Manus was momentarily grateful for it.

He ducked into the handicapped stall, got on his knees, and felt around behind the toilet near the floor. Nothing, just cold, smooth porcelain. He ran his hand up higher. Still nothing. He squeezed his head up against the wall and looked at the back of the toilet. Everywhere other than the tracks left by his hand was a slightly greasy covering of dust. Not a place anyone bothered to clean, even in a facility as apparently conscientious as this one. There was nothing taped there, and obviously there never had been.

He performed an identical examination of the other toilets. They were all the same.

She had lied to Delgado. Lied to buy herself time. Because she knew what Manus had tried to deny. That when they found the thumb drive, she was dead.

He headed out, ready to tell the man in the chair he’d been unsuccessful. But the man never even looked up from his paper.

He went out through the front entrance, being sure to thank the receptionist again on the way, then walked to the Safeway. Once outside the facility and no longer needing to be in character, he could feel panic closing in. He breathed deeply, in and out, willing it away. He had to decide what to do. He couldn’t tell Delgado. He couldn’t. If he did, Delgado was going to hurt Evie. Assuming he hadn’t hurt her already. Assuming he wasn’t hurting her right then.

And hurting her wouldn’t even be the end of it. It would only be the start.

He walked to the edge of the parking lot and paced, examining options, weighing risks. After five minutes, he kept coming back to the same idea. It was dangerous and it was bad. But everything else seemed worse.

His phone vibrated and he pulled it out. It was Delgado.
What the fuck is going on?

Manus didn’t respond. He dropped the phone back in his pocket and went into the Safeway. Using cash, he bought a bottled water. A few granola bars. And a thumb drive.

Outside, he tore open and tossed the packaging and pocketed the thumb drive. The water and granola bars went into the canvas shopping bag, along with Evie’s purse and shoe.

He walked to his pickup, which he had left in a nearby parking lot, opened the toolbox, put the canvas bag inside, and took out the StingRay. In less than a minute, he had the location of the cell phone Delgado had been texting from. It looked like he was in the middle of the woods around the Triadelphia Reservoir. Manus’s stomach clenched at the thought of how dark it would be there, how private.

His phone vibrated again. Delgado:
Answer me, asshole. Did you find the drive?

He texted back,
Waiting outside the bathroom. Need it to be empty.

Okay. Just stop blowing me off. I want to know what’s going on. I don’t trust this bitch.

Manus closed the toolbox, touched the hilt of the Espada in his front pocket and the butt of the Force Pro in the holster, got in the pickup, and drove off.