Tonight I Said Goodbye (St. Martin's Minotaur Mystery) (39 page)

"Will you ever tell her the truth?" I asked. "Will you tell her what you did?"

She swallowed hard and didn't look at me. "I don't know."

"Mommy, come on," Betsy called. She was standing at the door to the lobby.

Julie turned to me. "Are you going to the police?"

"I'm going to see John, like I told you."

She looked into my eyes, searching for another answer I would not offer, and then she nodded. "Okay, Lincoln." She leaned up and kissed me softly on the cheek, letting her face linger near mine for a few extra seconds. "I owe my life to you, and my daughter's life. You may hate
me now. You have that right. Just know that I have nothing but gratitude for you."

She turned and walked away, carrying a suitcase in each hand. Betsy tugged open the door, straining her little body against the heavy glass, and then they went inside. I got in the truck and drove to John Weston's.

T
HE WINDOWS
of Weston's house were dark, but he answered the door when I knocked. He was wearing pajamas and a robe, and he looked exhausted.

"Come in," he said, stepping aside to let me pass.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late."

"Son, don't you ever apologize to me for anything. You want to come here at two in the morning every day, I won't complain. I owe you more than I can ever repay."

We went into the living room and sat down. The haze of cigarette smoke was thicker than I'd ever seen it before. He fired another one up and took a few puffs while I waited.

"Something's on your mind," he said. "You came here to let it out. So let it out."

"You know they're leaving," I said.

He nodded. "Yes, son, I do. And as much as I hate to see them go, I will respect my daughter-in-law's decision. She has the best interests of the little girl at heart. I firmly believe that."

I nodded. "So do I."

He'd turned on one lamp, but the room was still quite dark. The cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air, and it was warm enough to make me sweat. He ground the cigarette out in an ashtray and waited for me to speak.

"You hired me to find out what had happened to your family," I said.

"Yes. And you've done that."

I shook my head. "I've told you what happened to your granddaughter and her mother. I haven't told you what happened to your son."

He waited, but I didn't say anything. Sometimes it's hard to find a place to start.

"Son, I'm old and tired. Tell me what you have to say."

So I told him. I told him my reasons for the initial suspicion, and I told him of my conversation with Julie. I told him I had not talked to the police about her yet. When I finished, it was quiet for a while.

"I hate to hear it," he said eventually. "But I can't say that I blame her. And I
know
that Wayne doesn't blame her, wherever he is. Wayne lost sight of his family. He lost sight of his loyalty, and of his honor." His voice was wet and gravelly.

"We need to call the police," I said. "That's what we need to do."

The tip of his cigarette glowed a bright red as he inhaled. "Who you working for, Mr. Perry?"

I looked at him. "I'm working for you."

He nodded. "Seems like I should get to make this call, then, doesn't it?"

I shook my head. "It's a felony, sir. She killed a man. I can't let that go."

He blew a cloud of smoke at me. "You've spent some time with my granddaughter, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"What do you think of her?"

I looked at the floor. "She's an amazing little girl. She's bright and fun and polite. She's a very special kid."

"You're damn right she is." He cleared his throat and put this cigarette out, too. "I'm a sick old man. I don't have much time left. Other than Julie, I'm the only family that kid's got. You want to tell me who's going to raise her if her mother goes to jail?"

I shrugged. "Foster care, I guess. She'd be a ward of the state."

"That's right. Now look at me, son."

I looked up and met his eyes.

"You are my employee. I am going to give you a request, and I expect and demand that you will follow through on it."

"All right."

"You take the night off," he said. "Go home, go to bed. In the morning, you do what your heart and your head tell you to do."

I told him I would, and then I stood up and said I'd see myself to the door. I made it halfway there before he spoke again.

"Mr. Perry?"

I turned. "Yes, sir?"

His face was hidden by the shadows and the smoke. "I hired you to bring me the truth. I didn't ask you to bring me any sugarcoated bullshit. I asked for the truth, and you brought it to me. I thank you for that."

"You're welcome," I said. I wanted to ask him if he felt more or less lonely now than he had before, but I didn't. I stepped out into the night and closed the door softly behind me. I'd brought him the truth. It sounded like a noble task, and I felt I should probably be proud to have done it. I wasn't, though. Sometimes providing the truth isn't any fun.

I stopped at a restaurant in North Olmsted and picked at a plate of food until I grew tired of pretending the night was normal and I had an appetite, and then I drove back to the apartment, changed clothes, and went down to my gym. Grace was long gone, of course. That was good. I didn't want to make any lighthearted small talk.

My head was pounding and throbbing from the beating Krashakov had given me, but I didn't take any medication. I welcomed the pain tonight. The gym was nearly empty, and I worked out furiously. It had been a few days since my last workout, and my muscles needed the exercise. The headache intensified, and so did my effort as I tried to cleanse myself through the exertion, the sweat, and the pain. It wasn't working. I went at it for almost two hours, until my body gave up on outlasting my need for the exercise. I went back up to the apartment.

I had just stepped out of the shower when the phone rang. I picked the cordless phone off its handset and said hello.

"Where is she, Mr. Perry?" Laura Winters.

"Where's who?"

"Julie Weston. Please tell me she's with you."

"No. I dropped her off at the Marriott hours ago."

"Shit."

"What happened?"

"She disappeared, that's what happened. We had officers watching them, but she got away. She took the girl down to swim in the indoor pool, and they were watched the whole time. When they got on the elevator to go back up, the cops waited for another one so they wouldn't scare the girl. That was the last time they saw them."

Slick. Wayne Weston would have been proud.

"Try John Weston's house," I said.

"We sent officers over there. It looks like he's gone, too. Neighbors saw him put two suitcases in his car and drive away earlier this evening."

That was more ofa surprise.

"She did this on purpose, didn't she?" Winters said. "Your reporter friend told me Julie Weston was planning to leave. She said she didn't want to trust the police to keep her safe."

"I heard her say that, but I never knew any of her specific plans to leave," I said honestly.

"You knew she was going to run, you asshole. Well, we'd better find them."

"You have her story," I said. "That's enough."

"I'll decide what's enough, Perry. And, whether we find them or not, you'd better have your ass in my office tomorrow morning. I've got a long line of cops wanting to talk to you about an even longer list of crimes."

"I'll be there."

I sat on the floor of my living room with the lights off. Julie was gone. It would have been easier for her to get away when she'd been
with me, but she'd waited until the police had her. Probably she'd wanted to cut me a break and make things at least somewhat easier for me with the police. Thoughtful. Now it was their fault she'd disappeared, not mine. I could have stopped her if I'd called the cops soon enough. John Weston had told me not to, though. Didn't mention he was going with them.

I called Joe and told him the news. He wasn't surprised, not by Julie's vanishing act, or John's decision not to call the cops, or even that John had gone with them. He was a little more surprised that Julie had killed her husband, but it's hard to throw a total shocker at a thirty-year police veteran.

"You all right?" he asked.

"Fine."

"Sure." He paused, then said, "Get some sleep, LP. You've earned it."

"See you tomorrow, Joe."

At one in the morning, Amy came over. She didn't call, but that was fine. I wasn't asleep, and she knew I wouldn't be. I let her in, and we sat on the couch, and I told her what I knew. I told her all of it, from Thor and Krashakov to my conversation with Julie at the pond to John Weston's request that I take the night off to think things over.

"Wow. She killed his son, and he let her go. Went with her, even."

"He let Betsy keep her mother," I said. "They might seem like the same decision to anyone else, but I don't know if they were to John."

"And it's not like he's got long to spend with them. Six months to a year, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

"John Weston's dying, Lincoln. Didn't you know that?" When my face told her that I didn't, she shook her head. "Wow, I thought you knew. Julie told me in the interview. He's in the late stages of terminal lung cancer."

I didn't know what to say to that. I didn't know what to say to a lot of things anymore.

"What'll happen to Hubbard and Cody?" Amy asked.

"They'll prosecute Hubbard. My guess is the FBI will handle Cody internally. It will be difficult to prove exactly how much he knew and how much he hurt the investigation, and they'll break their backs to keep something like that out of the media spotlight. He'll probably end up filing papers in the Des Moines office by June."

She shook her head. "It's been a hell ofa day for you, Lincoln."

"Yes, it has. I was thanked for my cooperation by one of the city's deadliest criminals and cursed by a prosecutor. Sounds like I handled everything pretty well, right?"

"You're alive, and so are they," she said. "You didn't handle it that badly."

"They are alive. Alive, and long gone. Good thing we made Weston give us the retainer check."

"My story runs tomorrow," she said. "There are quite a few quotes in it indicating that Julie was still scared and that she wanted to disappear to protect her daughter. There's nothing in it indicating she killed her husband, though."

"And there shouldn't be. Let the police deal with it now, Ace."

She looked at me. "It bothers you, doesn't it? You could have taken her to the police instead of dropping her off at the hotel. You could have told someone what you knew. But you didn't."

"Yeah, it bothers me. It bothers me because I'm not sad about it. I know she killed her husband, and I know she's gone now, and I'm not at all disappointed. I want her to be gone. I don't want her to be in jail."

"But she killed a man. She murdered her own husband."

"Well, sure," I said. "There's that."

Amy nodded. "And you can rationalize it a little, can't you? You can look at the situation and justify her actions, or least justify her freedom."

"Yes," I said. "But I shouldn't be able to. Killing is killing. It's not my job to justify it. She took a life, Amy. And John's okay with letting her go, because he wants the best for his granddaughter. But it probably would have been best for her to have both parents alive, don't you think?"

Amy pulled her legs up on the couch and tucked them underneath her. "You almost died for her, you know."

"Yes."

"Twice."

"Yes."

"Any bitterness about that?"

"No."

We sat on the couch and stared at the wall. All the lights were off, and that was how I wanted it to remain. I was content to stay in the dark again.

"You loved her, didn't you?" Amy asked softly.

I shook my head. "No, I didn't love her. I'd known her for three days, Amy."

"Okay, so you didn't love her. But maybe you wanted the chance."

I shrugged. "Screw it."

She smiled at me. "Too tough to care, eh, Lincoln?"

I shook my head again. "Not too tough. Too smart."

She touched the back of my head lightly, her fingers caressing the swollen knots left by Krashakov's gun. "People come and go in our lives. We don't get to pick when and how they come, and we don't get to pick when and how they go. We just learn from it, deal with it, and move on. That's how it goes. And that's what you have to do now."

"Deep," I said. "You should be a writer."

She flicked her finger against one of the knots hard enough to cause a little pain. "And you should be an ass. Oh, wait--you've already got that covered."

I laughed, then sighed and put my head back against the couch. "I do what I can."