Trifecta (22 page)

Julia looked down and nodded.  The food tasted like cardboard
and felt lumpish in her throat, but she forced herself to finish the meal.  She
was wondering how she could have been so gullible and naive.  Robin must believe
her a fool not to have guessed. 

Now that she thought about it, she remembered all the hints
he had given her.  And she remembered that his housekeeper, Sandy, told her that
the person who owned the gorgeous home and Robin were inseparable.  Sandy also said
that she was making Robin ruin a wonderful career.  It was all so obvious. 

Julia took her plate to the sink and started washing the
dishes. 

"Don't bother.  You should go rest," John Franks
said.  "We have a long drive ahead of us, back to Los Angeles."

Julia went upstairs to pack her things.  It took about
two minutes.  She came downstairs again and went to the kitchen when she didn't
see her bodyguards.  They were drinking coffee and playing cards at the kitchen
table.  She felt restless, like a prisoner in the cabin, and told them she would
be outside on the porch.

She took a cup of coffee and sat down and sipped for a
couple of minutes, as she watched the sun glinting on the blue water.  When she
turned around she could see that John Franks and Bud Hathaway had moved into the
living room.  They were sitting right behind her on the couch, playing cards.  Poker
from the sound.  Probably to keep an eye on her.

The glass dividing Julia from the two men was thick, but
Julia had left one of the sliding glass doors open a few inches and she could hear
them talking.  She wasn't paying any attention, until one of them said, "Tony
told me about the bet a while ago.  Well, maybe two weeks ago.  Right after Robin
met her.  We were doing an all night stake-out on a man Tony wanted us to watch. 
He came and brought coffee.  Sat down and talked to us for a while.  Tony is one
goddamn righteous lawyer."

"Good man."

"Yeah."

Julia wished they would go on, but all she heard was the
slapping of cards for a while.  Then, "Gotcha.  You owe me two hundred thou,
for the week."

Someone was dealing again.  Julia could hear.  Her ears
were pricked back, totally concentrated.

"Robin's a good guy, too.  Cuts a real swath through
the ladies, though."

"Yeah.  I never seen him with one for more than a
couple days.  Week at most.  Breaks hearts and leaves them high and dry."

"After he gets in their pants.  Tell me about that
bet he made."

"Seems they were discussing this beautiful, snobbish,
Boston socialite type that Robin met in an impound lot.  Had her car ruined by the
towing guys.  Anyway, Robin was evidently smitten.  I mean, you can see why.  What
a bod on that girl.  Anyway, they all got whacked one night, after the Senator got
a prize from the city for some do-good stuff, you know.  And they made the bet. 
See, Robin had posed as a mechanic, and swore that he could get her to fall for
him, even when she thought he was a grungy mechanic."

"Looks like he won the bet."

"Course he did.  You see the way she was looking at
him?"

Julia was cringing inside, but couldn't make herself get
up and walk away.

"How long did they give Robin to get her in bed?"

"Couple of weeks.  Looks like he just made it under
the wire."

"Convenient.  She leaves and he can start randying
around again."

"Is that the reason she has to leave?  Or is Quijada
really going after her?"

"Quijada might be a dangerous guy, from what Tony
said.  He has that dog, you know?  Bruno.  He maimed a guy once."

"Yeah.  I know.  But you think he's going after the
babe?"

"She better leave.  No matter what.  This is a nasty
situation for Robin.  And the Senator, if it gets out that she stole stuff.  Maybe
she did take the money."

"I went upstairs and checked her things as Robin and
Tony were leaving the cabin.  No money.  But it's pretty convenient that she's leaving,
now that Robin's finished with her."

"Maybe he really likes her."

"You kidding?  When he can have any dame he wants? 
You think he's going to settle down when he has everything going for him?  I do
admit, she's beautiful.  Even with the black eye.  But he has starlets from Hollywood
drooling all over him.  Models from New York.  He's not going to settle down anytime
soon, let me tell you."

Julia got up and went into the kitchen, to the phone. 
Her  grandmother Charlotte answered immediately, then started scolding about how
Julia hadn't called in a couple of weeks.  Julia tuned her out.  She stood there,
with tears spilling down her cheeks, until Charlotte ended the obligatory chiding
and told Julia that she missed her.

"I miss you too, grandmother," Julia said.

"What's wrong?"

"I hate California.  Some bad things happened here. 
I want to come home."

"Well, don't cry, Julia.  I'll be at the airport,
dear."

Julia threw her cold coffee in the sink and went into the
living room.  The two cops were suddenly silent as she walked up to them.  "I
can't see any reason to wait to go to the airport.  Robin and Tony are going to
be very busy with the information I got for them.  I want to leave now."

"You don't want to wait for them to get back?"
Bud asked, surprised.

"You two came up together, in your own car,"
Julia said.  "No reason to waste your time, waiting around."

"We don't mind," Bud said.  "It's pretty
up here.  Nice and quiet."

"Well, I do mind," Julia said.  "If you
don't want to take me, I'll  call a taxi."  Or take Robin's Harley, Julia thought. 
She was frantic to  leave before he came back.  He had played her for a fool and
she never wanted to see him again.  Robin got a double bonus on his bet.  A good
lay, and a spectacular trial against Quijada.

Her anger kept the tears from falling.  She had truly believed
he cared for her.

W
hen Julia arrived at Logan International Airport
in Boston, the terminal was packed with travelers, but Charlotte, with her bluish-white
hair piled high on her head was immediately visible.  The tallest woman at the arrival
gate, Charlotte sailed through crowds that parted for her like the Red Sea, or the
aristocratic monarch they recognized her to be.  She stood in front of Julia, regarding
her with alarmed affection.

"What in the world happened to you, Julia?" Charlotte
asked.  She had a distant way of speaking, as though Julia's face was a normal,
everyday experience that she could handle with total equanimity, but Julia knew
her better.  Charlotte was aghast by her appearance.

"I'm fine, Grandmother," Julia said, trying to
smile.

"I can see you're fine.  You appear to have been hit
on the face."

"I just had a silly accident."

"You are going to tell me the truth, young lady,"
Charlotte said sternly, oblivious to the crowds flowing around them. 

Julia suddenly smiled and threw her arms around Charlotte. 
Her grandmother's predictability was so welcome and reassuring. "Okay.  I'll
tell you the truth.  But we have to go to your house and have some tea.  It's not
a nice story."

Sometime later, in Charlotte's beautiful brick Georgian
mansion on Beacon Hill, after they got comfortable in the parlor and had tea, Julia
gently and with as much compassion as she could, told Charlotte the real reasons
behind Brian's death.

Charlotte sat in still reflective silence for a while,
digesting the fact that her beloved grandson had been murdered.  "I still don't
understand everything.  But I think it will be a fine thing for you to write that
book, as a memorial to Brian."

Julia could see that her grandmother was having a hard
time with the fact that Brian had been killed with premeditation.  First, the terrible
beating.  And then, when that had not worked, the sabotage of vital life support
machines in a prestigious hospital.  The whole murder sequence was hard to imagine,
even within the fantasy of a movie or book.

Julia felt sad that she had left this aging and vulnerable
woman for so long, but it had been necessary for both of them to know the truth.
"That's exactly what I want.  A memorial to a life cut short by greed and corruption."

Julia couldn't keep the anger out of her voice.  After
the betrayal by Robin, the prospect of hard work on the book seemed to be the only
thing keeping her together.

"Tell me about the man who helped you.  Robin, wasn't
it?" Charlotte asked.  "It sounds like his efforts on your behalf were
quite heroic."

Julia knew she would have to be very clever to keep anything
from Charlotte.  "Yes.  I met him the first time I went to Los Angeles.  He's
a mechanic.  Robin helped me when my transmission was wrecked, and he seemed like
a nice guy.  I hired him to do investigative work because I thought he needed the
money."

"A mechanic.  How interesting."  Charlotte's
voice was totally flat.  A snob to her very toes, Charlotte conveniently  forgot
the Irish and Italian peasant blood flowing in her own veins, which had been passed
to her through ancestors from the hearty immigrant population which had invaded
Boston in the early part of the century.  Charlotte firmly believed herself a genuine
Yankee descendent of the Puritan founders of the city of Boston.  She ruled Boston
society with an iron glove.

"The problem is," Julia said, "I think Robin
might want to continue a relationship that never really began.  So if he calls,
would you please put him off, in the nicest possible way?"

"Of course, my dear.  You know, Alexander has called
several times, asking about you."

Julia sighed with relief.  But she didn't want to see Alexander. 
She wanted peace and quiet and work.

As Julia got up to say good-by, she promised Charlotte
that she would call Alexander.  Sometime in the future, she thought.  Maybe a hundred
years or so.

When Julia finally arrived home, her beautiful apartment
near Luisburg Square on the slopes of Beacon Hill seemed cold,  barren and deadly
quiet.  She wandered around, undecided about what to do for a while, sifting through
her mail.  There were unpaid bills and condolence letters about Brian.  As she made
an inventory of her almost empty refrigerator Julia checked her watch.  It was eight
o'clock Boston time, so it would be around five in California.  She dialed the Quijada
residence.  She would have to hang up if he answered himself, but Julia thought
that Rosa would not have retired to her room upstairs yet.

"Hello?"  The soft Mexican accent was unmistakable.

"Hi, Rosa.  It's Julia."

"Ah, Julia.  I hear Senor Quijada is not at all happy
with you."  There was a long pause.  "It is rumors, of course.  Don't
feel bad.  I work in the kitchen and know nothing."

"Is Mr. Quijada there?" Julia asked.

"No.  He is away now."

"I'm glad because I really wanted to speak to you. 
There was a misunderstanding.  I'm going to send him back all the money that he
paid for the autobiography.  I already informed my bank.  And I was wondering if
you could send the book to me.  Please tell Mr. Quijada about this call, and tell
him to call my bank.  It's the Bank of America branch on Sunset Boulevard that I
was using when I was in Los Angeles.  They are authorized to tell him a check for
the writing services that he paid to Brian and to me is being sent special delivery. 
It will arrive tomorrow morning.  In return, I want to get the manuscript back."

"I don't know.  Senor is very angry."

"I know he is.  That's why I left.  If you would be
good enough to go to his study and wrap up the book, I would be very grateful."

"I will do this thing.  Right now.  We all miss you
here, Julia."

"Thank you, Rosa.  I'll be sending your pictures to
you.  I got them developed and you look just beautiful.  You'll see.  I'm also sending
pictures of your husband, Manny."  Julia spent some time talking to Rosa and
gave her the address to send the book. 

Julia had the book on computer disc, but she didn't want
Quijada to use any part of the manuscript.  There was a good possibility that he
never would, if the District Attorney's office in Los Angeles was successful in
utilizing the information she had taken from his safe.  If not, she would probably
be under an indictment herself, for slander, because of the things she would be
revealing in the book.

She wanted revenge for her brother's death, and she promised
herself she would have vengeance when the truth was exposed.  She couldn't hurt
Quijada physically, but in this case the pen really would be mightier than the sword. 
If she didn't land in jail first.  Quijada might still accuse her of theft.

The next morning, Julia was in the shower when she heard
her telephone ringing.  "Damn, happens every time," she muttered.  She
jumped out of the shower, grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it around her.

Just as she was nearing the phone she heard the answering
machine click on with her short message, "Julia here.  Leave a message."

"Julia?"

She stopped dead, panting, eyes wide.  It was as though
an electrical current passed through her entire body.  The voice she vowed she would
never listen to again.  Her hand reached slowly, almost as if it was under someone
else's control, to pick up the receiver.  Then she stopped and stumbled back.  She
didn't know why she was surprised.  Her number was listed in the phone book.

"I guess you're not home.  I don't understand why
you left suddenly without speaking to me.  It was such a shock, finding you gone
when Tony and I got back to the cabin.  I was going to speak to you about going
back to Boston, because I was afraid you wouldn't be safe here in California.  And
I knew you didn't want to go.  So I don't understand what compelled you to leave. 
I'll try you again later.  I really miss you."

Julia resolutely went back to the bathroom and got into
the shower.  She loved showers and it felt wonderful.  The warm water on her face
was from the spray, she told herself.  He didn't deserve her tears. 

As Julia lathered vigorously, she found it hard to believe
how sincere Robin had sounded, almost as if he really did miss her, when she knew
he was probably glad to get rid of the bothersome problem her presence would have
produced.  Not even mentioning cramping his spectacular style with the evidently
never ending multitude of women in his life.

Later in the day there was another message:  "Julia. 
You didn't return my call and I don't know where you are.  I'll keep calling here,
every night at eight o'clock, your time.  Please call me.  I love you."

Julia gritted her teeth.  Now she couldn't answer her own
phone in fear that she might pick up on Robin.  But she was hovering over the phone
the next night at 8 p.m.

"Still missing you, Julia.  I know you're in Boston.
 I'll keep calling, every night.  I have some good news.  There was a big drug bust
on the Arizona/Mexico border.  You may have read about it in the newspaper.  The
information you gave to the D.A.'s office is totally accurate.  We're trying to
move on it fast.  But I miss you very much."

After that message she began getting the Los Angeles Times
delivered to her door every morning so that she could check up on the progress of
the investigation.  And every night she would sit in the living room and listen
to Robin speak to her at exactly eight o'clock.  She told herself that she would
never pick up the phone, but she always found herself standing right over it, longing
to go on with the silly charade.  She desperately wanted to pretend that he really
was a mechanic who loved her.  She longed to pick up the phone.  She even put her
hand on the receiver a few times, fantasizing that the warmth she heard in his voice
could be transferred through the miles of phone lines to the hard polymer plastic
of her phone.  It was becoming more and more tantalizing and she was afraid that
one night, all alone, she would just grab the damn thing up and talk to him. 

Julia was relieved when her manuscript arrived in the mail
and breathed a deep sigh of relief.  This was the substance of her book.  The rest
would be filled in as events unfolded in California.  She consoled herself with
the thought that Robin was always telling her things that she could use in the book,
things that only a person in on the inner workings of the District Attorney's office
would know.  It was her excuse for listening to Robin's one sided conversations
every night. 

She became glad that she didn't answer her phone when the
really disturbing phone calls started a couple of days later.  Threatening calls. 
Telling Julia abruptly that she would die.

The harassing phone calls would come about twice a day
and sometimes in the middle of the night.  She never answered.  It seemed like there
was more than one person making the scary announcements of doom.  There were at
least two separate, distinct voices, which made Julia even more afraid.  It was
a concerted effort to terrorize her.  Quijada was behind the calls, in a pathetically
juvenile effort to get back at her.  There were references to the effect that what
had happened to her brother was nothing compared to the pain she would suffer.

Julia was in a quandary about what to do about the calls. 
Creepy as they were, she kept the recordings in case she would have to go to the
police, but she was reluctant to do so.  They would tell her to change her number
and she realized she needed the things Robin told her for her book.  She could not
give this information away, even to the police in Boston.  She would get Robin in
trouble for distributing privileged information.

From what Julia surmised from the newspapers, Quijada was
in terrible trouble.  The stories she read were hinting that he would soon be indited
for drug smuggling.

Julia was working so hard she almost never left her apartment. 
The whole format of the manuscript had to be changed and she revised and wrote for
hours each day.  She noticed she seemed to be unusually sleepy and took many midday
naps.  Or maybe it was just the lonesomeness.  She hadn't contacted many of her
girlfriends.  It was still too painful to talk about her brother in the past tense. 
And she couldn't tell them the truth; that Brian was murdered by a famous movie
mogul because he found out that the man was a drug dealer, murderer and a pedophile. 
They would think she had gone crazy in her grief.

She thought it would be lovely to have a pet.  Of course
that made her think of Scooter.  She wanted a dog just like Robin's, a little fur-ball
who would be thrilled to see her when she got home at night. 

After a couple of weeks, Julia vowed to change her telephone
number because the harassing phone calls were coming more and more frequently, often
waking her from a sound sleep several times a night.  But as the days went by she
would seem to forget to call the phone company.  Each day she promised herself she
would be gone when Robin called.  Every night, at eight o'clock, she was hovering
over the phone.

Julia went out with Alexander, one night, just to get away
from the lonesome apartment filled only by the quiet sounds of her computer clicking
during the day and, once a night, the sound of Robin's voice. 

It started out wonderfully.  Seeing him again reminded
her that he was still a good friend.  She thought that she would be off the entire
male gender for a long time after what Robin had done, but she had known Alexander
for years and it was a welcome relief to be out on the streets of Boston again.

They went to an early dinner and then to a Shakespearian
play near the Boston University campus.  She decided she should definitely get out
more often.  The play was entertaining and sometimes whole minutes went by when
she didn't think about Robin.