Vanished in the Dunes (27 page)

No. It's best for her to be on her way. It's also best for him. He admits he went through a period of temptation that tested his own fidelity, or innocence in a way. He passed it once, but admits that he doesn't fully trust himself to keep passing. No. Best that she doesn't stay.

The car is a black Mercedes limo. How opulent, he thinks as he approaches, then mentally reprimands himself. She does have a broken foot and the limo has far more leg room.

Within her diplomatic community, she has also become somewhat of a celebrity. Weis approaches and extends a hand. Wisdom takes it and can't help noticing that Weis wears a suit conspicuously like the one he wore at their first meeting a few months ago; a dark well-tailored charcoal-gray with a creamy white shirt and a matching dark tie. His shoes are polished black and shine like new glass. Maybe the man only has one set of clothes he thinks and smiles at the absurdity of the idea. Weis just seems to accept the smile as an example of traditional American friendliness.

“The driver and I will be over there,” Weis says pointing to a spot some fifty feet away.

The air is cool, but the sun pours enough heat through a clear sky, so neither Weis nor his driver need coats.

As Wisdom nears the car he sees that the rear limo door is slightly ajar. He pulls it fully open. She's leaning back on one end of the seat with one leg propped across its length. A small cast encases her foot. She's dressed much like when they first met, a dark suit jacket with matching pants and a simple white blouse buttoned to the neck. He
notices and compliments her on a cameo pin that rests on her jacket lapel.

“Oh. This is new. I bought it at a shop in Sag Harbor yesterday. One good thing to remind me of this trip, excluding you and your colleagues, of course.”

Wisdom notices she emphasizes
you
and smiles.

“Please step in, if you don't mind. There's room to sit on your end of the seat.”

“Thank you.” He moves in and sits while avoiding the crutches on the floor.

“How's the foot?”

“Getting better. I shouldn't have too much problem after a few more weeks.”

“You must be happy to be going back home.”

“Well, I'm happy that all this is over and we know what happened to Heidi. I'm sorry this mess cost the life of Mr. Posner's wife and basically destroyed his life and that of Dr. Stern.”

“You were very brave when it came to Stern.”

“Not really. Maybe at first, but then I realized he was no more than a frightened young man. Once that sunk in, I no longer felt in danger. Will he go to prison?”

Wisdom tries to avoid any opinion, however obvious the answer might be. It's the way he was trained.

“That depends on all of his psychiatric exams, but I'd say that one way or another he'll be incarcerated for some time.”

“He didn't really want to kill anyone, you know. It was all what the English call ‘bluster.'”

“That may be true. Someday, maybe a jury will decide.” As he speaks he realizes she's only thinking about Sara Posner, and not her sister.

“If there's ever a trial, I'd like to come back and speak in his defense.”

“But he kidnapped you. Then threatened to rape and kill you.”

“But he didn't. That's the important thing. Don't you think?”

Wisdom doesn't answer. He has no answer. The question is too moral in these circumstances and certainly too bizarre. All he can do is shrug his shoulders. Stern is a man who kidnapped and threatened a woman, most probably killed her sister, and then killed an innocent woman bystander and who now gains sympathy from the kidnap victim. No. He has no answer that makes any sense.

“Will you tell your parents?”

“No. It will only cause confusion and more grief. For them she died some time ago. It's best to leave it that way.”

That's when he tells her about his conversation with the rabbi in Brooklyn and Heidi's volunteer work. He can't let that bit of insight stay hidden. Brigid shakes her head in wonderment, yet says nothing at first.

“Maybe she was trying to somehow redeem herself,” adds Wisdom, who's still not sure whether raising the issue is worth it.

“Perhaps you're right, but there could be other reasons as well. For my family and me it's still too little and too late as you say here. Still, thank you for telling me. Maybe some part of Heidi was better than we ever thought. I hope so.”

For a moment Wisdom thinks she might cry, but Brigid is tough to the end. Maybe in private, he thinks, but not in front of another person, especially a man. There doesn't seem much more to say. She beckons him to come closer, then leans forward, kisses him on the cheek, and makes it seems like the most natural thing in the world. Her mouth lingers for a fraction long enough for him to inhale some scent. Then she pulls back.

“Go home and take care of your wife and children.”

He has only the one son, but doesn't correct her. He smiles at the thought that with woman's intuition maybe she knows more than he does.

“Is something funny?”

“No. I'm just happy you don't blame me for putting you in possible danger.”

“You did no such thing.”

But he did screw up and no amount of sugarcoating can hide it. He knows he'll just have to live with it all and move on. He starts to step back into the street, but holds onto the top of the open door with one hand.

“Goodbye then. Safe flight.”

“Goodbye to you, Peter. Oh, I forgot something.”

She turns around to reach behind her and with a small effort pulls an object closer before she hands it to him.

“It seems foolish to just throw it out. Your people were very nice and gave it back to me. After all, it did cost well over a hundred dollars. Perhaps you can give it to someone to use. I've even had it cleaned.”

Her arm swings forward and passes him the top of a metal hanger that supports a clear plastic dry cleaning bag. The pink-and-white pattern is plainly visible. He takes the bag and in the transfer process feels a fleeting touch of her fingers. He steps all the way out of the car, turns and waves to Weis who has seen his movement and is already walking toward the car with the uniformed driver in tow. They shake hands again. He waves at the rear of the black car as it moves out of the lot, and notes with mixed emotions that Brigid doesn't lookback.

At the automatic glass door entrance to headquarters he realizes that he's still holding a metal hanger with a clean, almost new pink-and-white dress. He stares at the dress for a moment and wonders how such a seemingly insignificant garment could have in its own way propagated the death of two people and ruined the lives of two others. He looks around, a combination of indecision and embarrassment, and then drops the garment in the metal wastebasket to the
right of the automatic doors. It will sit undisturbed among the used coffee cups, food wrappers, and other assorted garbage that visitors and cops both leave there until the next day's pickup.

He nods to the desk officer, walks through the side door to his cubicle, and punches in his home number. Maybe they could all go out for pizza tonight.

Posner enters the house for what he imagines will be the last time. It's his first trip back without the police since Sara died. He unlocks and pushes open the front door and half expects a weight to impede its progress. Yet the door has no memory and glides open smoothly, as if Heidi's body had never blocked its movement. He steps into the hall and for a moment stands where Sara died in his arms. He cannot stop the tears that come and doesn't try. The impossibility of the two separate deaths within almost the same space overwhelms him. He hesitates in the doorway as he regains some control, while he burns with anger first at Stern and then at himself.

Others are waiting behind him, but they are patient and say nothing. They all know what he's been through. He's listed his home with a local broker. There are two movers with him and someone who calls herself a relocation consultant. He needs the help. They will go through everything he owns and segregate items either for disposal, contribution, sale, or storage pending ultimate shipment to the West Coast. For now he still sleeps in the New York apartment, but he's also put that up for sale. He tries to think of other things. Nothing will bring Sara back. He lives with his own guilt.

He needs to move far away and plans to make a deposit on a two-bedroom house rental in Napa Valley. From the photos the house seems small, which is what he wants. It sits on a third of an elevated acre, but the adjacent house has at least ten acres of planted grape vines that roll up the hill toward him. An option to buy is included in
the lease. The purchase price seems very high, although he understands that Napa seems to have inflated real estate values. He is now prepared to spend his days looking at sunsets over a vineyard instead of sunrises over the ocean.

The important thing now is to get away. He spends the next two hours supervising what to do with furniture, paintings, lithographs, file cabinets, and an assorted medley of things he's kept without purpose. He's long since disposed of the windbreaker and its content of broken heel and bit of plastic. Satisfied with their progress, he leaves the others to their tasks, retreats to the master bedroom, and closes the door. He tosses a suitcase on the bed and fills it with those items of his clothing he wishes to keep. The rest he consigns to a large plastic bag for delivery to a local nonprofit, or into another trash bag to be tossed. He fills a separate bag with Sara's things, first from the closet and then out of the undersized dresser. She never kept too much clothing here. It might make too much of a commitment.

In her second dresser drawer he swallows a deep breath as he pulls out a few worn pages from a dated woman's magazine wedged behind two sweaters. The article seems to be a brief guide to enhancing prospects for pregnancy. He notes it begins with a discussion of ovulation cycles and the heading immediately ratchets his memory back several years.

He repeats the same thought he's had since his legal troubles began that everything might have been very different if there were children. He might have shifted his workload, or more importantly, his work ethic, so he could spend more time at home. There would never have been a Heidi or a Stern. He still thinks of this, years after he and Sara have stopped trying to get pregnant. Yes. Things would have been very different if there were children. He crumples the pages into a tight wad and flings them into the bag of trash.

The last item from a side drawer is a black tee shirt. He holds it in his hands before he buries his face in the cotton. The cloth mutes his
sobs so those in the next room cannot hear. He staggers backward until his legs reach the bed. He sits and blames himself over and over, but there is nothing more to do.

Stern is now under observation in a psychiatric ward. There is no question of his guilt in Sara's death. Wisdom and Bennett have both told him that if a person introduces a lethal weapon to a scene, then the person is guilty of a crime, probably manslaughter, even if the ensuing death was accidental.

Stern will also likely be convicted of Heidi's death, despite the man's denial of guilt and attempts to implicate Posner. The theory seems clear. Jealousy must have possessed him to follow the bus in a rented car and then trail the two of them through their tour of the area and then to Posner's house. While he was out searching for his wallet, Stern came in and confronted Heidi. He either pushed her or she fell to her death. Everything after that just added to his need to protect himself. His report of her disappearance, the visit to the local police, and even his visit to Posner were all meant to draw suspicion away from himself.

The only dicey part was the burial. At first, Stern must have gone nuts wondering why her death wasn't reported. Indeed, he did follow Posner out to the overlook and that's what he'd told the cops. Still, it was his word against Posner's, and Stern was the one with both the motive and opportunity. And besides, anyone involved can see the man's a nutcase. Posner is blameless with regard to Heidi's death according to the County District Attorney's Office. He has no intention of ever admitting to the burial. What good would it possibly do? He has even researched the penalties for unlawful disposal of a body and they are relatively minor. No. He will not involve himself in the burial. He is now free to move to the coast whenever he wants, as long as he makes himself available, if necessary, for a trial.

He seethes with hate whenever he thinks of Stern. The man will get what he deserves, but it will not bring Sara back. Dammit! He
thought things were going to be better after that weekend in the city. And then everything fell apart. Like Humpty Dumpty. Except that no one can put his life together again. He wipes his face with her shirt, holds it to his cheek, and then slips it into the bag with the rest of her clothes.

He's gone through everything except for the white leather jewelry box on the dresser. He remembers she only kept costume stuff in this house. She either wore her engagement and wedding rings, or kept them in the apartment with other items like the Mikimoto pearls and the jade pendant he'd bought for her in Taiwan. He sighs, pulls the box off the dresser, and sits back down on the bed.

There isn't much to go through. Certainly nothing of value. It's much more a sort of junk container than a jewelry box. He finds a broken Swatch watch, a “Kerry '04” button, and three boxes of matches from The Lodge restaurant in East Hampton crammed under schedules for a local yoga studio and the Hampton Jitney. He reaches for the trash bag and begins to drop in the junk items. There is no jewelry and so he decides to toss the box away as well. When he lifts it though, he hears a small rattle. He reopens the box and sees a part of a gold chain wedged in the back of the lower shelf. A slight pull and it springs free. It is a thin gold chain necklace from which hangs a small capital H.