Blind Vigil

by Matt Coyle

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to start surveillance of Shay’s apartment tomorrow morning at eight thirty. If you’re going to be with her, I’ll get there later.”

  “No. I won’t be there.” Turk sounded tired. Beaten. Older than his forty-three years. I suddenly regretted saying yes to joining Moira on the investigation. Even after Turk was shot and relegated to a life on a cane, he still maintained his positive attitude. Stuck on three legs instead of two? Who gives a shit? Bring on whatever’s next. It saddened me that he’d lost that.

  And I was pretty sure whatever else we found out about Shay Sommers wouldn’t bring it back.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MOIRA DIDN’T SPEAK on the walk back to the car. I used my cane instead of holding her arm. I hadn’t followed her lead in questioning Turk; wouldn’t be fair to rely on her now. When we got into her car, she whipped away from the curb before I had my seat-belt fastened. Speed and silence.

  Finally, after five minutes of frost. “What was the point of your move in question? To piss off the client? Make him feel like a mark?”

  “No. I just wanted him to reevaluate his relationship with his girlfriend.” The more I talked to Turk, the more I remembered the man who used to be my best friend and the more I learned about Shay Sommers, the more I wanted to tell Turk to run. “Maybe she’s not even having an affair, but she’s lying to him about something. And he’s still paying for her apartment in Bird Rock.”

  “We weren’t hired for couples’ counseling.” Tommy-gun delivery with acid-tipped bullets. “And remember, you are getting paid, too, so this is a job.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t be working it.”

  “Of all the stupid things I’ve seen you do, I’ve never seen you quit. Why now?”

  “Turk’s not a client, he’s a friend.” At least he used to be.

  “And, I need your take on his reaction to what we told him about Shay.”

  Giving my impressions on Turk suddenly felt more like talking about a friend behind his back than discussing a client. I knew the gig going in. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a little slimy.

  “He seems beaten down and worn out. You don’t have to worry about him getting violent with Shay. It’s not in his nature.”

  “I read as much anger as I did resignation.” Less acid.

  “His girlfriend is lying to him, and he thinks she’s cheating on him. He has a right to get angry. I’d be more concerned if he wasn’t. It’s usually the ones that hold things in who explode.”

  “Maybe. Do you think that he’s beaten down and worn out enough to give up?” Solemn.

  “You mean off himself?” For some reason I couldn’t say commit suicide. Maybe I was worried that if I used the clinical term it might seem like a possibility. No. Not Turk. Not after what he’d already been through. “No way. Hopefully, he’ll realize it’s time to break up with Shay and move on. He’s not going to hurt himself or anyone else.”

  My mind slid back to the roof of Muldoon’s Steak House when the argument with Turk exploded into flying fists. He’d been under pressure I didn’t know about at the time and he blew like a cornered mountain lion. Angry and fast.

  I wondered if he was under similar pressure now.

  “I hope you’re right. I couldn’t live with a repeat of … of what happened while you were in Santa Barbara.” She couldn’t say suicide either. Or murder. “Do you think he’s telling the truth about not going by Shay’s apartment tonight?”

  My own short pause.

  “Yes.” Ninety percent.

  “If you’re not sure, I’m heading over there right now.”

  “He’s not going to Shay’s tonight.”

  “Okay.” The car slowed, turned left, then stopped. My driveway. “I’ll pick you up at eight fifteen tomorrow morning.

  “I’ll call you at seven thirty and let you know if I still want to work the case.” I needed the money, but I had to balance it against my friendship with Turk. Or former friendship.

  “You can’t quit. I won’t accept your resignation. Eight-fifteen. Don’t make me wait.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MIDNIGHT WOKE ME the next morning with a tongue to my ear. The scraped one. The events of last night had made it hard to get to sleep. Once I did, I was a rock. I grabbed Midnight’s head and turned toward him.

  And saw a shadow in the dark void. A rough, blurry outline.

  I sprang up and fumbled for the light on the nightstand next to the bed. An anachronism from an earlier time. When I could see. I found the switch and a blurred edged cone of light hung over the nightstand. I looked back at Midnight. Still a fuzzy blob against the void, but discernable. Differentiated from the background of nothingness. A separate entity.

  I found his neck and pulled his head to my face. Still unrecognizable as a living creature. A blurred blob. But a blob I hadn’t seen yesterday or anytime in the last nine months.

  My vision was improving.

  I fought the urge to call Leah. To run in the bathroom and look in the mirror. To hope.

  Too early for any of that. I was still blind. Still couldn’t see the floor below me. Still couldn’t navigate the outside world without a white cane.

  I’d wait. And test. And pray.

  I dropped Midnight next door and waited for Moira in front of my house. My neighbor’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Micalah, loved Midnight and she and her mom happily looked after him. He’d always been happy to go next door before Santa Barbara. This time when I dropped him off, he’d tried to leave their house with me.

  I took off my sunglasses and tested my eyes while I waited for Moira. The morning was overcast. No yellow halo in the sky. I saw only shadows and dark gray. I put my blackout sunglasses back on and saw nothing.

  Today was going to be a long one. Moira and I would probably tail Shay Sommers from 8:30 a.m. ’til midnight. Hopefully, Moira’s cop connection would get back to her with the name of the owner of the Mercedes Benz Maybach today. That still wouldn’t tell us what Shay did in the Sky Suite of La Valencia, but it might tell the name of the man she met there. Information was power and we didn’t have enough of it.

  Moira rolled up in her Honda Accord at 8:13 a.m. I pretended to convince myself that I could recognize the sound of her car, but realized that it was probably just hearing a midsize car and knowing she was going to pick me up.

  “You want a water?” she asked. “There’s a cooler behind your seat. I’ve got sandwiches, too.”

  “I’m good, thanks. I don’t want to intake too much liquid if we’re going to sit in the car all day. I guess I can pee into a water bottle when necessary. What are you going to do?”

  “Depends.”

  I paused until it hit me.

  “Please don’t go number two.”

  The banter was refreshing after the tenseness of last night. I still didn’t feel good about accepting the gift of working the case from Moira or psychoanalyzing my onetime best friend. But I’d told her I’d do it and understood its necessity from her point of view.

  We drove for about ten minutes, then the car slowed to a crawl.

  “Oh, God.” More a moan than a statement.

  “What?” I asked. The sound of her voice twisted a knot in my gut.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Hands pounded the steering wheel.

  “What!”

  “There’s police cars and crime scene tape in front of Shay’s apartment. And a coroner’s van.” Dread in her voice. The car moved to the right and came to a stop. She turned off the ignition.

  “Oh, no.” The dread I’d heard in Moira’s voice tightened my throat.

  “There’s a woman talking to a detective on Shay’s front lawn. She’s crying.” Moira’s voice thick with emotion. “Turk drives a blue Ford Escape, doesn’t he?”

  “What?” I couldn’t comprehend the question right away. I didn’t want to. His car couldn’t be there. What if he was dead inside Shay’s house? Two bodies instead of one.

 
“He drives a blue Escape, right?” Shouting now.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been in a car with him for years.” Then an image from last year popped into my head. I left Muldoon’s one morning after meeting with a client and saw Turk pull up in front of the restaurant. A Ford Escape. “Metallic blue.”

  I didn’t need to hear her response. I already knew what it would be.

  “There’s a metallic blue Escape parked inside the crime scene tape in front of Shay’s.”

  Something struck my arm. Hard. Moira’s fist. Again. “You told me he wouldn’t go to her house! He killed her!”

  He couldn’t have. The Turk I used to know couldn’t hurt a woman. He’d spent his whole life defending them. There had to be another explanation.

  “We don’t know that.” But right now, everything pointed that way. And if Turk’s car was there, he was, too. Murder-suicide? My heart sank into my stomach. Sweat pebbled my forehead. “I have to find out if Turk’s in there.”

  I opened the car door.

  “Stay in the car.” A hand around my forearm. “You can’t just walk onto a crime scene. The police aren’t going to tell you anything. Let’s just go. I don’t want to be here.”

  “I have to find out if Turk’s alive.” I pulled her hand off my arm.

  I got out of the car with my cane, but my foot caught something hard, and I stumbled forward. Moira’s door opened and closed. A helicopter overhead, an unintelligible voice squawked on a police radio somewhere, a woman crying, footsteps to my left, then a hand on my arm.

  “If you’re going to do this, I’ll lead.” Moira.

  I grasped her bicep and held my cane perpendicular above the ground. We took twenty-nine steps before a voice stopped Moira.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, you can’t come any closer. This is a crime scene.” Male. His voice read early twenties. A barrier to finding out if Turk was alive, but probably a rookie. His voice lacked the command presence of a seasoned cop. A possible weak link to exploit in the phalanx LJPD would keep cinched down around the perimeter of the crime scene and on any information about the body or bodies the coroner was examining inside.

  “Who’s dead inside that apartment, Officer?” Needing to hear, but dreading the answer.

  “Please step back from the crime scene tape.”

  Moira grabbed my arm, but I held firm.

  “I need to know if Thomas Muldoon is inside that apartment and if he’s alive or dead. He saved my life.” I yanked off my sunglasses to show my scar as an exclamation point to my statement, which was true. Turk had saved my life. But it had been years before I was shot in the face.

  Any edge I could use.

  “Please step back.” More plea than command presence and slightly distant like his head was tilted down instead of looking at my mangled face. The beginnings of a crack.

  “Just tell us how many bodies are in there. Male or female?” I kept my sunglasses off and pointed my face directly at where I’d heard his voice. The knot in my gut cinched tighter. “Come on, man. This is my best friend I’m asking about. I wouldn’t even be alive if it wasn’t for him.”

  “There’s one. A—”

  “Cahill!” My name cut thought the early morning air like a guillotine. A female voice I recognized and had hoped never to hear again.

  La Jolla Police Detective Hailey Denton.

  “There’s an angry detective walking toward us.” Moira grabbed my arm again.

  “She’s walking towards me, not you.” I leaned over and spoke to Moira in a low voice. “I’ll deal with this. You can take off. I’ll Uber home.”

  “I’m staying here.” She increased the pressure on my arm. “With you.”

  “What the hell are you doing at my crime scene, Cahill?” Each word louder as Detective Denton got nearer. “Wow! That’s some scar.”

  The scent of rubbing alcohol and cucumber just above it filled the air. The first, hand sanitizer. A cop’s best friend. The cucumber? Shampoo, I guess. I didn’t remember the scent of Hailey Denton’s shampoo or perfume the few unpleasant times I encountered her in the past or if I even noticed one. Smells didn’t matter then.

  I put my sunglasses back on. I wasn’t embarrassed. I just didn’t want Denton to be able to stare at a wound that could be seen as a weakness. The show of weakness worked on the young cop. It wouldn’t on Denton. My pride wouldn’t allow that tactic with her anyway.

  “Can I help you, Detective?” Moira snapped off each word. She let go of my arm and took a step forward. My protector.

  “No.” Dismissive. “But you and Mr. Cahill can get into your car and leave my crime scene.”

  “We’re outside the police tape. We have a right to be on a public sidewalk.” Moira hated being told what to do as much as I did. But she usually hid it better than me. Denton had struck a nerve.

  “Got yourself a little mini-me, Cahill?” The voice close and directed at me. “I guess that makes sense. Hard to be a lone wolf private dick when you can’t see. But why are you here?”

  “Detective, why is the coroner van parked outside that apartment?” Moira, barely holding her venom at bay.

  “I’m speaking to Mr. Cahill, ma’am.”

  I expected a retort by Moira, but instead I felt a void next to me and heard footsteps disappearing on my left. She’d walked away. Maybe she saw something that needed a closer look. Maybe she just wanted to get away from Detective Denton. Or me. Whatever the case, I still had Denton in front of me.

  “Who’s inside that apartment, Detective?”

  “Answer my damn question, Cahill. Why are you here?”

  I couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. Whatever P.I./client privilege I had with Turk was gone if Shay was dead. Or if Turk was. But my loyalty to him wasn’t. The truth would come out eventually. I just didn’t have to be the one telling it.

  “We were in the neighborhood and saw police cars and crime scene tape, so we stopped.” I didn’t have any qualms about lying to the cops, if the cop was Hailey Denton. “Who’s dead inside that apartment, Detective?”

  “You saw? I thought you were blind.” Mocking. “Or is all this a ruse?”

  “Figure of speech. My friend saw Thomas Muldoon’s car. Is he inside the apartment, Detective?”

  “I don’t buy your in the neighborhood story, Cahill. Even blind, you’re still sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Who is the coroner here for, Detective?” Nothing to do but go at Denton head-on. Subtlties might work on the rookie cop manning the crime scene, but not Denton. Niceties didn’t work either. Maybe if I pissed her off, she’d blurt something out. She’d done that before. “Somebody’s obviously dead, or LJPD wouldn’t have its crack homicide detective here.”

  “I don’t have time for you, Cahill, but you’re going to make time for me. I want you and your chauffeur girlfriend to be down at police headquarters at noon today.”

  “Who’s in the apartment?” My last chance for an answer.

  “Headquarters at noon.” Footsteps going away.

  “Please step back, sir.” The rookie.

  I moved backwards a couple steps until my feet found grass.

  Footsteps and coconut shampoo. Moira returned to my side.

  “Turk’s alive.”

  “What?” My breath caught in my throat. “How do you know?”

  “I saw a detective questioning him. They were behind the coroner’s van, so I couldn’t see him at first.”

  “Thank God.” I let go a long breath and my shoulders relaxed for the first time since we got to Shay’s apartment.

  “He just got into the back of a squad car.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “WHAT?” MY WHOLE body tightened and my gut swallowed itself. “Was he handcuffed?”

  Hum of engines and mesh of tires rolling on asphalt behind Moira.

  “No. He got into the squad car and it took off behind a detective car.” Moira’s voice, worn out. “They must be taking him to the police stati
on for more questioning.”

  “Shit.” Turk was alive, but might be a suspect in Shay Sommers’ murder or whoever was dead inside her house. “Was the detective who questioned Turk in his mid-thirties, tall, glasses?”

  “Yes.”

  “Detective Sheets.” At least Turk was dealing with the one cop at LJPD I trusted to be fair and without a personal agenda. Unlike his partner, Detective Denton.

  “Let’s go.” Moira grabbed my arm.

  “No. We need to stay here. We might learn something. We have to meet Detective Denton at the Brick House at noon, anyway.”

  Moira pulled me away from the crime scene. I stopped and shook my arm free after a few steps.

  “Why does Detective Denton want to talk to us?” Moira.

  I told her what I’d told Denton.

  “Why didn’t you just tell her the truth?”

  “Client confidentiality.”

  “There is no client confidentiality. Shay’s dead.” Seething. “Turk killed her. Just like I feared he would. You told me he wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “I don’t believe he did.”

  Double thumps to my chest sent me backward two steps, and I almost lost my balance.

  “You’re blind, Rick. He killed her.” Too angry for irony. “We’re done. Our job ended when Turk killed Shay.”

  “We don’t even know what happened. She could have committed suicide or been murdered by someone who broke into her house. It might not even be Shay who’s dead in there. That’s why we should stick around to see what we can find out. Are the police still questioning the woman who was crying in front of the house?”

  “No, but it doesn’t make any difference. I’m done.”

  “Is the woman still here?”

  “Yes!” A hiss on the end.

  “Where is she?”

  “Across the street from Shay’s apartment outside the tape. But who cares?”

  “Let’s go talk to her and find out what she knows.”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Okay.” I took two steps forward. “But do me a favor first. Lead me over to the woman. You can leave me here and go wherever you want to after that.” I reached out my hand. “Please.”