Goodnight, Irene ik-1

by Jan Burke

  “Nothing you could’ve done if you’d seen it, Pete, and you know it,” Rachel said. “Her lungs had probably been filling up with blood the whole time we were out knocking on the door. What about the maid?”

  Pete shook his head.

  “Irene,” Rachel said, bringing me out of a fog that kept trying to settle over me. “Do you think you can describe the guy you saw? I put out a call on the car, but I didn’t get a look at him.”

  I told her all I could remember about him.

  She started to go back out to the car when Pete called to her. “Rachel, can you get somebody over to the parents’ house? And maybe check on anybody else in the family? Who knows what the hell he wanted.”

  She nodded and left.

  Pete looked over at me. “Let’s get you out of here,” he said. I didn’t argue. He led me into another room, where we sat on a couch, not saying anything.

  The wail of sirens soon reached us. Pete pulled back a curtain and from the window behind the couch we could see the police cars and ambulance beginning their climb up the road. “Son of a bitch probably watched us coming,” he said angrily.

  Soon the house was a swarming hive of activity and uniforms. I tried to stay out of the way of police, paramedics, and other officials who seemed to arrive in an endless stream. I overheard Pete telling someone the maid was downstairs, her throat cut. Rachel walked over to me. “Come on outside. You’ve had enough of this kind of stuff.” She walked me out to the large veranda and sat me down in a shady spot. “You gonna be okay?” she asked.

  “Sure, thanks.” She hurried back inside. I fought down that now familiar set of sensations: queasiness, shakiness, weepiness. I forced myself to concentrate on the scenery around me. Before long I could feel my fears giving way before the view of city and farmland below, the distant mesas and muted red and sandy colors of the desert stretching beyond the city boundaries. The sun was hot and bright. Just below the veranda a beautiful garden was laid out in bright splashes of color. Birds and insects chirped as a hot breeze blew my hair around my face. I felt a welcome numbness gradually come over me. Then another siren would go up or down the hill, and I would have to start all over again.

  I sat there for a couple of hours, I guess; I’m not really sure how long it was I waited. Eventually Pete and Rachel came walking across the stonework toward me. I noticed they seemed to be quite chummy, gesturing and smiling as they spoke in Italian to one another. They both grew circumspect as they drew nearer.

  “Ready to go?” Pete asked. “I called the airline and changed our flight out. Leaves about seven. That okay with you?”

  I nodded. “Did they find him?”

  They exchanged looks. “Not yet,” Rachel said. “But I doubt he’ll use the airport. He’ll know we’re watching for him. We’ve got people on both the state line and the Mexican border watching for him and the car. The airport too, but I doubt he’ll fly out of here — too risky. You gave us a good description. A guy like this has to have a sheet a mile long.”

  “She’s right,” Pete said. “In fact, I remember an old case in Las Piernas where somebody used an iron like that. I wasn’t on that one, though. I’ll have to look up one of the guys that worked it when we get back.”

  I stood up, reluctant to leave my little refuge. But I was anxious to get back home to Las Piernas as well.

  “I’ll take you back to your car,” Rachel said. “We can talk on the way.”

  Pete told me that Mr. Tannehill and the Owenses had been contacted. Everybody was safe and nobody knew why anyone would want to kill Elaine Tannehill or her maid.

  “Did you mention Jennifer Owens to them?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Rachel said. “At first they were kind of high and mighty about her, but when I told them what had become of her, they changed their tune. They even talked about getting in touch with Jennifer’s mother. They didn’t have any ideas about who got Jennifer pregnant. Maybe this guy you call ‘Hawkeyes’ was just trying to find out what Elaine knew.”

  “It obviously isn’t a problem for him to go around murdering people on the off chance they know something about this case,” I said.

  “That’s what’s bugging me,” Pete said. “I think Irene’s right. We need to keep searching the Tannehill place, looking for something that connects Elaine to the guy who got Jennifer pregnant. Son of a bitch is really stupid. You know, if he had left things alone, we probably wouldn’t have been able to get much farther than identifying the Jane Doe. It’s an old case; nobody would have spent much time on it.”

  “Maybe he has a lot to lose,” I said. “And maybe he got worried about people who might be persistent enough to figure it out, like O’Connor. You know he never would have let it rest. Well, I won’t either. Maybe he knows that.”

  “He’s going too far, too fast. He’s bound to screw up.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said, looking out the car window. I wondered if this Mr. X would screw up before I got killed or had my feet ironed. I didn’t feel like talking about it and tried not to think about it. I let my mind go away from it all again. Sensing my mood, Pete and Rachel chatted about other subjects.

  When we pulled in at the police department, I decided to give them some time by themselves, and myself some time to myself, so I offered to follow them back to the airport in the rental. Pete immediately approved of this idea, thanking me as he handed over the keys. Subtle guy, Pete.

  I drove like a zombie, just keeping the back of the police car in front of me at a polite distance. If another police car had come along, I might have followed it anywhere. Before long we were back at the airport.

  We checked Pete’s gun in again and made our way over to the gate, stopping to buy him a pack of gum at the gift shop. Rachel sat with us until they called our flight. I noticed Pete wasn’t powering down any gum.

  I went over to a pay phone and called the paper. Lydia was gone by then, but Morry, the city editor, was still on the desk. I gave him what I could by way of an update.

  Pete didn’t have to tell me this time to wait to get on, even though none of us believed Hawkeyes would be taking a flight out of Arizona.

  When they made the final boarding call, Rachel stood up and gave me a big hug. “You can handle it, Irene. Anyone who can survive a day with this meatball can handle anything.”

  “Hey, don’t I get a hug?” Pete asked.

  Rachel walked over and grabbed his face, pinching his cheeks and shaking them. “No, you don’t,” she said, laughing, and walked off with a wave.

  “Nobody’s done that since I was nine,” he said, watching her go.

  We boarded the plane. I fell asleep before Pete had his first stick of gum, and slept all the way to Las Piernas.

  28

  YO, RIP VAN WINKLE! They’re gonna want to clean this plane. Come on, wake up, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” Pete was nudging me. Drowsily, I sat up and followed him off into the terminal. He led me into the airport coffee shop, sat me down and ordered two cups of coffee. I looked out the window into the dark until the waitress brought it. He watched me take a few sips, then said, “Are you ever going to speak to me again?”

  “Sure I will. I’m sorry. I’m just… I don’t know, Pete. I don’t even know how to describe it anymore.”

  “Then don’t try. Just drink your coffee. You up for a visit to Frank? Or do you want me to take you straight home?”

  I thought about it. “I’m tired, but I’d like to see Frank.”

  He smiled at this, so I thought I’d do a little prying of my own.

  “So what’s with you and Rachel?” I asked.

  “Ah, she is gorgeous, isn’t she? I admit it, I like her. But she’s in Phoenix and I’m in Las Piernas.”

  “At least for now.”

  “You done with that coffee?”

  “Hey, don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

  “All right, all right, I get you. How ’bout we make a pact — we’ll avoid the subject of — for want of
a better term, I’ll say ‘romantic interests’?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  We left for Frank’s place. I realized that I had no idea where he lived. He had looked me up when he first moved down this way, but I had never been to his house. Pete drove us down near the beach, along a crowded row of little bungalows. He parked in front of one that was about a block from the water. I couldn’t see much of it in the dark, but it looked fairly typical of the small wood-frame houses that were built along the beaches in the late 1930s.

  It was about eight-thirty by the time we got there, and I wondered if Frank would still be awake. The lights were on, but that could be Sorenson, the officer who would be guarding Frank while he recovered. We pushed open the gate of a low white picket fence and walked up to the front porch. We knocked and waited. The porch light came on. A shadow covered the peephole in the door, as Sorenson peered out at us. He let us in, and told me that Frank was in the living room, which was toward the back of the house. Pete and Sorenson stayed behind to trade insults with one another in a manner that made it seem to be a long-standing tradition between them; I was anxious to see Frank, and made my way down the hallway.

  I was surprised to see him sitting up on the couch, dressed in a gray sweat suit and white running shoes. “Don’t tell me you’ve been out jogging,” I said, “I wasn’t expecting to see you up and around.”

  He grinned. “Good to see you. No, I haven’t been jogging. These were just the most comfortable things I could find to wear.” As I got closer I could see that the swelling had gone down from his lip, and his face was less puffy, though he still had the two black eyes and plenty of other bruises. He was pale, but all in all he looked a thousand times better than the day before. He started to stand up, and winced in pain.

  “Don’t push yourself,” I said. “Go ahead, sit down, you almost had me convinced you’d been to Lourdes before you tried to stand up.” He didn’t argue and I took a seat on the other end of the couch.

  “Ribs and head are still sore, and I look like I lost a fight, but at least I don’t feel like I’m in a fog.”

  “I’m glad to see you looking so much better,” I said, and smiled.

  Pete and Sorenson came noisily into the room. “Hey, will you look at this guy?” Pete said, seeing Frank. “Hercules, I tell you. Why, he has the strength of ten men!”

  “Shut up, Baird,” Frank said, grinning up at Pete.

  “Goddamn, Frank, I can’t believe it. And here I was, all set to inherit,” he said, looking around. The room was simply furnished, but felt very livable, not Spartan in any sense. The house had lots of windows, woodwork and built-in cabinets and shelves of the type so common in houses built in its time. In that way, it was not very different from my own.

  Mike Sorenson turned to me and said, “Would you like something to drink, Miss Kelly? How about a beer or a Coke?”

  “I’ll opt for the caffeine, thanks.”

  He turned to Frank. “You doin’ okay there, buddy?”

  “Fine, Mike, thanks.”

  He started to walk off when Pete said, “Aren’t you forgetting somebody?”

  Sorenson stopped at the kitchen door and turned around, saying, “Why, yes, I believe I am.” He flipped Pete the bird. Pete returned the favor with a gesture of his own.

  Pete turned to Frank. “You supposed to watch him, or is he supposed to watch you?”

  “Baird, you are a professional pain in his ass and you know it.”

  Pete laughed. “He makes it so easy.”

  Sorenson came out with a glass of Coke and ice, and sat down in a chair next to my end of the couch. Pete, giving up on being waited upon, went in to get a beer. He came back out and sat in a chair opposite Sorenson, near Frank. He lifted the beer toward Sorenson and said, “Thanks, pal.”

  “It was nothing,” Sorenson said.

  “So bring me up-to-date,” Frank said. “I read about what happened in front of the bank yesterday.” He looked over at me. “You didn’t tell me, Irene,” he chided.

  “Sorry, Frank. You weren’t feeling so hot and I was tired of thinking about it all.”

  “What happened in Gila Bend?”

  Pete jumped in and told the story of our day in Arizona. As I was reminded of it, I could feel myself getting depressed, ebbing away from the excitement of seeing Frank doing so well and back into a sense of numbness. Pete was quite animated in his telling; but I felt myself becoming more withdrawn as he went on. By the time he got to the Tannehill part of the story, all I could see before me was Elaine Tannehill’s last moments replayed again and again.

  “Irene?” I vaguely heard Frank next to me and turned toward him. I tried a smile, but couldn’t manage it.

  “Mike,” Frank said to Sorenson, “why don’t you and Pete take a walk on the beach?”

  I thought we were in for more banter, but he just said, “Sure. Let’s go, Pete.” And the two of them left without another word.

  When they were gone, Frank patted the place next to him on the couch. “Scoot over here,” he said.

  I moved over.

  He put an arm around me and I gingerly put my head on his shoulder, trying to avoid his ribs.

  “The ribs aren’t so bad,” he said, reading my intentions. “It’s the other side anyway.”

  I relaxed a little. He didn’t say anything for a long while, just stroked my hair and held me.

  “You must feel like your whole life has been turned upside down,” he said quietly. “But it won’t stay like this. Just keep telling yourself that. You’ve got to keep being a fighter, Irene. Don’t let it beat you.”

  “I feel like it already has, Frank.”

  He reached over and took my hand. He ran his thumb gently along the backs of my fingers, not saying anything more

  I looked up at him. “I’ll be okay,” I said, and put my head back down on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

  “Right now,” he said with a grin, “I feel pretty damn good.”

  This mood was broken when we heard the front door open and Pete and Mike Sorenson came trooping back in.

  “Uh-oh,” Pete said, looking at us, “I told you we would interrupt something.”

  “Sorry, Frank,” Sorenson said, “but I was freezing my nuts off out there.”

  “Hey, look,” said Pete, “why don’t Mike and I go out for a bite to eat or something?”

  “Never mind, Pete,” I said, “I need to be getting home. And I’m sure the Unsinkable Frank Harriman here could use some rest, too. Not to mention that Officer Sorenson is supposed to be keeping an eye on him. Okay if I come back tomorrow afternoon, Frank?”

  “Sure,” he said, “I’m probably not going into work until Monday.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” I said.

  “No problem. Take care of yourself.”

  We said our good-byes and Pete took me over to Lydia’s. The house was dark when we pulled up. I had forgotten that she would be off on her big date.

  “You gonna be here alone?” Pete asked, sounding a little worried.

  “I’ll be okay. There’s a ferocious cat in there.”

  “Yeah, that cat’s kind of famous in the department. We gave Frank hell about those scratches.”

  “Well, then you know I’m safe. Thanks for everything, Pete.”

  “See you later, Irene. I’ll just wait out here for a while.”

  “I’m okay, really. If you’re going to wait around until Lydia comes in, you may have a long wait. Might as well come in.”

  He shrugged. “Tell you what. Could I use your phone?”

  As we walked in, Cody bit me on the ankle and then ran off down the hallway, apparently unhappy about having been abandoned. Pete called in to the department and arranged for a patrol car to make a few extra passes down our street.

  “So long, Irene,” he said as he walked out.

  I locked up and climbed into bed. Cody joined me a few minutes later, acting as if nothing had happened. I pulled back the bedroom
-window curtain and wasn’t entirely surprised to see Pete still sitting out in his car at the curb.

  I knew he was tired, but he wasn’t going to break his pledge to Frank to watch over me.

  I lay awake a long time, petting Cody, listening to him purr. “Cat, you miss me?” I asked him. He gave me a sandpaper kiss. I heard Lydia come in, but didn’t get up to talk to her — I was afraid she’d think I’d stayed up waiting for her. I heard Pete’s car drive off, and still I couldn’t sleep. I decided to think of some pleasant memory. I put myself back on my grandmother’s farm in Kansas. I was standing in a wheat field, watching the wind move the wheat in undulating waves of gold. Somehow the memory became a dream, and I was dancing through the wheat, feeling it brush against me while I held my face to the sun. I held my arms out to its warmth and whirled in slow, lazy circles, laughing as I turned. My grandmother, still alive in the dream, called to me, and I ran to her. I felt her soft apron and the smell of cinnamon as she hugged me with her thin old arms, and she said, “Child, what am I going to do with you?”

  I woke up feeling fine.

  29

  HMM — SOMETHING SMELLS GREAT . You making breakfast?” Lydia called out to me as she made her way to the kitchen.

  “Yeah, cinnamon toast. Here, have some.”

  “You always cut it up in little strips like this?”

  “My grandmother did. I had a dream about her last night.”

  “I haven’t had this in ages.”

  “Me neither.” I sat down next to her, dishing out some scrambled eggs and bacon. “A country breakfast. Hardens your arteries, but we’ve all got to live on the edge sometimes.”

  “This is great, Irene.”

  “Thanks. How was the date with Michael?”

  “Eh.”

  “‘Eh’?”

  “There was all this animal magnetism between us, but we couldn’t make much conversation. We just didn’t have anything much to talk about. We saw a movie, or it would have been the longest evening of my life. After the movie, it was either make out all night or come home alone and get a good night’s sleep. God knows I’ve been horny lately, but this is the nineties, not our college days, so Michael and I left it at a goodnight kiss.”