“Stay in touch.” Hurley erected a finger of his own from the hall. “If I even find out you’ve split from your gig in New York this weekend, I’ll….”
Hurley never finished his sentence. Josephine closed the door on him despite the fact that I was clinging to the edge of my interrogation seat desperately wanting to know what he’d do if I really did split from my New York gig. Not that I intended to.
“I was just getting ready to catch my flight out for the Bahamas…. on my honeymoon…. with the man of my dreams.” She moved from the door to the table and helped herself to a chair. “It’s one of those private beaches, the kind of place where you can roll straight out of bed onto the sand for one complete tan. And if you have an itch, you don’t have to worry if anyone’s around to watch you scratch it. You get my drift?”
I considered asking her to clarify where that itch might possibly allude to and how many of them she expects on any given day. “The plots a little thick, but I think I’m following.”
“On our wedding night, last Saturday, as you well know, Charlie was still a virgin. I planned to spend this entire week breaking him in, and I was just getting ready to leave for the airport when I get a call from my twin sister’s husband, in prison. How many visits to the slammer has it been now in two weeks’ time?”
“Don’t tell me. This is really the plot to a Steven King novel, and the big spoiler alert is that you’re a black widow. Oh my God, you ate Charlie, didn’t you? I knew that dream-boat was too good to be true.”
“I should have hung up the phone and left for my honeymoon. There won’t be another flight for hours. And you know why I didn’t? Because when it comes to you and Elise, I have no boundaries. Now I’m going to ask you once….”
“Good, because I’m terrible at Twenty Questions.”
“Joshua, did you know anything or have any part in the murder of Gracie Parker?”
“Aside from giving that dumb-ass a ride to the airport under false pretenses? No.”
“Have you told this much to the detectives?”
“No.”
“And you had no prior knowledge to…”
“He didn’t do it.”
“I’m not his lawyer. And since I’ll assume that his daddy-in-law won’t be lifting the bill, your college drop-out friend could never afford me.”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask about the family rate. I’ve been kind of thin in the pockets recently.”
“You can’t afford me either. Now I’ll ask you again. Did you have any prior knowledge to the fact that Mancini’s daughter was murdered when you drove the suspect to the airport?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I don’t give a rats ass if he did or didn’t.”
“Why do people keep mentioning Mancini?”
“Just shut up about that.”
I listened to her.
Josephine stared at me, twenty, thirty seconds, maybe even three quarters of a minute, but it felt like an eternity, never blinking. I tried the best I could not to blink back, but I was never very good at stare-offs either.
“Alright,” she finally said. “I believe you.”
“Can I blink now?”
“Is that going to beam me back to my buckaroo break-in session with Charlie?”
“I’m not sure. Can you rephrase the question?”
“Then I don’t give a shit whether you blink or freeze your eyes permanently like that. In the meantime, as it pertains to the murder of Gracie Parker or the fact that you drove dick-head to the airport, I don’t want you so much as opening your mouth to yawn unless it’s to say No comment….”
“I was kind of hoping Tom Brokaw might give me a call.”
“If Anderson Cooper calls you up for a personal interview and I hear you so much as sneezed to a yes or no question, I’ll personally murder you.”
“Not even Brian Williams?”
“Do you care for your life?”
“I didn’t exactly take my bar exam, but doesn’t the government usually frown on breaking the sixth commandment?”
“I’m the best damn female defense attorney that Barnes & Collins has ever hired. I could saw your nuts off with a rusty butter knife and convince the jury it was an accidental self-inflicted paper-cut wound while you were wiping your butt with toilet paper.”
“Remind me to take my potty break before arriving at your house this Thanksgiving.”
I stood to leave.
“Sit back down,” she said.
I obeyed her order to the letter.
Josephine spread her hands out on the table. “I just want to know one more thing. What happened on the night of my wedding?”
“I’m very sorry I wasn’t there to see you off.”
“Nancy and Patty are very angry at you. They wouldn’t say why. But I have my own theory.”
“They’re blame-shifting. That’s all.”
“What did my sister do?”
“The Congressman showed up.”
“Tom Phillips, at my wedding? He wasn't invited.”
I sat silently, rubbing my thumbs together.
“And she went off with him.” Josephine again.
“Not exactly, Michael and I had a little standoff with Phillips Screwdriver in the parking lot. Elise went back to her hotel, infuriated and alone, and I took a long walking tour around Nob and Russian Hill. By the time I arrived at her hotel, the political tool beat me to it.”
“I could kill her.”
“I believe you. Let’s not put this theory to the test.”
“There’s something else you’re not telling me.” She thought on the matter at hand, never flinching, and the weight of her eyes made me uncomfortable. “How could you possibly know Phillips was up there? I’m sensing that you never entered the hotel to really find out.”
“Trust me. I know.”
“Look, whatever happens between you and my twin sister, wine is thicker than blood in my book, or else I wouldn’t have traded in my plane ticket for this party. But you’re also holding something back. If there’s anything a successful lying lawyer hates, it’s an untruthful client.”
“Josephine. It’s on a need to know basis.”
“I could ask Michael.”
“You could.”
“And he’d just play dumb as a dodo too.”
“Contrary to popular belief, dodoes weren’t actually dumb, you know.”
“There’s something larger going on in Elise’s illogical behavior. It’s spiritual. I sense that much. The Green Man, he was present in the Painted Lady, wasn’t he, the night Nancy and Patty had it out with you.”
“You’re persistent.”
“I don’t lose cases.”
“And lawyers don’t chase after ghosts.” I smiled and stood again.
“Sit down. We’re not leaving until you tell.”
The mystery man (if he should be called a man) with the EMINOR tattoo written between his inner-elbow and wrist came to mind. That devil was ever so present in my thinking, as if he physically occupied the tiny interrogation cell with us now. I saw myself running down Second Street, Belmont Shore, with Michael limping at my side as a Volkswagen Bus filled to the brim with the residents of hell came charging after. The Lost Boys. And that guy with a face painted like a skull was using a crowbar to break car windows as he trampled on our shadows. I didn’t like the fact that EMINOR could appear anywhere at any time, at his own personal pleasure. With a snap of a finger he could open the prison doors and enter had he wanted to. Everyone else in the world would seemingly vanish, including Officers Bert and Ernie, while the two of us took a trip outside of time. How do you explain something like that to someone who's not your therapist?
I said: “You won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
Athazagoraphobia. That's the fear of being forgotten. I didn't want to be that to EMINOR, a forgotten recipient of his physical will. I wanted what every movie western demands, a final show-down in the street. I was ti
red of not knowing who he was, much less his name. And I was tired of calling him by the Latin script on his lower right arm. For all I knew his real name was Shluba-buba-ding-dong. I didn't really care what it was. I just wanted to look him in the eyes and quote Eastwood: “Go ahead, Shluba-Luba-Ding-Dong, make my day.” I was ready for him, a come and get me attitude. And its like I had said to Doctor Kennedy, what happened after didn't really matter. If I had any new theme in life, it was that. Stand up and be noticed by the assholes. Adding up an entire army of recent assholes in my life, the Congressman and Alex Parker and Gracie Parker's conundrum killer, even Detectives Hurly and Mello, Shluba-Buba-Ding-Dong could have swallowed them whole with one single scoop of his will. I included all of that in my briefing, and more.
Before leaving the interrogation room I told her everything.
12
JOSEPHINE DROVE A MERCEDES-BENZ SL65 AMG that summer, glimmering of silver, and its top had been stripped down to the unmistakable look of a convertible. As we drove along Ocean Boulevard (Long Beach police headquarters, 400 W. Broadway, sat only four traffic lights behind us), the late afternoon sun glistened on the back of our necks, and the Pacific looked appetizing. I was dehydrated, hungry, and exhausted, reeking of the jailhouse stench. And to top it off, that intimate conversation I'd just had with Josephine about my encounters with Shluba-Buba-Ding-Dong wasn't sitting comfortably in my skull. I thought I might regret telling her at all.
“Wow, a Mercedes.” I ran my hand across its leather upholstery, hoping to keep the conversation light as a sandwich wrap until she could drop me off at the apartment. Belmont Shore was just down the road. “The official car for young rookie lawyers.”
“It's a wedding gift for Charlie,” Josephine said from the driver's seat, flipping radio stations from the perfect soundtrack for a summer drive down PCH, Surfer Girl (it often reminded me of Elise), to 102.7 KIIS FM. Justin Timberlake was on. I wasn't a fan of that radio station, but Justin's single Lovestoned/I Think She Knows was a recent favorite of mine. For the time being I wouldn't jump from a moving automobile and perform a death roll.
“Has he even driven it yet?”
“I'm planning on giving him lessons.... eventually.” She grinned. “But if he thinks he's programing his own radio stations then forget about it.”
“I have a feeling being married to you involves all sorts of homework.”
“School is in session.” Her grin widened.
I sunk into the chair and closed my eyes. The sun felt nice on my skin. And I was exhausted. I wanted to wake up somewhere else. Not geographically somewhere else. I just wanted to wake up and have all of this be over, like a bad dream, much like those dreams of New York City, 10048. In the morning Gracie would still be alive, that dumb-ass Alex wouldn't be such a dumb-ass, and Elise, my very own surfer girl, would be lying at my side, both of our wedding rings on. Another words, there might still be wars and rumors of wars on other continents, but everything would be right in my world, here in sunny Southern California.
I said: “If I fall asleep, do me a favor and carry me up the stairs, will you?”
“Have you told any of this to my sister?”
“You mean July Fourth and the fact that 24 hours of my life went missing?” I kept my eyes closed.
“And those Lost Boys, as you call them.”
“Yeah, I told her that bedtime story, most of it anyways; everything but what happened in San Francisco last weekend.”
“And I take it she doesn't believe you.”
I turned to Josephine. “Elise says she believes I'm telling the truth according to my own interpretation of events, but she also believes those perceptions to be highly misguided.”
“Yours and Michael's.”
“Both of us.”
“She's protecting herself.”
“From what?”
“I don't know. Accountability for her actions, I suppose.”
“It's kind of a difficult story to swallow, Josephine. If our roles were reversed, I'm not sure I'd even believe it.”
“You do realize that when my sister and I were little girls, Elise was, well... she was special.”
I said: “You're referring to her uncanny exploration into the world of ESP.”
“That's putting it mildly, if you consider reading other people's thoughts a simple case of extrasensory perception.”
“She refers to it as a young girl’s wild imagination.”
“Does she now? Joshua, I grew up with that girl, and let me tell you, I've never known anybody who could climb into somebody's head, much less read it. I've never known anybody who could move things either without even being in the room.”
I kept silent. Was I married to Carrie? Thank the Lord nobody dropped a bucket of pigs blood on her during prom. I probably wouldn't have made it out alive.
“You don't believe me.”
“You're talking about my wife, Elise?” I thought about it. “Does she have some incredible intuition; most definitely, yes.”
“But you don't believe me.”
“No, I don't think I do.”
“You think it’s just a young girl’s wild imagination.”
“She is getting her doctorate in psychology. I think she knows something about foolery, and how the mind works.”
“In all the years that you've been together, has she ever told you about the Point Loma Earthquake?”
“Of course, it was during the 1989 World Series. She doesn't bring it up often, but I know your father died on the Embarcadero Freeway.”
“She didn't tell you then.”
“Tell me what?”
“I was with Elise the entire day. We had gotten home from Saint Catherine's Catholic School and were playing hide and go seek when the BIG ONE hit. It was Elise's turn to hide, and I couldn't find her anywhere. It was all so horrible. Nancy and Patty and I ran everywhere calling her name, even across the street. We combed through every room. I was in tears. And then fifteen minutes later Elise comes running down the hall and into our bedroom where, get this, she claims she'd just been in the Volkswagen Rabbit with our father, on the Embarcadero, and held a conversation with him while he died.”
“It was all so traumatic. She probably made the whole thing up. Children do that.”
It was when the words left my mouth that a studio photograph of Elise and Josephine as children, framed on the nightstand by Elise's side of the empty marriage bed, sprung to mind. I was always so fond of that picture. I was attracted to it, and yet it haunted me. The Bibeau twins may have been identical, but fingering Elise among the two was often easy, particularly as facial expressions were concerned. In that particular photograph Elise had the worries of the world on her mind. Josephine didn't. Sad eyes and perplexed lips spoke to that fact. The terrible imaginative thought hit me that whatever darkness hid deep within her, even as a child, it had the unthinkable ability to swallow entire people, communities, continents, and perhaps even the world as a whole, but only if she let it.
“Joshua, she described it in gory detail, where our father was, the fact that he was dying, and far more importantly, how he died. We wouldn't get a call from the police to confirm her story for another couple of hours. But they confirmed it. That's when the Sisters and I knew.”
“They've never spoken of it.”
“Nancy and Patty are very protective of her, as you well know.”
“That they are. But how did she just end up in his car?”
“You're going to think this is crazy.”
“Too late.”
“She always had this uncanny ability to channel other people's minds, to see things that nobody else could. It's probably what attracted her to a career in psychology in the first place. But a man, she claimed, took her by the hand the moment after the earthquake hit. She said he showed her the way.”
“Do you remember what this mystery man looked like?”
“Of course not. He was her imaginary friend. Nobody could see him but Elise. But it was
n't the first time he'd come around. She did draw a bunch of pictures of him, I recall that much. The Sisters probably still have them, seeing as how they've kept everything. But as you well know, she's not much for an artist. Stick figures mostly. All I remember is she said he was from one of those Oz books.”
“Oz books….”
“That's what I said.”
“What does this have to do with anything?”
“I don't know. You told me one crazy story, now I'm telling you another. Just think on it.”
Her Mercedes-Benz pulled up to the curb in front of my apartment building. I took note of the fact that Alex's Mustang was no longer present across the street as I unbuckled my seatbelt and climbed out of her car.
“Josephine, I'm sorry you had to miss your flight to the Bahamas.”
“I didn't have to. I chose to.”
“All the same, it’s very much appreciated. I don't expect it of you. When I called, I thought maybe you'd have an associate from Barnes and Collins come out.”
“I just want you to know that you don't have to go through this alone. My instincts on this one was correct. I may be a soulless vampire of a lawyer, but I clearly don't agree with my sisters decisions. Charlie and I are here for you if you ever want to talk.”
“It still haunts you, doesn't it? Benjamin.” Benjamin was her younger half-brother. She and Elise actually had two half-brothers, all four of them from the same mother, Andrea, with only the twins sharing a father.
“There's not a day goes by that I don't think about him or the fact that he's up the river because of me. I couldn't save him.”
“It's not your fault.”
“He wanted to be saved.”
“There's nothing you could have done to...”
“Yes, it is my fault.” Josephine's eyes spoke of regret. “As for you, I'll keep you out of Folsom or San Quentin or anywhere else you think those fools are bent on sending you, though if you ask me, it’s all just scare tactics. In the meantime, don't get yourself killed. That's not my department.”
“It's nice having a family lawyer.”
“I hope I'm not just your family lawyer.”
“Only when we fight.”
“Which explains why you'll never win in an argument.”
Goodnight Sometimes Means Goodbye (Wrong Flight Home, #2) Page 7
