Double Image

by David Morrell

  Tash shuddered. “You’re suggesting Duncan Reynolds fits that profile?”

  “I wouldn’t have believed it without the evidence. To tell you the truth, I kind of like him. He doesn’t seem the type,” Coltrane said. “But then, what is the type? When neighbors find out the man living next door to them just went to where he works and shot five people, they always say, ‘But he was so quiet. I never would have expected him to do anything like that.’ Who knows what anybody’s capable of?”

  Tash shuddered again. “What you said about the knife is a little too vivid.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Coltrane touched her hand to reassure her. A crackle of static electricity jumped from her.

  They both stared at where it had happened.

  “Maybe what I’m really giving off is fear.” Tash reached for the telephone attached to the seat back in front of her.

  “What are you doing?” Coltrane asked.

  “I’m phoning Walt. Now that we finally know who’s been threatening me, the police can arrest him. They can make the bastard admit he’s been stalking me.”

  “No. Stop,” Coltrane said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Walt can’t do anything without evidence. He’ll want to see the photographs.”

  “Then we’ll show them to him.” A thought struck her. “Oh.”

  “You see what I’m getting at? You’ll have to explain why you can’t show him the photographs. A vague excuse about taking a brief trip first is only going to puzzle him. If your evidence is so convincing, why are you waiting a couple of days to bring it to him?”

  “I’ll seem like a flake.”

  “Unless you tell him the whole story,” Coltrane said. “That you didn’t see the photographs until you were on a jet to Acapulco. But once he knows where you’re going, he’ll ask why.”

  “And our quiet getaway becomes everybody’s business.” Tash exhaled in discouragement. “If Carl finds out, he might even come after us.”

  “Right.”

  Her hand unsteady, Tash returned the phone to the seat back. “Duncan Reynolds doesn’t know where I am, either. For now, there are just the two of us.”

  “You’re sure you weren’t followed to the airport?”

  “I used a taxi. I told the driver to drop me off at United. Once inside, I hurried over to Delta. What was anyone following me going to do? He couldn’t just abandon his car in all that traffic at the departure doors. His car would be towed away while he was trying to find me in the terminal.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  Coltrane and Tash looked up in surprise at a female flight attendant.

  “We just realized we had some business we forgot to take care of before we left,” Coltrane said. “I guess there’s no good time to take a vacation.”

  “Well, the movie we’re showing is a comedy. Maybe it’ll help get you in a holiday mood.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  2

  I F THEY HADN ’ T BEEN SO PREOCCUPIED , the rest of the three-and-a-half-hour flight would have been a pleasure. The service was first-class, especially the Mexican lunch of sea bass with tomato sauce, olives, and sweet and hot peppers. The scenery was spectacular. Glancing out his window, Coltrane saw the blue of the Gulf of California, with the rugged coastal cliffs of Baja California on the right. Then Baja ended in a series of dramatic rock formations, and the Pacific Ocean was spread out before him, breathtaking, as the jet continued along its southeast route far down Mexico’s coast toward Acapulco.

  When Cortés’s soldiers had discovered the area in 1521, it was obvious that the deep C-shaped bay would make one of the finest harbors in the world, an article in Delta’s seat-pocket magazine said. For hundreds of years, it had been a major trading depot, but not until the 1920s had the sleepy village with its pristine beaches and impressive mountainous background become prized as a recreation area. Rich vacationers from Mexico City were soon followed by the powerful and famous from other countries. B. Traven, Malcolm Lowry, and Sherwood Anderson had been there, as had Tennessee Williams, whose The Night of the Iguana was set there. But from its zenith in the fifties and sixties, Acapulco’s popularity had declined due to overbuilding and overpopulation. Only in the late eighties had the authorities made a major effort to refurbish the resort and return it to its former glory.

  To get a good view, Tash and Coltrane had to leave their seats and shift over to the left windows as the pilot announced his descent past the city.

  “I wasn’t prepared for how big it is.” Coltrane stared in wonder.

  “The magazine article mentioned that more than a million people live down there,” Tash said.

  “Yeah, and I bet very few of them can afford to stay in those hotels.”

  Hundreds of them, huge and brilliant in the sun, rimmed the semicircular harbor or perched on tropical slopes beyond it. Coltrane took a mental photograph of the impressionistic display below him, the green of myriad palm trees blending with copper cliffs, coral roofs, golden sand, and the azure bay. Cruise ships waited near the mouth of the harbor while excursion boats streamed toward docks, passing speedboats, sailboats, and yachts.

  “But it didn’t look like this in 1934,” Coltrane said. “There wasn’t a telephone until two years later. Land could be bought for three cents an acre. Only three thousand people lived down there. As hard to get to as it was, this would have been Eden’s outpost.”

  “And Packard’s Eden, Espalda del Gato, was even smaller,” Tash said. “I wonder how Rebecca Chance reacted when Packard took her there.”

  3

  T HEY HAD ONLY CARRY - ON LUGGAGE , so after obtaining their tourist cards and passing through immigration, they were able to leave the chaos of the hangarlike terminal sooner than they expected. An airport taxi drove them northward along a coast that had golf courses, beaches, and luxury hotels, one of which resembled an Aztec pyramid. After twenty minutes, the highway climbed to the rim of a hill, where the spectacle of Acapulco’s harbor appeared before them.

  Costera Miguel Alemán, a scenic avenue that paralleled the curve of the bay, took them past modern-looking highrise buildings to the old part of the city, where the architecture was traditionally Mexican and where they got out at a small hotel called El Geranio Blanco, the White Geranium, which the driver recommended when he found out that they didn’t have a place to stay. He had a relative who worked there, he said, and although January was one of Acapulco’s busiest months, he was sure that a room could be obtained for a suitable price. And a suitable tip, Coltrane thought after the driver came back from speaking to his relative inside, announcing with a smile that everything had been arranged. The smile grew broader when Coltrane gave him fifty dollars. As the taxi pulled away, he and Tash peered up at the array of white geraniums on each of the hotel’s wrought-iron balconies.

  “Let’s hope our driver was telling the truth about the relative he had inside,” Coltrane said.

  They looked questioningly at each other and suddenly found the idea that they might have been cheated inexplicably funny. As things turned out, a room had indeed been obtained for them—one so small that the bed practically filled it, with only one window, on the fifth floor, the uppermost in a hotel that didn’t have an elevator, for a rate that Coltrane suspected was equal to that for the most luxurious in the building.

  “What do you think? Should we go somewhere else?” Coltrane asked.

  “From what our driver said, the town’s packed. I vote for staying,” Tash said. “Look on the bright side. At least we’ve got a bathroom.”

  “But we have to crawl over the bed to get to it.”

  “Details, details.”

  “And there’s something else we have to do.”

  “Are you still referring to the bed?”

  “Carl Nolan.”

  4

  I MADE A MISTAKE ,” Tash said.

  Coltrane inwardly squirmed. “How so?”

  They sat at a small woo
den table at an outdoor café in Old Acapulco’s busy plaza. Both had margaritas. Neither had touched them.

  “The first thing you have to understand,” Tash said, “is the past few weeks, since my trouble started, Carl and I have been together a lot.”

  Coltrane felt a sinking sensation.

  “Nothing happened,” Tash said.

  “Look, I feel terrible asking you about this. Your life is your own. This wouldn’t be any of my business if he hadn’t threatened me.”

  “No,” Tash said. “I’d make it your business even if he hadn’t threatened you. If we’re going to have a future together, you have every right to know about my past.”

  The plaza was shaded by palm trees. Children played on a bandstand. A Moorish-looking church with yellow spires and an onion-shaped blue top dominated the far end.

  Coltrane registered none of this. “Is that what you want—a future with me?”

  Tash smiled warmly. “I feel more comfortable with you than with any man I’ve ever met. As if I’ve known you a long time. But of course I haven’t, so I get to have all the fun of finding out about you.”

  Emotion made it impossible for Coltrane to speak.

  “Carl and I spent time together,” Tash said. “So did Lyle and I, Walt and I, the others. They’re my bodyguards, after all. One or another is usually with me—in cars, at the house. We share meals. We talk.”

  Coltrane waited uneasily.

  “When the package with the bull’s heart was delivered to my house, there was so much blood. . . . It freaked me out. A lab crew came and took it. Then Carl showed up to see if there was anything he could do. Walt and Lyle were already there, but they couldn’t stay—they had a break-in to investigate. But Carl told them not to worry, that he’d hang around for a while, so they left.”

  Coltrane leaned forward.

  “I was so upset that I started sobbing,” Tash said. “I reached out and held him. I can’t tell you how tired I was of feeling frightened. When he started kissing me, I didn’t resist. It was human contact. It was . . . But then his kisses became more forceful, and he was touching me and—”

  “Stop. You don’t need to put yourself through this,” Coltrane said.

  “No, if Carl ever tells you I led him on, I want to make sure you understand everything. I want to explain this now so I don’t ever have to do it again.”

  On the other side of the crowded plaza, a mariachi band started playing.

  Coltrane didn’t hear it.

  “I pushed Carl away,” Tash said. “I told him that he had the wrong idea, that sex wasn’t what I wanted, that all I needed was a little comfort. I told him my life was out of control as it was, without complicating things. He said he’d fallen in love with me. He wanted to know what was wrong with him that I didn’t want him, and I told him that under the present circumstances I couldn’t think about wanting anybody.”

  Fidgeting, Tash glanced toward the harbor, where excursion yachts and fishing boats were docking, but the faraway look in her eyes made clear that what she was seeing had happened weeks earlier.

  “The truth is, I knew I could never have a relationship with him. But this is what went through my mind. I’m not proud of it. Even so, here it is. I was thinking that some nut was out there, probably planning to kill me, and I needed all the help I could get. So I wasn’t firm in rejecting him. When Carl asked, ‘Maybe not now, but what about later, after we find this creep and you don’t have to worry anymore?’ I didn’t have the courage to be honest. Instead of telling him no, what I said was that I couldn’t think about anything like that while I was jumping at shadows. Now I realize that the false hope he took from that conversation is all he’s been thinking about. When you showed up at my house on New Year’s Day, I could see his resentment when I asked you to stay and talk about the estate I’d inherited. I could feel his jealousy.”

  “So he decided to pay me a visit at the Beverly Center and make sure I understood that I wasn’t welcome, that he had dibs on you,” Coltrane said.

  “I’m afraid that’s how he sees it—that he has dibs on me.”

  Coltrane’s cheek muscles hardened. “Well, when we get back to L.A., after we arrange for Duncan Reynolds to be arrested, I’ll make sure Carl gets his mind straight.”

  “No, let the police handle it. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “This time, he wouldn’t be catching me by surprise.”

  “Please,” Tash said. “It was my mistake. There’s been enough trouble. Let’s not start more.”

  Coltrane couldn’t resist her plaintive tone. “All right.” He worked to calm himself. “I’ll let the police handle it.”

  “Thank you.”

  When he touched her hand, he was pleased that this time there wasn’t any static electricity. “The main thing is, it’s almost over.”

  “Almost over.” Tash sounded wistful. “Something worth drinking to.”

  They picked up their margaritas, clicking glasses.

  “In fact, if we hadn’t decided to fly down here, it would be over,” Coltrane said. “Do you want to go home tomorrow, settle everything, and come back for a real vacation?”

  “A day longer isn’t going to make a difference. I need to know why Randolph Packard put me in his will. If we can find the estate I inherited, it might give me some answers.”

  “Yes. From the moment I found Packard’s photographs of Rebecca Chance, I’ve had the sense that the past and the present are connected.” Coltrane set down his glass and picked up his camera. “Hold that pose.”

  Now that he was paying attention to the plaza, he realized that this wasn’t the first time he had seen the Moorish-looking church behind Tash. Its onion-shaped top had been in one of the photographs in the vault. Rebecca Chance had been in this plaza. So had Randolph Packard.

  Coltrane pressed the shutter button.

  5

  W HERE IT ’ S JUST THE TWO OF US . Where we can talk and swim and lie on the beach,” Tash had said, describing some of the reasons she wanted to go to Acapulco. It was too late for the swim, but just the right time to take a stroll, hand in hand, up a shop-lined hill to the cliff above the harbor, and watch the crimson of the sunset tint the blue of the ocean. As Tash leaned her head against his shoulder, Coltrane put his arm around her. They peered out toward the sun sinking below the horizon, only a faint orange sliver visible.

  “Watch for a green flash.”

  She turned to him, puzzled.

  “No, don’t look at me,” Coltrane said. “Keep your eyes on the horizon. In a second, there’s going to be a green flash.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Packard wrote a book about photography. He called it Sightings, and in it, he claimed that during the instant the sun vanishes below the horizon, there’s a green flash. He claimed to have seen it many times, something to do with a change in the spectrum of light, and he said it had been one of his career-long goals to capture a photograph of that flash, although he was never able to, because by the time he saw it and pressed the shutter button, the flash was over. He tried to anticipate it and press the shutter button just before he thought the flash was going to happen, but he never managed that, either. I’ve spent many evenings staring at sunsets, trying to see that flash, but I’ve never been able to.”

  “Was Packard telling the truth? Do you think the flash really happens?”

  “Other photographers claim to have seen it. Ansel Adams used to take guests onto his porch and try to show it to them.”

  “But it’s always eluded you.”

  “Yep.”

  “Then what makes you expect you’ll see it tonight?”

  “Because you’re with me.”

  Tash didn’t say anything for a moment. “That’s the tenderest thing anybody ever told me.”

  “Will you please stop looking in my direction?”

  Tash giggled.

  “Keep your eyes on the horizon.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tash giggled a
gain.

  She peered away from him, watching the last speck of the sun’s faint orange vanish below the horizon, and inhaled sharply, for as black invaded the sky, a green flash shot amazingly up, like a monocolored single beam from the aurora borealis. With equal abruptness, it vanished.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

  “I saw it, too.” Coltrane felt pounding behind his ears.

  “Holy God.”

  “Yes.”

  “I feel as if we’re the only people in the world who saw it,” Tash said.

  “Yes.”

  “Our own private show.”

  Coltrane turned her toward him and brought his mouth to hers. As the cliff seemed to waver, he had a fleeting sense that it wasn’t their bodies but their souls that were trying to merge. Maybe that’s why this is called a “soul kiss,” he thought. Then he was incapable of thought as they held each other tighter, kissing deeper.

  6

  T HEIR HOTEL WAS ONLY A TEN - MINUTE STROLL AWAY , but Coltrane had no recollection of the restaurants and shops they passed, hurrying back, seeming to get there instantaneously, and yet he couldn’t recall an occasion when a comparable amount of time had seemed to take so long.

  They barely managed to lock the door to their room before they were all over each other, unable to get enough of each other. Their hands slid urgently under each other’s clothes, their need so great that taking the time to undress would have been an unbearable postponement. Then it wasn’t necessary to take the time to undress, for they were suddenly naked, their clothes scattered everywhere as they pressed against each other, chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach, groin-to-groin, their skin itself a powerful sexual organ that drove them to even greater urgency. His back pressed against the switch on the wall, activating the overhead light. They didn’t care. The light didn’t matter. They were too absorbed by each other to turn it off. When they sank to the bed, Coltrane felt he was falling, never to stop. He rolled and twisted, sliding sweat-slicked over her, into her, moaning, seeming to soar above himself as he thrust, to plunge into himself as he withdrew. His brain pattern flashed white, black, white, black. Then there was only white, and he lay disoriented beside her.