I said, "Diane -- " and she just as quickly interrupted me.
"I'm absolutely serious," she said. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm distraught, I'm overwhelmed and a bit crazy, and all of that's true. But it doesn't change what I feel now, and what I know I'm going to feel tomorrow, and feel next week. I want that man dead. I want him gone. And I'm going to need your help."
"What makes you think I can do anything?"
She nailed me with her reply. "Don't give me any crap about being a simple magazine writer. You were once a Pentagon spook, and the fact I've never been able to learn anything about you from the Department of Defense tells me you were important. And if you were important, you were good, and you've got the talents to find this slug."
"You're asking a lot," I finally said, and it felt like the heating system had died.
"I know. But I'm sorry, I need you for this. If they're lucky, the cops may find a suspect. And that's a big maybe. And then my Kara will have to go into a room full of strangers and talk about the intimate details of her life, all while some smart sport from law school does his level best to destroy her on the stand, so his paying scum can slide away a free man. Do you think I'm going to allow that to happen to my woman?"
"Diane, think of what you're doing," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "You're asking me to get involved in something that could put the both of us away for a very long while, not to mention putting a serious crimp into your career --- "
Again she interrupted, with an epithet of what I could do with her career. "I don't need lectures. I'm a cop, and I know the chances of anything happening to that bastard are slim. If he's arrested, if he goes to trial, and if he's convicted, then he ends up in the Massachusetts prison system. And excuse me for living, but I'm not too enthusiastic about a prison system that practically has a union for murderers. And if you think he'd serve out his full term in this lovely state, then you're nuttier than I think you are."
"I must be pretty nutty just for staying here and listening to you."
"Maybe so," she said with a sigh. "Remember, too, if he does get convicted, facing a ten- or fifteen-year sentence, then I have Kara facing life ... " and her voice cracked. "Kara ... she's been raped once, Lewis. I'm not about to let her get raped again by the judicial system. Believe me, I know," and the last four words were said particularly harshly. "That's why I'm going to do this, and I'm going to need your help."
Oh, my. I squeezed the steering wheel and looked over at her, recalling my first months at Tyler Beach, when I had arrived thin and jumpy, waking up at odd hours from dark and steaming dreams, sitting alone at my beach house, drinking and staring out at the ocean, feeling the acid of guilt dissolve me from the inside out, one bone and organ at a time. Then I began my involvement in those activities that skirted and sometimes crossed over the line of legality, and Diane had been there, as I clambered back to life. She had been there from the start, letting me do what I had to do, sometimes passing along help and information at crucial times, and always letting me get away with situations other police officers would have gladly arrested me for.
Diane.
I reached over and touched her face. "I'll do it."
I walked her back, her arm looped through mine, and the snowflakes still fell and danced to their death on the ground. As we went up to the lit door I turned to her.
“I might need some other help for this, you know."
"Such as?"
"Such as Felix Tinios." I brushed some snow from my eyes as we stopped. "You and I both know I might have to go into some pretty dark rooms eventually. If that's the case, I want Felix with me, much as you don't like him."
She turned and held my hands in hers. "Last November, when we watched that documentary on Winston Churchill, the night I wanted to watch the ice skating, you said something funny about what Churchill did, back when Hitler invaded Russia. What was it?"
I nodded, impressed once again with Diane's cop memory.
"Churchill got in a load of trouble when he announced England would become allies with the Soviets, right after Hitler invaded. Some of his colleagues were shocked that a conservative anticommunist like Churchill would actually become an ally of Stalin. Some just wanted Hitler and Stalin to fight it out, to bleed each other."
"And didn't he say something about making a pact with the Devil in reply?"
I gave her hands a squeeze. "He said if Hitler invaded Hell, he would at least make a favorable reference to the Devil in the House of Commons."
Diane attempted another smile. "If Felix assists you, I will at least say nice things about him the next time his name comes up at a staff meeting. Do what you have to do, but try to be discreet." She squeezed my hands back. "Talk to you tomorrow?"
"Absolutely." I hugged her and she choked, "Sweet God, I love her so much.... "
"I know you do. Now go in there, because she needs you."
She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and walked into the emergency room, her shoulders slumped, and I looked around at the snow and lights and homes and wondered where the man was, the man that had brought me out into this night and had ruined two women's lives with less than an hour's effort on his part. Probably near here or in a neighboring town, resting. Was he sleeping? Did he feel guilt? Happiness? A satisfied glow? A lot of questions, and nothing but hard work and dismay ahead for me. I put my hands back into my coat pockets, shivered in the snow and walked back across the lot.
At home I boosted up the heat and saw from the kitchen clock that it was almost four in the morning. I made a cup of hot chocolate and went out to the living room, sitting on the rear of the couch. The ride home had been rugged enough, with the poorly plowed roads and the snowfall, and even though my vehicle is a nimble beast on bad roads, I was glad when I got her into the garage. I held the steaming cup of hot chocolate in my chilled hands and looked out the sliding glass doors after opening up the drapes.
With no lights on, I was looking out in the dark, watching the snowflakes rage down from the night sky. I felt a draft of cold air drift across my bare feet. Now that I was here, alone and in the dark, I had the time to think, and some very loud voices were screaming at me. I tried to tell them to shut up, but I failed. Mostly the voices were saying the same thing, over and over: Are you insane?
"Maybe so," I said, speaking aloud, but it also seemed so right, back in the parking lot, to help her in return for the so many things she had done for me. But now, sitting alone in my house and watching the snow come down, my voices were demanding to know why I had just agreed to take part in something that could result in a murder, and could result in my being brought up on conspiracy charges, or could even end in my own injury and death if I wasn't careful. Marvelous. Ain't friendship a wonderful thing?
So I sat thinking, until the hot chocolate was gone and I rubbed the still-warm mug against my cool face, and then I left the mug on the coffee table and went upstairs and crawled back into bed, listening to the wind. I thought some more and made a decision, one that I wasn't particularly proud about. Then I debated for a while on whether to turn on the light and do some reading, and while that debate was going on, I fell asleep.
I woke up and went back to sleep and repeated the pattern again, until it was nearly eleven a.m. when I stumbled out of bed. After getting dressed and a quick breakfast of tea and toast, I called Felix Tinios's house three times, and each time got a busy signal. The snow had finally stopped and the sky was the deep blue that comes right after a good-sized storm. I then shrugged on my heavy coat, pulled on some boots, and did some work, shoveling a path from the front door of my house to the garage. The first winter I spent here I had ignored the shoveling and had just beaten down a path to the garage. That had worked well until the hard-packed snow had transmuted itself into slick ice and I fell on my butt. Now I take the time to shovel. I may not be bright, but I can be taught.
After two more unsuccessful calls to Felix, it was time for a drive. The boy must have had his phone
off the hook, and I was aching for a visit. During the time I had been outside, I had been thinking with every toss of the shovel. Felix's help was critical, and without it, well, Diane was going to be even unhappier when I next saw her. I couldn't do this alone. I had paused for a moment, breathing hard, resting on the shovel. I looked out toward my tiny cove and looked at the waves and ice, and wondered if any beautiful shells were over there, covered by the snow. I closed my eyes and saw a scared, trembling woman with wounds I couldn't even imagine, and I shook my head and gave it up. I had said yes. I would see it through, and I went for a drive.
Felix lives in the next town over from Tyler, called, oddly enough, North Tyler. Atlantic Avenue was also mostly clean of the snow that had fallen over the night, and say what you will about New Hampshire and its tiny state government, at least they know how to plow roads. Away from the heavy traffic of the summer, everything looked clean and crisp. With the sharp January air, the Isles of Shoals some miles distant out on the Atlantic looked perfect enough to be Christmas decorations.
Felix lives on Rosemount Lane, which juts off Atlantic Avenue to the east and contains six houses, and his home sits alone on a small bluff, overlooking the ocean. Like me, Felix enjoys his privacy, but our living quarters have nothing in common. His is a low slung ranch, only ten or twenty years old, and I was surprised at what I saw. There was another vehicle, parked next to Felix's own red Mercedes convertible. It was a black Trans Am with Massachusetts plates, its sides smeared white with old road salt. Oops. Looked like Felix had an overnight guest, which explained the busy signals. I was going to turn around and try again later when the door of the house opened up and Felix stepped out with a man. Oops again. Felix saw me and nodded, and I pulled to the side of the road.
The guy was talking to Felix and then shrugged, and Felix gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder and the guy walked down to the Trans Am. I checked him out through the rearview mirror. He was a few years younger than me, maybe in his late twenties, with a thick brown mustache, a day-old stubble of beard, thick, wide shoulders, and dark sunglasses. His brown hair was done up in a tiny ponytail, and he had on pale blue jeans, white hooded sweatshirt, and a dungaree vest. He looked up at Felix when he got to his car and gave a well-I-gave-it-my-best-shot shrug, and opened up the driver's door to his Trans Am. When his door slammed shut, I got out and went up the driveway, where Felix was standing outside.
"Friend of yours?" I asked, as Felix let me in. There was classical music playing ---perhaps Haydn --- that instantly cut us off from any outside sounds.
"More of an acquaintance than a friend," Felix said. "Here, let me take your coat." He had on pressed blue jeans, a heavy blue chamois shirt, and soft brown slippers, which on anybody else would have made me laugh. However, Felix is not one to accept unexplained laughter sent his way. He was built almost as solid as the man who had just left, with thick hair combed back and a blue-black stubble of beard.
I followed Felix into the living room, and he tossed my coat over an easy chair. Felix's living room is light, airy furniture, with a couple of magazines tastefully arranged on the coffee table, with that day's copies of the Boston Globe and New York Times. Windows looked out to the ocean below, and there were no shrubberies, trees, or snow-covered lawn furniture out there to provide a hiding place for someone coming up to the house. Like me, Felix is a fairly recent immigrant to this resort seacoast, but his source was the North End of Boston, where he learned his trade. He once told me his income tax sheet lists his occupation as security consultant, and if you believe that, you probably believe we bombed Iraq to make Kuwait safe for democracy. Since my own tax sheet says I'm only a writer, I've never accused him of being a liar.
"Was that why your phone was off the hook?" I asked, sitting in a matching easy chair, which was done in a light eggshell blue. "Had some business to conduct?"
After turning down the volume on the CD, Felix sat across from me on the couch, grinning easily. "Sort of. When I'm dealing, I hate distractions. Did you try to call?"
"Yeah, which is why I'm here. You getting involved in anything interesting?"
Felix shook his head. "No, not this time. Old Nick is a neighbor from down south, and he has a shipment of, um, well, let's say some pharmaceutical items coming ashore in a few weeks. He wanted to know if I'd be interested in coming along as a chaperone."
''I'm sure. And what did you tell him?"
He rubbed at his pants leg. "Like I've told you before. Nothing to do with drugs. Nothing. The quality of people you get involved with import-export are rotten types, guys who'd turn you in or blow you away if they thought it would help them. That doesn't make for job security or an attractive career. So I said, nope, no thank you. And there were no hard feelings, all around."
"I can tell."
"So. You up to something?"
"That I am, and I'm stopping by to see if you'd be open to having your talents rented for a week or two."
Though the smile was still on his face, there was now an edge there, and I could tell he was getting just a bit uncomfortable. "Oh? For you, Lewis? What's the matter, someone steal a computer disk or something?"
I took a deep breath, knowing I wasn't going to enjoy the next ten or fifteen minutes. "No. An acquaintance of mine was raped last night. Her closest friend, one Diane Woods of the Tyler Police Department, wants help in tracking down the rapist. She knows me and I said yes. Now I'm here, asking for your expertise."
The smile was now gone. "You'll excuse me if I don't start responding enthusiastically, and please don't take offense, but are you out of your fucking mind?"
I sighed. "I've been wondering about that, and I have no choice. Diane's my friend, and I owe her. I can't say no to her, and I won't."
“Sure you can," Felix said. "Put an 'n' and an 'o' together, and take it from there. Look. This is a cop, of all people, asking you to get involved in something very heavy indeed because she can’t afford to be so public and do the hunt herself. And knowing Diane, I'm sure once this guy is ID'd, she ain't going to send him a Valentine's Day card."
“You guessed right."
"Who's the acquaintance?"
"Kara Miles of Newburyport. A wonderful woman, and close friend of Diane's. I know her some and it made me sick seeing her last night, what had happened to her."
"You say she's friends with Diane Woods?"
"I did."
"Care to elaborate?"
"No."
He shifted in the couch. "So you want my expertise. What do you think, I've got the entire North Shore section of Massachusetts wired, I can make a couple of calls and have this guy wrapped up for you by next Monday'?"
"No, but you have an eye for things, and I know you have good reflexes. That's what I need. We both can do a pretty good tracking job, but you're better when it comes to hands-on stuff. If I'm somewhere and something's going south on me in a hurry, I might hesitate, and hesitation might not be healthy. In the same situation, I think you'd be washing your hands while I'm still debating. Am I right?"
"Oh, quite right. And how do you think Detective Woods will feel, knowing you're asking someone of my character to join you in this little quest?"
I leaned forward, rested my elbows on my legs. "She sends her best. She wants this guy bad, and I know she'd be very happy if you helped me on this."
That seemed to make Felix think. "So it's that serious. Hmmm." He rubbed at the stubble on his chin and said, "If we're successful, then she'd be in our debt, right?"
I sat up. "Forget it. This is a straight hire. Don't think just because you're helping Diane, she's going to ignore you trying to rob the Tyler Cooperative Bank. This is a straight business proposition."
He slowly nodded. "All right. Glad that's spelled out, then."
He got up from the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, and then came back out with two open bottles of Molson Golden Ale, and I was touched. Felix has never expressed a fondness for my favorite brand, but here he was, keeping a few
of the green bottles on ice for me. I took the offering and clinked the bottleneck to his, and he sat back on the couch.
"If I'm in, then we're going to get some ground rules and understandings, right?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way," and for once, I was telling the truth.
"Fine," he said. "If the job is to find this guy, then that's what we do. No side business. Nothing vigilante. We find him and present him to Miss Woods, and it's up to her to decide what happens next. You got me for the next couple of weeks, but if nothing comes up, no leads, no nibbles, not even a breath, then I'm out. I've got better things to do than to chase down ghosts. Either way, I get paid. Which reminds me," and he looked up at me with a grin. "Who gets the bill?"
“I’ll take care of it. And another thing. If you're in and I'm paying, then I set the direction, I set the pace. If things get too weird and I decide it's over, then it's over."
He winked. "I'm in. And I wouldn't have it any other way," and I wished then I knew if he was telling the truth.
I stayed for a bit longer, nursing my beer, and we talked about the weather and we both wondered if the Red Sox were going to do anything this year, and I said that as much as I hated for it to happen, one almost wished for another Russian Revolution, because that's the only time the Red Sox ever win a World Series. Felix laughed and said, "You must know a lot about the Russians, considering your past job and all that."
"All what?" I innocently asked, and Felix laughed again and said, "One of these days, you old spy, I'll get you to talk," and I said not on this day, and then I refused a gracious offer to replace the empty beer bottle with a full one. Felix took the empty bottle away and he came back and sprawled out on the couch and his voice got quiet.
"You know this is going to be tough," he said. "I'm not bullshitting you. We're going to be spending some time rooting around in the mud, looking at bad things and talking to bad people that most citizens like to think don't exist. We're going on a trip to the dark side, because we're looking for one sick and nasty man, and I doubt he's going to be very happy when we start knocking on doors and start asking for him. You've got to be ready, because chances are, it's going to get a bit hairy along the way. You understand?"
Shattered Shell Page 4
