Indigo Man

by M. J. Carlson

  Zach’s eyes popped open. Late afternoon light filtered through the window, turning Sara’s hair amber. The half-light cast her face in shadows—her sculptured nose, smooth skin, and rose-petal pink lips stood out in relief. A pair of wire-framed glasses sat perched on the bridge of her nose. He sat up, and pain sliced through his chest, spinning the room around. He groaned, closed his eyes, and dropped onto the downy pillow again. They’d given him something for pain.

  “Zach?” A hand touched his shoulder. He blinked his eyes open. She was still there, only now she sat on the edge of the bed where he lay. She seemed not to notice his hand on the smooth skin of her leg.

  “Sara.” His tongue felt a foot thick.

  “Are you all right? You looked pretty spaced for a few seconds there.”

  “Help me up, please.” Once he was sitting on the edge of the bed, the room steadied, stopped swimming around him. “I’ve been having the worst dream…” The fading light caught the angry, purple bruise at her scalp line. “And it’s all true, isn’t it?”

  She pulled a slow breath and blew it out through pursed lips. “Wow. This has really been rough on you. My mom was right to be worried. Would you like some dinner? If you’re not up for it…” She trailed off.

  “Just tell me one thing?”

  “Sure. What?”

  “Did we spend last night in the same bed?”

  Sara cocked her head to the side. “All that’s happened since yesterday, and that’s what you’re worried about?”

  Zach shrugged. “Something had to go right. I’ll take that.”

  She lifted one of his lids and stared at his eye. “I think the medication my mother gave you must’ve affected you more than she expected. We better get some food into you. Come on.” She grabbed his hand and tugged him to standing.

  “Hey, wait.” He held onto her hand for an extra moment. “How’s your head?”

  “Not bad. How’s your chest?”

  The ache was a distant throb. “Not bad.” He touched a finger to her chin and eased her head to the side. When he was satisfied there was no new bleeding, he gave her hand a quick squeeze. “As much as it sucks to be me, I have to tell you, there are parts of the last twenty-four hours I wouldn’t trade for anything. I’m just sorry that knowing me has ruined your life.”

  For just the shortest moment he thought he saw something flicker across her face. Just as quickly it was gone. She let her eyes drift to the floor. “We’ll—talk later.”

  “Later as in after dinner or later as in if I’m still alive this time next week?”

  “One thing at a time. Let’s eat.” She turned and dragged him to the door.

  He entered the kitchen with more than a little trepidation. Sara’s parents sat at the kitchen table. He mentally shook off a twinge of sadness about Laz. Grieving would have to wait. In place of the earlier tee shirt, Goode wore a pale green oxford, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Miranda was still an older version of Sara, in a faded blue blouse, the top few buttons open to reveal a pink tank top underneath. Her fingers touched Goode’s hand where it rested on the table. It brought a smile to Zach. They both eyed him, but she spoke, “Please have a seat, Zach.”

  In the center of the table sat a plate of fried chicken. Next to it was a large bowl of mashed potatoes, and another of steamed mixed vegetables. A bowl with a green salad lay next to each of four plates.

  Sara pointed to the seat opposite her father and took the remaining chair.

  Goode spoke first. “About this morning, I, I mean we, that is...” He trailed off, then went silent under Miranda’s withering stare.

  She nodded. “What my loving, doting, irritating husband means, is that we’re an odd family by some standards and we’re sorry if we’ve upset you.”

  “Ma’am? No, I—”

  “Shh. Let me finish, please.”

  Zach waited.

  “As I said, an odd family by most standards, but we’re also quite close, and we love our Sara very much. She and her father snipe at each other like that in fun. It’s a cop thing. She picked it up from him. It’s a way for them to talk through ideas and differences. What I’m trying to say, is they’ve promised a truce until this is cleared up.” She eyed Sara and Jack. “Haven’t they?”

  “Yes, Mom,” Sara answered.

  “Yes, Ran,” Goode said.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Yes, Zach, may we still call you Zach?”

  “Yes, ma’am, of course.” He glanced at each of them. “Here’s the thing. I appreciate Sara saving my life and I thank you for your hospitality, but I can’t ask any of you to put yourselves at any further risk because of my problems. The people who are after me are trained killers.”

  Sara’s father opened his mouth to speak, but stopped at Zach’s raised hand.

  “My best friend, hell, my only real friend, as he reminded me just yesterday, is dead. The people who murdered him are after me, and I’m scared. I’m not scared enough to jeopardize your lives, though. I really should be going.”

  Sara’s father raised a finger. When Zach nodded at him, he spoke. “Done?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He nodded. “That was a brave speech, and I appreciate your position, but,” he leaned toward Zach. “I’ll let you in on a secret. We’re not going to let you walk out of here by yourself, so get the thought out of your head. Okay?”

  “Why?” Zach asked, bewildered. “Why are you doing this for me? You don’t know me, I could be anybody.”

  “That’s the point. You are anybody. They came to you, asked you to do a job, and when you did it they made you a target. If they can do this to you and get away with it, none of us is safe, and what I worked at for thirty years meant nothing. I’m not ready to admit that yet.”

  Zach turned to Sara. “What about the car we stole?”

  “Nothing’s been on the scanner yet,” her father answered. “But that could change. The car you blew up was no big deal in the overall scheme of things. From what Sara tells me, it was one fuel stop away from the junkyard anyway, and the guy never got a good look at her ID. It’ll take them a day to trace the VIN numbers of the burned-out shell once it cools down enough to get close to. Your car was a little trickier.”

  “What did you do with it?” Zach asked, with some concern.

  “Made a call,” Goode said. “It’s safe.”

  “It’s started,” Sara said. “You’ve been on the news feeds already. You’re wanted for questioning in Dr. Thomas’ murder and the arson of your house.”

  “Me?” Zach asked. “They killed my friend, blew up my house, and wrecked my life, and I’m wanted for questioning?” He shook his head slowly, unable to wrap his mind around the events that had brought him to this point. He could almost feel the zip-ties on his wrists.

  “They cops want to close the case,” Goode said. “Unfortunately, it’s usually by pinning the crime onto the person with the least money or the one who can make the fewest waves.”

  “Then I’m pretty much screwed.”

  “Sums it up nicely,” Goode said. “But, sometimes they follow the evidence wherever it goes.”

  “The only way out of this mess is to give them an evidence trail to Stiles and Murphy,” Zach said. Deep down he wondered if he could make it happen.

  “That’s for after dinner,” Miranda answered, passing him the plate of chicken.

  “I don’t understand,” Zach said. “How can you people take this so lightly?”

  Miranda caught his eye. “We don’t. We take it very seriously. But this one,” she said, and nodded at Goode, “caught bad guys for fifteen years, and directed others to do the same for another fifteen. The one thing I saw consistently was that fear, and hunger, and lack of sleep all work against you and make you prone to mistakes.”

  Goode added, “Without a plan, you won’t last ten minutes against professionals, and make no mistake about it, whatever else these guys are, they’re professionals. We know what they want and what they�
��re willing to do for it.” His eyes shifted toward Zach.

  Zach placed the tiny portable drive on the table. “That’s what we use against them. A short video explaining who I am and why all this is really happening. If I have to, I can do it from an Internet cafe or even a public library. I just need a computer with the right apps.”

  “We have one right here. It’s not the newest or the fastest but—”

  “For the video part, maybe,” Zach said. “But I can’t send it out from here.”

  “They’ll be able to trace the origin URL,” Sara said.

  “And I won’t do that to you all,” Zach said.

  “What about Tampa?” Goode asked. A scowl crossed his face. “I’ve still got some juice there.”

  “Not against the Feds, Jack.”

  “There’s DeWitt.”

  “Who’s DeWitt?” Zach asked.

  “Reporter,” Goode said. “An honest reporter. I’ll call him. We can set up a meet.”

  “Might work,” Zach said. “I just need to get there.”

  “We’ll need a car,” Sara said.

  Zach switched his attention to Sara. “What about the Mitsu?”

  “You can’t drive it,” Miranda said. “They’ll request Tallahassee ping the VIN for location.”

  “We got the blood and prints taken care of this morning,” Goode said. “Already thought about Tallahassee.” He pulled a small, silver box the size and shape of a 9-volt battery from his pocket. “I took the liberty of popping this out of you car’s computer.” He placed it on the table so the electrical connections were clear. “With the main battery disconnected and without the computer’s backup battery, they can’t ping the VIN. You can’t drive it, but they can’t use it to find you, either.”

  Zach thought for a second. “Wait. Sara transferred the car to her name last night, didn’t she?”

  Goode shook his head. “Title still has to go through the local tag agency to be a legal transfer. It’s still registered in your name as far as the state’s concerned. All Sara did was reboot the software to allow her access.”

  Miranda looked thoughtful. “I would think they’d have already ID’d Zach as a potential threat to Stiles to kick it up to federal level and push things along.”

  “They may not want to take this up to the federal level,” Goode said. “If that happens, a lot of official types will get involved. There’ll be a huge manhunt for Zach, but a lot of questions’ll get asked.”

  “Johnson’s not the reactive type.” Sara said. “He’ll want to check at the facts before he makes that kind of report to Washington. He’s only got three years left until retirement.”

  “What about the car you used as a decoy?”

  Sara nodded. “We’re clean. I got every surface either of us touched, inside and out. I don’t think they’ll be able to get any DNA off what’s left.”

  “Good girl.” Goode said. “What about the first one, the Caddy?”

  “Same thing. Internal combustion engine. Rag in the fuel inlet, boom. No prints or DNA there either.”

  “Great,” Goode said, shaking his head. “You steal that one, too?”

  “Actually…” A sheepish smile curved the ends of her lips. “It was Murphy’s.”

  A grin worked its way over Goode’s face. “You neglected that part of the story earlier.”

  “Concussion.” She tapped her index finger to her temple.

  “Serves the bastard right,” Miranda said and shrugged a shoulder when they all gaped at her. “What? I can’t have an opinion?”

  Goode grinned at Zach. “Don’t cross the women in this family.”

  “Yeah,” Zach said. “I’m starting to get that.” His gaze shifted from Sara to her mother and back.

  “Can we eat, now? I’m starving,” Sara asked.

  “First sensible thing I’ve heard come out of your mouth in years.”

  “Jack?”

  “Sorry, Ran.”

  As they ate, Sara speared a piece of broccoli from her father’s plate, popping it in her giggling mouth as he made indignant noises. Miranda jabbed her fork at her husband’s hand when he tried to return the gesture by grabbing the chicken leg off Sara’s plate.

  It dawned on Zach. What he was seeing was the thing he’d never had—a family that shared more than a meal. They laughed at each other’s and their own imperfections. He was watching an intimate moment between people who cared for each other and it reminded him how devoid his life had been of it.

  ***

  “We’ll be back in a bit,” Goode said, when they’d finished dinner. He and Sara stood.

  Zach looked to Sara, uncertain what to do next.

  Sara spoke, “We have to go get my car from where I parked it at Murphy’s.”

  “Yes, dear,” Miranda said. “We’ll be fine. You two play nice and try not to shoot anyone.”

  Goode grunted a response, then added, “I love you, Ran.”

  She turned, then, the affection in her eyes palpable as she said, “I love you, too, Officer. Come home safe.” They exchanged a look as Goode closed the door between them.

  “Would you care to give me a hand in the kitchen, Zach?”

  “Yes, sure.”

  Zach cleared the plates as Miranda loaded the dishwasher. “That was a great meal, ma’am.”

  She laughed. “Then you should tell Jack. He cooked tonight. He always overcooks the vegetables a little for my taste, but he tries.”

  “Can I ask you a question, ma’am?”

  “If you’ll call me Miranda.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Miranda. Why are you and Mr. Goode treating me so well? I mean, I appreciate your help and all, but I’m a stranger, and this is a huge inconvenience for you all, not to mention the danger.”

  “You didn’t buy Jack’s explanation for a minute, did you?”

  “No, ma—Miranda. Sorry.”

  Miranda returned to loading the dishwasher. “Good boy. Skeptical. I like that. Before I answer your question, can I ask you one?”

  “Yes ma’am, sure.”

  “When you traded shirts with Jack earlier, he noticed you wear an engagement ring on a chain around your neck.”

  He touched the gold band under his borrowed shirt.

  “Can I ask why? If it’s too personal, I understand.”

  “To remind me not to hope for too much. Until six months ago, I was living with someone. I met Kathy at Laz’s birthday party a year and a half ago, after we opened the lab. She moved in six months later. I was going to ask her to marry me. I really thought everything was fine.”

  “It’s okay,” she touched his arm. “You don’t have to.”

  “She left a note taped to the living room monitor. She said I was boring, and she’d met someone else.” He took a breath and exhaled it through his nose. “And she packed a bag and left. She came and got the rest of her things a few days later while I was at work. I haven’t heard from her since.” He tugged the chain hanging around his neck from inside his shirt and stared at the ring in his hand. “I was going to ask her to marry me, and you know what? I can’t tell you what color her eyes were. Is that the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?”

  “Is her last name Bailey?”

  “Yes, it is. How…?”

  “There’s been an interview with a Kathy Bailey on the news feeds. Let’s just say she’s not a big fan of yours.”

  “Right. Figures. You know what else the note said? She told me she hoped I could find someone to pull my ass out of the lab long enough to have a life.”

  “May I see it, please?” She indicated the engagement ring under his shirt.

  He slipped the chain from around his neck and handed it to her.

  She examined the ring for a long moment. “It’s beautiful.” She held up a finger when he started to speak. “Success demands sacrifices. You and Dr. Thomas learned that the hard way. In his case, too hard. I don’t know what brought you and your former lady friend together, but it wasn’t love. If it had been, I can
assure you, she would have found a way to entice you from your lab. Her lack of understanding, and vision, and… appreciation of a good man is her loss, not yours.” She handed the ring back to him.

  As he returned the chain to its place, she bent over to load the dishwasher with soap. “What color are Sara’s eyes?”

  Zach laughed. “That’s easy. They’re a medium brown, with little flecks of gold. Why?”

  She turned and faced him, still holding the box of soap, her face a canvas, with a study of seriousness painted on it. “You’re a smart man, Zach. You know exactly why you’re here and not face-down in a canal. Just like you know why Sara spent an hour talking with her father about her options before she went to get you for dinner.”

  He opened his mouth, ready to speak, but found no words.

  A smile flowed onto Miranda’s face. “And if you don’t, you think about it. I’m sure you’ll come up with something. Now,” she said, closing and setting the dishwasher. “Let’s go see what sort of mess Detective Jack Goode, retired and damn glad about it, and his former Federal Agent daughter left in the carport, shall we?”

  Zach opened the door to the laundry room and passed through, into the evening, with Miranda close behind. The air outside was cooler than he expected, and a faint breeze blew in from the Gulf a few blocks away. The metallic sound of a knife being laid on the washing machine caught his attention, but he let it go when he realized the Mitsu was gone. “Where…?” he walked around the empty carport, confused. The car cover lay next to the recycling bin. The small bucket Jack had filled in the laundry room earlier, sat next to it, half full of dirty water.

  “Uncle Hank.” Exasperation encircled the word like a large bow. Miranda held her palms against her waist as she surveyed the carport.

  “Sorry?”

  “Uncle Hank,” she started, “is one of Jack’s friends from the old days.”

  “Oh,” Zach said, almost comprehending the nuances.

  “Here.” She handed a corner of the car cover to Zach. “How are you at folding sheets?”

  He faked confusion. “You fold sheets?” He answered her quizzical expression with a smile as he stepped away, straightening the cover.