“Yes. What did Uncle Larry say, the girls needed a firm hand in that house? I shivered when I heard that.”
“Your imagination is running amok. This explains her travel to Vegas. She didn’t go with a lover, she went to visit her uncle. And I was curious why Hailey transferred the bulk of her Gonzalez fee, after taxes, to Las Vegas, and now I know. To pay for the uncle’s nursing home.”
“But why?”
“Loyalty.”
“Maybe,” said Beth. “But if you ask me, there’s something else going on. Something that ruined him, too. Do you know what beriberi is?”
“Some exotic South Seas disease, it sounds like. How do you think he caught it in the desert?”
“Beriberi is not a virus. It’s a vitamin deficiency that sailors used to get because of unbalanced diets. You can also get it from drinking, but not just a little light tippling. They see it in drunks who drink so much that nothing matters but the drinking and the forgetting, who drink so much they forget to eat.”
A flight of warplanes flew low overhead, banking to the left, blowing away the soft rush of the wind with the roar of their engines, leaving thin trails through the pale blue as if the fabric of the sky itself had been ripped.
“Remember when I kept asking about the death of that boy?” she said. “What was his name?”
“Jesse Sterrett.”
“That’s right. You know what we should do? We should go back to Hailey’s old hometown and find out what really happened to him.”
“He said it was ruled an accident.”
“Maybe it was, if you can trust old Doc Robinson to know the difference between an accident and a murder.”
Behind us a white muscle car, its windows darkened, came up on us at a high rate of speed and shifted into the passing lane.
“If you ask me,” said Beth, “I’d guess there was a link between Hailey Prouix’s murder and the death of that boy. If you ask me, there’s something malignant that was alive back then that still exists, just as strong, today.”
“You’re creeping me out, Beth.”
“He creeped me out, Victor.”
“I don’t understand why.”
“Neither do I. But you know what? It gets me to wondering. It gets me to wondering if maybe we don’t have it all wrong. It gets me to wondering if maybe—”
Just then the white muscle car roared alongside us. It was a Camaro, the noise of its engine exploding without the restraint of a muffler. I expected it to zoom on past, but it didn’t, it stayed even with us, like a shadow.
I pulled my foot off the accelerator and slowed down to let it go on by, and it slowed down with me.
I sped up, and it kept pace.
I tried to peer inside but the windows were tinted so dark it was impossible to see who was driving.
I glanced at the road in front and saw a huge red pickup truck, hauling a motorboat, coming our way in the muscle car’s lane.
The truck blared its horn.
I sped up.
The muscle car veered away to the left and then, as if it were a yoyo on a string, came back and slammed us hard in the side.
The crash of metal, the crack of glass, the horn of the red pickup, and then a strange sound like the flap of a huge wing, followed by silence.
The straight road twisted sharply to the left, the soft shoulder tossed us, the great singed desert opened its arms to us, and, like children of the earth, we fell into them, spinning into the arms of the earth as the pale blue of the sky and the rocky surface of the desert revolved one around the other and became for us as one.
25
MY FIRST words when I came to were for Beth. I called her name, I called her name and heard nothing. The sun was brutal in my eyes, three dark things circling about it in the sky. My back ached so badly I thought it was broken, but I realized that as long as it hurt like hell it was still together, still together, and I called out for Beth.
From behind I heard voices. I twisted my head and saw the car, our car, the convertible, on its side, twisted grotesquely, the windshield shattered, fingers of flame lapping out the side of the hood. The red pickup truck was parked off a ways in the distance, the huge boat still hitched behind it. A man in jeans and a tee shirt stood in front of it, talking into a cellular phone.
“Beth,” I called out as loud as I could. “Where’s Beth?”
And then a face appeared over me, blurry and in shadow against the harsh sun. A man’s face, round, with its ears sticking out.
“She’s all right,” came a soft, scarred voice, strangely familiar, though badly out of place. “I think something in her arm, it snapped, but other than that she’s doing fine. You, too, mate. You was both wearing seat belts, good thing, or you’d be vulture bait.”
“The car…”
“I hope you took out insurance on your rental, is all I can say.”
“Beth’s all right?”
“Yeah, Vic, she’s fine. Just fine. I took her out of the car first, you second. Didn’t want to move you but I had to with the engine burning like it was. What’s that?” he called out to the man on the phone.
He turned to hear what the truck driver had to say and the sun lit up his face and I recognized him, I recognized him. That bastard.
“The ambulance will be along any minute. Don’t worry, Vic. Don’t you worry. I’m here to help. I’ll take care of everything.”
And he would, I was sure. I recognized him all right, no doubt about it, and I knew he would take care of everything, that bastard, just like he promised.
Phil Frigging Skink.
26
IN A curtained alcove of the emergency room of the St. Rose Dominican Hospital in Henderson, Nevada, a uniformed police officer took my statement as I waited for the results of the X-rays. They had strapped me to the stretcher in the ambulance to ensure I wouldn’t further injure my back, and the doctor had urged me to lie still on the table until he could review the film.
“Any sudden movement could cause irreparable injury,” he had said.
So I was lying as motionless as I could manage while the cop asked her questions. She was slight and cute, and I would have flirted her up in any other circumstance, but just then she was not at all what I wanted to see in the way of law enforcement. Just then what I wanted to see in the way of law enforcement was a burly bruiser who would take Skink by the scruff of his neck and toss him straight into the slammola. I told the cute police officer what happened with the white Camaro, about the way it smashed me in the side and sent me spinning off the road and how I was ready to sign a complaint for attempted murder as soon as she had it prepared.
“The truck driver said you did a full turn in the air before hitting the ground and spinning onto your side,” she said.
“Degree of difficulty six-point-nine.” Well, maybe I couldn’t help doing a little flirting, and she did have a pretty smile, and I always admired a woman in a uniform with a gun strapped to her hip.
“You were damn lucky, Mr. Carl. If you had dropped upside down, you likely both would have been crushed.”
“That’s just how I feel, lucky lucky lucky. It’s because my lucky jacket was in the trunk.”
“Is it bright?”
“Blinding,” I said.
“Lovely. Did you happen to see the license-plate number of the Camaro?”
“No, I’m sorry, I was busily spinning in the air as it drove away.”
“Did you see the driver?”
“I couldn’t see inside,” I said. “The windows were a dark blue, but it was Skink driving.”
She flipped through her notepad. “You mean the Mr. Skink who gave the statement?”
“That’s right, Phil Frigging Skink.”
“Calm yourself down, sir.”
“Sorry. But it had to be him. He obviously followed me here to Vegas. There’s something he’s desperate to hide, desperate enough for him to try to kill me. My guess is he was in on a murder that happened in Philadelphia and he knows I’m hot on his trail.”
“A murder?”
“That’s right.”
“In Philadelphia.”
“Yes.”
“You’re talking about the Mr. Skink who ignored the smoke pouring from the front of your hood and dragged you and Miss Derringer out of the vehicle and maybe saved your lives?”
“Exactly.”
“And you think he’s a murderer?”
“Doesn’t what he did prove it?”
“Why would he try to kill you, Mr. Carl, and then save your lives?”
“I don’t know. Ask him.”
“I will. But I have to tell you, the truck driver who saw the whole thing said Mr. Skink drove up in a blue Taurus about three minutes after it happened, moving in the same direction as the Camaro, so he couldn’t have been involved in the accident.”
“Accident? It was no accident. The damn Camaro slammed into me.”
“The truck driver said the Camaro was trying to pass and it looked like you sped up and blocked it in.”
“I was speeding up to get away from him.”
“And the truck driver said the Camaro tried to get out of the truck’s lane but you stayed in its path and that’s why it tapped you.”
“It wasn’t a tap.”
“No, sir, going as fast as you were, it must not have seemed like a tap at all. Do you know how fast you were going?”
“No. I don’t.”
“The speed limit on that road is fifty-five.”
“Is that so?”
“The truck driver said you were flying.”
“I was trying to get away.”
“From whom, Mr. Carl?”
“From the Camaro.”
“I see. We are of course looking for the Camaro, leaving the scene of an accident is a very serious charge, but often we find in these types of incidents that both parties are somewhat at fault.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Maybe not, sir, but I’m going to have to ticket you for speeding nonetheless.”
I bolted up off of the examination table and ignored the scream of pain in my back. “You’re going to ticket me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I get run off the road and you ticket me?”
Just then the doctor came back into the room. When he entered and saw me sitting straight up, he stopped short and gave me a stare. “Good to see you up and about, Mr. Carl.”
My head grew suddenly woozy and I lay back down on the table. “I don’t feel so well,” I said.
“Is that so?” The doctor gave the officer a knowing look, and I thought, Hey, no flirting with my cop. “Everything looks fine,” said the doctor. “Nothing broken, just bruising. I see no reason to keep you in the hospital, so we’re releasing you.”
I struggled slowly to sit up again. “What about my friend?”
“We’re going to keep Miss Derringer overnight for observation. In addition to her broken wrist she’s having headaches and might have a concussion. We’d like to be sure of her situation before we let her go.”
“We took your luggage from the car, Mr. Carl,” said the cop.
“And my briefcase?”
“Yes, that, too. You can pick it up as soon as you sign all the paperwork here. Is there anyone in Philadelphia you want me to call in reference to this murder you were talking about?”
She had a benign expression on her face, as if I were a lunatic she was trying to mollify. I thought of the discussion she would have with Stone and Breger, the three of them laughing together at my expense, and I involuntarily winced.
“No. No one.”
“Good,” she said. “I always strive to be thorough. This is for you.”
She handed me a slip of paper and I knew without looking what it was.
“What happens if I just rip up the ticket and refuse to pay?” I said.
She gave a smile, a charming, heart-stopping smile, aimed at the doctor. “Then we hunt you down and kill you.”
BETH HAD already been admitted as a patient. I took an elevator to the third floor and limped down the hallway to pay her a visit. It wasn’t a big hospital, a white circular building on the eastern edge of Henderson, and it wasn’t at all crowded. Beth’s eyes were closed when I entered the room, her left arm with its shiny white cast rising and falling atop her stomach. I didn’t want to wake her, so instead I stepped over and brushed away a lock of hair from her forehead. I don’t know why I did that, it never does any good, the lock always falls back, but I did it, and it made me feel better, and maybe that’s the reason right there. Whatever the cause of what happened, whether a simple accident or a brutal attempt on our lives, I still had been driving. She had been my charge, and I had failed her.
I sat down beside her and waited. After a while I took out Hailey’s phone and made some calls, pushing to the next afternoon our flight back to Philadelphia, reserving another night at the Flamingo, informing the rental-car agency of the little mishap and the total destruction of their automobile. When my calls were over, I sat and waited by Beth’s bedside.
My family had disintegrated like an atom split, my old high school and college chums had drifted like driftwood, my law school classmates had gone on to promising careers and gladly left me behind, all but Guy, and we know how well that had turned out. I didn’t have many people in this world with whom I had a mutual caring relationship. My father, maybe, though you could never tell by the tense words we passed back and forth. My sometime private investigator Morris Kapustin, whom I was keeping far away from this case because he knew me too well and could see right through me, when right now I didn’t want anyone seeing right through me. And there was Beth. Beth, my partner and best friend, the woman who shared my adventures, both financial and legal. There had been a time when we had contemplated something romantic happening between us, but it wasn’t there, at least for me, the primal spark, and so we never tried it, and I am so glad. I am the Wile E. Coyote of romance, I keep chasing, keep chasing, only to end up, always, standing still in midair, the edge of the cliff behind me, the bomb in my hand, fuse burning low. But whatever tragedy befalls me, there has always been Beth to crack a joke and rub my neck and keep me from plunging into total despair. What would I do without her? The mere contemplation left me fighting tears.
“Hey, cowboy,” she said. “Why so sad?”
Her eyes were open and she was smiling.
“I was imagining the worst and trying to calculate the price of new letterhead. How’s the wrist?”
“I can’t feel a thing with all the Novocain they pumped into it.”
“How about your head?”
“It hurts so much I can’t tell. Too bad they can’t inject Novocain into the brain.”
“You want the nurse?”
“Nah, not yet. They’ll only give me more drugs, and you know how I am about drugs.”
“Yes, I know. I’ll go get her.”
The nurse came in and checked the chart, took Beth’s temp, and told her it wasn’t time yet for her medication. Beth flirted, the nurse shook his head, Beth pouted, the nurse remained resolute, Beth pled, shedding all dignity, and finally the nurse said he’d ask the doctor. When the nurse came back with the little paper cup of pills, Beth gave me a triumphant smile.
“I should be ashamed of myself,” she said. “When am I supposed to get out of here?”
“Tomorrow, if everything goes right. I changed our flight.”
“I wonder if my head will explode at high altitude.”
“Just in case, I booked a seat ten rows behind yours. That way I can see it happen without it ruining my jacket.”
“Your lucky jacket. Is that why we survived?”
“Absolutely. Did you see what happened?”
“I suppose I did, but I don’t remember.” She closed her eyes and slowly opened them again. “I don’t remember anything. Last thing I recall, we were driving into Henderson to talk to the name on the insurance document. And next thing, I was looking up at some really ugly m
an who was being very sweet and my arm really, really hurt.”
“I think someone tried to kill us.”
“Really? Who?”
“I don’t know. Some guy in a white Camaro slammed me off the road. The cops think I was speeding and it was simply an accident.”
“Were you?”
“Only after I spotted the Camaro coming after me.”
“Do you think you only imagined it?”
“Maybe, but imagined or not, I’m through driving in this town, I’ll tell you that. Last I saw, the car was slowly burning.”
“I hope we still have the briefcase. I’d hate to have wasted the trip.”
“The cop said the briefcase and the luggage are waiting for me in the hospital office.”
“Did we meet the guy in Henderson?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting?”
“Not really. Hailey’s uncle. Do you need anything?”
“A toothbrush would be nice,” she said. “I’d like to brush my teeth before I fall asleep again.”
“Consider it done.”
I stood, leaned over to kiss her on the forehead, and went off to find our luggage.
It was stacked behind the desk of an admittance clerk in one of the small cubicles they had off the lobby. An older woman smiled at me when I demanded my luggage and sweetly asked for my identification and insurance information. Very clever. They were holding our luggage hostage to our Blue Cross number. I thought of complaining, just for the sport of it, but the old lady with the sweet smile had the eyes of an IRS agent, and so, meekly, I took out my insurance card.
Ransom paid, I lugged our two suitcases and my briefcase into the lobby. I looked around furtively and then checked the briefcase to make sure everything was there. At first glance it all appeared to be in order. The photographs, the letters, the insurance file, the maroon medical file, the envelope in which I had stashed the cash, all there, all seemingly undisturbed. I let out a sigh of relief as I checked the details, one by one, the insurance file first. Guy’s policy was still there, but…but Hailey’s now was missing. Damn it. Damn damn it. Quickly I pulled out the maroon folder. Where there should have been a medical file detailing the treatment of Juan Gonzalez, there was nothing, nothing. And then I noticed that the money envelope was sickeningly thin. Thirty thousand dollars, where was my damn thirty thousand dollars? I ripped open the envelope and found not the sweet hundred-dollar bills but instead a single scrap of paper with a note scrawled in a rough, barely legible hand.
Fatal Flaw Page 20
