by Sue Grafton
“I don’t like it either,” she said. “Shots scare me silly. Here we go.”
Stoically, I bore the discomfort, which truly wasn’t as bad as I remembered it. Maybe I was maturing. Ha ha ha, she said.
“Shit.”
“Sorry. I know it stings.”
“It’s not that. I just remembered. My last tetanus shot was three years ago. I took a bullet in the arm and they gave me one then.”
“Oh, well,” she said. She inserted the syringe into a device labeled “sharps” and neatly snapped off the needle, like I might snatch it away and stick myself with it six more times for fun. Ever the professional, I took advantage of the opportunity to quiz her about the Newquists while we waited for the doctor. “I gather Rafer and Tom were good friends,” I said, for openers.
“That’s right.”
“Did the four of you spend much time together?” The answer seemed slow in coming so I offered a prompt. “You might as well be honest. I’ve heard it all by now. Nobody likes Selma.”
Vicky smiled. “We spent time together when we had to. There were occasions when we couldn’t avoid her so we made the best of it. Rafer didn’t want to make a scene, nor did I for that matter, I swear to god, she once said to me ��� these are her exact words-‘I’d have invited you over, but I thought you’d be more comfortable with your own kind.’ I had to bite my tongue. What I wanted to say is ‘I sure wouldn’t want to hang out with a bunch of white trash like you.’ And just to complicate matters, our daughter, Barrett, was going out with her son.”
“She must have loved that.”
“She could hardly object. She was always so busy acting like she wasn’t prejudiced. What a joke. If it wasn’t so pitiful it’d have cracked me up. The woman has no education and no intelligence to speak of. Rafer and I both graduated from U.C.L.A. He’s got a degree in criminology… this was before he applied for the position with the sheriff’s department. I’ve got a B.A. in nursing and an R.N. on top of that.”
“Selma knew the kids were dating?”
“Oh, sure. They went steady for years. Tom was crazy about Barrett. I know he felt she was a good influence on Brant.”
“Does Brant have a problem?”
“Basically, he’s a good person. He was just screwed up back then, like a lot of kids that age. I don’t think he ever did drugs, but he drank quite a bit and rebelled every chance he had.”
“Why’d they break up?”
“You’d have to ask Barrett. I try not to mess in her business. You want my assessment, I think Brant was too needy and dependent for someone like her. He tended to be all mopey and clinging. This was years ago, of course. He was twenty, at that point. She was just out of high school and didn’t seem that interested in getting serious.”
Her comments were cut short when the doctor came in. Dr. Price was in his late twenties, thin and boyish, with bright blue eyes, big ears, dark auburn hair, and a pale freckled complexion. I could still see the indentation on his cheek where he’d bunched up his pillow to sleep. I pictured the entire ER staff napping on little cots somewhere. He wore surgical greens and a white lab coat, stethoscope coiled in his pocket like a pet snake. I wondered how he’d ended up at a hospital as small as this. I hoped it wasn’t because he was at the bottom of his med school class. He took one look at my fingers and said, “Oh wow! Keen!” I liked his enthusiasm.
We had a chat about my assailant and the job he’d done. He studied my jaw. “He must have clipped you good,” he said.
“That’s right. I’d forgotten about that. How’s it look?”
“Like you put eye shadow in the wrong place. Any other abrasions or contusions? That’s doctor talk,” he said. “Means little hurt places on your body.”
“He kicked me twice in the ribs.”
“Let’s take a look,” he said, pulling up my shirt.
My ribcage on the right side was swiftly turning purple. He listened to my lungs to make sure a rib hadn’t been thrust into them on impact. He palpated my right arm, wrist, hand, and fingers, and then proceeded to deliver a quick course on joints, ligaments, tendons, and exactly what happens when someone wrenches them asunder. We trooped into the other room where a rumpled-looking technician took X-rays of both my chest and my hand. I returned to the table and lay down again, feeling thoroughly air-conditioned as the room spun.
When the film had been developed, he invited me into the corridor where he tucked the various views onto the lighted screen. Vicky joined us. We stood there, the three of us, and studied the results. I felt like a colleague called in for consultation on a troublesome case. My ribs were bruised, but not cracked, likely to be sore for days, but requiring no further medical attention. Roentgenographically speaking, the two pesky fingers were completely screwed. I could see that no bones were broken, though Dr. Price did point out two small chips he said my body would reabsorb.
I went back to the table where I reclined again with relief. My butt was still smarting from the sting of the tetanus, so I hardly noticed when the doctor, with a merry whistle, stuck me repeatedly in the joints on both fingers. I’d ceased to care by then. Whatever they did, I was too grossed out to notice. While I stared at the wall, the doctor maneuvered my digits back into their original upright position. He left the room briefly. When I finally dared to look at my hand, I saw that the injured fingers were now fat and reddened. While the fingers would now bend, the knuckles were swollen as though with sudden rheumatoid arthritis. I placed my mouth against the hot, numb flesh like a mother gauging a baby’s fever with her lips.
Dr. Price returned with (1) a roll of adhesive tape, (2) a packet of gauze, and (3) a metal splint that looked like a bent Popsicle stick, for which my insurance company would ultimately be charged somewhere in the neighborhood of five hundred dollars. He taped the two fingers together and then affixed them to the ring finger with another wrapping of tape, all supported by the splint. I could sense my premiums going up. Medical insurance is only valid if the benefits are never used. Otherwise, you’re rewarded with a cancellation notice or a hefty increase in rates.
I could hear another conference in the hallway and a deputy appeared outside the examining room door. He chatted with Dr. Price and then the doctor departed, leaving me alone with him. This was a fellow I hadn’t seen before; a tall skinny kid with a long face, dark hair, dark ragged eyebrows that met in the middle, and shiny metal braces on his teeth. Well, I was filled with confidence.
“Ms. Millhone, I’m Deputy Carey Badger. I understand you had a problem. Can you tell me what happened?”
I said, “Sure,” and went through my sad tale of woe again.
With his left hand, he jotted the information in a small spiral-bound notebook, his eyes never leaving my face. His pencil was the size you’d use on a bridge tally, small and thin, the point looking blunt. He might have been a waiter making a little memo to himself… tuna on wheat toast, hold the mayo. “Any idea who this fellow was?” he asked.
“Not a clue.”
“What about height and weight? Can you give me an estimate?”
“I’d say close to six feet and he must have outweighed me by a good sixty pounds. I’m one eighteen, which would put him at a hundred and seventy-five or one eighty minimum.”
“Anything else? Scars, moles, tattoos?”
“It was pitch black. He wore a ski mask and heavy clothing so I didn’t see much of anything. Night before, the same guy followed me out of Tiny’s parking lot. I couldn’t swear on a stack of Bibles, but I can’t believe two different fellows would come after me like that. The first time, he drove a black panel truck with no plate numbers visible. I reported it this morning to the Nota Lake Police.”
“Can you tell me anything else about him?”
“He smelled strongly of sweat.”
He turned the page, still writing, and then frowned at his notes. “What’d he do the first encounter? Did he accost you on that occasion?”
“He stared and did this,” I
said, making a little shooting gesture with my left hand. “It doesn’t sound like much, but it was meant to intimidate me and it did.”
“He didn’t talk to you either time?”
“Not a word.”
“What about the vehicle he was driving? Was it the same one last night?”
“I didn’t see. He must have parked out by the road and walked back to the cabin where I was staying.”
“So he must have known which one it was, unless this was random breaking and entering.”
I looked at him with interest. “That’s true. I hadn’t thought of that. I wonder how he found out which cabin I was in. I woke while he was picking the lock.
When that didn’t work, he tried the window in the bathroom. After that, he went to work on the door again.”
“And after he dislocated your fingers, he took off?”
“Correct. I could hear a car start in the distance, but I have no idea what kind it was. At that point I was focused on pulling myself together to get help.”
Deputy Badger made an additional note for himself and then tucked his little book in his pocket with the pencil in the coil of wire. “I guess that’s it then. I’ll pass this information on to the deputy works days.”
There was conversation outside the door and Rafer LaMott appeared. He shook hands with the deputy, who soon excused himself and disappeared down the hall. I could see Rafer’s wife out at the nurse’s station, her body language suggesting that she was well aware of his presence. I wondered if she’d called him herself. He looked freshly showered and shaved, natty in a pair of tan corduroy trousers and a soft red cashmere vest with a dress shirt under it. His expression was neutral. He put his hands in his pockets, leaning casually against the wall. He looked like an ad in a menswear catalog. “Cecilia was tired so I told her to go on home. As soon as you’re finished here, I’ll take you anywhere you want.”
Chapter 11
*
It was six A.M. by the time Rafer finally put me in the front seat of his car. The offer of a ride was as close to an apology as I was likely to get. No doubt his true motivation was to quiz me about the current state of my investigation, but I really didn’t care. The sun was not officially up and the early morning air was curiously gloomy. I was at a loss where to have him deliver me. I couldn’t bear the idea of being in the cabin by myself. I didn’t think Selma would be up at this hour and I couldn’t believe Cecilia would welcome my further company. As if reading my mind, Rafer said, “Where to?”
“I guess you better drop me at the Rainbow. I can hang out there until I figure out what to do next.”
“I’d like to check the cabin. I’ve got a print tech from Independence coming up at seven, as soon as he gets in. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find out your intruder left his prints.”
“Perform an exorcism while you’re at it. I don’t expect a good night’s sleep until I’m out of there.”
He glanced over at me. “You thinking about going home?”
“I’ve been thinking about that ever since I arrived.” He was silent for a while, turning his attention to the road. The town was beginning to come to life. Cars passed us, headlights almost unnecessary as the sky began to alter in gradients from steel gray to dove. At one of the intersections, a restaurant called Elmo’s was ablaze with light, patrons visible through the windows. I could see heads bent over breakfast plates. A waitress moved from table to table with a coffeepot in each hand, offering refills. Out on the sidewalk, two women in sweatsuits were absorbed in conversation as they jogged. They arrived at the corner as the light turned red and began to run in place. We moved forward again.
Rafer finally spoke up. “Last time I had anything to do with a P.I. guy claimed to be working a missing-persons case. I went to quite a bit of trouble to follow up, taking two days of my time to track his fellow down in another state. Turns out the P.I. lied to me. He was trying to collect on a bad debt. I was pissed.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. I began to rack my brain, trying to remember if I’d lied to him myself.
“You have a theory about last night’s attack?”
“I’m assuming this was the same guy who followed me from Tiny’s,” I said.
His gaze returned to the road. “I heard about that. Corbet made sure we got a copy of the report. I passed it on to the CHP so they could keep an eye out as well. Anything missing?”
“I didn’t even bother to look. I was too busy taking care of this,” I said, lifting my hand. “Anyway, I doubt the motive was theft. I think the point was to discourage my investigation.”
“Why?”
“You tell me. I guess he feels protective of Tom Newquist. That’s the best I can do.”
“I’m not convinced this has anything to do with Tom.”
“And I can’t prove it does so where does that leave us?”
“You could be mistaken, you know. You’re single and you’re attractive. That makes you a natural target ���”
“For what? This wasn’t sexually motivated. It was plain old assault and battery. The guy wanted to cause me great bodily harm.”
“What else?”
“What else, what? There’s nothing else,” I said. “Here’s a question for you: Where’s Tom’s notebook? It’s missing. No one’s seen it since he died.”
He shot me a look and then shook his head blankly. I could see him casting back in his mind. “I’m trying to remember when I last saw it. He usually kept it somewhere close, but I know it’s not in his desk drawers because we cleaned those out.”
“The CHP officer doesn’t remember seeing it in the truck. It didn’t occur to him to look for it, but it does seem odd. I know it must irritate you that I’m pursuing the point ���”
“Look. I was out of line on that. I get huffy about Selma. It has nothing to do with you.”
I could feel the distance between us easing. There’s nothing as disarming as a concession of that sort. “It may not be relevant in any event,” I said. “What’s the procedure on reports? Wouldn’t most of his notes have already been written up and submitted?”
“Possibly. He kept his own copies of every report in the particular file he was working. The originals are sent to the records section down in Independence. Reports are submitted at regular intervals. Newer officers seem to be better organized about this stuff. Old timers like me and Tom tend to do things when we get around to it.”
“Would there be any way to work backward by checking to see what reports were missing?”
“I don’t know how you’d do that and it wouldn’t tell you much. You’d have no way of knowing where he’d been and who he’d talked to, let alone the content of conversations. It’s not uncommon to have a file with a couple of reports missing… especially if he was working a case and hadn’t typed up his notes yet. Besides, all notes wouldn’t be incorporated, just the information he judged relevant. You might scribble down a lot of stuff that wouldn’t amount to a hill of beans when you get right down to it.”
“Suppose he was developing information on a case of his?”
“He probably was. It also might have been a case someone else had worked that he was reworking for some reason.”
“Such as?”
Rafer shrugged. “He might have picked up a new lead. Occasionally, there’s a case in the works where the information is sensitive… might be an informant in another state, or something to do with Internal Affairs.”
“My point exactly. I mean, what if Tom was privy to something he didn’t know how to handle.”
“He’d have told me. We talked about everything.”
“Suppose it concerned you?”
He made a little move that indicated agitation. “Let’s get off this, okay? I’m not saying we can’t talk about this further, but let me think about it some.”
“One more thing. And don’t get all testy on me. Just tell me what you think. Is there any possibility Tom might have been involved with another woman?”
> “No.”
I laughed. “Try to keep your answer to twenty-five words or less,” I said. “Why not?”
“He was a deeply moral man.”
“Well, couldn’t that explain his brooding? A man with no conscience wouldn’t be at war with himself.”
“Objection, your honor. Purely speculative.”
“But Rafer, something was troubling him. Selma’s not the only one who saw that. I don’t know if it was personal or professional, but from what I gather, he was truly distressed.”
We pulled into the parking area between the Rainbow Cafe and the Nota Lake Cabins. Rafer put the car in park and then opened his door. “Come on. I’ll buy you breakfast. I got a daughter works here.”
I struggled with the handle and then gave up. I sat while he walked around the car and opened the door on my side. He even offered a helping hand as I emerged. “Thanks. I can see this is going to be a pain.”
“It’ll be good for you,” he said. “Force you to deal with your dependency issues.”
“I don’t have dependency issues,” I said stoutly.
He smiled in response.
He held the cafe door open and I entered ahead of him. The place was bustling, all men, clearly the stopping-off place of early risers, ranchers, cops, and laborers on their way to work. The interior was, as usual, overheated, and smelled of coffee, bacon, sausages, maple syrup, and cigarettes. The brown-haired waitress, Nancy, was taking an order from a table full of fellows in overalls while Barrett, behind the counter, was focused on a griddle spread with pancakes and omelettes in the making. Rafer took the lead and found us an empty booth. As we passed the intervening tables, I could see we were attracting any number of stares. I was guessing the jungle drums had already spread the news about my assailant.
“How’d you end up in Nota Lake?” I asked, as we slid into the seats.
“I started out as a dispatcher for the L.A.P.D., working on my degree at night. Once I graduated, I applied to the academy. I was hired on at San Bernardino, eventually assigned to robbery detail, but when Barrett was born, Vicky started bugging me to leave LA. She was working as an ER nurse at Queen of Angels, and hated the commute. Even on two salaries, we couldn’t afford to buy a house in any of the areas we liked. I heard about an opening in the sheriff’s department up here. Vick and .I drove up one weekend and fell in love with the place. That’s been twenty-three years. Tom was already here. He grew up in Bakersfield.”
