Silhouette

by Dave Swavely

  “Forgiven, you know?” Kim added. I told him that I understood, with a lack of conviction, but he seemed to perk up again anyway.

  “Have you ever asked for forgiveness?” the devotee now blurted out, giving the impression that this was his final question, a last-ditch attempt to leave me with a little part of his belief. I felt like I should answer him, because I didn’t want him to think that I was a prospect, or that I needed anything he was trying to offer me. So I made up something as I spoke, and tried to make it sound profound.

  “Well, it seems to me that would be a sign of weakness,” I said. “Saying you need forgiveness implies that you are at fault, and that you need someone else to affirm you or absolve you. Basically, you’re putting yourself at the mercy of another and giving them a position of strength over you.” I didn’t feel any need to explain why this was so undesirable—my military and police background made it self-evident in my mind.

  The tech looked at me for a moment, to make sure I was finished. I was, so I spread my hands slightly to elicit his response.

  “I agree,” was all that he said.

  Then we heard the voice of the man who had met me at the door, who must have been watching us as he was approaching.

  “Is everything okay, Mr. Ares?” he asked, which meant, Is this man bothering you? I started to say, “I’m fine, he’s with me,” but didn’t get it out because I noticed an attractive woman, well behind the man, entering the real-books section of the store.

  I closed my eyes, then opened them again, but it was still Lynn.

  “Jesus Christ!” I said in a low voice, but loud enough that Kim heard me. “Sorry,” I said to him. He nodded and moved his hand as if to say, It’s okay, but I felt bad anyway. I still thought the man’s ideas were loopy, but I could see how that might be offensive to him. But I had no time to worry about it, because Lynn was approaching our table. She walked straight to us, glaring, and more shame swelled inside me. I looked down at the old book sitting open in front of me, and froze into inaction, not knowing what to do.

  “Mr. Ares?” the store manager said again, looking cross at Kim, as if he was the cause of the pale shade on my face.

  “Yes, Mr. Ares,” said Lynn, arriving at the spot. “That is you, isn’t it?” She smiled at the other men, putting them further off guard. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “May I help you, ma’am?” the man said to her, to which she smiled again and told him she was my wife. He looked at me, and I tried to regain my composure, my mind still scrambling.

  “Yes, this is quite a surprise,” I said to the men. “I appreciate your help.” Then, pointing down at the open Bible, “Do you need to put this away?”

  “Are you finished with it?” the man asked, and Kim got up from the table, realizing that theology class was over for today.

  “No,” Lynn said with another smile, moving to the seat just vacated. “I’d like to see what you’ve been reading.”

  “Very well,” the man said, not sure what to make of her tone. “Let us know if you need anything else.”

  I was frozen into inaction, but fortunately Kim broke the ice by blurting out to Lynn that he was Presidio class of ’44. She politely but distractedly acknowledged him, and the little man realized he was not welcome anymore, so he said, “I guess I’ll be going, I’m hungry for some dinner.… Have a good one!” As he left, I felt a pang of guilt that I had revealed too much to him, but then my attention shifted back to Lynn and a much bigger pang took over. I didn’t say anything, but just stared at her as she sat down across from me, resolutely pulling off her pair of long, thin gloves.

  13

  “How did you get here?” I asked, curious because she didn’t like to travel in an aero alone. I was also trying to buy myself some time to come up with an explanation for why in the world I had been reading this book. Anything but the truth.

  “The shuttle,” she said as she finished settling into a posture that said, as clearly as it could without words, I’m not leaving until I find out what’s going on. She continued. “I’m tired of sitting at home. I keep getting calls about the funeral, which I don’t want to deal with. So I thought I’d come to the castle and join you in the investigation, then go home with you.” She saw my disapproving expression, then added, “It’s my daughter, too.”

  “How did you find me?” I asked.

  “Security at the garage called around and told me you walked out into the city looking for a bookstore. They took me to the tunnel entrance and stayed with me until I found this one. The man at the front told me where you were.” I grunted in admiration, and she added, “I guess you’re not the only detective in our family.”

  “Well, it’s good to see you, anyway,” I said, hoping some charm might divert her from her task, but feeling angry inside at the intrusion. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me anymore.”

  “Who else do I have?” she said, then realized how it sounded, so she grabbed my hand. “What I mean is, we need to get through this together.” I put my other hand on top of hers, and it felt good. For about three seconds.

  “That’s why I need to know what’s going on,” she concluded, putting the last hand on the pile and squeezing. “So, what is going on, Michael? I’ve been trying to trust you, God knows I have, but I just know there’s something you’re not telling me. And I’ve always been right before.”

  My mind raced, and I knew she would feel the sweat forming on my hands, so I withdrew them and rubbed my temples. Anything but the truth, I thought, because I knew for sure that I would lose her if every time she looked at me, she saw the man who had killed her daughter. I didn’t know if I could live with myself, so how could she?

  “Does it have something to do with this book?” she asked, pulling it from in front of me and swinging it around to see what it was. Then, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Saul says it’s good reading, especially when you’re working on a case.” I had nothing better at the time. “It also talks about life after death.”

  “Well, that sounds good,” she said, pushing the book away as if she had decided it was irrelevant. “So what’s going on?”

  Mixed in with the anger, guilt, and panic I was feeling, there was something else. It was almost imperceptible in the maelstrom of emotions, but I registered it nonetheless, because I had quite a bit of experience at sensing danger under duress. I held a finger up to Lynn to suspend our conversation and looked around at the people within view, cataloging them all in a matter of seconds. And that’s when I realized that the man just inside the entrance to the real-books section was listening to us.

  He was big, bearded, facing half away from us as he looked through a stack of books. He wore a milky-purple handkerchief tied around his head (a style only slightly out-of-date), and the black-on-black multilayered clothing that was never passé. He was much too far away to hear us naturally, but I was almost sure he was listening nonetheless. He had a nice pair of glasses hanging out of his left jacket pocket, with their lenses facing our way, but he was also wearing a pair. I surmised that the ones in his pocket were equipped with a listening device that projected a vacuum tunnel straight out from the lenses, picking up sound for up to a hundred meters in that direction and piping it to the other set of glasses. Though the man was moving back and forth naturally, checking out various bookstands around him, he kept the side of his body, and thus the hanging glasses, pointed toward us at all times. It was an old trick, though not many knew it.

  The figure also seemed familiar somehow, which strengthened my suspicions, but after a few moments of careful scrutiny, I still didn’t recognize him. I decided to avoid a confrontation if possible, in case it was someone from BASS, or from Saul himself. I didn’t want to give any hints that I knew what was going on, until it was time for me to act.

  “Let’s get some fresh air,” I said to Lynn, and stood up.

  “Fresh air … in the city?” she said as she gathered her gloves and let me take her arm in my
hand, escorting her out of the real-books section. Sure enough, the bandanna man moved to another shelf, giving us a wide berth as we left.

  I exited the store into what was now night in the city, putting the herd of people on the sidewalk between us and the entrance. Then I headed to the corner, looking back to see if the man came out after us. When I was fairly sure he hadn’t, I turned the corner and then another one, finally planting myself and Lynn apart from the street crowd in a darker, recessed entrance to a vacant building that was being retrofitted. I leaned on some posters of an upcoming holofilm, while she put her designer gloves back on.

  “I’m freaking out here,” she said. “I need to know what’s going on, and I need to know before we go anywhere else.” She looked around, presumably to make sure she really wanted to stay there for more than a few seconds. “It has to do with Lynette, right?”

  Not distracted any longer, I looked at her full lips, the wind-blown hair, and the imperfections in her complexion that were still slightly visible in certain kinds of light, despite the best makeup money could buy. Deep down, pangs of conscience were nudging me to tell her the truth, hoping against hope that true love could conquer anything.

  “Okay,” I started. “There is something going on. But if I tell you, you’ll wish I hadn’t. That’s why I’m so reticent.”

  She cringed for a second, then said, “Try me.”

  “You need to be sure about this,” I added, wanting there to be no doubt that this was a full revelation. “Because it involves someone who has been very important in your life.”

  “Are you going to tell me you know who killed my daughter?” she said impatiently.

  I exhaled, and nodded. “Yes, I know.”

  “What! You know! How long have you known this?” Her gloves were fists now. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is he in custody…?” By now I was waving my hands in front of me, to stop her tirade, but also to stop her blows if she decided to start beating on me again.

  “It’s not that easy, Lynn. In fact, it’s very complicated.” She pushed her fists down to her sides.

  “Who. Killed. My. Daughter,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Saul did,” I said.

  The color immediately and visibly drained from her face and arms. She looked at the ground, then back at me with her mouth open, like it was paralyzed. But then she started shaking her head slowly, left to right.

  “No.” Now looking me in the eye. “I don’t believe it.”

  Not even any questions! Just a summary pronouncement of innocence for the old man, and guilt on me, calling me a liar. I was incredulous, and instantly angry, feeling the inert rage spark to life inside me. I was telling her the truth, in a way, but I could tell from her expression that she wasn’t going to believe me, even if I could have proven it.

  “What do you mean you don’t believe it? I’m telling you, Saul killed Lynette.”

  “And I can tell you’re not telling me the truth, or at least the whole truth,” she said, holding my gaze. “I know you too well, Michael. Besides, Saul would never do such a thing.…”

  At that moment, we both became aware that a figure had detached itself from the flowing mob on the sidewalk and was limping toward us, obscured by the lights from the street. We knew it was a woman by the voice, jabbering as she approached. And as she entered our mild light, we saw that she was homeless, or at least close to it.

  “… Cuz I know yodo wanno trouble. I jez wanshowyou sumpin yodonsee muchesedays.” And she promptly removed an arm and then a leg, holding them in her one good arm and still standing—an impressive feat of balance. “What ahneed, ofcose, ista get danew stuff. I know you haf sumptin—dose gluffs ah Hampwin, ain’t dey?”

  My rage transferring to the lady, I moved my left hand across to my right thigh, pulled up my jacket, and liberated one of the boas with my right hand. I thrust my arm straight out and pointed the imposing weapon at the beggar’s face, a few inches from her nose.

  “Take a walk,” I said, too angry to realize what I was saying.

  The woman pivoted on her one good leg and hopped off, awkwardly trying to attach her fake limbs and muttering “yessir” over and over again.

  When she was gone, I replaced the boa and finally met Lynn’s stare, which was a cross between pain and perplexity.

  “What?” I said rhetorically.

  She studied me like I was a gross science experiment for a moment, then shook her head.

  “What makes you think Saul killed Lynnie?” she asked.

  “Paul told me,” I answered, and looked away because she was really making me uncomfortable. When I looked back, she was shaking her head again.

  “Come on, Lynn, wake up!” It felt better to be on the offensive. “The old man is your benefactor. Of course you don’t want to believe this. But I’m telling you, it’s the truth. If you won’t trust Paul, trust me.”

  “When you say Saul killed her,” she asked, “you don’t mean directly, do you? He’s a sick old man. He doesn’t do bombs…”

  “Right,” I said, scrambling to keep up with her detective skills. “He made someone else do it, of course.” Immediately I regretted saying that, and became visibly panicked when she said “Who?” because I had no answer planned.

  When she saw my expression and heard the deafening silence that ensued, her bearing changed for the worse over the next few moments into something I had never seen in her, at least not toward me. She actually staggered a few steps toward the street, like she might run away.

  “I don’t even know you.” She shook her head some more, and I met her angry stare. I knew what she was thinking, and I was powerless against it. “You?” Those full lips were twisted into a rectangle, framing both sets of teeth. “You. You killed her. You killed my daughter?” She was backing away more, still piercing my eyes with hers.

  “Lynn, what in the world are you talking about?” But I felt like a liar, and I knew that I was looking like one to her.

  “Oh my God!” The last word became a half scream, and it really looked like she was going to run. So I lunged at her and got her by the shoulders. She kicked and screamed, and I felt the pain from both.

  “Okay, Lynn, the honest truth.” She stopped kicking and screaming almost instantly, but looked down, her tangle of streaked hair facing me. I went on. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to do. It’s the worst.” She looked up at me, tears now on her cheeks, but the bitterness was still there.

  “The old man is losing it. He might have been a great man once, but he’s losing it. He put this … thing in my head a long time ago, so he could make me do what I didn’t want to do. He used me to kill them—I didn’t even know I was doing it. He is to blame, not me, for God’s sake!”

  “How did you find out about this?” she said, shrugging off my grasp.

  “Paul told me. He’s broken up over it, too. But we have to deal with the old man. We’re the only ones who can.” She wiped her face with the gloves and took a step backward again.

  “Lynn, you can’t say anything about this,” I pleaded, sensing that she was leaving and this time I wouldn’t be able to stop her. “And we can’t talk about it at home. Remember how Saul wouldn’t let us on our property while the house was being built? I think it has cameras, or microphones, if not some other scary modifications. I’m not sure what he was up to.…”

  “I’ll talk to him about it,” she said, still backing away.

  “No, Lynn, you cannot talk to him. He will kill me—and you, too. You have to let Paul and me deal with him. We’ll prove it, and clear my name.”

  “Clear your name?” She grunted. “You’re the one who dragged me and Lynnie into this mess … clear that!” She looked behind her, at the crowd, then looked back at me. “I’ll believe you, if that’s what you want, but I don’t want to see you anymore. Do whatever you’re gonna do, but don’t come home. I won’t be there anyway.”

  She turned and surged back out to the street and into the swarm of
people. I followed her, shouting her name and that she wasn’t thinking straight, but I soon lost her. She probably caught one of the numerous taxis loitering in the area, and headed out of the city to God knows where.

  As I was pondering a wide range of next moves—from blowing my brains out to chasing her down—I caught the bandanna man out of the corner of my eye. His height gave him away in the crowd on the other side of the street. My attention and energy now directed at this stalker, I crossed the street, trying to keep an eye on him while avoiding the traffic. He saw me and moved away down the block, but he did so in a manner that seemed to beckon me to follow.

  After following him around a corner, I saw the purple pate disappear into the buildings halfway down the block. Upon reaching the spot, I found only a dark alley about two cars wide. I paused after only three or four initial steps into it, but already it was much quieter and darker than out on the street. There were numerous shadows on both sides of the alley, in fact, where the man or many others could have been hidden. It was a good spot for an ambush.

  I slipped the glasses on, switching them to night vision, and panned the shadowy places carefully. It would have been better if the alley had been entirely dark, because the contrasts caused by the minimal light still left some possible hiding places unexposed.

  I pulled out the stopper boa and held it ready as I advanced farther into the darkness.

  14

  “Michael,” said a voice from the shadows. I spun instinctively toward it, but then wasn’t sure of the direction, because it had echoed throughout the alley. “It’s me. Paul.”