The Breakers
Page 19
He’d gone to the Breakers that night and slid the note under the door to Zack’s apartment. Somehow Zack must have seen him, and, after making that excited phone call to me, foolishly confronted him while he was still in the building. Al either killed and branded him right there or did it in the vacant lot where the body was found. And it had been Al who’d removed the Carver clipping from the killers’ wall, that night or the next day.
Ollie said, “I guess I understand about Al being two different people. But what made him start killing all those people?”
“According to what he told me,” Chelle said, “it was all wrapped up with his lousy, poverty-stricken childhood and the evil eye.”
“How so?”
“His father had a belt with a metal evil eye upraised on it. He used to beat Al with it. Finally Al struck back and his father overpowered him, tied him down, and tattooed the symbol on his shoulder. He was an illiterate drunk who also abused Al’s mother, and she committed suicide when Al was fourteen.”
One of the American families who live in poverty, ignorance, and, yes—in hell. Where are the solutions to this? Where are the people who can create such solutions?
“Jesus. Al never said a word to me about any of that. Just that he ran away from home when he was a kid, made his way down here, and started working construction soon as he was old enough.” Ollie shook his head. “What about his victims—what did they do to him?”
“That’s where it gets really weird. He claimed each of them had given him the evil eye and deserved to die and be branded with one. Chelle tried to get him to tell her what giving the evil eye consisted of, but then he went really out of whack, said she couldn’t understand because she didn’t have one. I guess that saved her life.”
“Did he say anything about doing any evil eye killings when we were in Afghanistan?”
Chelle said, “Not that he’d admit to. He claimed he joined the service to try to stop himself from committing more Carver murders. The only person he admitted to killing since is poor Zack.”
“D’you think he’d have…killed you, finally?”
“I don’t even want to speculate on that. Maybe he realized he’d gone too far. He—”
Her phone’s ringtone interrupted her. She looked at the screen and said, “It’s my folks, finally.” This was the first word she’d had from them.
Ollie took that as a signal to depart. Hy and I went out into the hall with him, to give Chelle privacy. As I watched Ollie slouching off toward the elevators, I wondered how he would get along without Al to watch over him. Probably not too well, considering his PTSD, how much he drank, and how lost he seemed. Maybe Hy could get him some professional help; he knew several combat vets and had contacts in the Veterans Administration. I’d talk to him about it later.
While we waited for Chelle to finish her call, I said, “I can’t believe the Curleys have been so busy back in D.C. that they couldn’t take the time to call her before this.”
“Some people are not cut out to be parents,” Hy said. “She’s always been on her own, doing amazing things for a young person, but with little support from them.”
“From what she said about the code word, I guess she knew all along what they were doing. You know, it’s amazing how little we know about others, including friends of long standing.”
“Ain’t it, though…”
A nurse appeared and went into the room. When she came out, she indicated that Chelle was ready for us to go back inside.
Chelle’s nose was pink, her eyes red and wet. “It wasn’t too great a conversation,” she said. “Mom told me they’re being debriefed on their latest assignment and then they’re gonna come home and ‘devote’ themselves to me. Is that smothering or what?”
I nodded. “Pretty smothering.”
“Anyway, this ‘devotion’ stuff doesn’t shake me up too much. Knowing my folks, they’ll get bored after a while even if they don’t get involved in some other government job. Dad did have a piece of good advice, though: stop living in the buildings I’m rehabbing. He’s right. I’m getting too old to be sleeping on mattresses in half-finished places and eating takeout all the time.”
Too old, at the worldly age of twenty-three!
Of course, I hadn’t been many years older than that when I bought my first house because I was sick of my studio apartment.
“I’d like to buy here in the city,” she said as if she’d read my thoughts, “but property is so pricey. It might take a year or more to find a place I can afford. And I can’t live with my parents until I do, not with all the bad memories from when I had to hide there and then got dragged out.”
Uh-oh. I can feel it coming.
“I could rent or lease an apartment, I guess, but I’d have to pay a fortune and just be throwing away good money I could be saving.”
Chelle frowned at Hy’s and my silence, but went on, “You can see the problem. If I could find someplace big enough that I wouldn’t be a drag on the other people living there and maybe do chores or something to subsidize my rent…”
She looked so earnest that I tried not to laugh, but the tension of the past weeks welled up.
Hy nudged me. “Our two boarders—Samuel the cat and Chelle.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth, trying to repress myself, and snorted—my preliminary response to hysterical laughter.
“Uh-oh,” Hy said, and started patting my back.
“Sorry,” I gasped, “but it’s so…” Snort!
Hy said to Chelle, “I can’t stop her when she gets this way.”
“I can’t either…” Snort!
“Not you too!”
Snort!
Hy sighed and addressed the absent Samuel the cat. “Life at our house is not going to be easy, pardner, but it sure as hell will be interesting.”
And then he snorted too.
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 16
7:13 p.m.
We stood on the bluff-top platform at Touchstone, all of us who had loved Ma. Hy and me, John, Charlene and Vic, Patsy and Ben, Hank and Habiba. Rae and Ricky had come up the night before to help with the preparations for the buffet supper. The grandchildren who were old enough to understand stood with us, and the little ones played on the lawn (read: gopher field) behind. Saskia had flown down from Boise, Elwood from the Flathead rez, and both had been joined by symbolic cousin Will and half sister Robin. There were others, too numerous to name.
Chelle had driven up with us from her temporary home—our house. She’d recovered most of her buoyancy, except for short periods when she faded into dark silence. When that happened she usually took Samuel the cat and disappeared into her room.
Al would go on trial next spring or summer or fall, depending on the overbooked court calendars in the various jurisdictions where he’d been charged.
The publicity surrounding Ollie’s plight had called forth a sister in Wyoming who’d lost track of him, and he’d already moved in with her and her husband on their ranch near Cheyenne.
Me? Business is slow, so I’m taking time off to put my life in order. Time to think over the past and present. Time to evaluate what my future may be.
I need to consider those who are dear to me; they are so easy to lose. To forget old animosities…well, except a few. I ain’t no Saint Sharon. Never have been, never will be.
I’m just me, for better or worse.
Before us, the sun dipped below the horizon, and we released Ma’s ashes into the sea she had so loved. I waited, hoping…
And finally there it was—the green flash. A rare phenomenon, and this one even rarer because it was shooting straight up from the sun’s vanishing point. I’d seen it do this only twice before.
This one’s for you, Ma. Especially for you.
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About the Author
&
nbsp; Marcia Muller has written many novels and short stories. She has won six Anthony Awards and a Shamus Award, and is also the recipient of the Private Eye Writers of America Lifetime Achievement Award as well as the Mystery Writers of America Grand Master Award (their highest accolade). She lives in northern California with her husband, mystery writer Bill Pronzini. You can visit her on Facebook at FB.com/MarciaMullerAuthor.
SHARON MCCONE MYSTERIES
BY MARCIA MULLER
THE COLOR OF FEAR
SOMEONE ALWAYS KNOWS
THE NIGHT SEARCHERS
LOOKING FOR YESTERDAY
CITY OF WHISPERS
COMING BACK
LOCKED IN
BURN OUT
THE EVER-RUNNING MAN
VANISHING POINT
THE DANGEROUS HOUR
DEAD MIDNIGHT
LISTEN TO THE SILENCE
A WALK THROUGH THE FIRE
WHILE OTHER PEOPLE SLEEP
BOTH ENDS OF THE NIGHT
THE BROKEN PROMISE LAND
A WILD AND LONELY PLACE
TILL THE BUTCHERS CUT HIM DOWN
WOLF IN THE SHADOWS
PENNIES ON A DEAD WOMAN’S EYES
WHERE ECHOES LIVE
TROPHIES AND DEAD THINGS
THE SHAPE OF DREAD
THERE’S SOMETHING IN A SUNDAY
EYE OF THE STORM
THERE’S NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF
DOUBLE (with Bill Pronzini)
LEAVE A MESSAGE FOR WILLIE
GAMES TO KEEP THE DARK AWAY
THE CHESHIRE CAT’S EYE
ASK THE CARDS A QUESTION
EDWIN OF THE IRON SHOES
STANDALONES
CAPE PERDIDO
CYANIDE WELLS
POINT DECEPTION