Tonight I Said Goodbye (St. Martin's Minotaur Mystery)

by Michael Koryta

  "That's right. I told her we'd need to relax for about an hour, though." She winked at me. "I figured you'd need at least that long to prepare yourself for a whole afternoon of us."

  I sat on the couch next to Betsy and watched cartoons with her for the next twenty minutes. Then my cell phone rang, and I took it out on the balcony to talk.

  "Hello?"

  "You're in big trouble this time, pal." Amy.

  "I thought I was going to call you," I said. "Couldn't wait to hear my sexy voice again, eh?"

  "No, I just couldn't wait to tell you what kind of mess you've gotten yourself tangled up in."

  I had a fair idea what kind of mess it was, but I waited for her to elaborate.

  "I think I know who the murder victim was," she said. "You called him a short, muscular guy with curly dark hair, correct?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay, that's a perfect description of the guy whose picture I'm looking at right now. In fact, he's even wearing a silver chain. He hasn't turned up dead yet, but he's been missing for three weeks, and he unquestionably has ties to the Russians."

  "Who is it?"

  "Yuri Belov," she said. "Dainius Belov's son."

  CHAPTER 18

  "HIS SON," I said numbly. All the energy had drained from my body, and the small of my back felt very cold despite the sun beating against it. I was staring in the glass doors to the hotel room without really seeing anything, but eventually I noticed Betsy waving at me. I forced a smile and lifted a hand in response, then turned my back to the room and looked out at the sea.

  "What are you going to do, Lincoln?" Amy asked.

  "I don't know. This definitely explains some things, though. Maybe it makes things a little easier. Maybe it makes them harder."

  "How would it make them easier?"

  "If the Russians took out Yuri Belov, the hit surely wasn't authorized by his father. It was more likely the result of an internal problem, some feud or bad blood between Belov's soldiers and his son. That means Julie and Betsy may not need to fear the Russian mob as a whole, but only a select few."

  "I guess," she said doubtfully, "but those select few seem pretty deadly."

  Assuming they were responsible for the murder of not only Yuri Belov but also Wayne Weston and Randy Hartwick, yes, they were very deadly. And then there was Jeremiah Hubbard to fear. Julie Weston's testimony could be tremendously damaging to him, as well. And, if Julie's guess that Hubbard was responsible for her husband's murder was correct, he had already proved he was willing to kill to protect himself.

  "There are quite a few unsolved murders tied together with this," I said. "Nasty things are happening in the shadows, and this woman knows enough to make sense of it. Some powerful people are going to do whatever it takes to keep those things in the shadows. If that means adding a few more murders to the list, they won't lose sleep over it."

  "You know the best way to bring something scary out of the shadows, Lincoln? Shine a light on it."

  I frowned. "Clarify, Ace."

  "I mean, let me write this story."

  "Amy," I began, irritated that she was thinking of herself, but she cut me off.

  "I'm serious, Lincoln, so listen to me. I'm not thinking just about the story, although I'll admit I'd love to write it. I'm thinking about the woman and her daughter. People are willing to kill them because Julie Weston has damaging knowledge and a damaging videotape, right? Well, if the knowledge and tape are made public, then killing Julie Weston and her daughter serves no purpose except revenge. And, if the case has been pushed into the public eye, any attempt for revenge is just going to make things much worse."

  "The Russians don't care about that, Amy," I said. "They won't hesitate to kill for revenge, regardless of the consequences." But it was an interesting idea. It could possibly be the best way of keeping Hubbard at bay, if nothing else. "I'm not dismissing it entirely," I said, giving some ground. "I'll talk to Julie tonight and see what she thinks."

  "Okay, Lincoln. But remember something--you have much of the same knowledge that led to Wayne Weston's murder and probably this Hartwick guy's. That makes you just as much of a threat to everyone involved as Julie Weston."

  Encouraging. I hung up with Amy and walked back inside. Julie had taken my seat on the couch beside Betsy, and the cartoons were still on. She glanced up at me as I stepped into the room and frowned.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Nothing," I said, surprised she had read my face so easily. "My cell phone signal is bad on the balcony, that's all. Frustrating."

  "Oh," she said, but I could tell she wasn't buying it. "Do you need to go downstairs to make another call?"

  "No, I'm done with the phone for now." I put the cell phone back in my pocket and slid my hand up my spine, touching the butt of the gun under my shirt. It was still there, comforting if not comfortable.

  "I thought we were going to play miniature golf," I said, trying to force some good humor into my voice. I could spend the rest of the afternoon dwelling on Amy's news, but that wouldn't accomplish anything, and it would probably stress Julie out. If I could make the afternoon fun for her and the kid, then I'd sit her down for a serious conversation after Betsy went to sleep.

  "Let's go play!" Betsy said, leaping off the couch. "I'm gonna win."

  "No, you're not," I said. "I'm going to win."

  "I'll bet you an ice cream I win," the little girl said confidently. I accepted the bet with a laugh, and as I did so I saw a shadow of sadness pass over Julie's face. It was only momentary, and then the smile was back. I thought about the bet we'd made, and I realized it was probably something the girl had picked up from her father.

  "I always beat Daddy and get ice cream when we play," Betsy said, confirming my suspicions as if on cue. "He says I'm short for good games."

  "Short game," Julie said softly, looking away from us, out at the ocean. "He says you have a good short game."

  Between my worries about Belov and Julie's recollections of her husband, I was afraid we were in for an awkward afternoon. I was wrong. By the time we reached the hotel lobby, Betsy had both of us laughing, and the more serious concerns were forgotten for a while. There were several miniature golf establishments within walking distance, but apparently Betsy had seen one with giant plastic alligators on a drive earlier in the week, and that was where she wanted to play.

  Julie hadn't rented a car, so I had to drive. They'd taken a cab from the airport when they arrived in town, and Hartwick had driven them a few times. Other than those trips, they'd stayed in walking distance.

  "It's too small for you," Betsy said of the Contour as she settled into the backseat. I closed the door of the little rental car and looked at her in the rearview mirror.

  "I agree," I said. "It's way too small for me."

  "It fits me, though," she said.

  "Want to drive?" I asked, straight-faced.

  "I'm not old enough to drive," she answered just as seriously.

  "Oh. I guess I'll handle it, then."

  We drove to the miniature golf course with the giant plastic alligators. It turned out to be just a few miles south, and the bizarre decor didn't stop with the alligators. They were there, all right, but so were a large plastic pirate ship, an octopus, and several pirate mannequins complete with eye patches and hooks. The course wrapped around a flowing creek and--like everything else in town--was lined with palm trees.

  We played for nearly two hours. Betsy played first, and I tried to match whatever she had done on the hole to keep us close and make it more fun for her. It appeared to work, because on the last hole she was focused. She set the ball down on the plastic mat and backed away from it, then dropped into a crouch, balancing the putter against the ground, as if she were checking the break of the green.

  "She's watched her dad," Julie said, but this time the memory brought a smile.

  Betsy put the ball in the hole on her fourth putt, and I missed my fourth, making her squeal with a victor's delight.

&n
bsp; "You owe me an ice cream," she taunted.

  "It's not fair," I said, pointing my club at the plastic alligator that was watching over the hole. "He kept staring at me. It made me nervous."

  She laughed some more at that, and then we returned our clubs and left. It was early, but Betsy said she was hungry. Neither Julie nor I wanted dinner yet, so I took us on a drive to kill some time and build our appetites. I drove south on Business 17 out of Myrtle Beach. There were signs for a place called Murrells Inlet, and Julie recognized it from the brochures.

  "They have charter fishing boats there," she said. "Want to go to the docks and look at the boats, honey? Then we can go eat."

  Betsy shrugged. "We can watch boats. I'll still be hungry, though." Agreeable to the idea but not impressed with it.

  I drove to Murrells Inlet, and we walked the docks. I'd done a fair amount of sailing on Lake Erie, but I'd never taken a boat out on the ocean. Most of the boats at these docks were powerboats, and all of them were large. I thought back to the small sailboat I'd seen just off the beach the day before, and I wondered what it felt like to have something so tiny on an ocean so large.

  "I love the water," Julie said, holding onto the railing of the dock and leaning backward, her eyes on the horizon line. "The ocean's so big. It's amazing. We could get on one of these boats, and if the weather was fine and there was enough gas, we could go all the way across it. Just go until we hit land again." She said it as if she wished we really could. I looked down at her but remained silent. She sighed. "Can't do that, though, can we? We have to stay here and face life. I didn't mind that before. But then it got all screwed up. Now I don't know what to do. Do we run, do we hide, do we go back?"

  "It'll be okay, Julie." I said. "I'm going to help you get through this."

  She smiled at me, but her sunglasses shielded her eyes, and I couldn't guess what she was thinking. She reached over and gave my hand a quick squeeze. "I know you're going to," she said. "And I hope you have some idea how much that means to me."

  We ate dinner at a seafood restaurant in Murrells Inlet. It was the same type of food I'd eaten the night before, but it had been good then, and I saw no reason to seek variety. I ordered crab legs, and Betsy watched with interest while I cracked them and extracted the meat.

  "They look scary," she said.

  "Just from the outside," I said. "The good stuff is inside the shell."

  "Can I try?" she asked. I was impressed. Most little kids tended to shy away from unfamiliar foods, certainly from anything that looked like crab legs. I looked at Julie, and she shrugged. I removed a small piece of meat and put it on Betsy's plate. She speared it with her fork and put it in her mouth without hesitation.

  "It's good! " she exclaimed a moment later. "Let's get more crab's legs!"

  So we got more crab legs. And that girl could eat. I guess she hadn't been kidding about her appetite on the drive to the docks. We polished off two orders between us. Julie helped only slightly, content to stick with her shrimp for the most part.

  "I think she ate her weight in crab," I said when we were done, and Julie laughed.

  "She eats like a teenage boy, but somehow she stays tiny."

  "Take her into a lab and ask them to find a way to distribute her metabolism in a pill or something," I suggested. "You could make a fortune."

  We drove back to the hotel as the sun set behind us. The beach was nearly empty now, save for a few walkers and one group of kids playing with a Frisbee. The night air was still warm, though. We went up to the room, and Julie and Betsy played board games while I read the newspaper and tried calling Joe. I made several calls without receiving an answer. It was frustrating to know he had a cell phone and just didn't bother to take it with him or keep the battery charged. You can take an old cop to higher technology, but you can't make him remember it.

  Around nine, Betsy went to bed. I was sitting out on the balcony then, and I'd taken my gun out and tucked it against the wall behind me. Betsy stepped out, surprising me, and I moved my foot quickly, trying to hide the weapon from view. She held out her arms.

  "Goodnight hug," she said. She hugged me, and I patted her little back, feeling very strange. I wasn't the type of guy who gave many goodnight hugs, but if she sensed that, she didn't care. I had to admit I was somewhat pleased she'd wanted one.

  "Don't forget my ice cream," she said as she went inside. "I beat you."

  "I won't forget," I said.

  Twenty minutes later, Julie joined me. She noticed the gun, but she didn't comment on it.

  "We need to talk," she said.

  I nodded. "That would probably be a good idea."

  She dropped into the plastic chair beside me. "What do you think I should do, Lincoln? I'm so scared, and so confused. But I know we can't keep this up. We need to take some sort of action instead of just delaying."

  I told her about my conversations with Joe and Amy and about Yuri Belov.

  "Amy thinks you should let her write the story," I said. "She thinks if everything was made public, it would eliminate the threat you pose to some people."

  She leaned forward, interested. "What do you think of that?"

  I shrugged. "I don't think it's a cure-all. To the Russians, it will probably just be added motivation. As far as Jeremiah Hubbard is concerned, it might be pretty powerful, though. He's a well-known public figure, and he cares about image." I drummed my fingers on the arm of the chair and sighed. None of the solutions looked too promising.

  "I'd normally urge you to go straight to the police," I said. "But my partner feels Hubbard might have some pretty powerful sources there. If we rush into that, it could work out badly."

  "So what do you suggest?"

  "I still suggest the police, actually, but we need to approach them carefully. What we need to do is select a trustworthy, high-level police source and go there with your story. And we need to explain our concerns about Hubbard's influence and connections."

  "I don't want to go into witness protection," she said softly.

  I nodded. "I know that. And I can help you disappear on your own if that's the route you decide to take. I can probably find some people who know how to do that awfully well, in fact. But witness protection isn't the biggest issue here, Julie. Your husband was murdered, and so was Randy Hartwick. People need to be brought to justice for that. You can't leave everyone wondering about you and your daughter, either, and you sure as hell can't leave them suspecting you were murdered by your own husband. I can't allow that to happen to John Weston."

  It was a stronger speech than I'd expected to give, but I meant every bit of it. Last night I'd been so startled by finding Julie Weston and so unnerved by Cody's apparent connection to Hubbard that I'd needed some time to think the situation out. But there was clearly only one solution, and that was using Julie's testimony and knowledge to bring about justice. Now it was my job to see that it was done, and that she and her daughter remained safe while it was done.

  "I was hired by your father-in-law," I said. "My duty to him is to explain what happened to his family the night his son was murdered. I intend to fulfill that obligation. But I've given myself a second duty now, and that's keeping you and Betsy safe." I leaned forward and took her hand in mine. "I will keep you safe."

  She smiled and squeezed my hand before I released hers. "I haven't felt truly safe for a while now, but somehow I believe you. And you're right. I have to talk to the police, or the FBI, or whoever. But shouldn't we go back to Cleveland for that? I don't really like the idea of going to police here in South Carolina who have no idea what's been going on."

  "I was going to suggest returning to Cleveland. It's definitely the place to get started."

  I expected her to say more about the interviews and testimony to come, but instead she looked up at the sky and sighed.

  "The moon's still beautiful. Another beautiful night in general. Do you know what it must be like in Cleveland tonight?"

  "About the same," I said. "There mi
ght be some frost on the palm trees by morning, though."

  She laughed and looked down at the pool. "Oh, that whirlpool looks inviting. I'd love to sneak back down."

  "Go for it. I'll stay here and watch Betsy."

  "She doesn't need much watching. She's sound asleep. You could set fireworks off in there and she wouldn't budge." She stood, leaned back against the balcony railing, and studied me. "Let's go down for half an hour, at least."

  I started to say I wasn't comfortable leaving the girl alone, but the thought died someone between my brain and my lips, smothered by the realization that I could see Julie in her swimsuit again if I went along with the suggestion.

  "Why not?" I said. "Just half an hour."

  Five minutes later we locked the room behind us and went downstairs. Julie was wearing the same black two-piece swimsuit she'd had on the night before, and she looked amazing.

  I turned the jets on, and we shed our towels and settled into the warm water. The breeze was there just as it had been the night before, as was the moon, and from all sensory perspectives the experience felt identical to the previous night. From a mental perspective, though, it felt as if months had passed since then.

  "Wow, that feels good," Julie said, putting her back against one of the jets. "I could never have one of these things in my home, though. I'd never be able to leave it."

  "I think I could take one," I said. "A half hour a night in this would reduce my stress level by a factor of ten."

  We made small talk for a while and then fell silent, each with our own thoughts. I'd brought the cell phone to the edge of the water with me, and I found myself glancing at it, wishing Joe would call. He and Kinkaid had been planning on pursuing more information about the Russians in the afternoon, and I hadn't heard from him since. I didn't like that. I also wanted to tell him about Yuri Belov.

  While I was busy thinking about Joe, I suddenly became aware of a soft, gentle sobbing beside me. I looked down at Julie and realized she was crying.

  "Julie," I said, reaching out to her without stopping to think about it and putting my arm around her shoulders. "It's going to be all right." She turned to me, wrapped her arms around me, and put her face against my bare chest, crying harder now. I was surprised initially, but then I realized I shouldn't be. The woman was running for her life, and her husband had been murdered. Just because she had done such a good job of holding up throughout the day didn't mean I should expect it to continue. That wasn't fair to her.