Tonight I Said Goodbye

by Michael Koryta

  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 décor 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.

  “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 i
f 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 might 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.

  I didn’t say anything, because I knew there weren’t any words to comfort her for what she was feeling. Instead, I just held her while she cried. You do what you can. A few minutes passed, and then she got the tears under control and looked up at me, forcing a smile.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you endure that.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I said. She hadn’t pulled away from me yet, and her arms were still around me. I didn’t have any desire to move them.

  “It’s been hard,” she said. “It’s been really hard, but I have to put on the brave, happy face for Betsy. I can’t let her see how scared I am. I can’t afford to let that happen now.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  She exhaled heavily and put the side of her head against my chest. “I hope you understand how thankful I am to have you here. I hope you know how much you helped today, and how much better I feel knowing you’re here with us.” She lifted her head and looked into my eyes, our faces just inches apart, and I was very aware of the press of her breasts against my chest. “I’ve been so scared, and so lonely,” she whispered, squeezing the back of my neck with her hand. “So lonely.”

  For one electric moment we remained in that position, staring into each other’s eyes, and then she leaned forward and brushed her lips lightly against mine. It was probably intended to be little more than a peck—a gesture of appreciation in a moment of emotion. I went with it, though, returning the kiss. I couldn’t help myself.

  It was a long, good kiss. When she finally broke away, she was smiling, and I felt very small. I thought of John Weston, his dead son, and his granddaughter Betsy asleep upstairs, and I was ashamed.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” I began, but she leaned back in and kissed me again. And I meant to push her away, I really did, but I couldn’t. I was too attracted to her. I went with the kiss again, and she shifted in the water, sliding her thighs over mine so she was sitting on my lap, still squeezing my neck and kissing me, her breasts rising and falling against my chest as my hands glided across her back, smoothing the beads of water against her skin.

  If I’d ever been more aroused, I couldn’t remember it. But even as our bodies pressed together and our lips met, other images were flashing through my mind. I saw the crime scene photographs of Wayne Weston’s corpse, and I saw his father sitting on the deck of his son’s house staring at the snowman with the world’s loneliest eyes. This time, I broke the kiss.

  “We can’t,” I said, breathing heavily.

  “Ssshh,” she said, putting her index finger to my lips.

  “I have an obligation to John,” I said. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I can’t . . .”I let my words trail off as she began kissing the side of my neck, and then I said the hell with it. I’d given her the chance to reconsider, and she’d passed. I wanted the woman, and I wanted her badly. I pulled her head toward me and kissed her again.

  She ran her hands through my hair and over my shoulders as we kissed, and I let my fingers wander up her back to the strings of her swimsuit top. I ran my fingertips over the knot, and she kissed me harder and squeezed me with her legs, encouraging me. I pulled at the knot, loosening the strings and letting her swimsuit top slide free, leaving her breasts bare and warm against my chest. We were alone in the whirlpool, but it was a hotel, and people could walk by at any minute. I wasn’t even aware of the surroundings, though. Julie was all I could think about.

  She slid
farther up on my lap, lifting her chest slightly out of the water, the swimsuit top falling away completely, and she ran the palm of her hand up the inside of my thigh to my groin. And then my phone rang.

  “Shit,” I breathed between kisses. This couldn’t be happening. Not now.

  “Ignore it,” she whispered, caressing my jawline with the tip of her tongue.

  I twisted my head slightly and leaned back so I could see the cell phone’s display. The caller ID was flashing the number, clearly illuminated against the green backlight. It was Joe.

  “I’ve got to answer,” I said, “it’s my partner.”

  “No,” she said, kissing my neck. “Call him back.”

  I pushed down the urge to take her advice, and I reached for the phone with my left arm. She groaned softly and nipped my earlobe with her teeth. I got my fingers around the phone and brought it to my mouth. She sighed and slid off my lap, feeling in the water for the top of her swimsuit. As I pressed a button to receive the call, I felt like screaming at Joe to leave me alone and call back in an hour. Or six.

  “You’ve got amazingly bad timing,” I said instead.

  “I don’t care,” he said, and his voice was tense. “Lincoln, we’ve got major trouble.”

  “What is it?” Julie had found her swimsuit top, and she was retying it behind her back. Now she looked at me, catching the concern in my voice.

  “Kinkaid and I couldn’t find the Russians this afternoon,” he said. “I had a bad feeling about it, so I drove out to the airport and showed the attendants some photographs. Krashakov and Rakic took a plane out of the city today, Lincoln. They’re on their way to South Carolina. They’re coming after you.”

  CHAPTER 19

  I TURNED away from Julie, not trusting myself to keep my face from showing the chill that Joe’s news sent through me.