He was right about that, I thought. Still, the planning had been good, careful, and they’d had luck on their side. Statistics, too: fifty thousand people disappear every year in this country, a large percentage without a trace. The police, with all their resources, can’t find them; private investigators, with all our resources, can’t find them. The irony was, if any outfit could have tracked the four down, it was organized crime with all their resources. But Pete and Ellen hadn’t ripped off the mob. Cotter’s bonds, Cotter’s cash, and Cotter was at most a low-level underboss, more likely a private-sector recruit used strictly for the money laundering. They might’ve given him some help in the beginning, as a favor, but it would not have involved much manpower or funds and it would have had a time limit. Organized crime’s capos can’t be bothered in the long run with personal problems or personal vendettas.
I asked Meineke, “How much more money did Pete and Ellen give you?”
“Not enough. Never enough. Christ, I hate to beg. Lynn don’t mind, she’ll lick your ass for fifty bucks. Licked their asses often enough, that’s for sure.”
“That why the two of you split up?”
“One of the reasons. Nothing left between us, we weren’t even screwing any more after she got so goddamn fat. Couldn’t stand living with her anymore. Caretaker job came up — not this one, another one up in Elk — I took it and walked. Lynn, she kept right on licking their asses. But not me, not anymore.”
One last pull and the bottle was empty. He held it up, peering at it or through it. I thought he might heave it over the cliff to shatter on the rocks below, but he didn’t; he tucked it carefully into his coat pocket. Maybe because the ocean was one of the two things he had left, as he’d said, and he did not want to befoul it with the remains of the other thing.
I said, “Ellen’s been up to see Lynn. She brought your niece with her.”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t know that?”
“How would I know? Told you, I don’t have nothing to do with any of ’em anymore.”
“She left Emily with Lynn. Supposed to come back and get her, but she hasn’t shown up. That’s why I’m here.”
“Running again? Ellen?”
“Looks that way.”
“Why? You don’t work for Cotter, you said.”
“It’s a long story. You care enough to want to hear it?”
“No. Fuck her and Lynn both.”
“Your niece, too? She’s ten years old, Meineke.”
“Their kid, ain’t she?”
I stepped away from the bench. The wind had kicked up and the incoming fog had taken away most of the sunlight; my hands were cold even inside the coat pockets. “Okay, we’re finished,” I said.
He swiveled his head to look at me. His eyes had a ravished look. “No cops, huh, like you said?”
“No cops.” I started away.
“Hey,” he said, and I stopped again. “What about Cotter? You think he’ll find us someday? Any of us?”
“Could be he’s dead by now.”
“Could be,” Meineke said, but he didn’t believe it.
“Does it matter much if he does?”
No answer. I left him sitting there staring out to sea, all alone with Philip Cotter and the rest of his demons.
16
So now I had the full story. Or did I?
None of what Meineke had told me explained Sheila Hunter’s sudden disappearance, unless the sadistic Philip Cotter had finally found her after ten long years and that was too much coincidence to credit. The stolen bearer bonds and the rest of the scam didn’t explain Dale Cooney’s death, either. There was more going on here, whether it was related to the actions of four morally bankrupt individuals a decade ago or to something in the present lives of the two principal players. My best guess was the latter. The Hunters might have been a close-knit unit in the beginning, when they were on the run with their ill-gotten gains, but time and the ever-present fear of being caught had pulled them apart. Each had taken lovers, and that could have led to deadly secrets of a different kind.
Emily was on my mind again as I drove back down the coast. Innocent caught in the middle. Father dead, mother missing, unwanted by either unstable aunt or alcoholic uncle. I doubted I could ever bring myself to tell her the meaning of crazybone, or the fact that she was the illegitimate daughter of a bigamous mother, or any of the other ugly things I’d just learned.
I kept thinking of her waiting with Karen Meineke. Of how unpredictable and irrational people could be when they were teetering on the edge of panic. She wouldn’t harm Emily, wouldn’t lock her up again in that cold shed — not under normal circumstances she wouldn’t. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and besides, I didn’t really know the woman at all. How could you be sure of what a stranger would or wouldn’t do, given the wrong tick or enough provocation?
I shouldn’t have left that .38 there, I thought. She’ll comb the house for it, and even if she doesn’t find the cartridges in the garbage sack, she can always go out and buy more...
Coming into the outskirts of Gualala now. The turnoff for Port Creek Road was just up ahead. When I spotted it I slowed and made the turn without any hesitation. Karen Meineke’s mental state and that frigging gun. A question I’d neglected to ask Emily, too. But those weren’t the real reasons I was going back there. The real reason was Emily and the fact that I could not come to terms with abandoning her as I had. To hell with the strict letter of the law and the risk to me; leaving a child alone in the charge of an unstable relative was fiat-out wrong.
The first thing I saw when I reached the end of the access lane was that the carport was empty, the VW van nowhere in sight. It put a knot like a fist under my breastbone. I barreled up the driveway, jammed on the brakes, and came out running.
I was on the stairs when I heard the house door open. I slowed then, looking up, as light footfalls sounded on the deck above. Emily. She appeared and stood looking down at me, brushing her hair out of her eyes, smiling a little tentatively.
The knot loosening, I went up the rest of the way. She seemed all right, the same as before except that there was animation in her face, relief in her smile.
“You came back,” she said.
“Where’s your aunt?”
“She’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
“I don’t know. She packed some of her clothes and some money she had in a jar and went away.”
“Just left you here by yourself.”
“She said she wasn’t coming back and I should wait here until Mom comes.”
These people — damn these selfish people! “How long has she been gone?”
“A while. Not too long after you left. I’m glad she didn’t try to make me go with her.”
“So am I.”
“I knew you’d come,” she said again. “I don’t know how, I just knew like before.”
“I shouldn’t’ve left you in the first place.”
“I can go with you now, can’t I? Now that Aunt Karen isn’t coming back?”
“Well, you can’t stay here by yourself, no matter what she told you.”
“I’d like to go home.”
“I know you would. I’ll take you if that’s where your mother is. But you can’t stay there alone, either.”
“Then where will I stay?”
“I can’t answer that yet. Someplace safe. You’ll have to trust me, Emily.”
“I trust you.”
Child’s mouth to God’s ear. I said, “Okay. Let’s go in and get your things together.”
While she went after her coat and suitcase I took a quick look around. Karen Meineke’s bedroom was in an even worse state of disarray than before, drawers pulled out, more clothing and empty hangers on the floor. The .38 was no longer hidden on the closet shelf. In both the front room and kitchen I hunted for a note, anything the woman might have left for her sister. Nothing. Getting away from here, fast, was all she’d cared about. Maybe later,
when she was holed up somewhere and the grip of panic had eased, she might try to reestablish contact. Just as likely, she wouldn’t. I had only contempt for her whatever her intentions. The important thing was, she was all through putting her niece in harm’s way.
On the back of a business card I wrote “Contact me about Emily’s whereabouts.” I cleared a space on the breakfast bar, propped the card there against a glass. For good measure I laid another card, printed side up, next to it. If Karen Meineke did decide to come home, or if her sister showed up, maybe I’d get a call. But I’d be damn surprised if I did.
On the way to the car I asked Emily the question I’d neglected to ask earlier. “Do you have keys to your house? For the front door and the alarm system?”
“No, not anymore. Mom took them away when she found out I talked to you.”
“Some people hide spare keys in case they lose the ones they carry. You know, in the garage or under pots, places like that.”
“We never did.”
“Did she keep a spare house key in her studio?”
“I don’t think so. I never saw one there.”
“What about friends who might have one?”
“We don’t have many friends,” Emily said. “Why are you asking about keys?”
“If your mom’s not home, the house will be locked and the alarm system turned on.”
“But you said I couldn’t stay there alone... Oh. You want to go in and look around.”
“Would you mind?”
“No. I just want to find her.”
We were both silent until we rolled down through the woods to the intersection with Highway I. Then Emily said in a small, thin voice, “Something bad’s happened to her.” It wasn’t a question.
I had no response that didn’t sound phony or fatuous.
“I think she’s dead,” Emily said. “I think the man she was afraid of killed her.”
Smart — too smart for her own good. It was possible Sheila Hunter was dead, all right, though not by the hand or order of Philip Cotter. But it was equally possible she had decided to abandon her daughter, just as her sister had, to go on the run alone or with somebody else. The second explanation would be almost as much of a hammerblow to Emily’s fragile young psyche as the first.
Get her off this tack, for God’s sake, I thought. I said, “Emily, we just don’t know what the situation is. It’s easy to imagine the worst, but it doesn’t have to be that way. You know the phrase ‘Keep the faith’?” Fatuous as hell, but it was the best I could do.
“Yes.”
“Do that, then. Think good thoughts.”
“All right.” But her voice was listless.
After a little time I asked, “Do you know a lady named Dale Cooney, Mrs. Frank Cooney?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Don’t ever remember hearing the name?”
“No.”
“How about a Mr. Lukash — Doc Lukash.”
“He’s our dentist.”
“A friend of your mom’s, too?”
“No, just our dentist.”
“Did he ever come to your house?”
“Dentists don’t make house calls,” she said seriously.
“That’s right, they don’t. Tell me about Trevor Smith.”
“I don’t know very much about him.”
“He came to see your mom last Thursday night, didn’t he?”
“Yes. She was really upset that night.”
“She’d already told you by then that you were going away?”
“That morning. Mr. Smith made her more upset, but I don’t know why. Mom locked me in my room. She didn’t want me to hear what they were saying.”
Not a word about her mother smacking her. No teller of tales, this little girl. The value of privacy was one good lesson she’d learned from her parents.
“Could you hear anything they said?”
“No. They were in the living room and my room’s in the back.”
“So they didn’t raise their voices, make any noise?”
“No.”
“Did your mom say anything about Smith after he left?”
“No.”
“But she was still upset?”
“A little calmer, I guess.”
“Did anyone else come to the house before you left on Friday?”
“No.”
“Anyone call?”
“There was one call, but I don’t know who it was. Mom made me go in my room again.”
“Did the call upset her?”
“No.”
“Make her happy, relieved, anything like that?”
“No. She was the same afterward.”
We were out of Gualala now, heading down Highway I through the northern reaches of Sea Ranch. The fog was in and the afternoon had darkened perceptibly under its heavy gray pall. Almost five by the dashboard clock. Eight or so by the time we reached San Francisco, and then what?
I hauled up the mobile phone, punched out Emily’s home number from memory. A dozen rings, no answer. Emily was watching me; I could feel the weight of her eyes. She knew what number I was calling. Something bad’s happened to her. I think she’s dead. I held on to the receiver, looking straight ahead, trying to think through the mental echoes of Emily’s voice. Going on nine o’clock before I could get her to Greenwood — pretty late to be showing up on somebody’s doorsteps. We don’t have many friends. But there had to be somebody... the family of one of her classmates?
“Emily, who’s your best friend at school?”
“I don’t have a best friend.”
“No girlfriends? No one from the riding academy?”
“Well, there’s Tracy Dellman, I guess.”
“Tracy Dellman. Do you think her folks might let you stay with them for a few days?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never stayed there before.”
“What’s Tracy’s phone number?”
“We don’t talk much on the phone.”
“Where does she live?”
“Poplar Avenue. Number two-fifty, I think.”
I called directory assistance for the Greenwood area. No listing for a Dellman family on Poplar Avenue. Which meant I’d have to show up at their home at nine P.M., a stranger with a little girl in tow. Explanations, fuss... the prospect left me cold. There had to be somebody else...
“You know Mrs. Purcell, don’t you?” I asked. “The lady who runs the art gallery?”
“Not very well.”
“Do you like her? Does she like you?”
“I guess so. Do you want me to stay with her?”
“If you’d be comfortable there.”
“I wouldn’t,” Emily said. Then she said, “Are you married?”
“...Married?”
“You are, aren’t you? You wear a wedding ring.”
“Yes, I’m married. Emily...”
“Then wouldn’t it be all right if I stayed with you?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? Doesn’t your wife like kids?”
“Sure she does. But she has a job, she’s even busier than I am...”
“I don’t mean for a long time,” Emily said. “Just for tonight. Wouldn’t that be okay? I don’t want to go anywhere else tonight. I don’t want to be alone with somebody else.”
I knew what she meant and I could not think of a way to say no: couldn’t quite bring myself to look at her. I stared out at the road and the mist curling and uncurling in the headlights. Time went by, what seemed like a lot of it.
“It’s all right if you don’t want me,” Emily said. “I understand.”
Goddamn it, I thought. I said gruffly, “Just for tonight. And don’t ever think you’re not wanted. Anybody who wouldn’t want a nice young lady like you around ought to have his head examined.”
“Thank you,” she said.
That mist out there was getting thicker. I had to rub my eyes and squint to see the damn road.
I called the
condo, didn’t get any answer, and then called Bates and Carpenter. Kerry wasn’t there, either; her secretary said she’d gone out for drinks with a client. I waited a while and tried the condo again. Buzz, buzz, buzz.
Emily had been quiet for some time. I glanced over at her. For most of the ride she’d sat primly with her hands in her lap; now she was curled up on the seat, had done it so quietly I hadn’t even noticed, and was asleep with her head pillowed on one arm against the door. Poor kid; she probably hadn’t slept much the past few nights. She looked very small and fragile and vulnerable, and I felt a fresh cut of anger at what her family had done to her. Maybe I was a fool for taking on the role of her protector, but she needed somebody to look out for her, somebody to put her welfare first for a change. Why not me? I knew what it was like to be alone, all right; I’d been alone a lot of years before Kerry came into my life.
I tried the condo number a third time from Jenner, a fourth when I picked up Highway 101 north of Santa Rosa, a fifth waiting to pay the toll on the Golden Gate Bridge. Still no Kerry. Oh, babe, I thought after the last call, just wait until you see what papa’s bringing home for you this time.
Kerry beat us to Diamond Heights by about three minutes; she still had her coat on when I walked in with Emily. She couldn’t help but be surprised, but you’d have to know her as well as I do to tell it. Poise is one of her best qualities, and compassion is another. She did a better job of making the kid feel at home than I could have: introduced her to Shameless, showed her the guest room, fixed her a sandwich even though Emily said she wasn’t hungry and stood over her until she finished most of it, and then got her settled in the living room with the cat on her lap.
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