by Jeff Shelby
A tired smile formed on her lips. “No, he wouldn’t. But thanks for saying it anyway.”
She disappeared into the elevator.
27
I left my cell number with the hospital staff and asked them to call me if anything changed with Carter. I fought the guilt of leaving the hospital and let one of Liz’s officers drive me over to an Avis counter at the Embassy Suites on La Jolla Village Drive.
After fifteen minutes of paperwork and avoiding the various sales pitches of the rental agent, I walked out to the lot with keys to a Chevy Blazer. It had tinted windows and gray leather interior that still smelled new. I missed the aroma of salt and wax in the Jeep as I pointed the SUV in the direction of the Crier home.
When Kate and I had dated, I had dreaded going to her house. The size of it, the smell of the money, the disapproving looks all had made me uncomfortable. I didn’t have the nerve to stand up to it when I was a teenager, the guts to tell them I was good enough for their youngest daughter. Now, getting out of the Blazer, I knew that nothing in that house would prevent me from saying what I wanted to say.
Ken answered the door, barefoot and wearing navy shorts and a tan Polo shirt. “Noah.”
“We need to talk.”
He waved me in, and we went to the large living room across from the entryway. Two white-leather sofas faced one another, divided by a marble-topped coffee table. Several large abstract paintings hung on the wall, reds and yellows tied together in ugly formation. The color on the canvasses couldn’t remove the sterile feel of the room.
Ken sat down across from me on one of the sofas. “What can I do for you?”
“Why was Kate here in San Diego?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure. We assumed it was to spend the week with us.” He paused for a moment. “She probably needed some time away from Randall as well.”
“How did you get her out of it?” I asked.
He frowned, half circles at the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“How did you get her out of whatever trouble she was in?”
“I’m confused.”
“No, you’re not,” I said. “Kate had some sort of deal working with the DEA. The way I figure, she got caught in something bad. Why else would she have been working for them?”
He thought about that and decided to lie. “Noah, I have no idea—”
I stood up. “I quit.” I started walking toward the door.
“Noah,” he said, his voice harsher. “Hold on.”
I turned around. “Tell me the truth, now, Ken. Right now. Marilyn didn’t tell me everything. I’ve learned more from staying away from you two than talking to you. I know Kate was involved in something that was way over her head. And I have a pretty good feeling you’re the only one that could’ve set it up. You wanna screw around with me, then I’m done helping you.”
He leaned back in the sofa, the leather collapsing around his body. “She was arrested six months ago.”
I walked back into the room and sat across from him.
“Heroin,” he said, his mouth tightening. “She got stopped for speeding up in Marin County. It was under the front passenger seat and was visible when the cop came to the window for her license and registration. There was enough to charge her with intent to sell. A felony.”
I felt my eyes twitch. The idea that Kate had had that much heroin didn’t seem real to me.
Ken turned and stared out the massive window. The view looked down over the west end of Mount Soledad and La Jolla Shores, barely glimpsing the far edge of the Pacific.
He shook his head. “I couldn’t let her go to jail.”
“What was she doing with the drugs, Ken?” I asked. “Did she have a problem?”
He laughed bitterly. “Oh, she had a problem. From what I learned, she experimented with it during college. Battled with it from then on.”
“She couldn’t shake it?” I asked, trying to picture a strung-out Kate in an Ivy League dorm room.
“She tried rehab several times, but never lasted more than six months clean.” He looked at me. “It was killing her. Until about a year ago.”
I didn’t understand. “What happened?”
He smiled sadly. “She kicked it, on her own. No help from me or doctors or counselors. Just dug in her heels and stopped.”
That sounded more like the Kate I had known.
“Then what was she doing with heroin in her car?” I asked.
His mouth puckered for a moment, like he was trying to get down some awful food. “It wasn’t hers.”
I looked at him, doubtful. “From what you’ve just told me, that’s pretty hard to buy into.”
“I know. But it wasn’t hers, Noah,” he said, his voice tight.
“Whose was it, then?”
He turned to the window again, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe what he was about to say. “It was Randall’s.”
I leaned back into the sofa and listened.
“Randall had a…problem, as well,” Ken said. “When they first got married, they were perfect for one another. Just a couple of yuppie junkies with too much money.”
He licked his lips, as if he were trying to get the taste out of his mouth. “I’d really given up. Figured she was going to die, thought we’d get a call in the middle of the night and have to pull her out of the gutter. I tried to do what I could. But it didn’t matter.” He paused. “When Kate cleaned up, I assumed Randall had, too.”
“But he hadn’t,” I said.
“I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “Kate said he had, but I think he may have been dabbling, if that’s the appropriate term.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Just his appearance when we went to visit. One day he looked fine, next he looked like crap. I learned to recognize the signs after dealing with Kate.”
He rubbed his hand over his face. When I was in high school, I had alternately wanted to impress Ken Crier and kick his ass. Now I just felt sorry for him.
“Anyway, it was his car Kate was driving. She told me she didn’t know it was there and she was just as surprised to see it under the seat as the cop was. We were at a point where I knew she wasn’t lying to me anymore.”
“But the police didn’t believe her?”
His eyes fired up again. “She covered for his ass, Noah. She took the blame.”
“Why?”
“Because he was on probation,” he said, almost spitting it out. “Is on probation. Got arrested about a year and a half ago for possession, pleaded down to a lesser charge.”
I tried to take it all in. Kate and Randall were both users. Maybe dealers. The good doctor had gotten caught and escaped with a tiny slap—as long as it didn’t happen again.
“So she covered for him,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“And he let her.”
An ugly smile twisted his mouth. “And he let her.”
Cheating on Kate and then getting her into this crap. I now had two reasons to beat the crap out of Randall Tower.
“I set it up,” Ken said. “I got the San Diego DA to arrange with the DA in Marin. They brought her down. She had to make four buys.”
“They miked her and everything?”
“The whole deal.”
I could feel the anger building in my stomach. She’d finally gotten her life together and ended up dying, trying to cover her husband’s ass.
“And Randall let her,” I said again.
Ken Crier nodded slowly, not saying anything, a mixture of anger, guilt, and sadness playing across his features.
We sat there for a moment, him staring out at nothing, me trying to remember the girl I’d loved in high school.
“What was going to happen after the last buy?” I asked.
He swung his gaze back to mine, his eyes red. “They were going to take the recorded conversations and the drugs she bought and hopefully get Costilla. They thought this was their chance to take him down.”
“Was sh
e going to testify?”
“Not in court. It was going to be done through paperwork and by video. She wouldn’t have to enter the courtroom. Once they had what they needed, she was done and clear. She told me she was going to leave Randall, to start all over…” His voice trailed off.
“What?” I asked.
His eyes were someplace else, maybe back to that last conversation with his youngest daughter. “I thought maybe she was going to try to find you, Noah.”
28
I walked out of the Criers’ home before it swallowed me whole.
I headed home, stopping at the deli on Law to buy a twelve pack of Red Trolley. I wasn’t sure that twelve was all I’d need to wash the day out of my head, but I figured it would be a good start.
When I walked into my place, the first thing I noticed was that the screen door to the patio stood halfway open.
Silently, I set the beer on the floor and pulled my gun from the small of my back. I checked the bedroom and bathroom and found nothing. I moved slowly toward the patio and peeked out the door.
Emily was sitting on one of the lounge chairs.
“Emily?”
She turned in my direction and stood up. “Noah.” She looked at the gun. “Did I do something wrong?”
I ducked back in the house, replaced the safety, and set it on the dining room table, then joined Emily outside.
“No, sorry,” I said. “Just being careful.”
She studied me for a second. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
A braid of long blond hair hung over her shoulder. She wore a red T-shirt and white walking shorts. White leather sandals matched the shorts. She stuck her hands in her pockets. “Should I not be here?”
A good question that I was having trouble finding the answer to.
“It’s fine,” I told her. I pointed to the chair she’d been sitting in when I’d arrived. “I’m sorry. Sit.”
She did, not taking her eyes off me.
“Carter’s in the hospital,” I said, sitting in the chair next to her.
Her mouth tightened. “What happened?”
I told her.
When I was through, she asked, “Is this because of Kate?”
“I think so.”
She leaned back into her chair, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry.”
I nodded, as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and set it on the small resin table. I stared at it for a moment, wondering what I would hear when it eventually rang.
“Can I do anything?” Emily asked.
“No. The hospital will call when they have something to tell me. Just have to wait.” I stared out at the horizon, the sun a faint yellow smudge hovering over the water.
She reached over and touched my arm. “He’ll be okay.”
I tried to smile. “Probably.” I changed the subject. “What’s up? Why are you here?”
A reluctant smile emerged. “No reason, really. Just thought I’d come see you. I mean, after last night and everything.”
Last night seemed like last year.
“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, at a loss for what to say.
She tugged gently on her braid. “Weird, huh?”
“That’s one word for it.”
“But good,” she said, her eyes searching my face.
“But good.”
We watched the smudge disappear completely, tucking in behind the blue of the water.
“So now what?” I asked, breaking the silence.
“I’m not sure,” Emily said. “I was thinking we could talk about it, but now, with Carter…it doesn’t seem like the best time.”
I agreed, never being one for those kinds of discussions even when my best friend wasn’t in the hospital. “No, it doesn’t.”
“You want me to leave?”
I shifted in the chair. “Em, I’m not sure about this whole you-and-me thing yet. There’s so much going on right now that I need to go slow.”
“I didn’t mean should I stay so we can sleep together again,” she said, staring at me. “I’m all for the slow thing, too.” She paused for a moment and glanced toward the water. “All I could think about today was Kate. I felt like…I don’t know. Every time I thought of you today, about last night, I felt guilty.” She looked back at me. “So all I meant was that I wondered if maybe you wanted to be by yourself.”
My assumption made me feel silly, and I felt better that we were thinking along the same lines. I stood up, walked inside, grabbed the carton of beer, and brought it out to the patio with a bottle opener. I opened two and handed her one.
“Company would be good,” I said. “Stay for a while.”
So she did.
29
Emily left around midnight, and my cell phone rang at six the next morning.
I fumbled around on the nightstand but couldn’t find it. I sat up and realized it wasn’t in the room. I found the phone on the dining room table next to my gun.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Braddock?”
“Yeah, who’s this?”
“This is Beth from UCSD Trauma. The chart said to call this number if there was any status change with Patient Hamm.”
My stomach tightened. “Right. How is he?”
“He’s awake.”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
I skipped my morning session on the lonely water and made the drive to UCSD in twenty-five minutes. Beth directed me to Carter’s room and told me I only had fifteen minutes to talk with him.
His head rolled in my direction when I entered. He was stretched out on an uncomfortable-looking bed, a pale blue blanket pulled up to his waist. A tube snaked its way into his bare chest, an IV line making its way into each of his arms. His skin was pale, his eyes bloodshot. An oxygen tube curled into his nostrils.
He tried to smile anyway. “Dude.”
I pulled a chair from under the window over next to the bed. “Dude yourself.”
His eyes did a slow take around the room and then landed back on me. “This sucks.”
“I’ll say.”
He swallowed hard. “Doctor said I’m going back to surgery this morning.”
“Why?”
“Bullets and shit still in me.”
“I’m sorry, Carter.”
He stared at me for a second, his eyes trying to focus. “Why? Did you shoot me?”
“No. But I got you into this.”
He swallowed again and grunted. “Shut up, dude. You didn’t do anything.”
“You knew Costilla was bad news. Liz told me stay away. I didn’t listen to either of you.”
Carter looked at each of his arms, then the tube in his chest. “I look like a giant slurpee, bunch of fucking straws in me.”
“Carter, I’m sorry,” I said, a mixture of worry and guilt churning inside of me.
He wheezed a little and looked at me again. “Noah?”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
I figured I could badger him with my guilt another time. “Okay.”
He shut his eyes. “Know who it was yet?”
“No. Liz was here last night. They have the one I hit, but nobody else yet.”
“He talking?”
“Not as of last night. But Ken Crier told me a few things.”
He opened his eyes and shifted his head in my direction. “Like what?”
I told him about the heroin and Randall.
“Jesus,” he said when I finished. “Kate was moving in different circles, huh?”
“I guess.”
“You gonna go see Randall?”
“Yup,” I said, his name lighting a fire in my gut.
“Can’t it wait till I’m out?” he said, trying to smile. “I’d love to get a piece of that guy.”
“You know me,” I told him. “I’m impatient. And little pieces might be all that’s left when I’m done with him.”
He started to laugh, changed it to a grunt, s
uddenly looking exhausted.
The door to the room opened and a nurse informed us that it was time for me to go, as Carter needed to be prepped for surgery.
I stood. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”
“Good. Bring me some beer and a burrito.”
I glanced at the nurse by the door, the stern look on her face saying not a chance.
I looked back at Carter. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I headed toward the door.
“Noah?”
I stopped. “Yeah?”
He squeezed one eye shut, kept the other bloodshot eye on me. “Kick his ass.”
30
I called the La Valencia Hotel from my cell phone, but got no answer at Randall’s hotel room. I drove into La Jolla, parked on Ivanhoe, grabbed a bagel from a deli, and sat on the curb across the street from the hotel.
I kept running my conversation with Ken over in my head, trying to put the pieces together so that they fit a little more snugly. The biggest missing piece was figuring out why Kate would cover for Randall. I couldn’t find a reason to take a hit like that for someone, particularly if their marriage was already imploding.
The other question that bothered me was where Kate had gone after the DEA lost her in Tijuana. She’d been missing for seventy-two hours when I’d found her. What had Costilla’s men done with her in that time? It was simple to assume that Costilla’s men had killed her. But the one thing that stuck in my head was that leaving her body in Mexico would have been much easier, and harder to find. Why bring her back over to the United States?
I finished the bagel and tugged on that thought until Randall appeared, walking up the other side of Prospect. His plaid short-sleeve button down, white shorts, and tan boat shoes were standard issue if you were going for a walk in La Jolla.
I crossed the street quickly and cut him off before he reached the hotel.
He didn’t look happy to see me. “What the hell do you want?”
“A small bag of heroin. Got any on you?”
The blood drained from his face, and he took a step back.
“Guess not,” I said. “Then I guess a private conversation with you will have to do for now.”
