by Robert Crais
The skin under Lucy's eye flickered.
"How can you joke?"
"I'm joking because it's so absurd. What do you want me to say to something like this? None of that happened. He's makihg it up."
Richard tapped the table.
"How do we know what happened over there or what you did?"
Lucy snapped an irritated glance at him. She started to say something but didn't.
Gittamon said, "We're not here to make accusations, Mr. Chenier."
"This asshole on the tape is making the accusations, not me, and to tell you the truth I don't give a rat's ass what Cole did over there. What I care about is Ben, and that this sonofabitch--"
He jabbed at the tape recorder.
"--hates C01e so much that he's taking it out on my son."
Lucy said, "Just calm down, Richard. You're making it worse."
Richard squared himself as if he was worn out and tired of talking about it.
"How totally blind about Cole can you be, Lucille?
You don't know anything about him."
"I know that I believe him."
"That's perfect. Absolutely perfect. Of course, you would say that."
Richard waved at Myers.
"Lee, let me have that."
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Myers passed him the briefcase. Richard took out a manila folder and slapped it on the table.
"FYI, since you know so much: Cole joined the Army because a judge gave him a choice, jail or Vietnam. Did you know that, Lucille? Did he tell you? Jesus Christ, you've exposed yourself and our son to lowlife dangerous trash ever since you've been with this man and you act like it's none of my business. Well, I made it my business because my son is my business."
Lucy stared at the folder without touching it. Richard stared at me, but he was still talking to her.
"I don't care if you're mad, and I don't care if you like it. I had him looked into and there it is: Your boyfriend has been a magnet for trouble ever since he was a kid-assault, assault and battery, grand theft auto. Go on, read it."
A hot wash of blood flooded my face. I felt like a child who had been caught in a lie because the other me was a different me, so far in the past that I had put him away. I tried to remember whether or not I had told Lucy, and knew by the tight expression in her eyes that I hadn't.
"How about my SAT scores, Richard? Did you get that, too?"
Richard talked over me without stopping, and never looked away.
"Did he tell you, Lucille? Did you ask him before you left your son with him? Or were you so caught up in your own self-centered needs that you couldn't be bothered? Wake up, Lucille, Jesus Christ."
Richard stalked around the table without waiting for Lucy or anyone else to speak, and left. Myers stood in the door for a moment, staring at me with his expressionless lizard eyes. I stared back. My pulse throbbed in my ears and I wanted him to say something. I didn't care
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that I was in the police station. I wanted him to speak, but he didn't. Finally, he turned away and followed Richard out. Lucy stared at the folder, but I don't think she was looking at it. I wanted to touch her, but I felt too hot to move. Gittamon breathed with a raspy wheeze. Starkey finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry, Ms. Chenier. That must have been embarrassing." Lucy nodded. "Yes. Very." I said, "I got into some trouble when I was a sixteenyearold. What do you want me to say?" No one looked at me. Gittamon reached across the table to pat Lucy's arm. "It's hard when a child is missing. It's hard on everyone. Would you like someone to take you home?" I said, "I'll take her." "I know this is hard, Mr. Cole, but we'd like to ask you a few more questions." Lucy stood, still staring at the folder. "I have the car. I'll be fine." I touched her arm. "He made it seem like more than it was. I was a kid." Lucy nodded. She touched me back, but still didn't look at me. "I'll be fine. Are we finished here, Sergeant?" "You are, yes, ma'am. Are you going to be all right tonight? You might want to stay at a hotel or with a friend." "No, I want to be home if he calls again. Thank you both. I appreciate what you're doing." "All right, then." Lucy squeezed around the table, and stopped in the lO8
door. She looked at me, but I could see that it was hard for her.
"I'm sorry. That was shameful."
"I'll come by later."
She left without answering. Starkey watched her walk
away, then took one of the empty chairs. "Man, she married a prick." Gittamon cleared his throat again.
"Why don't we get a little coffee, then keep going. Mr. Cole, if you'd like the bathroom, I'll show you where it is."
"I'm fine."
Gittamon left for his coffee. Starkey sighed, then gave me one of those weak smiles people make when they feel bad for you.
"Rough, huh ?"
I nodded.
Starkey pulled the folder across the table. She read whatever was inside.
"Man, Cole, you were a real fuckup when you were a kid."
I nodded.
Neither of us spoke again until Gittamon returned.
I told them about Abbott, Rodriguez, Johnson, and Fields, and how they came to die. I had not described those events since the day I spoke with their families; not because I was ashamed or because it was painful, but because you have to let go of the dead or the dead will carry you down. Talking about it was like looking down the wrong end of a telescope at someone else's life.
Gittamon said, "All right, this man on the tape, he knows your team number, he knows the names of at least two of these men, and he knows that everyone died except you. Who would know these things?"
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"Their families. The guys who served in my company at the time. The Army."
Starkey said, "Cole gave me a list of names earlier. I had Hurwitz run them through NLETS, including the dead guys. We got zip."
"One of them might have a younger brother. One of them might have a son. He says on the tape, 'He made my life hell.' He's telling us that he suffered."
I said, "He told us that he was there, too, but only five people went out and the other four are dead. Call the Army and ask them. The citation and after-action reports will tell you what happened."
Starkey said, "I already called. I'm gonna read that stuff tonight."
Gittamon nodded, then glanced at his watch. It was late.
"All right. We'll talk to the families tomorrow. We might know more after that. Carol? Anything else.Z"
I said, "Can I have a copy of the tape? I want to hear it again."
Starkey said, "Go home, Dave. H1 get his tape." Gittamon thanked me for my time and got up. He hesitated as if he was thinking about taking Richard's folder, then looked at me.
"I want to apologize for that outburst, too. If I had any
idea he was going to do that, I wouldn't have allowed it." "I know. Thanks."
Gittamon glanced at the folder again, then went home. Starkey left with the tape and did not come back. A few minutes later, a detective I had not met brought a copy of the tape, then walked me to the double glass doors and put me outside.
I stood on the sidewalk wishing that I had taken the folder. I wanted to see what Richard knew, but I didn't
No
want to go back inside. The cool night air felt good. The double doors opened again, and a detective who lived up on the hill by me came out. He cupped a cigarette and his lighter flared. I said, "Hey." It took him a moment to place me. A few years ago, his house had been damaged in the big earthquake. I didn't know him then or that he was with LAPD, but not long after I jogged past while he was clearing debris and saw that he had a small rat tattooed on his shoulder. The tat marked him as a tunnel rat in Vietnam. I stopped to give him a hand. Maybe because we had that connection. He said, "Oh, yeah. How ya doin'?" "I heard you quit." He frowned at the cigarette, then drew deep before dropping it. "I did." "I don't mean the smoking. I heard you left the job." "That's right. I hadda come around to sign the papers." It was time to go, but neither of us moved. I wanted to tell him about Abbott a
nd Fields, and how I pretended to be sick after they died because I was scared to go out again. I wanted to tell him that I had not murdered anyone and how the rage in Lucy's eyes scared me and all the other things that I had never been able to talk about because he was older and he had been there and I thought that he might understand, but, instead, I looked at the sky. He said, "Well, stop around some time. We'll have a beer." "Okay. You, too." He walked around the side of the building, and then he was gone. I wondered about the silence that he carried, and then I wondered at my own. III
loe Pike and I once drove down to the tip of the Baia Peninsula with two women we knew. We caught fish in Baia, then camped on the beach at Cortez. That far south, the summer sun heated the Sea of Cortez until it felt like a hot tub. The water was so heavy with salt that if you let yourself dry without first showering, white flakes would rime on your skin. That same heavy water pushed us to its surface, refusing to let us sink. It could lull you, that water. It could make you feel safe even when you weren't.
That first afternoon, the sea was so still that it lay clean as a pond. The four of us swam, but, whefi the others stroked back to shore, I stayed in the quiet water. I floated on my back without effort. I stared into the cloudless azure sky feeling something like bliss.
I might have dozed. I might have found peace.
I was absolutely still in my world when, in the next instant, a fierce and sudden pressure lifted me without warning as the sea fell away. I tried to kick my legs under me, but the surging force was too great. I tried to right myself, but the swell grew too fast. I knew in a heartbeat that I would live or die or be swept away, and I could change none of it. I had lost myself to an unknown force that I could not resist.
Then the sea settled and once more grew flat.
Pike and the others saw it happen. When I reached shore, they explained: The Sea of Cortez is home to basking sharks. Basking sharks are harmless, but monstrously large, often reaching sixty feet in length and weighing many tons. They cruise at the surface where the water is warm, which is how they earned their name. I had floated into the path of one. It had dipped under me rather than going around. The swell of its tremendous passing had lifted me in its wake.
I had forgotten the feeling of fear when my body and fate were controlled by an unknown power; the feeling of being so purely helpless and alone.
Until this night.
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CHAPTER 10
Tunnel Rat
Sweat pooled in the caverns of Ben's eyes. He ducked his head from side to side, wiping away the weat onto his shoulders. In the depthless black of the box, he tried to work with his eyes closed, but all of his instincts drove them open as if with an expectation of sight. His clothes were soaked, his shoulders ached, and his hands were cramped into claws, but Ben felt ecstatic: School was out, Christmas was here, he had knocked in the game-winning run. Ben Chenier was approaching the finish line and he was happy!
"I'm gonna get out. I'm getting 0 UT!"
A cut opened across his plastic sky like a scar pulling free of its stitches. Ben had worked furiously throughout the night and through the day. The Silver Star bit through the plastic again and again, and loose soil fell like rain.
"Yeah, that's it! YEAH!"
He had dulled three of the star's five points, but by the afternoon of the first day the cut had grown into a snaggletoothed leer that stretched across the width of the box. Ben worked his fingers into the gap and pulled as hard as he could. Tiny pebbles bounced around him as dust trickled through the split, but the plastic was strong and did not bend easily.
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"SHIT!"
Ben heard a mumble and a thump, and he wondered if he was dreaming again. He wouldn't mind if the Queen of Blame came back; she was hot. Ben stopped working, and listened.
"Answer me, kid. I can hear you down there."
It was Eric! His voice sounded hollow and far away coming down the pipe.
"Answer me, goddamnit."
The light from the pipe was gone; Eric must be so close that he blocked the sun.
Ben held his breath, suddenly more afraid than when they first put him in the box. A few hours ago he had prayed for them to return, but now he was almost out! If they discovered him trying to escape, they would take away the medal, tie his hands, and bury him again--and then he would be trapped forever!
The light returned, and then Eric's voice sounded farther away.
"The little prick won't answer. You think he's okay?" Ben heard Mazi clearly. "Eet weel not mahter." Eric tried once more.
"Kid? You want some water?"
Here in the darkness of the box, Ben hid from them. They wouldn't know if he was alive or dead unless they dug him up, but they wouldn't dig him up during the day. They would wait until dark. No one can see you do bad
things in the dark.
"Kid?"
Ben held perfectly still.
"You little shit!"
The light reappeared as Eric moved away. Ben counted to fifty, then grew scared that it wasn't enough. He
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counted to fifty again, then resumed work. He was in a race with them now; he had to get out before they dug him up. The African's words echoed in the darkness: Eet weel not mahter.
Ben felt along the jagged edge of the split until he found a ragged spot near its center, then set to work carving a tiny notch. He worked the Silver Star with small firm moves like a man signing a contract. He didn't need much; just a small tear so that he could get a better grip.
The star cut through the plastic, and the notch grew. He scraped dirt from behind the plastic, then gripped the split again and pulled. A shower of soil fell all at once. Ben sneezed, then brushed dirt from his eyes. The split
had opened into a narrow triangular hole.
"YES!"
Ben pushed the soil that had rained down to the end of the box with his feet, then put the Silver Star into his pocket. He pulled his T-shirt over his face like a mask, then scooped out more soil. Ben worked his hand through the split up to his wrist, and finally to his elbow. He dug as far as he could reach, finally creating a large hollow dome. Ben gripped the plastic on either side of the T-shaped hole and hung with all his weight as if he was doing a chin-up. The hole didn't open.
"You dick! You pussy asshole!" He shouted at the hole. "You weenie!"
He had the door; all he had to do was open it. OPEN THE DOOR!
Ben scrunched into a ball, pulling his knees to his chest. He propped a knee onto the left side of the T and gripped the right with both hands. He strained so hard that his body arched from the floor.
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The plastic tore like cold taffy slowly pulling apart. Ben's grip slipped and he fell. "YES! YESYESYES!" Ben wiped his hands as best he could, then took another grip. He pulled so hard that his head buzzed, and the roof abruptly split as if the plastic had simply surrendered. A landslide of dirt poured through, but Ben didn't care--the box was open. Ben pushed the dirt and rocks that had fallen to the end of the box, then peeled open the flap. More dirt piled around him. He worked his arm and then his head up into the hole. The freshly turned soil came easily. He twisted his shoulders through the hole and then he was up to his waist. He clawed dirt down past his sides like a swimmer pulling water, but the more he pulled the more the earth closed around him. Ben grew more frantic with each stroke. He reached higher, clawing for the surface, but the earth pressed in on him from all sides like a cold sea pulling him under. Ben couldn't breathe! He was being crushed! Panic filled him with terror and the absolute certainty that he was going to die---then he broke through the surface of soil and cool night air washed his face. A canvas of stars filled the overhead sky. He was free. The Queen's voice whispered. "I knew you'd kick its ass. " Ben got his bearings. It was night, and he was in the backyard of a house in the hills. He didn't know which hills, but lights from the city were spread in the distance. Ben wiggled along the ground until his feet were free. He was in a flower bed at the edge of
a patio in the backII7
yard of a really nice house, though the yard was dry and dying. Neighboring houses sat behind walls that were hidden by ivy. Ben was scared that Mike and the others would hear him, but the house was dark and the windows were covered. He ran to the side of the house, and slipped into the shadows as if they were comfortable old coats. A walkway ran along the side of the house to the front. Ben crept along the walk, moving so quietly that he could not hear his own footsteps. When he reached a chain-link gate, he wanted to throw it open and run, but he was scared that the men would catch him. He eased the gate open. The hinges made a low squeal, but then the gate swung free. Ben listened, ready to run if he heard them coming, but the house remained silent. Ben crept through the gate. He was very close to the front of the house. He could see a brightly lit home across the street with cars in its drive. A family would be inside, he thought; a morn and a dad, and grown-ups who would help! All he had to do was sneak across the street and run to the neighbor's door. Ben reached the end of the house and peeked around the corner. The short, sloping driveway was empty. The garage door was down. The windows were dark. Ben's face split into a huge toothy grin because he had escaped! He stepped into the drive just as steel hands clamped over his mouth and jerked him backward. Ben tried to scream, but couldn't. He kicked and fought, but more steel wrapped his arms and legs. They had come from nowhere. "Stop kicking, ya little prick." Eric was a harsh whisper in Ben's ear; Mazi an ebony giant at his feet. Tears blurred Ben's eyes. Don't put me back in the box, he tried to say; please don't bury me! 118
But his words could not get past Eric's iron hand.
Mike stepped out of a shadow and gripped Eric's arm. Ben felt the terrible pressure of his grip in Eric's sudden weakness.
"A ten-year-old kid, and he beat you. I should beat you myself."
"Jesus, we got him. It saves us the trouble of diggin' him up."
Mike ran his hands over Ben's legs, then searched Ben's pockets and came out with the Silver Star. He held it up by the ribbon.
"Did Cole give you this?"
The best Ben could do was nod.
Mike dangled the medal in front of Mazi and Eric.
