The Egret

by Russell Hill

  I had taken to looking for egrets. I saw them in the marsh behind College of Marin, alongside Highway 37 in Sonoma County, in the tidal flats, and at the edge of the bay behind the shopping mall in Corte Madera. Always, they were still. Sometimes they were solitary, a single egret standing in the marsh, waiting. Sometimes they were in pairs or more, white strokes in the green grasses, all of them still, waiting.

  CHAPTER 8

  I could get Winslow to drive out to North Beach. All it would take would be a gun to his head. But the problem would be how to get myself back from the beach, and leave his car there. He took a walk on the beach slipped, went into the surf, and there would be his car in the parking lot, but how would I get back to Fairfax. The answer was to get someone to come out and pick me up. I could go to the To-males Bay Lodge, get a room, leave my car there, get someone to pick it up, drive it out to North Beach, bring me back to the lodge. Somebody who would buy the story I would tell him: that I was going to be dropped off at North Beach and needed someone to drive my car out there so I could get back. Make it sound like I was meeting someone out there that I didn’t want a wife to know about. I could find somebody at the Old Western Saloon in Point Reyes. One of those guys who spent his late afternoon playing liars dice, and drinking shots and beer. Somebody who would be happy to take a drive to Inverness, get my car, go out to North Beach, bring me back to the lodge. A hundred bucks. Easy money. And he would never see me again. So what I had to do was go out to Point Reyes Station and sit in that saloon and find the right guy.

  Two guys sat on my left and the one next to me had a tattoo that rose up from his collar on his neck, a complicated design. I ordered a Manhattan, rye whiskey, and he turned to me and said, “That’s what I do. Rye. Only way to do it.”

  “Can I buy you one?”

  He looked at his partner.

  “Your partner, too.”

  “Shit, this must be our lucky day, Davy,” said the partner.

  “Lucky day for me, too,” I said. “I’ve got a problem. And maybe you can solve it.”

  “What kind of a problem?”

  “Well, I’m going to meet somebody out at North Beach. You know where that is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Only after I meet her, I need to get back to the Tomales Bay Lodge in Inverness. You know where that is?”

  “Yeah.” The bartender set the Manhattans in front of us. He had poured it to the rim and I leaned forward to sip a bit of mine before picking it up. The bartender took a glass and poured the extra Manhattan into it, set it next to my drink.

  “Generous pour,” I said, sliding a twenty out toward him. He rang up the drinks and put two ones in front of me. I slid them back.

  “You interested?” I asked Davy, the tattooed kid.

  “So you need somebody to pick you up at North Beach,” he said.

  “Yes. It’s kind of touchy, I’d be willing to pay a hundred bucks to somebody who was willing to pick up my car at the lodge and drive it out to the parking lot at North Beach. No questions asked. Just drive it out, bring me back to the lodge and he gets a hundred bucks cash.”

  “How come this person you’re meeting out there can’t give you a ride back to Inverness?”

  “It’s sort of a delicate thing. I mean, it’s not somebody I want to advertise. So if she brings me back and somebody sees us, then it gets sticky. Know what I mean?”

  “So, you’re gonna ride out there and then you need somebody to bring your car out to you?”

  “That’s it.”

  “When would this be?”

  “Early in April. If I had a phone number I could make the arrangements. You interested?”

  “Maybe. Is that all? Just pick up a car and drive it out to North Beach and pick you up?”

  “That’s it. And your discretion. You conveniently forget that you did it. You ride with me back to the lodge. “

  “I’ve got a shitty memory.”

  “Drink up,” I said. “There might be another one of those.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Davy, who drives a truck for Toby’s, was willing to bring my car out. A hundred bucks for what would amount to maybe two hours was good news to him. And all I have to do is set the date, lock up my bike at the Ross Post Office, walk to Carmel Drive, and wait for Winslow to come out. And if he doesn’t, then I cancel Davy and we re-set it.

  Detective Fuller showed up again. It was threatening rain and he wore a heavy coat, the collar turned up.

  It was mid-morning.

  “You don’t work, do you?” he said.

  “I haven’t worked in three years. I paid off this house, my car is paid for, I draw some money from a 401K, and I have few expenses. I’m a carpenter. But after she died, I couldn’t seem to hit the nail straight. I did shitty work. I was a finish carpenter, did quality work, and suddenly I couldn’t concentrate. I left pecker tracks in the wood. Nobody likes that. Now I build birdhouses. Give them away.”

  “You check up on our boy, Winslow?”

  “Yes. I checked up on him. He’s a rich fucker. Got a trophy wife. Lives in a house that could be the lodge in a national park. “

  “But you’re not planning on doing anything foolish?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you buy a gun?”

  “You checked up on me.”

  “That’s right. Your name showed up when they ran the security check on you. They copy the sheriff’s office on all of these. Anybody in Marin County who buys a gun gets checked out by us. To see if we have them on our radar. You bought a Glock G43. Why did you suddenly decide to buy a gun?”

  “No particular reason. You don’t think I’m going to shoot the asshole, do you?”

  “I’m not sure what it is that you’re going to do. You don’t live in West Oakland. There’s not a rash of burglaries in your neighborhood. You don’t belong to a gang. There’s no longer a shooting range in Marin County. There’s no rash of threats to home owners, no sudden cluster of people doing armed home entries. So why go out and buy a hand gun?”

  “No particular reason. These days everybody seems to be buying a handgun. I’m no different. It’s next to my bed.”

  “It would be a good idea if you locked it up some place. Some place where it would be difficult for you to get to it easily.”

  “Is this a neighborhood watch program? Does the sheriff’s department do this with anybody who buys a gun?”

  “No. I just don’t want you to do anything foolish. Something that would put you away for the rest of your life. You shoot the sonofabitch and you’ll go away for a long time, maybe the rest of your days. Guy your age, if you’re lucky, they’ll send you to High Desert, which is way the fuck up in the northeast corner of the state and you’ll spend your time in the craft shop making birdhouses. If you’re unlucky, you’ll end up in San Quentin or Soledad where there are some really ugly people. You wouldn’t last a month in a place like that. And it would be a month you wouldn’t want to remember. Please tell me that you aren’t planning on doing anything to this fuckhead.”

  “I’m hoping he has an accident. Maybe gets run over by a UPS truck or falls in the ocean and drowns.”

  “As long as you’re not driving the UPS truck.”

  “So have you found out anything else that might connect him to my daughter’s death?”

  “Nothing. There’s no place to look. The truck driver who saw the collision only says it was a man driving. He stopped, went down to the bay, tried to get to your daughter, but it’s the deep part of the channel, just past White House Pool.”

  “I know where it is.”

  “Yeah, of course you do.”

  “So he gets to live out his life, no punishment, nothing?”

  “Nothing I can tie to him. Maybe he feels shitty about it. Maybe he has nightmares about what happened.”

  “Maybe.” I looked at Fuller, put my hands to my face, scrubbed my face and said, “He drives an S-class Mercedes. A hundred grand. He lives in a fucking pala
ce. He gives a shitload of money to museums. His fucking trophy wife at his side.” I could hear the rain now, drumming on the roof. Hard. The kind of day that would be a good one at North Beach. Rain driving down, the surf up, pounding on the beach, no chance for anybody who fell into that raging maelstrom.

  “I tried to trace that Expedition,” Fuller said. “He traded it in on a Range Rover and then it got auctioned off. Went to a dealer in Stockton. The trail gets murky there. I won’t quit on this,” Fuller said. “I want you to know that. If I find anything, you’ll be the first one to know,” he said, rising. “And lock up that fucking gun. Please.”

  CHAPTER 10

  I had found a way to get back from North Beach. Now all I had to do was select the date, call my ride, book the lodge, and ride my bike to Ross, lock it to the bike rack at the post office, walk up to Winslow’s house and climb into his car when he came out his driveway. It was perfect, as if I had waited, motionless until it was time to strike. I could see Winslow tumbling in the surf, and it felt good, as if a weight were being lifted off of me. But until he disappeared in that churning water, I would not be whole again.

  Fuller reappeared. He came to my house had another scotch and told me that he had interviewed Winslow.

  “He says it’s a coincidence. He had nothing to do with an accident in Inverness. He scraped the car on a wall in a garage in San Francisco.”

  “He’s a rich sonovabitch,” I said

  “That he is. There’s no doubt about that. But I don’t have anything that I can connect him to your daughter’s death. That much I know.”

  “But you think he’s the one.”

  “I think he’s a good candidate.”

  “Which means you can’t charge him, but you think he’s the one.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No need to say it. I’ve checked out the asshole. He’s richer than Midas and he had that Ford Expedition and now it’s gone.”

  “You’ve been doing some research?”

  “Yes. I know where he lives and I know his habits and I’m sure the sonofabitch is the one.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish,”

  “I’m not sure what foolish means. I have nothing to lose, Fuller. My daughter is dead, my wife left me, I have very little left. I no longer work as a carpenter, I can’t seem to drive a nail straight, and when you show up, I think that you know something that I ought to know”

  “I don’t know anything that I haven’t told you.”

  “But you know this fucker is the one, don’t you?”

  “I told you, he looks good for it. But I’m not positive. And I don’t have any physical evidence to connect him with what happened.”

  “Good enough for me,” I said. I poured him another scotch.

  After he left I sat on the little deck looking at the mountain. What had she been doing at Hearts Desire Beach? Running into the water, swimming in that flat watered bay, drinking a beer, maybe watching someone’s dog run after a tennis ball in the water, spending an afternoon with friends her age. Young people with a lifetime ahead of them, Only her lifetime was suddenly eclipsed by that passing SUV.

  CHAPTER 11

  I drove out to the Tomales Bay Lodge, booked a room for two nights and parked my car in front of the room. I hung the do not disturb sign on the doorknob, and put the keys to my car under a rock at the foot of the big rusted anchor that leaned against the Lodge sign at the edge of the road where Davy could find them. I walked the half-mile back into Inverness and waited in front of the grocery store for the little bus that came out to West Marin. It arrived forty-five minutes later and I boarded the bus. It stopped in Olema, again at Forest Knolls and then went over White’s Hill to Fairfax where I got off. I walked back up to my house. It was Monday afternoon and tomorrow would be the day when I would stab with my beak, impale the minnow that finned at my feet, make Earl Antony Winslow pay for his carelessness.

  Tuesday morning I left the bike locked to the bike stand in front of the Ross Post Office and walked to Carmel Drive. It was nine-thirty. If he were going to come out today it would be at ten. I felt in my jacket pocket for the Glock. I leaned back into his hedge on what would be the passenger side of his car when he came out. I heard the hum of the electric gate as it swung open. The car appeared, paused at the edge of the road and the gate swung shut behind it.

  I strode over to the window on the passenger side and waved at him. He looked at me. I motioned to him to roll down the window.

  Nice middle-aged guy, must be asking for directions. The window rolled smoothly down. Which meant that if the door was locked I could reach in and unlock it.

  “Mr. Winslow?” I said.

  He nodded.

  I reached for the door handle and pulled. The door was unlocked. I jerked the door open and slid in. He froze, staring at me..

  “Who are you?” he said. “What the fuck is this?”

  I pulled out the Glock, held it to his temple.

  “Is this a carjack?” he said. “You want my car?”

  “I don’t want your car. I want you to drive.”

  “You want money? Is that what this is?”

  “No. No money.”

  “Do I know you?”

  I pressed the barrel of the gun harder into his skull. Hard enough to hurt.

  “You knew my daughter. At least you had a passing acquaintance with her. It only lasted a few seconds, but it made a lasting impression on her.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Just shut the fuck up and drive,” I said. “Drive to Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, then head out toward the coast. It’s a route you know well. We’re going to Inverness.”

  “I have a house out there.”

  “I know, now shut up and drive.” I lowered the gun and pressed it into his crotch. “If you do anything odd or anything to attract attention, I will pull the trigger and blow off your cock and balls. Is that clear? You won’t be able to fuck that pretty wife of yours any more.” I pressed the barrel of the gun harder into his crotch.

  “What do you want?”

  “Shut up and drive,” I said. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. It was the first time I had been in a hundred thousand dollar car. The ride was smooth, and there was no road noise. It was like floating in money.

  We went through Fairfax, climbed over White’s Hill, then threaded our way through Samuel P. Taylor State Park. He was silent, concentrating on the road and I kept the Glock pressed to his crotch. When we came to the turnoff to Inverness I said, “Turn. You know the way!” He turned onto the two-lane road and in a few minutes we were opposite White House Pool. Just beyond it, I said, “Slow down. Pull over.”

  He found a wide spot on the verge and brought the car to a halt.

  “You recognize this spot?”

  “I’ve been past it a hundred times. My cottage is down the road.”

  “No, I mean three years ago, you came around this curve on the wrong side of the road and clipped a car. Remember that?”

  “No.”

  “Bullshit. You not only remember it, you drove off and two days later you took your car to a body shop in San Rafael to get it fixed.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Were you so fucking drunk that you don’t remember the collision, the other car in the water? The other car pinwheeled. That’s the word the truck driver behind you used. Pinwheeled. And you just fucking drove away. You killed my daughter, you fucking murderer.”

  “I didn’t do that.”

  “No, I’m not mistaken. You drove on and you had your car fixed and you wrote it off, like some bad debt, some incidental thing that you could fix with a check to somebody, and then it was over for you. Write a check and everything is OK.

  Money takes care of it, doesn’t it? Put your pen to the checkbook and whatever happens is cancelled out. But it was not over for me, you fucking cretin. And now you’re going to pay for it.”

  “You’re going to shoot me.”

/>   “No. You’re going to keep driving. You’re going to drive out to North Beach on the west side of the Peninsula. The big beach side. You’re going for a swim.”

  “You’re going to shoot me and dump my body in the ocean.”

  “No. I’m not going to shoot you. Unless you do something stupid between now and North Beach.” I pressed the gun harder into his crotch.

  “Drive,” I said. “Out to the end of the peninsula. Where the big beaches are. And remember that if you do anything to attract attention, swerve or drive too slow or drive erratically, I’ll pull the trigger.”

  We passed the Tomales Bay Lodge and I could see my car in front of the room I had rented. Hopefully Davy would do what I had asked. If he didn’t, I would have a long hike back from that beach, ten miles of walking, although a passing car could possibly give me a lift.

  “Look,” Winslow said. “I didn’t sideswipe your daughter’s car. You’ve got the wrong person.”

  “No, I haven’t. You have a house out here. In fact, we’ll pass the turnoff to it in just a moment. You had that Ford repaired two days after the accident. You paid cash for the repair and you gave a phony name and address to Gotellis. They’ve got a witness that says it was a Ford Expedition. A man driving it. It’s you, alright.”

  I realized that he was speeding up. No doubt he was going to turn the car off the road, risk surviving an accident rather than take his chances with me. “Slow down,” I said. “Thirty, that’s the right speed for this road.” I pressed the gun against his crotch harder for emphasis. We had reached the turn to the south to the big beaches, South Beach and North Beach and Drakes Beach off to the left. It would only be a few more minutes before the turnoff to North Beach. Off to the right the ocean was spread out, a low fog obscuring the horizon. It was a perfect day, cold and foggy, enough to discourage visitors. With any luck the beach would be empty. “Here,” I said. “Turn here.” We went down the narrow one-lane road. The road ended in the parking lot and I said, “All the way to the end.” We stopped opposite the empty ranger’s building. No cars other than the Mercedes.