The Long Gray Goodbye: A Seth Halliday Novel

by Bobby Underwood

  “When was the last time you saw Susan?”

  “Susan I saw a few days before she went missing apparently. In fact, it was the day Holly killed herself. I always thought perhaps that that’s why Susan disappeared. Because she hadn’t been able to prevent her from killing herself. She was a lovely person and it would have hurt her.”

  I pulled out the copy of the note and handed it to Amélie. “Is that the day you gave her this?”

  She looked at the note a very long time. And then I realized she was crying. She whispered, “Yes.”

  The door was open for my next question, but there was regret here and I could not turn away. I said softly, “You were in love with Susan, weren’t you?”

  She nodded, just barely, but she nodded. I had the feeling it was something she’d never told anyone. Sometimes it is easier to tell a stranger something of a terribly intimate nature simply because they are a stranger, and have no meaning yet in our heart.

  “She was so wonderful. She was as pretty as Holly, but there was such deep kindness in her, a goodness. She had a bit of wonder and magic about her that I don’t think she even realized she had. No one else I’ve ever known has come close to making me feel that way. She was a bit older than me. The first woman I ever fell in love with. She would come in for coffee after sessions with her patients. I always made certain I was the one who waited on her.”

  She looked down at the note and a sad little smile formed on her full lips.

  “I think the day I gave her this was the first time she actually noticed me. I was excited, and I took my chance at heaven. I was in love with her as I’ve never been in love with anyone since. I wanted to worship at her feet, kiss her all over, make her know how wonderful she was. I wanted to stroke her and drink from her. And I wanted her to love me. I dreamed about her undressing me, telling me I was beautiful, then taking me in her arms. I wanted to run my fingers through her soft silky hair as I wrapped my pretty legs around her neck and she tasted me, and made me belong to her forever.”

  We remained silent while she finished her cigarette. After she dropped the stub in a can beside the bench I said softly, “That note was in the coat of the woman in the river, and she didn’t kill herself. She was murdered.”

  The sadness and tenderness in her eyes as she’d recalled feelings ten years old turned to understanding and pain.

  “Then it was Susan who was murdered? That’s why she didn’t come back to pick me up.” She wiped away a tear, and then suddenly she couldn’t keep up with them.

  “Is it possible the note could have found its way into Holly’s coat pocket?” I asked, throwing her a lifeline. I also had to be absolutely sure, before I informed Laura.

  “No. It was raining that day. Holly didn’t own a coat like that. I knew it was Susan’s because I’d seen her wear it before. And I saw Susan put my note in her pocket. She even thanked me, sweetly.” She closed her big eyes a moment and then opened them. “The bridge is near the café. Susan was alone.”

  “Then Susan is dead. I’m sorry I had to be the one to let you know.”

  She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Thank you. I know it’s not something you understand, which makes your kindness all the greater.”

  She reached into her bag and pulled out another long cigarette and lit it. She laughed, “This is a two-cigarette night.” She blew out a wisp. “So, does this mean Holly Carmichael is alive?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I guess I didn’t help Laura Garner, after all.”

  “I think you did. Maybe like you, she needed to know.”

  She nodded. Then she looked at me in an odd way.

  “You’re very soft-hearted for a man who goes around shooting people.”

  “That’s not all I do.”

  “What else do you do?”

  I reached over and took her hand in mine and held it. I said, “Sometimes I sit with beautiful French girls in Paris while they finish their second cigarette, and reflect wistfully on what might have been.”

  I felt her hand squeeze mine for a moment and then she leaned her head against my shoulder and kept it there for a while.

  Thirty-Eight

  The mood at the hotel was subdued, the murder more real now that we could put a face to it. It had been too late in Paris to call Athea or Benoît, but it was hours earlier in Miami. When Sonny and Katarina quietly retired to their room for the night Caroline and I crawled into bed and I called Laura Garner.

  “Hello, Laura Garner speaking.”

  “Laura, it’s Seth.”

  “Seth! I had no idea this would be so dangerous. Are you and Caroline safe?”

  “Yes, there has been some violence, but fortunately I ended up on the giving end, for the most part.”

  “So I’ve heard.” I knew she was stalling, sensing I’d called her with news.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t been updating you, but I wanted to have something definite before I called.”

  “I know. You have something now, don’t you?”

  “Laura, I’ve spoken with the person who examined the body. And I’ve questioned a heretofore unknown witness. She didn’t see the crime, but she knew both your sister and Holly. Her name is Amélie Chabert. She worked at a cafe near the bridge.” I hesitated, wondering how much Laura needed to know. She’d waited a long time.

  “She was in love with your sister, but from afar. Susan evidently had no idea. A note she’d given Susan a short time before she was murdered stating her affections was in the pocket of Susan’s coat. I’m as close to one-hundred percent certain that it’s Susan’s body here in Paris as I’m likely to ever get, Laura. I believe Boon murdered her as a prelude to getting Holly back, because she had been helping Holly. I’m truly sorry to have to be the bearer of such bad news.”

  A long pause followed. Finally she asked very softly, “Have you told Athea?”

  “No, it’s late here, past one in the morning. She’s been a tremendous help. She’s a fine woman. I thought I’d call her on the way out in the morning so I wouldn’t wake her up.”

  “Let me do it. I’ll call her in the morning, don’t worry. You’re headed back to Ecuador?” Her voice was quiet, the conversation helping her focus on something besides the finality of her sister’s death. It would hit her once we hung up and she was smart enough to know it.

  “No, I want to look at Susan’s house. You told us you’d left everything as it was all these years. Maybe I’ll find something the cops missed. They didn’t realize at the time she’d been murdered because the French police didn’t know. They probably weren’t looking that hard.”

  I heard a slow, deep intake of breath followed by a very loud exhalation.

  She said defeatedly, “I couldn’t bring myself to have it all boxed up and put in storage. It would have been like admitting she was never coming back. So I kept all her things there for her, in case…”

  She didn’t finish the thought but she didn’t have to. As long as she’d left Susan’s house and her things as they were, there existed hope. A time would come now when she went through those things personally, taking sentimental mementos to remind her of the big sister who had got between her and an abusive father.

  She said, “Why didn’t the police figure this out all those years ago?”

  “Boon paid off the person handling the investigation into Holly’s death, so that it would never come to light that it had been murder, or that it had been Susan, and not Holly. Having Holly dead worked in Boon’s favor. No one ever goes looking for a dead girl.”

  “No one except former Miami cops with big hearts, anyway.” I didn’t know what to say to that.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be, you’ve given me an answer I’ve waited ten years for. It’s not your fault it’s such an awful one. At least now I’ll be able to grieve. I was caught in between. It’s a terrible place to be.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it is. But that doesn’t make it any less painful.”

  “It�
�s God’s way of letting us heal.”

  “I suppose,” I said. “It’d be nice if there was a better way.”

  “Yes, it would. What about the policeman?”

  “He’s dead. He tried to kill Caroline and I tonight and failed.”

  “Oh, wow! Thank God you’re okay! Is Caroline there with you?”

  “Yes, let me switch sides on the bed. The phone’s over here.”

  “Oh, don’t do that. Just hang up and I’ll call her on her phone. But thank you for everything. I know this isn’t finished yet, Seth. You need to find Holly now, if she’s alive. It’s the only way to get justice for Susan, and that girl who was thrown from the plane. Holly was Susan’s friend. Save her if you can, Seth. If she’s alive.”

  “I’ll do everything I can.”

  “I know. What do we do with this news?”

  “I’d like to keep it quiet for now. As long as Boon isn’t certain whether I know he killed Susan, and maybe has Holly, he’ll be off balance. It’s not much of an advantage, but it’s all I have right now.”

  “Okay, I’ll sit on it until we know something more and this is all resolved.”

  “Okay. I’ll hang up now so you can call Caroline.”

  “Alright, bye.”

  Caroline had been sitting up in bed listening. Her phone rang less than thirty seconds after I hung up. The two of them were still talking when I fell asleep.

  Thirty-Nine

  Benoît was happy to hear that his suspicions had been correct, but saddened that it had turned out to be Laura Garner’s sister. I told him about Baumé bugging the hotel and making a run at us on the streets of Paris. He was getting ready for work when I called early in the morning as we boarded our flight to Greece. He hadn’t realized yet that Baumé’s body would be waiting on him when he arrived. He wasn’t exactly heartbroken at how Baumé had ended up. He promised to hold off updating his records so I could have a free hand to discover if Holly was alive.

  It hadn’t taken long for Caroline and I to reach Greece. Sonny and Katarina had flown back to Ecuador. Sonny figured Harry might be a little unhappy having so many people aboard, especially when one of them was Fernando Marquez. Not to mention the interruption in his liaison with the pretty Ecuadorian playmate. I couldn’t blame him on either count if he was a bit perturbed. Sonny flew back to make certain Harry hadn’t started hitting the bottle more than was safe because of it.

  As our plane approached Athen’s airport, I heard Caroline whisper as she placed her fingertips on the window, “The Acropolis,” as though she were speaking the name of the one whose name shall not be spoken in Harry Potter. Except her whisper was not born from fear, but reverence for the history of one of the world’s oldest cities. I knew we would have to come back here when Caroline could explore and walk among ancient ruins which would thrill her heart.

  From Eleftherios Venizelos where we landed in Athens we took a cab to catch the ferry which would take us to the Island of the Winds, Mykonos. Caroline barely spoke. But her eyes were bright and alert, and I could feel her excitement beside me. She had dressed in a white blouse and blue shorts, and had somewhere produced a blue shoulder-bag I’d never seen before. Just before I had nodded off last night I’d heard her laughing as she and Laura talked on the phone. It had probably been good for Laura, after the news of her sister’s murder, but it had obviously been good for Caroline, too. In fact, Laura was the first friend that she’d made who hadn’t already been a friend of mine, first.

  An old man in his seventies who looked like your stereotypical Greek — rough skin, big nose, thick glasses — asked us if we were tourists and Caroline told him we were. He was a native of the Greek island. His name was Abercio because he had been the first born of five brothers. He explained that we were very lucky, because the big boats — I knew he meant cruise ships — brought in loads of college kids who loved the nightlife in Mykonos. One of them had just departed, however, and another would not be arriving for two days. It was a stroke of good fortune.

  Abercio explained that the largest town on the island was called Mykonos, or Chora, because it was the custom in Greece for the principal town to have the same name as the island. He had been a professor of history, retired, so he and Caroline chatted non-stop on the ferry over to the island.

  Caroline had some blank spots which Abercio filled in for her, waiting patiently while she wrote on her little squares without asking questions. What Caroline did remember she remembered in spades, and the two of them went off on a colorful and lively conversation about Kares and Ionians. The Romans and Venetians and the Fourth Crusade were mentioned. Names like Hayreddin Barbarossa and Kapudan Pasha were bandied about.

  Abercio became very spirited in discussing with a fascinated Caroline the Greek Revolution against the Ottoman Empire in 1821. It appeared to be a passion of his, and he was writing a book about it. If his prose proved as lively as his oral skills he could be the next Stephen Ambrose. As we drew closer to the shoreline of the thirty-three square mile island, their conversation trailed off.

  I’d felt a change upon touching down in Athens, sensing that the romanticism and special aura of Paris had been left behind. But Mykonos had its own atmosphere, different even than other areas of Greece. I felt my soul slowing, my internal clock coming to a standstill so that I could enjoy this white and blue paradise seemingly separate from the rest of the world’s woes, even its own. Greece had proven as had been proven time and again that socialism was a shared misery which only worked until the small minority working to pay everyone else’s way ran out of funds. Then austerity measures came in to play, but too late to forestall a colossal failure the country had brought on itself. Now Greece wanted Germany and the rest of Europe to pay its way.

  But that was over there, in Greece. This was Mykonos, a seaside sanctuary so timeless that I half expected to glimpse Hercule Poirot and Captain Hastings walking along the dock as we disembarked from the ferry. The sun was bright and seemed even brighter because of all the white homes dotting the shore and the rays’ reflection off the blue sea. Though the temperature was in the eighties — Fahrenheit — a cooling wind from the North, the Meltemi off the Aegean Sea, made it perfect weather.

  Abercio did not have a mobile phone, feeling about them much as I did, but patting Caroline’s hand to show he did not include her in his disdain for a generation which no longer made deeper connections. Caroline gave him her phone number so they could remain in touch and he was delighted. It struck me that Caroline was beginning to blossom and it made me happy.

  On the dock Abercio said he must get home to his wife, but recommended a café just down the shore. He suggested — because it was late morning, and not quite lunchtime yet — that we try an Omeletta with Kopanisti Mykonou, a spicy cheese found mostly in Mykonos. Caroline was game, of course, but the spicy part gave me second thoughts. He waved to us as he walked away.

  Caroline and I headed for the café where we could sit and watch the waves splashing against the stone walkway beneath our feet. The more famous view from Santorini, according to Abercio, was majestic but distant, because you saw the sea from above. Here in Mykonos, he claimed, you were right on the water, more a part of the sea. He appeared to be right. It seemed very intimate.

  After some uncertainty concerning the pecking order for tables lined against the white wall of the eatery and how we ordered, we got it all straightened out and could just soak in the atmosphere. It was busy, people coming and going. All but one other of the small round tables had couples eating and chatting away. The sky above was bright blue. High above us to our right a white cross extended from the roof of a white church. To our left the harbor was filled with small and medium sized boats. Nearest to us, small boats. Some distance down the curving shoreline, we could make out rows of umbrellas and people lying under them on the beach.

  I had Greek bread and scrambled eggs while Caroline tried the meal Abercio had recommended. She loved it. She kept looking around and smiling. She had been
chatty with Abercio on the ferry ride to Mykonos, but she was quiet now. She kept smiling at me and looking around; at the shoreline; at the blue and white houses that looked so clean and bright and cheerful; at the famous windmills on the hills of Chora.

  Caroline pinched off a piece of her omelette and tossed it to one of the pelicans who had wondered from the streets down near the shore. And then I saw her wipe away a tear. I reached over and cupped her chin.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She smiled and looked out at the white foamy wave headed for the stone walkway where we sat.

  “I feel like I’m repeating myself. But I used to dream about coming here, Seth. When I was at momma’s I’d close my eyes in bed and dream all that stuff had never happened. I’d imagine coming here after an exhausting dig to unwind. They were just…pathetic daydreams then. And now, I’m here. I’m eating on the shore with the best thing that ever happened to me, helping him look into a murder. Doing something…important. I love you so much, Seth.”

  And suddenly she wasn’t in her chair any longer, but in my lap. She put her arms around my neck and I held her as she looked out to sea. The other couples ignored us. Maybe it happened all the time in Mykonos.

  We spent the next two hours walking through the small streets of white and gray stone, admiring the greenery and blossoms of red and fuchsia hanging over the blue balconies of white houses. Caroline had a bag full of memories — knickknacks mostly — by the time we came to Susan’s house.

  The key was under a flower pot just where Laura told Caroline it would be. Despite the easy access, the slight musty smell when we opened the door told me no one had taken the opportunity for theft. Laura had apparently arranged for someone to come in once a month and dust, according to Caroline, so Susan’s house was clean. I had to assume because of the musty smell that it was approaching a month, because any house shut up for two or three weeks acquires a smell.