by Linda Ladd
“So you tell your patients not to face up to facts, but to go out to the boondocks of Missouri and hide under a rock.”
Black contemplated me as the plane began to move down the runway. “As you know, I’ve got a few secrets, too. I ended up in the boondocks of Missouri. Nothing wrong with that, either.” He pressed a button, and a door opened beside him, revealing a recessed liquor cabinet. He poured himself a finger of whiskey, tossed it back, and didn’t look happy. Not exactly his old debonair self. His face was serious; his voice was serious. We were suddenly a serious pair. “Annie Blue. I’m Black and you’re Blue. Pretty ironic under the circumstances, wouldn’t you say?”
I guess it was a joke, but he looked way too serious to be cracking gags. The sedative was relaxing me, all right; my arms were resting on my lap like slabs of bacon. My head was lolling on the headrest, then was pressed back against it when we lifted off the ground and up into the clouds at a sharp angle. We leveled off, and I stared out the porthole at heavy white clouds and blue sky, glad to be leaving the great state of California behind.
“Thanks for taking the spotlight off me,” I said after a minute, looking across at him. “I guess you have a lot of questions. I owe you some answers, so go ahead, ask.”
“You don’t owe me anything. Especially answers. I know what happened to you, and it makes you even more interesting.”
Well, that hit me wrong. Ms. Flippant reared her ugly head. “Oh, I get it. Now I’m your brand-new specimen. You can pin me to your couch and analyze me for your next book. Annie Blue, husband killer, and—” I started to add son killer, but I could not say it, not even under the effects of Prozac, or whatever the hell it was that I took. Our eyes met, and he knew what I was feeling. He always seemed to know everything.
“I hate psychiatrists,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut.
“I’m not your psychiatrist,” he said.
I said nothing for a moment; then I searched his face. “Why’re you doing this? You just got yourself in a war with the media, and now they’re going to start probing into your life, trying to dig up dirt. They’ll find out about your brother, just like they found out about me.”
“Guess I’m just one hell of a nice guy.” He was angry now. His face was tight; his tanned skin was flushed shades darker.
“Well, thanks for whisking me away, just like a Calgon commercial. I won’t forget it.”
Black definitely no longer found me amusing. He said, “You can trust me. I want you to trust me.”
“Yeah, that’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”
Black looked at me, and then he actually laughed. “Go to sleep. You’ll feel better if you rest on the flight. Because, my dear detective, Charlie’s the one who’s going to hammer you with lots of questions when you get back home.”
I shut my eyes, and then I shut my thoughts down, and then I slept.
Black woke me right before we landed. Another private airstrip. Another tan-and-black uniform. A helicopter to take us home. Boy, this was the life. But I felt better, more myself. The sleep was the first real rest I’d had since Dottie’s potion. The helicopter was a Bell 430 six-seater, deluxe model, I guess, with some more hand-stitched, supple leather recliners and a wood bar and plush, deep-pile carpet in shades of gold and black. To my surprise, Black climbed into the pilot’s seat. Amazing, the depths of this man’s talents. I wondered if he could cook, too.
“Put this on so we can talk,” he told me, handing me a headpiece with earphones and a little microphone. He slipped his over his head, poked on a pair of black aviator sunglasses, and focused on the elaborate instrument panel. I was a little nervous since I’d never ridden in a helicopter, but that was the least of my problems. Black handled it calmly and expertly, the way he did just about everything. In minutes we were skimming over tree-cloaked Ozark mountains on our way to Cedar Bend.
“I’m going to do a pass over your place and see if the media’s staked out your house,” he said in my ear. I nodded. I hadn’t thought of that yet. Unfortunately, the media was way ahead of me. There were three satellite dishes set up on the entrance road, and I could see somebody doing a remote newscast on my dock, with binoculars and a tripod camera.
Black banked into a turn and took us down to the other end of the cove to Harve and Dottie’s place. More satellite trucks, and a couple of people outside Harve’s chain-link fence. I pulled out my cell phone and punched in Dottie’s number. She answered on the first ring.
“Claire, where are you? Harve and I’ve been frantic.”
“Look out the window. I’m in Black’s helicopter, hovering over your house. Has the press been bothering you?”
“Yeah, I hear the rotors now. They’re coming out of the woodwork, the jerks,” Dottie said, and I saw her walk out on the rear sundeck and look up at us. Harve’s wheelchair came into view at the door, and she said, “Here, Harve wants to talk to you.”
“Claire, get the hell out of here. They’ll eat you alive if you come back. Find some place to hide out until I can get a gate up that’ll keep them off our road.”
“Tell him you’re staying with me. I have the security you need,” Black ordered in my ear.
I didn’t have a lot of choice, so I made the decision quickly. “I’m going out to Cedar Bend for a little while, but I’ll be home as soon as I can. Have they put together who you are yet?”
“Not yet. Dottie’s been running them off for me, bless her heart.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon. Take care.”
When we swept into Black’s resort over the lake, we could see about half a dozen boats and pontoons full of press people floating around the point. But Black was right. His penthouse was secure. They couldn’t get at either one of us there. Black put down on the round helipad as if he’d done it a million times, and he probably had. He took my arm and hurried me swiftly into his private quarters. Once inside the deserted lower level, he said, “Now you know why I have all this security set up for my patients. They can’t get to you here, no matter how hard they try.”
My welcoming committee from the sheriff’s office, on the other hand, had no problem piercing Black’s ultimate sanctuary. Bud showed up at Black’s private living quarters within thirty minutes of our arrival. When he saw us sitting on one of the long black sofas watching the boats watch us, he said, “Well, ain’t this sweet?”
Bud was as angry as I’d ever seen him. I didn’t blame him. I would be, too, if I were him. Peter Hastings and the reporters made it look worse than it was. Anyone who saw those photographs would assume I was having a hot and heavy affair with Black, and Bud wasn’t an exception. Truth was, I ought to have gotten as far away from Black as I could. But then I’d have had to face the reporters, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it, not yet. Tomorrow, maybe, tomorrow I’d be able to do it. I’d be stronger then, the shock would fade.
“I’m sorry, Bud,” I said, heartfelt, embarrassed. “It’s not true. Nothing’s going on between us.”
Both men looked at me; then Bud glanced at Black. “Could’ve fooled me. Pictures looked goddamned real, but, hey, technology’s a bitch now. You sayin’ the pictures of you and him together are doctored?”
Black stood up. He didn’t look particularly happy, either. He looked like he was going to knock Bud’s lights out. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let you two talk about this in private.”
“Gee, thanks, Doc. You’re a prince,” said Bud. Sarcastic as hell. Black left the room without replying; then Bud looked at me in utter disgust.
It hurt, but he had a good reason to be angry. “I made a big mistake, Bud. But it was just that one time, out on my dock, just a kiss and then he left.”
“That kiss is gonna cost you plenty, Claire, or should I call you Annie?”
He obviously felt betrayed. “Bud, I didn’t plan for this to happen. I didn’t tell you the truth about my past because I didn’t want it to come out. I wanted to forget it and start over. I didn’t tell anybody. Please, try to understand.
”
Bud paced back and forth in front of the windows, then sat down on a chair across from me. Frowning, agitated, he jerked loose his tie and said, “Getting involved with this guy, Black, is a mistake. I know you think he’s innocent, but what if he isn’t? Have you thought about that? Let me get you out of here before it gets worse. I’ll take you home. Or you can stay with me.”
“My house is under siege, so is Harve’s. So is yours the minute I show up there. Black can keep the press away from me, at least until I get my head back on straight and decide what to do. This is tough, Bud. It’s real hard to have to relive all this right now.”
Bud shook his head and gazed out over the lake. He didn’t say anything for a minute or two. “Okay, God, I’m sorry.” He swiped his hand over his jaw, and I realized he was unshaven. I’d never seen Bud unshaven. I didn’t know it was possible. “I got all bent out of shape when I saw him sittin’ here like some kind of spider in his web, gettin’ you all tangled up in his shit. I thought you hated his guts.”
“He’s not as bad as I thought.” That sounded so damn feeble that even I was embarrassed.
“Yeah, right.” Bud looked away from me, then stood up and paced, hands on his hips. I knew then something bad was coming. I just didn’t know how bad.
“The LAPD got an ID on the body out there.”
“Already?” I was surprised it had happened so soon, and I didn’t like the look on Bud’s face.
“The bad news is that you probably know her.”
I felt my mind recoil. Not again. I waited, afraid to ask.
“Her name is Freida Brandenberg. They said the two of you joined the force at the same time. That right?”
I nodded, thinking of the tough blonde with a dead-eye’s aim on the shooting range. My heart fell when I remembered the two towheaded little boys she was so proud of. “I didn’t know her very well. We went through the academy together. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”
“She disappeared while out runnin’, and they ID’d her fingerprints.”
I didn’t think I could feel worse than before, but I did. Bud’s next words clinched it.
“Now for the really bad news. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Charlie’s takin’ you off the case.” He stopped in front of the sofa and looked down at me. “Not just because of the publicity with Black, but because you know this victim. He said it’s just a formality. You’ll go on paid leave until things calm down. You should’ve told him about what happened in Los Angeles. He’s mad as hell and fendin’ off calls from all over the place, includin’ the governor’s mansion. That’s why he sent me out here instead of comin’ himself.”
“If he’ll give me a chance, I can explain.”
“I gotta get your gun and badge. I’m sorry, Claire.”
For a single moment, I couldn’t believe it was happening; then I thought, Well, why not? Everything else is falling apart. It’s a temporary thing, I told myself then, paid leave until he hears my side of the story. That’s not too bad. He’ll reinstate me. Where was all that female bravado when I needed it? I stood up and walked to where I’d left my bag on the bar. I got out my badge and tossed it to him.
“Man, I feel two inches tall,” he said as I reached under my tan linen blazer, pulled the Glock out of my shoulder holster, and handed it over. I felt completely naked. I hadn’t gone anywhere unarmed since I’d left California the first time.
“This’ll blow over,” he said. “Charlie’s furious with you, but you know him. He gets over things after he’s had time to think. Once he gets you in to explain what went down, he’ll change his mind about this.”
“Yeah, let me know when he cools down, and I’ll come in and talk to him.”
Bud nodded and paused a minute, but there wasn’t much else to say, so he left, but I’d be damned if I’d cry. I’d quit crying a long time ago, hadn’t felt anything in a long time, but I was feeling something now.
“Bud told me, Claire. I’m sorry.”
Black was back, standing in the doorway and watching me. He was always watching me, as if I were a ticking time bomb, for God’s sake. I had a feeling he was on the right track this time. I found myself wanting to collapse in his arms and quickly nixed that idea. Yeah, right, that’d make me feel great. “I’m okay. I’ve gotten through a lot worse than this. This is nothing.”
“I know you have. You’ve proven yourself to be a strong woman.”
I waited for him to ask me if I wanted to talk about it. I knew it was just a matter of time before he played doctor with me. Maybe I wanted him to insist on it; maybe I wanted my head to be probed and examined and analyzed. Maybe I didn’t know what to do, or say, or feel. Maybe I was crazy.
“Let me know if you need anything,” he said after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. “I’ll be down the hall, in my office.”
LIFE AFTER FATHER
Once, just outside Gulfport, Mississippi, on the highway that ran along the Gulf of Mexico, Brat was almost pulled over by a highway patrolman. But the brown Crown Victoria with blue flashing lights went ahead of them, speeding off after a black Cadillac that had passed them going eighty miles an hour. Brat never exceeded the speed limit; the new woman and the mother didn’t like to speed. So they drove slowly and carefully along, and once, Brat took a job in a funeral home to help with the embalming. The funeral director was amazed at the skill Brat showed at such a young age and paid well, although the three of them didn’t really need any more money. It was fun being around dead people in cold rooms again, like a family reunion, and once, Brat stole a black lady out of her coffin right before it was locked up for burial. The mother and the blond-haired woman were pleased to have a new friend.
Finally, Brat found the next person he was looking for. It was on a big lake, and the young man was dressed in a white T-shirt and swimming trunks and was fishing on the bank. Brat had followed him from his house and lay belly-down in the bushes, watching and swatting at gnats. When the young man stripped off his shirt and jumped in the water, Brat made sure that he couldn’t see how Brat eased into the water, too. The young man was a pretty good swimmer, but Brat was strong, too. The water felt cold against Brat’s naked body, and the cleaver was heavy as Brat came up behind the young man chosen to die.
The young man never saw Brat because he swam with his head down in the water, and it was easy for Brat to come up behind him and bring the cleaver down hard enough against his bare back to sever his spinal cord. The body twitched and floundered and bled, but Brat dragged it back to shore, hacked it up, and put all the pieces in a blue rolling Samsonite suitcase he’d bought the day before at Kmart. That was the day Brat realized it wasn’t as messy to kill in the water, because there was no need to clean up. The liquid heat dissipated, and Brat felt good about this latest accomplishment. Their little family was growing by leaps and bounds. Now there was a brother, too.
The next day Brat burned some parts of the young man’s body and reported into work at the funeral home.
Six months later, Brat killed the young man’s wife. She always drove her teenage girl to school every morning and then returned home and stayed in the little white house with the porch swing for the rest of the day by herself. Brat watched every day for a month from across a busy highway, in a parking lot of a McDonald’s restaurant. Then one day when it was raining hard and everyone was running for cover with newspapers over their heads or umbrellas, Brat ran into the backyard of the wife’s house. The back door was unlocked, and once he was inside, the sound of a radio playing was all he could hear. The hot river boiled up, higher and higher, and Brat could almost hear the mother and the sister and the brother saying, “She’s the one, she’s the one, kill her, kill her, we want her in our family.”
The lady was in the bathtub, just sitting there soaking, and Brat tiptoed up behind her and held her head under the water until she quit thrashing and splashing water all over the place. There was a razor on the edge of the tub, and Brat placed her hands under
the water so the blood wouldn’t spurt up and took the sharp razor blade and made a cut so deep on her wrist that her hand flopped down. The water quickly turned red and looked like the river of fire inside Brat, and Brat watched it for a while, fascinated, weak with satiation from the heat burning inside. When someone came in the front door and called the lady’s name, panic surged, and Brat jumped up and fled out the back door into the pouring rain. Terrified of being caught, Brat drove quickly to the silver travel trailer. The others were disappointed that Brat hadn’t brought a new friend, but they understood and forgave Brat. There were lots of others out there just waiting for Brat to make friends with them.
Brat was eighteen.
24
After Bud left Cedar Bend with my badge and weapon, Nicholas Black saw fit to make himself scarce. Maybe that was because I immediately retreated to a big, quiet guest bedroom at the far end of the wing, as far away from him as I could possibly get, and shut the door. He could take hints with the best of them. In fact, I didn’t trust myself to be around him in my present mood. I’d been devastated before, lots of times, and I knew what I needed to do. Bury myself in a deep, dark hole and lick my wounds.
The chemistry between Black and me was alive and well, but it wasn’t going to jump into a higher gear just because I was down on my luck. Maybe some other time, some other place. But here, now, in the middle of a murder investigation with him, the suspect, and me, the detective, it had complicated everything and knocked me off the case.
So I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time. I thought of my dead son, my dead husband, the dead woman who died while baby-sitting my son that awful night, my dead friend Freida Brandenberg, and lots of other dead people. I wished I was dead, too, for a while, until I got sick of my morbid thoughts and jumped out of the bed. I thought I’d learned to cope, but this time it was different. This time I couldn’t shut it down. Worse, I couldn’t let go of the anger forming into a hard, tight knot in my chest and eating away at my insides.
I stood inside a huge black marble-and-glass shower enclosure under almost scalding water for so long, my skin came out red and wrinkled. When I entered the bedroom again, a bunch of shiny black boxes were stacked on the bed, all with the raised gold Cedar Bend logo on the top. Inside the boxes, I found enough clothes to last me a month, all in my size, including a red silk gown and matching robe. Looked like Black was still playing caretaker. Somehow that made me angry and resentful, but hey, everything was making me angry and resentful.
