Deep into the Dark

by P. J. Tracy

  “It’s not impossible. Physiologically, tranquilizers suppress your central nervous system; and that may have opened up a playing field for other factors, psychiatric or neurological. But that’s a secondary concern for now.”

  Sam had never thought of tranquilizers releasing other dubious creatures of the mind and body, but he was a little anxious about her hint of a more pressing, primary concern. “So what do we do?”

  “Honestly, Sam, I would strongly recommend a short hospital stay to remove yourself from the things that are triggering your episodes, allow yourself and your brain to process and rest, and also to get some more tests. I spoke with Dr. Guzman at length yesterday and he concurs. He’s very concerned that there might be some new neurological issues, and identifying them could help us form a better treatment plan.”

  Sam was nonplussed by his knee-jerk revulsion to the suggestion, which in all fairness did possess some logic. “I’m not going to check myself into the hospital.”

  “It would only be for a day or so.”

  “Voluntary commitment to the psych ward? I don’t think so.”

  “Not a psych ward, a hospital, for testing and diagnostics. I can get you into UCLA tonight.”

  “The healing I need to do isn’t going to happen in a hospital while I’m getting poked and prodded and shoved into machines.”

  “Or it could facilitate healing. You would have a team of doctors working on your behalf, myself included. As your psychiatrist, that’s my recommendation. It’s entirely your choice, Sam, but please consider it.”

  Chapter Fifty-three

  MELODY TUCKED HER GUN AND AN extra clip deep into her suitcase beneath several changes of clothes. She’d tossed in a fresh Pearl Club tank and pair of shorts, too, just in case Teddy’s security system solved the case of her stalker and she would be free to go out in public again, tending bar at Pearl without fear.

  She sent Ashley a text and told her she couldn’t come into work tomorrow. There had been a threat and the police were concerned about her safety. The threat part was speculative, but Nolan and Crawford had suggested she lay low, stay someplace else for the night, and she was damn well going to abide by their recommendation.

  She had to sit on her overstuffed bag to zip it, then she went to the bedroom window and dumped out the remaining peanuts Jim had left after his binge so he had some fodder while she was gone. It was knee-jerk to check the lock after she’d closed it, as pointless as it was.

  On the dresser next to the window were the red roses, even more spectacular today as their tight blooms unfurled. How sad that she would never enjoy the beauty of roses again. They would always represent fear to her now.

  Melody rolled her suitcase into the hallway, got her guitar case from the closet there, and packed up her Gibson—Netta’s Gibson—sans the rose. It was all she had left of her. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Sam she’d found it in a pawn shop. It took her six months to find it after she’d gotten clean, and it was no small miracle that it had come back to her. They’d been through a lot together and she wasn’t going to leave it for some maniac.

  She wondered why the maniac hadn’t taken the guitar in the first place, but maybe that was the next phase of his plan. And maybe killing Sam was a part of the next phase, too, Yuki had just been a warning shot.

  Why was someone after her now?

  It was a good question, but since she’d been anonymous during her rocker days, maybe it had taken her tormenter all these years to track down Roxy Codone after she’d dropped off the face of the planet, lived on the streets, and finally reemerged as Melody Traeger, bartender and college student.

  The cops had thought it was a good theory, but they’d also been fairly upfront about the hopelessness of pursuing it. In its heyday, Poke had enjoyed some devoted fans, but that was a long time ago. But the black Jeep had given them something to chew on, and maybe it would get them closer to an answer. Maybe it would be the answer.

  The police assigned to the case were gone now, no doubt looking at vehicle registrations and hoping to find a violent former felon obsessed with Poke who drove a black Jeep Rubicon. Teddy had left on his heroic quest to acquire a security system. Only Nolan and Crawford remained. She paused when she heard them arguing about something outside and walked softly to the front door, hoping to eavesdrop. It was no problem. The walls were thin and she could hear everything they said.

  “They found the weapon that killed Yukiko Easton in a dumpster half a mile away from her house, Mags, and it’s registered to Sam Easton. His fingerprints are all over it, and all over her house.”

  “He told me his fingerprints would be all over the house. And he probably gave her the gun for self-protection when she moved out. Anybody could have used it, including Dawson Lightner. It’s not enough to arrest him.”

  “It is if you consider the other factors, like the holes in his alibi for this morning, the cheating wife, his presence at her house, the fact that he’s under psychiatric care, it’s plenty. That’s a solid case to argue for an arrest, but I’m not saying we should. Not yet.”

  “What’s your plan, then?”

  “Bring him in for questioning. If he’s as unstable as Dawson Lightner said he was, we can crack him easy if he’s good for his wife. And I’m liking him better and better for Gallagher’s murder, too.”

  Melody shrank back from the door. Sam a killer? There was no way, they had something wrong. Didn’t they?

  “We never thought he was good for Gallagher. Don’t make a case for convenience,” Nolan countered.

  “You never did, but I always thought his connection with Traeger made him a possible. Listen, I understand you’ve got a soft spot for Easton, you have some things in common, but don’t make this about Max.”

  Max? Melody moved closer to the door again and pressed her ear against it.

  “Fuck you, Al. This isn’t personal. Sam Easton might be damaged, but he’s not an insane, psychotic killer.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you another option: Traeger. She kills her abusive boyfriend, then steals one of her lover’s guns and gets rid of the wife.”

  “Put it back on the rails. Traeger’s not our killer, but she might be the next person on a slab if we don’t get our shit together.”

  “We need to make a move.”

  As Melody waited for Nolan’s reply, she realized she was shaking so hard that her teeth were chattering. After a long silence, she finally heard the detective’s voice.

  “Okay, let’s bring him in.”

  Melody slowly, carefully backed into the kitchen, trying not to make a sound. She jammed herself into the furthest space away from the front door and called Sam, praying he would answer. He did.

  She spoke in a rushed whisper. “Nolan and Crawford are coming to take you in.”

  “For what?”

  “They have evidence that links you to Yuki’s murder.”

  “That’s impossible. How do you know?”

  “I overheard them talking. Crawford wants to arrest you, Nolan doesn’t.”

  “Are they still there?”

  “I think so. We need to talk.”

  “Can you come over now?”

  “That was my plan, but they might get a head start.”

  “I’m leaving my house now. Pick me up in the alley behind that bakery by my house, will you do that?”

  Melody kept her silence for a moment, revisiting her conversation with Nolan about her relationship with Sam: friends and colleagues for six months, never lovers. In truth, she really didn’t know him that well, even though she felt like she did. And she definitely didn’t know how deep his problems ran, maybe much deeper than the things he’d shared with her. There was compelling evidence against him, and he’d pointed out she was a poor judge of character.

  Her uncertainties about him felt like a betrayal, but she had a strong survival instinct, too, which told her to push away from trouble. She’d had enough of that in her life. “You seriously want to run from the
cops?” she finally said.

  “Temporarily. Listen, Melody, don’t do this if you’re not comfortable with it. But I’m not a killer. I hope you believe that.”

  She did believe it. With all her heart. And if she was wrong … well, she just wouldn’t worry about that right now. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Chapter Fifty-four

  IF YOU WANTED TO DISAPPEAR FOR a while, a city with millions of people was a good place to do it—unless you had a badly disfigured face. Los Angeles didn’t have a lot of places that offered privacy, but Sam decided Will Rogers State Park in the Santa Monica Mountains was a decent choice. It had plenty of isolated spots along the hiking trails, and there had been times he’d gone running there and not seen another soul.

  On the drive there, he and Melody exchanged information and when he heard about Poke and the white rose, something crystallized in his mind. Whatever was happening, things were coming to some kind of a head and they were both in danger. It wasn’t paranoia, it was just common sense.

  He’d been completely upfront with her about his blackouts and hallucinations—he owed her that. No more secrets at this stage of the game. Their lives might depend on mutual honesty. His story hadn’t sounded any better the second time around. No wonder Dr. Frolich wanted him in the hospital, and maybe Melody did, too. It was a lot to take in all at once.

  After a short hike, they found a secluded spot on the lip of a ravine that was sheltered by eucalyptus and live oak. Neither of them spoke as they watched the sun sink toward the mountains, a full moon rise.

  “Why did you lie about the guitar earlier?” he finally broke the silence.

  “It’s part of my past. It’s second nature to deny anything about it.”

  “Not all of it is bad. Especially not the guitar.”

  “I know, but it’s hard for me to separate it from everything else.”

  “You can learn how to do it. I happen to know a good shrink who could help you.”

  She cocked a brow at him, the corner of her mouth twitching as she tried not to smile. “And what would your shrink say about the fact that we’re fugitives from the law, sitting in the middle of a park, staring down at a scrubby ravine?”

  “She would say it’s a perfect metaphor for our situation. But all things considered, I think she’d understand after overanalyzing it.” The brief detour into levity was a relief, a safety release valve during times of crisis or despair. But it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. He took her hand. “Don’t let the past take away something you love, Mel. I know a little about that and it sucks.”

  She squeezed back, then released him and hugged herself against the encroaching evening chill that was sweeping inland from the ocean. “I’m scared, Sam.”

  “I know. I am, too.”

  “Last night, you told me not to avoid the cops. Was that ‘do as I say, not as I do’?”

  “This is a different situation.”

  “But you said you didn’t kill Yuki and I believe you. They’ll figure that out.”

  “Crawford is after me. And they have my gun and my prints.”

  “You explained that to me, and it’s exactly what Nolan told Crawford. She’s on your side. Crawford said she has a soft spot for you, something about Max. Who is he?”

  Sam looked at her, at the tight lines fanning from the corners of her eyes. Her bruise was starting to yellow around the edges. “Her brother. He was killed in Afghanistan. But that won’t keep her from doing her job. Mel, if they bring me in, they have less reason to look for somebody else, which is what they need to be doing.”

  “The fact that you’re hiding from them also gives them less reason to look for somebody else. It looks bad, Sam. Really bad.”

  “Having hallucinations or breaking down in custody would look bad, too. So would checking myself into the hospital. They already think I’m unstable. I’m screwed in all ways.”

  “What’s our plan, then?”

  Sam felt the glancing blow of another encroaching migraine behind his eyes. “I’m working on that.”

  “You can’t just live in a park and wait for them to find the real killer. And you can’t hide from them forever.”

  She was right about that. “Mel, I’m not just hiding from the cops, I’m hiding from the person who’s after us. This is all connected, it has to be. Ryan first, then Yuki. The black Jeep at both our houses. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

  She let out a shaky sigh. “It is connected, that’s why I’m scared. But the cops are looking at that, too.”

  “This guy killed your boyfriend and my wife in twenty-four hours. I’m worried about who might be next. Look, I know this might sound irrational and paranoid, and you have every justification for questioning my sanity after everything I just told you. But look at it this way, even if the cops weren’t planning to take me in, the fact remains that neither one of us has a safe place to stay tonight, at least not in my mind, and I’m guessing not in yours. The cops will understand that. And I’m going to be totally honest with you. I’m on shaky ground right now and I need a night to pull myself together. I can’t do that in an interrogation room, and if I get pushed any further—into some kind of major break—I don’t know if I could ever come back. That’s what scares me most.”

  Her eyes filled. “Oh, Sam, I didn’t even think of that. I’m sorry.”

  Somehow, he managed a smile and wiped a tear from her cheek. “No reason you would have, you just found out how crazy I was.”

  “You’re not crazy.”

  “From your lips.”

  “But what are we going to do? Check into a hotel?”

  “We can’t use our credit cards, they’ll be looking for that. And we definitely don’t want to stay anywhere that takes cash.”

  “So I guess I’m homeless again.”

  “Melody, you don’t have to do this. You can check into a hotel and maybe the cops will put an officer by your door.”

  “I don’t want you to be alone.”

  “I don’t want you to be alone, either. I have this macho fantasy that I can protect you better than anybody.”

  “I trust you more than the cops. If we can’t stay anywhere, we’ll just have to drive all night, take turns sleeping.”

  “The cops will be looking for our cars, too. I think we’re stuck here until we can figure something out.”

  Melody dug in her bag and pulled out her buzzing phone. “Nolan again.”

  “They’ll keep calling. Turn it off, they’ll be watching those, too.”

  She let out a sigh of frustration. “So we’re completely cut off.”

  “You said it, we’re fugitives from the law.”

  “You’re a good person to be a fugitive with, you think of everything.”

  “You learn a lot of helpful things in the Army.”

  Melody tipped her head to look at him and the shadows of eucalyptus branches filigreed her face. “You need to rest, Sam. In a bed. There’s got to be something we can do. What about your mom?”

  “I don’t want her involved in this.”

  She shoved her phone back in her bag and noticed Rolf’s script. She’d forgotten all about it. His visit to Pearl seemed like something that had happened decades ago.

  If there was ever a time for a Hail Mary, this was it.

  Chapter Fifty-five

  “NO WAY, MEL. IF I’M NOT already over the edge, Rolf will put me there.”

  “Just hear me out. He invited us over to look at storyboards tonight and said we could stay if we wanted to. He also said he’d get us a suite at Two Bunch Palms if we go to the desert with him. We have no connection to him. It would buy us time to figure out what to do, and we could both rest without worrying about the cops or the bogeyman coming for us during the night. And we don’t have to tell him anything.”

  Sam’s headache was throbbing relentlessly now, pacing his heartbeat. How had he gotten to a place in life where the only person who could help him was a screwed up, self-involved kid?
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  “I know he’s annoying, but we don’t have any other choices unless you want to sleep out here tonight.”

  Sam didn’t want to sleep outside with no gear, but he didn’t know if there were enough tranquilizers in the world to make Rolf tolerable. “I don’t know, Mel.”

  “You said you needed time to pull yourself together. You could beg off sick and I could keep him occupied. He doesn’t bug me as much as he does you.”

  “He will, just give him time.”

  “He’s a spoiled, socially impaired kid. It could be worse. If he stresses you out, you can go sit in the pool. It has a waterfall. That’s bound to be good for your chakras, whatever they are.”

  “A waterfall?”

  “That’s what he told me.”

  “A pool with a waterfall might instantly heal me. Maybe Rolf could baptize me while we’re at it.”

  She gave him a long-suffering look. “Now is not a great time for sarcasm, even though I’m generally a big fan of its curative properties. We have to decide something, Sam.”

  “I know, but if we do this, we still have problems. For one, we can’t call him from our phones and we have no idea where he lives, or if the offer’s still good.”

  “Of course the offer is still good, we just have to play it. And I’ll borrow a phone. There are still people in the park.”

  “We can’t drive your car to get there.”

  “We’ll leave it here and I’ll call for a ride after I talk to Rolf.”

  Sam considered carefully. It was a solution, the only solution he could see. “Get a cab so we can pay cash.”

  “Way ahead of you.”

  * * *

  Chez Hesse wasn’t in the Beverly Hills Flats but in the actual hills, where only the ultrawealthy of the wealthy 90210 denizens lived. A high, bougainvillea-covered fence and gate obscured the property from the street, but once Rolf had opened it from his control center somewhere up in Valhalla, Sam could see a long, climbing drive, elegantly lit and lined with cypress, flanked by a sloping, emerald green lawn.