Deep into the Dark

by P. J. Tracy

  In spite of Crawford’s new affability, Nolan’s presence through the questioning had been the sole comfort. Tombstone eyes, strawberry blond hair, and a chilly demeanor contrary to her compassion. Cold and warm, all at the same time. Like Yuki. Poor Yuki, alone in a morgue. “I need to see my wife, Detective. Would it be possible to do that when we’re finished here?”

  Nolan looked up from her computer. “Of course.”

  “Through all this, it’s like she was forgotten.”

  “You didn’t forget her, and neither did I. I never will.”

  “Do you remember every victim?”

  “By the time an investigation wraps up, I know everything about them, sometimes much more than their own families. You form a bond with them, so you never forget. And they deserve to be remembered.”

  “That must be difficult.”

  “I owe it to them.”

  “What do you remember most about them, their lives or their deaths?”

  The surprise registered conspicuously on her face. It was the first time Sam had been able to read her with any confidence.

  “I’ve never thought of it that way. But life and death are equally significant parts of a single continuum, so I guess I remember both with the same clarity.”

  Sam thought that was a good way to look at things. “You still haven’t told me how you pulled things together.”

  “Consuela Ortiz. I saw her on traffic cam footage getting into a Jeep Rubicon parked near your wife’s house the day she was murdered. I followed a whim.”

  Sam tried to squeeze a cogent thought out of his weary brain. “How do you know her?”

  “She cleaned for Ryan Gallagher. She was the one who found his body. We think Rolf drove the Jeep to your wife’s neighborhood yesterday and left it there after he killed her, probably figuring we’d be looking at traffic film and paying close attention to any vehicles leaving the area around the time of her death.”

  “So he had Consuela pick it up for him later.”

  She nodded. “He made up a yarn about having some kind of emergency and told her to take a bus to Marina Del Rey to get the Jeep.”

  “He was smart, but you’re smarter. That wasn’t dumb luck.”

  “Things fell into place when we needed them to.”

  Her comment was terse and dismissive, and Sam knew it was an attempt to place some distance between herself and what had happened, just like he’d always done. No need to dwell, everything turned out peachy, no big deal. But the truth was, tonight had been a very big deal, more for Nolan than anybody else because she’d killed somebody.

  “How are you, Detective?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t have to say that to me. I know. I understand.”

  She looked at him with sadness and maybe even a little trust. “Mr. Easton, before tonight, I’d never even discharged my weapon in the line of duty, let alone used deadly force. None of this seems real right now, but it will.”

  Sam nodded. “Yes, it will, and it’s something you’ll learn to live with because there’s no other choice. You’re intelligent and brave, Detective, and you made Max proud tonight.”

  Her cheeks colored and she looked down and started shuffling papers around on the table unnecessarily. “I think we’re finished here, Mr. Easton. Just two more things before we go. My colleague Remy Beaudreau would like to speak with you. He’s working the Miracle Mile cases.”

  “Sure. What’s the other thing?”

  She handed him her phone. “Call your mother, she just left a message.”

  Sam felt his stomach clench. Of course they’d been in contact with her while he was missing; it was the obvious thing to do. And she’d had no way to reach him. He should have thought of that earlier. Shit, he’d put the lovely Vivian Easton in yet another hellish holding pattern, waiting for news. He hoped she’d had some wine.

  “Thank you, Detective Nolan, I’ll call her right away.”

  “I’ll give you some privacy.” She stood and walked toward the door, then paused briefly and turned around. “And thank you, Mr. Easton, for what you said earlier. I hope Max is proud of me.”

  Chapter Seventy-five

  SAM FELT SICK WITH GUILT AS he listened to his mother sob. He’d only seen her cry once, at his father’s funeral, and it had been a very collected display of emotion because Vivian was a stoic, dignified woman. But now she seemed frantic, and when she finally calmed down enough to speak coherently, Sam understood.

  “I thought something horrible had happened, Sam, with the shock of Yuki’s murder. I thought you might have … I thought I might have lost you.”

  Sam closed his eyes. “Mom, I’d never do that to you. I’m so sorry you had to go through this. I’m okay.”

  “You’re not in trouble?”

  “No. I’ll call you when I get home and explain. It’s a long story.” He thought of her alone in that big house. She’d gotten used to being a widow, but he knew she didn’t like the solitude. “I’m going to be tied up here for a while longer, are you going to be alright?”

  “Sam, I’m fine now, and I’m sorry I can’t stop crying. I’m just so relieved. And Lee is here with me. I called him when I couldn’t reach you.”

  “God bless him. Mom, I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll cancel the dinner.”

  “Please don’t. The company would be nice. Maybe just what I need.”

  “I love you, son.”

  “I love you, too.”

  * * *

  Remy Beaudreau’s eyes were almost black, and something about them seemed chaotic, like they were barely containing mayhem. He was suffused with a manic energy even though he was sitting perfectly still. Sam would never know what his deeper waters were, but he felt an instant kinship with him—they were two men riding a razor.

  “You’ve been through an ordeal, Mr. Easton. I’m sorry for that, and very sorry about your wife.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  “Thank you for the courtesy of stopping by. This is more curiosity than anything, so I won’t keep you long.”

  “How can I help you?”

  “I’m sure Maggie … Detective Nolan told you I’m working the Miracle Mile killings.”

  Maggie. So that’s what her friends called her. “She did. You want to know about Rolf Hesse?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “You don’t think he’s the Monster?”

  “As of fifteen minutes ago, I’m sure he’s not. We chased that down and he has solid alibis for all three murders.”

  Sam frowned. Rolf had seemed like a blue-ribbon candidate. “He was cunning, are you sure about that?”

  “Positive. He was out of the country for the first two, visiting his father in Germany.”

  “What about the third?”

  “He was at UCLA, filming and editing a webinar on storyboarding with several other students and two professors. Trust me, we wanted him to be good for it, too, but it’s just not possible.”

  Sam felt slightly embarrassed for putting Rolf up on a pedestal of demonic, superhuman capability while at the same time impugning the competency of one of the country’s most elite homicide divisions. “But if you’re sure Rolf’s not the Monster, then why am I here?”

  “I’m interested in Ronald Doerr. You served with him.”

  Sam blinked at him, bewildered. “I did. He died two years ago, killed in action.”

  “I know.”

  “So why are you asking about him?”

  “We found a piece of paper with your address and his fingerprints at a crime scene two nights ago.”

  “Another Monster crime scene?”

  “Possibly. At the Rehbein Building.”

  “I read about that, but it sounded like a drug thing.”

  “It may have been.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  He shrugged.

  “That’s bizarre, but Ronald Doerr obviousl
y isn’t the Monster.”

  “No.”

  “So what are you thinking?”

  “He was either there at some point carrying your address or he came in contact with a piece of paper somebody else dropped at the scene. Somebody who knew him. Maybe somebody who knows you, too.”

  “We didn’t have any mutual acquaintances outside of our squad. Is there anything that ties the piece of paper directly to the Monster?”

  Beaudreau looked down and leafed through the pages of a file. “No. But since his prints popped from his military service and there was a BOLO on you, it was something I had to follow. In Homicide, you chase every single thing down to the end, whether it makes any sense or not.”

  Sam shook his head in bafflement. “I can’t explain it.”

  “Did he ever come to visit you here?”

  “Never. Rondo and I served together—Rondo is what we called him—but we were never close. Not even friends really, I guess. You rely on people in that type of situation, but it doesn’t necessarily make you buddies. The last time I remember seeing him was a few days before the blast. IED. They found his dog tags. That’s how they identified the bodies, it was pretty much all that was left.”

  Beaudreau winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “I am, too.”

  “You survived. How?”

  “I was on foot behind the vehicle when it was hit. Dumb luck,” he said, thinking of Nolan.

  Beaudreau fixed his tempest eyes on Sam’s, then reached into his desk, withdrew a card, and wrote something on it before passing it over. “If you think of anything, give me a call. Use the number on the back, it’s my private cell. Meantime, take care of yourself, go home, and get some rest.”

  “I will. I just have one more thing to do.”

  Chapter Seventy-six

  THE SHARP SMELLS OF FORMALIN AND death and antiseptic. The chill of the room. The ominous sound of a metal drawer sliding out on its tracks. The crackle of a body bag, the ratchet of a zipper.

  And his tiny, pale Yuki, a hideous black hole despoiling the left side of her forehead. She was motionless in this desolate place of sorrows, her flesh cold and stiff, far beyond the realm of the living and hopefully somewhere much better.

  Sam’s throat constricted. She was gone, truly gone. He touched her hair, still shiny in death—wasn’t that strange that her hair should look so alive when the rest of her didn’t?

  The last time he’d seen her she’d been crying. Their last moments together shouldn’t have been so sad. But yesterday they’d been two islands separated by turbulent water, privately despairing over the widening gap between them, the ugly end to a beautiful thing, and neither one of them had been able to confront it.

  If they’d been truly honest with each other, maybe things would have turned out differently. For all of her insights, Dr. Frolich hadn’t been able to tell him that very simple thing because he hadn’t been honest with her either. He’d lied to everybody in order to support the lies he told himself. And Yuki had done exactly the same thing. Denial had been their shared flaw and it had been ruinous.

  He thought about their lives together and their dreams for the future that hadn’t included imminent funeral plans. Two entwined lives struggling with so much loss and yet always love. Even yesterday the love had been there—battered, different, but still there. It would always survive in him as long as he lived, and he wasn’t going to let either life or love go.

  Sam forgave her and he hoped that she would forgive him, if it was possible wherever she was. And maybe one day he’d be able to forgive himself.

  He bent, kissed her cold forehead, and said goodbye.

  * * *

  The sun had risen by the time Nolan dropped Melody and Sam off at the parking lot of Will Rogers State Park. She got out with them and shook their hands, which seemed like a cold and perfunctory gesture considering everything they’d been through together. She was already calling them by their first names in her mind, but business was business and they weren’t friends. It was just trauma bonding, and that would dissipate as soon as she left them.

  “Take care, you two. I’ll be on mandatory leave for a few days, but you have my private number, in case…”

  In case what? You want to have coffee and keep alive a horrid episode we all want to forget?

  “… in case you think of something else pertinent in regard to what happened. The Monster is still out there, and although there doesn’t appear to be a connection, things can change.”

  The three of them stood awkwardly for a moment, listening to the maniacal chuckling of a mockingbird, until Melody finally broke the stationary tableau by reaching out to give her a hug, which stunned her. Her arms stayed stiff at her sides for a moment, but eventually she returned the hug and felt a warmth that made her throat tighten. It was hard to know what Sam was thinking because only half of his face had expression, but they locked eyes for a moment before she left and again, she felt the strange sensation that he had brought Max closer.

  As she drove to the station to give her own statement and tie up the details of her leave with the brass, she wondered how Sam and Melody would endure their next few days and weeks. Hopefully well. They had each other, and after overhearing part of Sam’s conversation with his mother, she knew he had her, too.

  She pulled into the parking ramp, which seemed much less ominous now that she’d killed somebody. Jaded, seasoned, whatever you wanted to call it, she possessed a dark knowledge that rendered an enclosed space with abundant hidey-holes for trolls thoroughly benign and inconsequential.

  Her mobile rang and she glanced down at the caller ID. It was Remy. “Hello?”

  “Maggie, how are you holding up?”

  “I’m exhausted. I’m about to turn in my gun and shield, then I’m going to go home and sleep forever.”

  “How about breakfast at the Pantry before you go home and sleep forever?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not? If you’re going to hibernate, you should get some food in you first.”

  Nolan stared out the windshield at all those pylons and shadowy corners that had seemed so scary a couple days ago. Remy didn’t seem so scary now, either. “Yeah, why the hell not?”

  Chapter Seventy-seven

  SAM DROVE MELODY’S BEAUTIFUL PEA-GREEN BOAT, sparing her ankle. Neither of them spoke until he pulled into his driveway.

  “I can’t imagine what seeing Yuki was like, Sam. I’m so sad for you.”

  “It was important. We were close again. One last time. Come in?”

  “I need to go home. I need to sleep. So do you.”

  “Just for a minute. I want to talk to you. I’ll make some bad coffee.”

  “Nothing could be as bad as what they gave us at the station.”

  “Your confidence might be misplaced.” Sam wanted to see her smile but realized it might be a while before that happened. It would be a while before he smiled, too. “Does that mean you’ll come in?”

  “For a little bit.”

  The house looked the same, but it didn’t feel the same as it had the last time he was here, just twenty hours ago? Twenty years ago? He was seeing it through different eyes, and he wasn’t sure he liked the view. Everything reminded him that Yuki was gone. But there were good memories here, too, and maybe they would eventually usurp the bad, consoling him as time passed.

  Mel sat down at the ugly, garage sale dinette table and unwrapped yesterday’s pastries, still sitting on the table beneath a shroud of plastic film. “I’m starving, but I don’t know if I can eat.”

  “Give it a try.” The coffee maker finally croaked out the last dribbles and he brought over two mugs and sat down across from her.

  “What did you want to talk about?” she asked, fiddling lethargically with a limp, sweating kolache.

  “Trauma. You’ve just been through a major one. I know what that’s like, I live through the aftermath every day.”

  “It was nothing like what you went through.
”

  “Listen to me. Trauma is trauma, you can’t compare experiences or assign designations of bad and worse. It’s what it does to your mind that matters.”

  “It’s messing with it.”

  “It’s going to take some time, and you’re going to feel a lot of things. Healing is hard and painful and scary and frustrating. Sometimes you don’t know if you’ll ever heal.”

  She took a sip of coffee, her eyes downcast. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s going to be different for you because you’re not alone.”

  “You weren’t alone, either.”

  “But I always felt that way because nobody around me understood. They were sympathetic, they were great, but they weren’t in my headspace, thank God. They couldn’t be. But we share this trauma, Mel. I’ll help you get through this. We’ll help each other get through this.”

  Her lip quivered. “I just want to go away.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Somewhere. Anywhere. I can’t be here anymore. I was ready to leave before all this. Now I have to leave. I don’t care where I go, I just need to be gone.”

  “This will always be with you, no matter where you go. Just like your past. Just like mine. Stay with me, Mel, just for a couple days. It’s no time to be alone. You were so brave, and you’re not going to tell yourself that every day, but I will.”

  She looked up at him. “You need your privacy. Time to work through things, time to grieve.”

  “I used to think that, but I don’t anymore. When Yuki left me, I made myself believe it was a positive thing. I didn’t think I had the right to ask her to stay because of what I put her through, and that was idiotic. It wasn’t good, it just made things worse for both of us. I should have fought harder. Mel, I’m telling you this and asking you to stay a while because you’re my friend and I’m yours and we can be there for each other in a way nobody else can. And this isn’t about … it’s not about…”