SUMMER of FEAR

by T. Jefferson Parker

Already, I could see Izzy's concentration waning, the deep exhaustion showing forth from her lovely eyes.

  She smiled dreamily, closed her eyes, and squeezed my hand. "Nap time."

  As I released her hand and set it on her chest, I saw the blue bruising that the IV needle made, the tape that kept it the little loop of clear tubing that would fill with blood if directional flow was interrupted. How vicious and factual, way the steel of the needle disappeared into her living flesh---pure insult, pure affront, pure invasion.

  Soon she was snoring, her face retreating into the turban, her chubby cheeks relaxed and pink, her mouth just slightly open, revealing the whiteness of her teeth.

  I closed my eyes and felt my heart beating in my chest. Remain, I thought: Isabella, remain. My head dipped, righted itself. I got up from my chair, shut the door to her room, then removed the seizure pads and lowered the railing on the left side of her bed.

  I climbed in and worked my way up next to her. She did not stir. I reached back and raised the railing to give me something to rest against—hospital beds are made for only one. I placed my head beside hers, my nose up close to the clinical gauze. I worked my hand under her hand, not disturbing tubing and needle. I slept.

  Later, from the lobby, I made three phone calls. The first was to Wald, who confirmed that Parish would be at Amber's sometime after eleven. The second was to Amber, who confirmed her willingness to participate in this trap. The anger in her voice was palpable. Last, I called Martin Parish—my second to him since the disastrous meeting.

  "You were right," he said. "He's been working at the phone company under the name of Stuart Bland. Mr. Bland apparently did not show up for work after his break. The son of a bitch saw us. And I'll swear on my mother's grave that Wald told me he'd covered them."

  "I believe you. Now it's your turn to believe me."

  "What I'll believe, Monroe, is the truth," he said. "You need to deliver."

  "I'll do that."

  I hung up, then I drove down to Mission San Juan Capistrano, where Isabella and I were married those few short years ago. I yearned for the proximity of the old adobe, the talismanic power of the crucifix and candles, the ancient whiff of miracle. I yearned for a joyful memory.

  But the mission was closed for repair. I stood outside the tall adobe wall and read the sign. I walked around to the north end of the grounds and sat against that wall in the shade of a pepper tree. The noise I heard coming from the other side could have been Father Serra's Juanenos building the original structure, if not for the occasional buzz of an electric saw. As I sat there, I tried to imagine what might happen at Amber's house in just a few hours, if Martin stayed true to his own nature, and Wald to his. I felt possessed of a certain clarity of intention, however. I felt possessed, too, of a certain violence.

  Grace was not at home when I arrived, as I suspected she would not be. She had left a note saying she was going to visit a friend tonight and would be back late. Some friend, I thought, and saw again in my mind's eye her image on the TV monitor in the home of Erik Wald.

  At eight that night, the Midnight Eye called. "You've made a terrible mistake," he said. "I am not William Fredrick Ing."

  "Then there's no problem."

  "Oh, there will be quite a problem, R-r-russell. And it will belong to you and those pigs at the department."

  I said nothing.

  "The flatfoots finally caught up with me. Brilliant, don't you think, to be creating my own phone lines?"

  "It was brilliant. Where are you now?"

  "Sh-sh-sh-sh. Out of a job, obviously. But I'm not worried. I have savings. I'm prepared. It was funny, watching Parish and his men pour into the phone company building at break time. I was outside eating a sandwich. Maybe I'll have my last paycheck mailed to me. You lied, Russell, about the intercept. I truly thought I could trust you."

  "I was overridden."

  "By Winters and Parish, right? They're the law-and-order types. You and Wald held out for the more... subtle idea keeping me talking longer."

  "We're talking now."

  "Well, time is short. Just know that the next time you hear from me, you can take full responsibility for the lives that have been crushed out. To call me an overweight epileptic something you will regret. I am not Ing. I am the Midnight Eye.”

  He hung up abruptly. I dialed the intercept number at department and got Carfax. "It was an L.A. County number---the airport. Winters is pleading our case right now."

  Los Angeles International Airport, I thought. Had we run him off?

  Just before I left to pick up Amber, I went into my study and opened the right-bottom drawer of my desk to get the Gold Cup Colt .45, I consider my finest sidearm. It was gone.

  After a moment's surprise, I realized why, and smile myself.

  I packed the Smith instead, a .357 with a four-inch barrel, which I fitted into a regulation shoulder holster. It was heavy, bulky, and obvious, but I didn't care. Then I slipped a speed loader into the pocket of my coat and the videotape I'd taken from Wald's bedroom in the other. Armed with a gun and a snippet of the truth, I turned on the porch lights, locked the door behind me, and got into my car.

  At nine o'clock, I picked up Amber at a posh hotel on the Laguna coast. She was wearing a white cotton dress, with a wide red belt and red pumps. She looked like the sacrificial lamb that we intended her to play. In the lobby, she took my arm and we proceeded across the marble floor like lovers going out for a night on the town. All eyes followed us—or rather, Amber—and even under so strained a circumstance, I could feel emanating from her the enjoyment, the sense of entitlement, that she derived from the position she had earned at center stage.

  "You look nice," I said, content with understatement.

  "You look like a tired writer with a gun under his coat."

  "Some things don't change."

  "I have to tell you, Russ, I am afraid of this."

  "You should be."

  "I am furious at Erik."

  "Hide it for a while. There will be a time for that."

  We arrived at Amber's at 9:30, after parking well away from the house.

  Wald came exactly at ten, as planned. He had dressed for the occasion in a baggy cream-colored linen suit. The coat was perfect for concealing a gun, which, if I was correct in my surmise, would be my own .45, pilfered by Grace earlier in the day and delivered to Wald forthwith. He shook my hand and kissed Amber on both cheeks.

  "I feel good," he said. "Charged to the max by the adrenaline of law enforcement. I love this kind of stuff. Out of the lecture hall and into real life."

  "Do you think he's convinced?" asked Amber, never better at playing a role.

  "I'm almost sure of it."

  "And if he's not?"

  "Then, my dearest, most beautiful Amber Mae, we try again." He smiled at her, in his boyish blue eyes the same shine of desire and conspiracy that I had seen him level at my daughter that very morning. He had known them both! I could hardly contain my desire to beat his face to meat with my fists.

  "I think we should set up in Amber's bedroom," I said quietly. "That's where Marty will expect to find you."

  "I'm guessing he'll come around midnight," said Erik "He'll figure she'll be asleep by then, like Alice was. Make his whole op a lot easier."

  "Erik," I said, smiling at him, "that's good thinking."

  We climbed the stairs. In Amber's room, we made ourselves comfortable for the wait. I dimmed the lights. Amber reclined on the bed with a book. Erik claimed a divan to the side of one window and I sat in a rather punishing chair on the other side. I made a show of checking the angle, of assuring myself that an alert Martin Parish would not be able to see me through the glass.

  Erik nodded approvingly. "Well," he said, "we've got least an hour to kill. Shall we talk about our feelings, share personal experiences, come to terms with inner conflicts?"

  Amber said nothing.

  "Maybe you should start, Erik. Tell us, for instance, what you were doing here i
n Amber's bedroom on July the third and fourth."

  He chuckled, but his eyes moved from me to Amber and back again in a reflexive action he could not control. "Let's see, I was... getting ready to strip down and have a wank like Marty used to. Yes, that's it. Dream of Amber and shake hands with the unemployed."

  I laughed quietly. "When, exactly, did your glasses lose that screw because it was stripped? Before wank or after? My guess is after."

  "You've lost me already, Russ. Although you genuine law-enforcement types often do."

  "On your cleanup detail the next night, a bad screw worked loose from your glasses. That left one to hold the temple on, but barely. You didn't know it was gone until this morning, when you put them on in your study. There were other things on your mind. I found it right here on this carpet on the Fourth of July. This afternoon I went back to your place after the meeting. And guess what? It fits perfectly."

  Erik smiled a little uneasily. "Lots of screws fit lots of things, Russ. Maybe you should have tried a pair of Martin's glasses."

  "He's got twenty/fifteen vision. And you only wear your glasses when the world won't see you, or you think it shouldn't. It didn't on the Fourth. Because you were painting over these walls, trying to cover up the spray-paint you'd used twenty-four hours earlier."

  Erik glanced casually across at Amber, then turned back to me. "I get the distinct feeling you two are having a laugh on Professor Wald."

  "I haven't really laughed in almost two years, Erik."

  "Then maybe you could be a mensch and tell me what the hell you're talking about."

  I removed the videotape from one pocket and held it out. Wald's face turned blank, and even in the diminished light I could see the color fade from it. I brought out the .357 and set the butt of it on the arm of my chair, positioning the barrel in line with Wald's heart.

  Amber gasped.

  Wald looked quickly to her, then back. For a moment his entire body seemed spring-loaded, poised to explode. The he leaned back more comfortably into the cushions of the diva and crossed his legs. He managed a smile. "Fire away, Russ

  "Not yet," I said. "I'd like you to hold very still while Amber comes up behind you and takes the pistol from the holster under your coat." At this point, I lifted my magnum and married sights to the center of Erik Wald's chest. "If you touch her, blow your heart out. And I'd like to make a small predicts right now that the sidearm she'll take away from you, Wald, will be my own Gold Cup forty-five. Let's run the experiment now just to see."

  His face, partially in shadow, took on the appearance pale marble. A layer of sweat had come to his skin and the dim light turned it to an otherworldly shine. Even in his posture repose, I clearly sensed that Wald's entire being was capable any second of quick and decisive motion.

  Amber approached behind him.

  "Spread your arms," I said.

  Wald did.

  Amber's hand glided beneath the left lapel of the linen coat and reappeared with the bright shape of my stainless automatic positioned between her long and perfect fingers, did not move. Amber retreated to the bed, dropped the gun on the cover, then stood looking at me.

  "Shall we watch the preamble to your polar-bear tape?” I asked.

  "Sure," said Wald.

  "You bastard, Erik," Amber hissed. "I wish Russell could shoot you right now. You're not good enough for a prison.

  "I'm not going to any prison. You can be sure of that."

  "Naw, Erik couldn't cut it in stir," I said. "Why don't you tell us how you and Grace planned to kill Amber but killed her sister instead? How you planted her body in my freezer and played Martin into it? How you started screwing Grace when she was just a girl, and scared her enough to believe her own mother was having her tortured? When you've explained all that, we'll just break up the party here and go our separate ways. You'll be back in time to watch all the home movies you want. See, Wald, you were right about one thing—I'm not willing to take down my daughter just to get to you."

  Something of Wald's coiled energy seemed to relax just a little. "Damn," he said, finally. "And here I thought you'd want to know something closer to the truth, such as how I managed to save Grace's butt from Parish for this long. Yours, too, buddy Russ."

  I set the gun on the armchair and folded my hands in my lap. "Okay. That's what I want to know."

  "Then I'm happy to tell you, though it breaks my promise to Grace. She dreaded the thought of... falling in your eyes, Russ. I knew Grace was scared enough to make an attempt on Amber. I'd seen those scars on her feet. I'd seen everything she'd gone through with loving mom here. She left my house late on the third, half drunk, with a thirty-two. I followed her. What I found was one dead woman in Amber's room, right here, and Grace standing there puking on herself. I took her to my place. Parish did it, absolutely. He wanted to frame the Eye, but when he realized he'd gotten Alice instead of Amber, it made more sense to come back and sanitize the scene and hope no one would have anything to report. If someone did, they'd report to him, anyway."

  I smiled inwardly, though I don't know what was showing on my face then. Amber's look of hatred was unabated.

  "That's a good story, but it doesn't match Grace's. She told me everything. And she's told Martin Parish, too."

  I knew I was on my most tenuous ground here, lying absolutely that Grace had confided in me. If the bond between them was as strong as I feared it might be, Wald would dig his heels and hold fast. If not, he might begin to weaken and contradict himself.

  He shrugged. "Whatever Grace told you is from the mouth of one crazy babe. I've done what I can to protect her. I've done what I can do to help. Yes, I've made love to her, and she me. I admit my pure unadulterated desire for her and proudly cop to the fact that I was screwing her while you, Amber, we trying to make me grovel at your royal feet. Boy, did that feel good. I'll also admit that I taught her to be the most sensual tender woman in the world. But I give up. If she wants me take the rap for this one, then all I can say is, it's time to get good lawyer."

  He stood. I took the gun. "You're saying we'll see you court, Erik?"

  "Last place I plan to end up. You know, that would ruin my whole career. You can't live down a scandal like this, even when the DA throws up his hands and realizes he doesn’t have a case. But Parish and Haight? An unbeatable combination with regard to nailing your butt, Russ. You'll be in court long before my sorry ass gets there. That bastard Parish gets hold of something, he's tougher to shake than a pit bull, and he's got hold of you. He's a moron, but he's a determined one. You're holding the bag, Russell. You're the one who buried Alice Fultz in your own backyard. By the time you get Martin fangs off your balls, you'll forget what it even felt like to have a pair."

  He smiled and looked at Amber. "You? Look at yourself. The world's prettiest cunt."

  Amber stepped forward, then slapped Wald across the face.

  He leaned with the blow, refusing to surrender his smile. "You people are below me. You can't touch me. A money-grubbing whore and a dumb ex-cop who thinks he can write. It's a wonder anything as... beautiful as Grace could have come out of you."

  Amber's voice shook as she spoke. For once in my life, I sensed not one bit of acting in her. "You won't get away with any of this, Erik. For what you did to Grace. And what you did to Alice."

  "You dumb bitch—I've already gotten away with it. My only real regret is that I never quite had the pleasure of smearing your brains over this carpet."

  With this, Martin Parish stepped from one of the two walk-in closets that house Amber's considerable wardrobe. In one hand, he held the tape recorder, its red light still blinking, and in the other his monstrosity of a revolver, the .44 Magnum.

  "Woof, woof," he said.

  Wald looked at him, then at Amber, then at me. "We all know that tape's inadmissible. That's the last thing I'll say without my lawyers. Well, second to the last. The last is, fuck all you dullards. I'm just plain better than you and I proved it. I'll marry your daughter while you rot
in jail, Monroe. Parish—don't even think you can touch me. I'll grind you up like the dog meat you are. Stick with your case against Russell here. You and I can go on fighting crime together."

  Parish shook his head. "Sure, Erik. We know. Until you manage all that, though, put out your hands so I can cuff you. You're about to be questioned in the death of Alice Fultz and the statutory rape of Grace Wilson. We'll make that call to your lawyer from the county building."

  "Don't forget possession of stolen goods," I said.

  "Namely, my automatic. If all had gone according to Erik's new plan, some beat cops would be discovering a murder-suicide here in this room, sometime tomorrow morning."

  When Parish had locked Wald's hands behind his back he turned Erik around to face him and slugged him in the stomach so hard, I could hear the wind whistle from Wald's throat. Wald staggered but somehow remained erect, his martial-art training no doubt putting him in good stead. So Parish hit him again, and Erik, gasping for air, went down like a dynamited building.

  "What a beautiful sight," said Amber. "Not that I could ever recall it happening."

  Parish called Dispatch, summoned the two units that were waiting down the street, and gave the go-ahead for the arrest of Grace Wilson, who, as we had predicted, was waiting in Wald’s home for his triumphant return. Parish reported that the Eye had not been apprehended at LAX, in spite of massive, if somewhat belated, efforts on the part of the Sheriff's Department and Airport Authority.

  Five minutes later, four large deputies took Erik away. The three of us—Amber, Parish, and I—then stood there in Amber's bedroom, where all this madness had begun. I cannot vouch for what the others were thinking, but for myself, I felt as if I was on one side of a shaky and dangerous pyramid had nearly toppled over and killed us all. And there was still little stability to it, because what remained as fact were Marty’s and my twin obsessions with this woman, our partaking in her past, our invasion of her present, and a terrible truth about Grace that we had finally begun to understand. Of lesser importance but still very much in my thoughts, was the fact that Martin and I had been so completely convinced of the other's guilt, so subtly pitted against each other by Wald. I felt that I had betrayed an honest man who was once a friend. The puzzled and uncomfortable expression that hung upon Martin's face suggested he felt the same.