You Say Goodbye

by Keith Steinbaum

  “Yes, of course. Juicy Lucy. You were going to show her a photo of Roger to confirm she knew him.”

  “We found her around eight p.m. last night drinking a martini in the bar of the Ritz-Carlton downtown. My men asked her to ID Roger from the three photos we had of him from the memorial service but Lucy was adamant about wanting us to leave because she was expecting ‘a friend’ as she put it, and didn’t want to be seen talking to us.”

  “Isn’t prostitution illegal, Ray?”

  “Yeah, it still is,” he replied, “but drinking a martini at a bar with a friend is as legal as eating popsicles in a park. Now, are you going to let me finish?”

  “Sorry.”

  “I wanted Lucy to see all three photos because each of them together added a greater chance of identifying him for certain. So she put them in her purse and said to meet her in front of the Bonaventure at midnight. She wound up approaching one of our street patrols about eleven thirty with a message that she had a change of plans and wouldn’t be going there. But she was sure about Roger. In fact, she even had a nickname for him: Handcuff Honey.”

  A meteoric shiver struck Sean and his muscles grew tense.

  “You told me handcuffs are what The Beatles’ Song Murderer used on Merissa!”

  “Yes, and maybe there’s a clue there, no doubt about it. But that kind of sexual shit goes on all the time, right?”

  “Of course, but still--”

  “Just to let you know, we’ve been trailing Roger with the help of the San Jose PD ever since he moved there. He’s currently living with his twin brother, Anthony. I guess charm runs in the family ’cause Anthony was arrested on a rape charge last March.”

  Eyes widening, Sean stared in short-lived silence. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “You want jokes, go to the Comedy Store. The case was dropped for insufficient evidence. So far, nothing out of the ordinary, but we’ll continue to keep a watch.”

  Sean nibbled his upper lip, thinking about that final blowout in the park. Rising through the discomfort of stiffness in his hip, he realized he better turn on the manual light switch before the overhead light timer expired, enveloping him in darkness again. “So Roger was telling the truth about knowing Lucy,” he said, getting to his feet. “But April eleventh must be too long ago for her to remember if she was with him that night.”

  “That’s true, and like I just said, we’ve got eyes on him. But let’s remember there’s other suspects here in town that we can’t ignore.” Maldonado coughed, and then continued, his voice sounding raspier by the minute. “Lucy told the patrolman something else, Sean.” He paused, and when he continued, his voice seemed tighter, making it harder to hear. “Something we weren’t expecting.”

  As Sean flipped the switch, a sudden popping sound followed by a spark inside the panel box caused the sudden blackening of the garage.

  “Shit!”

  “What happened? You all right?”

  Flipping the lever down again, Sean reached through the dark for the doorknob and entered his lightless kitchen while Hendrix bounced at his feet. “I’m fine,” he told him, “but hold on a minute.” Feeling for the indoor light switch, Sean turned it on before returning his hand to the panel box, checking to ensure the area remained cool and safe. Making a mental note to call Martin again, he leaned back against the sink to resume his conversation. “So what did Lucy say that you weren’t expecting?”

  “She recognized another man from the photos.”

  “What?” Sean felt his mind spinning in confusion as he closed his eyes and envisioned the men who attended the service. Maybe Roger turned one of those guys on to the woman. It wouldn’t surprise him if that philandering asshole added to his memorable legacy a prick and a pimp. “So who was it, Ray?”

  “We don’t know. Lucy didn’t have the photos with her, and given the fact we only gave her three of them, there’s more men than you might think; Adam McBride, Elliot Hayden, Martin Boyd, Hank Sendowski, Dino Esposito, Leander Karras, and Carlos Carrillo.”

  “Can’t you ask her again with the photos this time?”

  “No,” he said, “we can’t. We can’t do that...” His tone seemed more subdued, more distant, his voice trailing off into an odd silence hanging heavy in the air and pinpricking Sean into a sudden clarity. He held his breath and stared through the open door of his darkened garage, anticipating the name of the homicide victim.

  A long, noticeable sigh preceded the answer. “Lucy Sweets was murdered last night.”

  Sean gripped the counter and lowered his head, feeling sadness for a woman he never met. Then a sudden thought occurred to him. “Do you feel her murder is linked to those photos, or am I overthinking this?”

  “You’re not overthinking it at all,” Maldonado answered, “because there are connections to the previous murders that can’t be overlooked. Whoever the killer was employed the same bullet type that the Beatles’ Song Murderer consistently uses. And my guess is the same gun type, too. Judging by the force and trauma it caused, probably a Glock. And the way Lucy was shot, in the same area of the forehead just above the right eye, that also matches the way all the other victims were killed. And the fact that she was in possession of those photos leaves me pretty damn certain her murder wasn’t just a coincidence.”

  Sean stared at one particular square of his beige-tiled floor, eyes narrowed in thought as he sifted through Maldonado’s information. He wondered if the man who’d killed Lucy, the Beatles’ Song Murderer it now seemed, somehow discovered her intention to identify him as someone she knew. “Explain something to me,” he said. “Apparently one of those guys in the photos had been with Lucy enough times that she recognized him, just like Roger, but that doesn’t necessarily incriminate him, right? He might be nothing more than another paying customer.”

  “Yeah, there’s always that possibility,” Maldonado replied, “but right now I have another murder case to solve by starting at square one and asking how the most street-savvy prostitute I’ve dealt with in my entire career gets caught up in a situation where she’s shot and killed the same way as all the other victims of The Beatles’ Song Murderer.”

  “Any ideas?” Sean asked.

  Maldonado cleared his throat. “Right now I’m looking at two general possibilities--either he’s a deranged asshole who kills hookers, of which there have been several like that in my experience, or he’s a deranged asshole whose identity needs protecting for some reason, and who Lucy trusted beforehand, just like Ms. Franklin.”

  Chapter 33

  The final match of the season between McDougal’s Ford Marauders and Tolbert’s Chevy Terrors guaranteed a well-attended night at the lanes. Although an unlikely lopsided score in favor of the Marauders provided the lone avenue for overtaking the Terrors for the year’s bragging rights, there remained plenty of vocal bravado from several of Sean’s teammates when they spotted him strolling through the doors.

  Approaching the steps leading down to the lanes, Sean halted in surprise when he noticed Eleanor McBride sitting in one of the upper level chairs overlooking the section where the two teams congregated. For a Bible-toting conservative woman like her, a cuss filled, beer-drinking event seemed an out-of-place venue, but there she was, leaning forward with her hands on her knees, staring with the same attentiveness as if listening to a church sermon. Or maybe her eyes centered on Adam, sitting and conversing with two female teammates, Shayla and Margaret.

  “Hi, Eleanor.”

  Eyes widening in recognition, she beckoned him with a wave of her hand. “I’ve been wondering how you are, Sean, but Adam says he doesn’t see you anymore except at these bowling matches.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Sean replied. “We miss him at work. He was the one gentleman among the rest of us cavemen.” Tilting his head, he smiled in curious amusement. “I’m surprised to see you here. Is this your first time?”

  She turned her head and glanced in Adam’s direction before looking back. Her thin smile seemed sorrowf
ul, and her eyes continued narrowing until they closed for a moment. She took a deep breath and shook her head, reminding Sean how much of the drama queen gene this woman possessed, even from a simple question. “Yes,” she said, “it’s my first time, and as the Lord is my witness, I’ve already heard enough bad language that I pray we all don’t get struck down any minute.” Crossing herself, her expression turned grim as she continued. “If you think you’re surprised, you should have seen the look on my husband’s face.”

  Sean spotted Adam staring at them. Acknowledging each other, they both smiled and waved.

  “I better get my shoes and ball and go down there,” Sean said. “Try not to fall asleep watching all the excitement, okay?”

  Eleanor’s solemn demeanor remained unchanged, offering no reaction at all to Sean’s light-hearted remark. “I’m not about to do that,” she told him. “I’m a loyal, God-fearing wife, and I want to make sure my husband remembers the eyes of the Lord are upon him, too.”

  Sean gave a quick nod and hurried away, not understanding what the hell she meant, but knowing his opinion of this religious nut-job had walked through the valley of validation once again.

  After a few minutes of small talk, back slaps, handshakes, and hugs, he found the ball he liked and returned to put on his shoes. No more than a few moments later, Adam sat next to him and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees as Sean tied one of his laces.

  “I can’t believe my wife showed up,” he said.

  Sean raised his eyes for a moment before resuming tying his shoes. “All I can tell you is the Eleanor McBride I know doesn’t like to be around people who drink or swear, so she may not stick around for long.”

  Adam hung his head and nodded, thin red strands of hair dabbing his forehead. “I know,” he replied. “And Eleanor’s not so forgiving, so she’ll probably give me a hard time at home.”

  Finishing with his other shoe, Sean sat up and looked at Adam. “It’s not like you invited her here, man. And besides, you can’t be held accountable for anything the rest of us beer-drinking, foul-mouthed, going-to-Hell heathens do, right?”

  Adam offered a tight-lipped smile. “Sometimes Eleanor seems to forget that the Lord decides everyone’s fate in the end. It’s not up to us to judge.”

  Sean winked. “Well, I hope the Lord understands that it’s a chance for hard-working people to unwind and have a little fun.” Rising from the bench, he turned toward a waitress taking drink requests and ordered a beer. “You want something, Adam?”

  “Diet Coke, please,” he answered, reaching in his pocket for his ringing cell phone.

  Soon after answering the call, Adam’s expression changed, reflecting a man who now appeared quite troubled. He glanced at Eleanor, turned away, looked back, then turned away again, speaking in a voice too low for Sean to hear from a few feet away. His sudden furtive mannerisms--steeped in a kind of animated Nixonian cautiousness of furrowed brows, darting eyes, and hunched shoulders--created a strange transformation from gentle to jittery, leaving Sean puzzled, yet also reminding him that he left his own cell phone in the car.

  From the time he gave Jenny his number, their increasing correspondence changed his previous blasé attitude about keeping his phone nearby, so with a few minutes remaining before the first frame, he headed for the parking lot, opened his door, and retrieved the phone from the cup holder. A slight sense of disappointment from the blank screen commanded his attention until he spotted Adam walking out from the building to stop, stare, and wave at the back of a black SUV exiting the driveway. Within moments, the car accelerated into the street, leaving Sean with a glimpse of the last two letters of the license plate--RH.

  Perhaps the familiarity of those two letters as the initials of his sister, Rebecca, brought them to the forefront of attention, but the need to remain hidden from sight mattered most to him at that moment. He observed Adam remove a note from his windshield, read the contents, stuff the paper inside his pocket, and then move to the back of the car. Dropping to his knees, he disappeared for several seconds before returning to his feet. He appeared to hold a hand-sized packet of some kind, but the second-rate parking lot lights prevented Sean from deciphering more than that.

  Approaching the bowling center entrance about a minute or two after Adam had returned, Sean lurched to the side to prevent the door from hitting him as an obviously distraught Eleanor, head bowed, charged through the door like a lineman blocking for his running back.

  “Oh!” Eleanor cried out, her moist eyes glistening from the overhead lights. “I’m sorry, Sean. I didn’t see you.”

  “That’s all right, Eleanor.”

  “I’m just so...hurt!” She took a deep breath and crossed herself, her mouth tightening into a grimace as her chin quivered. “Forgive me, Lord, if I speak an untruth, but I think my husband is having an affair.” Tears streamed down her cheeks when she looked at Sean before tilting her head toward the sky.

  Placing his hand on the door, he opened it part way, keeping his eyes on Eleanor. “That doesn’t seem like the Adam I know,” he said. He reached out and tapped her arm. “Maybe it’s all a big misunderstanding.”

  Already several steps inside, Sean turned back when Eleanor called his name. Her body remained outside but her upper half leaned in. Her face seemed calm again, with no sign of the distraught emotion from a minute before.

  “I just want to clarify something you said,” she told him, her eyes locking on his. “The Adam you think you know isn’t the Adam you know.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  “The night Merissa was killed? When we had an argument and he didn’t come home until one o’clock? He’s been doing that sort of thing for years. Just kind of...disappearing, you know? Now I wonder if he was really alone.”

  ***

  After the drubbing suffered by the Marauders against the Terrors, aided by Sean’s worst personal score of the season, he walked toward the parking lot with Adam, hearing about the banal events occurring with his daughter’s college applications and his son’s accomplishments in the church basketball league. Sean’s mind teetered between distraction and disinterest, preferring to focus on Eleanor’s final comment and the note left on her husband’s windshield--presumably from the person driving that black SUV.

  Although the link between Adam and the last two victims seemed peculiar, with Sean leaning toward the probability of a tragic coincidence, the lingering uncertainty from these two mysteries created an underlying suspicion he wanted resolved. Devising an approach to gain a greater understanding of the man’s true sensibilities, Sean waited until they reached Adam’s car.

  “There’s something I should let you know,” he said, placing a hand on the roof and a hip against the door. “The detective who’s working on finding Merissa’s killer told me about another rape and murder that occurred in July, and, crazy as it seems, your name came up.”

  Having opened the back door to retrieve his jacket, Adam stopped in mid-motion, his empty left coat sleeve dangling in armless anticipation. “Me?”

  Sean studied his reaction--a look of genuine shock. “It’s a terrible coincidence, Adam, but apparently you sold the woman a car not long before she was killed. And based on the evidence, her killer is the same person who killed Merissa.”

  “What?” His eyes grew wide as his mouth opened, remaining in a circular paralysis for several seconds. “I don’t believe it!” Shaking his head, he gazed into the distance behind Sean. “The same killer?” He hurried to finish slipping on his jacket before moving closer. “I remember the woman, Sean.”

  “You do?” Sean asked, eyebrows raising. “Judging by your reaction, I wouldn’t have thought so.”

  Adam stared at Sean with an intensity that appeared as if he was looking through him. “Oh, I know what happened,” he said, his voice subdued and somber. “Her name was Jacquelyn Hastings. She was an attractive brunette about my size, with an easy laugh and great sense of humor. But my Lord, that woman was also
a tough negotiator, believe me.” Pausing, he presented a faint smile that evolved into a quick chuckle. “She wound up getting close to three thousand off sticker.” Turning toward the car, he leaned back against the side of the trunk. “It was big news at work. I thought maybe you guys might have heard about it over there. But--I just can’t believe it was the same guy.” He stared at Sean, several seconds of silence between them. “Are you sure?”

  Sean nodded. “I only know what the detective tells me, and that’s what he said.”

  Rolling his tongue along the inside of his mouth, Adam looked into the distance toward the street before snapping his head back with a sudden scowl that startled Sean, his eyes half-closed but zeroed in. “Wait a minute,” he spat, pushing away from the trunk. “Are you inferring what I think you are?” He continued glaring at Sean, advancing toward him in what appeared to be threatening steps. His upper body leaned forward with his arms jutting in a rigid downward angle across the side of his legs.

  Glancing at his hands, Sean noticed the stiff, immovable fingers extended for possible attack. “Easy, Adam, easy,” he said, motioning up and down with his hands in front of his chest, hoping to lower the tension. “It’s just Detective Maldonado doing his due diligence and finding people and places that connect. Nothing more than that.”

  Adam approached the door, his eyes continuing to burn a hole through Sean. “We’re all sinners,” he said, yanking on the handle. “Some of us more than others.”

  Several seconds later, the engine started and Sean stood alone, watching and wondering as Adam drove away.

  Chapter 34

  Adam’s final comment lingered in Sean’s thoughts like an unfading echo. “We’re all sinners,” he said. “Some of us more than others.” What did that mean? Was it just an overreaction Christian thing, like not returning change overpaid by a cashier? Driving above the posted speed limit? Laughing at a dirty joke? Or did he infer something dark and insidious?