Geoffrey was streaming The Doors and Finn thought it was apt that the song pounding the place was People Are Strange. He slid onto his usual stool and before he could put in his order, his pint was in front of him.
"Harp, mon. Harp lager, O'Brien. New for you all de way from Ireland, don' you know, mon."
Finn smiled and cupped the glass. "I'm a Guinness man, Geoffrey. You know that."
"Yeah, but I try sometin' new. Gotta keep with da time. You tell me how you be likin' it."
Finn took a drink. He smiled and nodded. "It's a good one, Geoffrey. Just don't go tossing out the Guinness."
"No, I won' be doin' dat. Wanna keep de customers happy, specially you, O'Brien. You be my good friend wit' da police. Just wantin' to give you a gift for what you been doin' for dem poor little girls."
"Doing my best, Geoffrey," Finn muttered and stuck his nose back in his glass.
Much as he loved Geoffrey Baptiste, much as he loved Mick's and the crowd of rowdies and working stiffs, he didn't want to share business. At Mick's all Finn wanted was to drink and maybe sing when he had too much to drink, and chat up some folks about politics or listen to war stories from the old guys. Finn wanted to watch Geoffrey work and admire whatever beanie was wrapping up his dreadlocks. Tonight it was a rainbow knit that was pilled and worn. It was his favorite because his mother had made it.
"You gonna be doin' it all, mon. I know. You won' be lettin' down the mooma and faddah. You find da creep who done take dose little girl souls."
"I won't let them down," Finn said, but he wasn't sure that was an actual promise.
Sam Barnett had seemed genuinely surprised by the information about Rachel Gerber. Elizabeth Barnett had barely blinked when they told her about Stephen Grady because she bought into the Rachel scenario faster than the speed of light. Cori agreed she expected more of a rise out of the lawyer. The wife's reaction didn't surprise her at all. Bottom line, if Barnett was messing with the nanny it would give the boyfriend good cause to take her out. The kids might have been collateral damage. What a pity and a waste that would be, but it made sense. The boyfriend would have believed Rachel was alone in the house, a snip of the alarm, she opens the door and God bless her, she's a goner and so are the kids.
Thinking Geoffrey was done with him, Finn lifted his glass intending to mull all this over while he nursed his brew, but Geoffrey had something important to say. The man leaned close over the bar, his dreadlocks swaying, the gold cross around his neck and the gold teeth in his mouth blinking as they caught the light. He lowered his voice as his dark, dark face settled into a somber expression that lengthened it like a marionette's.
"O'Brien. O'Brien." Geoffrey wiggled his long fingers at Finn to underscore the seriousness of what he was about to say.
"I'm all ears, my friend," Finn assured him with due gravity.
"I be wantin' to ask, do ya know if deese dead children be christened? Do you know dat, O'Brien?"
Finn looked straight into Geoffrey Bapitste's dark, slightly blood shot eyes and said:
"From what I know of the family, I would say that I believe they were."
The barman took a huge breath. His hands went to his beanie and his eyes rolled heavenward.
"Tanks be to God. I worried. Oh, I worried, O'Brien, that they be douens. If dat were so, it would be bad. Very, very bad for da city; very bad for you, O'Brien."
"And what might that be – a douen?" Finn asked, always happy to add to his Trini vocabulary.
"An unchristen child, so I just be tellin' you, O'Brien." It was clear Finn was trying the man's patience. "Dey little feet turn backwards and dey be havin' straw hats like a Chinaman's." Geoffrey made a triangle motion over his head. "Dey wear dem hats to hide their faces because dey got no faces, O'Brien. Douen eat baby corn and lure live childrens deep in da forest with sweet songs and games and then poof!" Geoffery's long fingers had come together only to explode open, illustrating his point. "Dey disappear soon as dey be lost in da forest and dose children are gone now too. All dem children gone."
"This is Los Angeles, Geoffrey. We haven't got any forests."
Finn said this kindly because he would never laugh at legend. He, himself, believed in the leprechauns. He didn't exactly buy the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow thing, but Finn knew there was always a kernel of truth in legend that was to be respected. Poor Geoffrey, though, wasn't put at ease.
"It is the expression, O'Brien. O'Brien, you see what I be meaning, mon? If dose little girls be douen, dey lure other children because dey be lost souls and be needin' playmates, so dey not be lonely. If dey do that, you be havin' so much work, O'Brien. I am only sayin' for you to check to make sure dey be christened. You don' wanna see more children gone, O'Brien."
"No, Geoffrey. No one wants more children gone. I'll double check on the christening thing for you."
Finn got off his bar stool. He dug into his pocket for money but Geoffrey would have none of it.
"No, mon, first one on da house. On me, O'Brien. I am da house."
Finn smiled but before he could thank Geoffrey, the bridal party cheered as the young woman in the veil clambered atop the bar to dance. That was too much for Geoffrey.
"No! No! No!"
He waved his arms and hurried down to shoo her off. Finn put his money on the bar. Geoffrey's stories and Finn's Trini language lessons were worth more than the price of a beer. He ambled to the back of the bar and picked up another set of darts. Joseph gave him a brilliant smile and Finn figured the guy had about a fifty/fifty chance of making it in Hollywood. Finn bought Joseph a round because he was still way on the wrong side of that fifty/fifty. Then he picked up a set of darts and they took turns at the board.
Joseph made a respectable hit on the second ring with his last dart. Finn stepped up and aligned himself: shoulder, foot, hand. He threw in a practiced sweep, without hesitation, and he missed.
"Bounce out!" Joseph barked, delighted that the master himself had screwed up so royally.
"Up yours." Finn muttered and set himself up again.
Rocking back and forth as was his way, Finn tried to focus on nothing but the board, nothing but the bull's eye, but he was distracted. There was that niggle in the back of his brain again. His little Tinker Bell twinkle was flitting and sparkling. He was missing something important and damned if he could see it through the fairy dust of intuition. Finn threw again; this time it was a flat tire.
"Man, wish I had money on this," Joseph crowed.
Finn took his last dart, rocked on his boots, trying not to think about work, but he did think about it. What, he wondered, was happening at the Barnett house now. Right that very minute was someone confessing, someone apologizing. Was Sam Barnett the bad guy? Was Elizabeth Barnett all right? And why, oh why, did Finn O'Brien still feel like that man, Sam Barnett, was coming to a no-good end?
With that, Finn rocked for the last time, let the dart fly and hit the absolute center. A double bull. He grinned at Joseph.
"The trick is to come through in the pinch, my friend."
Finn gave him a pat on the shoulder and went back to the bar for a Guinness.
CHAPTER 31
DAY 6 – NOON
Elizabeth lunched at the Italian cafe on Larchmont. She sat at an outside table so small it was nearly unserviceable. It had taken a long while to get her food and when it came, she spent a longer time moving the fancy lettuce around before pushing the plate aside. She had wrapped her hand around her glass and spent some more time watching the ice melt and the tea turn to the color of pond water.
The day was overcast, warm and muggy and yet Elizabeth sat with the collar of her blazer turned up. Her slacks were wool as was the sweater beneath her jacket. Last night after Sam locked himself in his study, Elizabeth gave up. She sat down on the side of the refugee road. When he left that morning without a word, she knew there would be no one to pick her up.
She spent her morning wandering the shopping street, buying nothing. Elizabeth mis
sed the housekeeper. Even slutty Rachel had at least filled a space in Elizabeth's world that now was so empty.
"Are you done? Lady, are you done?"
A finger poked Elizabeth's shoulder. The girl standing beside her was dressed in tight jeans and a tighter top. She had tiny, young breasts and a face that looked too old for her body. Elizabeth didn't let go of the glass of ice tea. Opening her hand was too much work. The girl shifted and when Elizabeth lowered her head to dodge her peevishness, she saw the check on the table. The girl wanted her to pay for the food she didn't eat; the restaurant wanted the table. Elizabeth was a refugee and the world wanted her to move on.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Elizabeth took out the first bill she found in her wallet – a fifty – and waved the girl with the small breasts away. She stood up, put on her sunglasses, but she didn't move. Her mind drifted as if she didn't have a brain in her head. She laughed a little at that strange image: her brain floating outside her head. Perhaps that was why her body felt heavy and mechanical. There was no brain in her head to tell her body what to do. That was okay, because the waitress was glaring at her; she was telling Elizabeth what to do.
Go.
Leave.
Go.
Elizabeth walked around the wrought iron railing that kept diners and pedestrians at arms length from one another. While she walked, Elizabeth took her keys out of her purse only to drop them. Not a brain in her head and butter fingers, too. There were so many keys for the all the compartments of her life: the house, the cars, the trunk in the attic where her wedding dress was locked away forever, the cabinet where Sam kept his gun that he didn't even know how to use, the safe where she had kept her jewelry.
As she looked at the keys, a man got down almost on one knee and picked them up. When he handed them to her, Elizabeth said thank you and went on her way, unaware that the man followed behind.
He didn't move quickly or he would have been closer when, a few feet from her car, Elizabeth suddenly felt ill. She steadied herself against the window of a shop, overcome by a nauseating dizziness. When she opened her eyes, she was looking through the glass of a children's store, the window decked out for the holiday: Easter dresses, bonnets, coats, lace and poi de soie, satin ribbons. There were glassy eyed stuffed bunnies like the one Alana loved, like the ones Elizabeth had brought back from Paris.
She blinked at the mannequins and was stunned to see that they had her children's faces. She looked past the mannequins and saw a plump young woman helping a customer and it was Rachel. Reflected in the window Elizabeth saw Sam just behind her, reaching for her.
She wanted to thank him for finding her, for forgiving her, for not leaving her. She couldn't bear it if he left her, but then she realized that he was probably there for Rachel and Elizabeth went near blind with rage. Yet, when she put her face against the window and really looked at that plump woman, she saw it wasn't Rachel at all. And if the man reflected in the window were Sam then he was ill. His hair was dull and straight. His skin was sallow, his cheeks sunken. He wore sneakers and baggy pants. His lips moved, but they weren't Sam's lips. When the reflection in the window spoke to her, it wasn't Sam's voice she heard. This voice was quieter than Sam's.
"So sorry about your little ones," the reflection said.
Elizabeth twirled away from the window, threw her hands over her eyes and collapsed screaming in front of the shop window full of pique dresses and pink bunnies.
"Can I come in?"
Elizabeth raised her head. Her hair was electrified from lying on the white butcher paper that covered the examining table in the hospital emergency room. There were dark circles beneath her dull eyes.
"I can't stop you." Elizabeth sat up and hung her legs over the side of the table. She didn't look at Cori Anderson.
"How are you doing?" Cori asked.
"How did you know I was here?" Elizabeth answered a question with a question as she buttoned her sweater up.
"We're on speed dial when it comes to all things Barnett," Cori said. "Especially when whatever happened lands you in the hospital."
"I fainted, that's all. I haven't eaten much lately." Elizabeth slipped off the table, put on her shoes and reached for her jacket. Cori got it before she did and handed it over. "Why didn't Detective O'Brien come?"
"He's got a few things he's running down," Cori answered, not really amused that Elizabeth Barnett thought Finn should be at her beck and call. "I was here anyway. My grandson is in emergency."
Elizabeth's eyelashes fluttered. "I'm sorry. I hope it's nothing serious."
"He's got an ear infection but it's pretty hot. He'll be fine."
Cori picked up Elizabeth's purse and handed it to her. The other woman cut her a look.
"I don't need your help. You can go."
Cori answered. "No skin off my nose as long as you're good. You take care."
"Thank you."
Elizabeth Barnett opened her purse and took out her compact. Cori went to the door, but hesitated and turned back. Elizabeth Barnett looked about as bad as a body could look: skinny as a rail, pale as a parsnip, hair gray as a steel pipe. She was coiled tight as a spring. Cori knew tough times got tougher for a woman when her armor wasn't in place, but the powder that lady was putting on her nose wasn't going to protect her from anything.
"That man was just an old guy who recognized you from the neighborhood. He lives a couple houses down from you and wanted to offer his condolences. He said he was sorry for scaring you," Cori said.
Elizabeth nodded. Finally, when Cori didn't move, Elizabeth snapped her compact shut.
"Is that all?"
"I guess," Cori answered. "Unless you want to get some food."
"You're supposed to bite, chew, and swallow." Cori pointed to the burger in front of Elizabeth.
"You should have let me pay," Elizabeth said as she picked up the burger Cori bought her. There were three bites gone and if half of it disappeared Cori would be satisfied.
"I'll put it on the expense account," Cori said.
"I hope they reimburse you soon." Elizabeth indicated the coins Cori had been shuffling on the tabletop. "You've been playing with those as if they're your last ones."
"Old habits die hard. I've watched every penny my whole life," Cori said.
"What does your husband do?" Elizabeth asked.
"Never had one."
Elizabeth pushed aside her food. "I'm sorry. I don't think I could have survived if I didn't have my husband."
"Sure you could," Cori answered and moved her coins again: four down and three across. "We all make our own bed and as things go, mine hasn't been all that bad."
She wasn't really lying to this woman. Finding herself alone with a child and no clear road ahead was about as scary as life could get. There were days Cori wasn't even sure where their next meal was going to come from. There were a few months when they lived in her car, a fact she hadn't even shared with Finn. Cori wasn't ashamed of those days; she would just rather focus on what she had accomplished. She made it into the academy and through it. She paid her dues as a street cop. She raised her daughter and if the worst trouble Amber got into was getting pregnant, then Cori counted that a win. The kid didn't do drugs; she wasn't a drunk. Some day Amber would find her road and she'd work hard for her kid because she was Cori's kid. Elizabeth Barnett has to find her road now, and, while Cori didn't have a soft spot for her, she would cut her some slack out of respect for her situation.
"Detective O'Brien talked to your husband's old partner today. Mr. Rivera?"
"We haven't seen Richard since the partnership broke up. I miss him," Elizabeth said. "How is he?"
"Fine. He's a newlywed."
"Oh." Elizabeth lowered her eyes. "I'm surprised we weren't invited to the wedding."
"I don't think your husband and Mr. Rivera parted as amicably as your husband might have led you to believe," Cori said. "They disagreed about handling a client called Eros Manufacturing. Do you know anything abou
t them? Did your husband discuss his clients with you?"
"I never asked Sam about business."
Cori raised her chin and lowered it, a long, slow nod. A giant O-K of sympathy. This woman's life sucked. Even Cori's ex bent her ear with stories of whatever crappy job he had managed to hold for a week. Cori moved her coins: four down and three across.
"I've been trying to figure this out ever since I saw it in a magazine a while back. The puzzle says there's a way to make it so you have four coins in each row."
"That's been bothering you for a long time?" Elizabeth almost laughed. Cori figured that was a good start down the road.
"Yeah. The answer has got to be something really simple, but you have to buy the next magazine to get the answer and that just puts a burr under my saddle. It's the principal of the thing, you know?"
Cori whipped a nickel from the row of four and fit it onto the other row. That move didn't solve the problem.
"How long are you going to work on it?"
"Until I figure it out. The one thing I've learned is there is always a solution to a problem. Sometimes you have to get creative, but that solution is there," Cori answered. "Besides, it's good training for what I do. Look at the big picture and drill down you might find one small thing that solves the big problem – Ah!" Cori plucked a dime out of the row of four and put it on top of the coin where the two lines intersected. "Damn, I'm good. Four coins are now in each row."
Elizabeth smiled a little but it was obvious that she was sinking fast, her mind wandering, her body seeming to shrink. Unwilling to waste the little progress that had been made Cori said:
"Look, I'm not really a girl's-girl if you know what I mean so take this for what it's worth. It seems like you might need to focus on you and your husband and let us do our job. We are working hard for you; you need to work hard for yourself. It's not too early to start putting your life back together."
Severed Relations Page 18
