CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OUTS
I stood beside Tina as we looked out the front window. It has been a long half hour since Jim had driven off and it seemed apparent he wouldn't be coming back.
Tina was biting her thumb as she kept watch. There was no doubt of the fear on her face when she had seen Jim, no doubt about how it covered her entire body. There was also no doubt what it meant. You don't fear strangers, no matter how hideous they look. You only fear that which can bring you harm, or that which has already brought you harm, so the conclusion was obvious: they had made contact before.
Maybe they’d never met face to face, but Tina had made the connection between Jim and my death. Perhaps she had seen him in the neighborhood, parked by the curb, waiting for opportunity. How many times had he sat in his car across the street, watching our house, studying silhouettes in the windows? What else had he seen in that time of waiting?
Tina must have noticed him and wondered what he was up to, but she was too smart to wonder long. A strange man sits watching your home. A few days later your husband is murdered. No one could miss the obvious connection. I had told Tina many times--in the beginning, when there was interest--of being threatened and even chased by those I was hired to follow. She knew that when emotions ran high, so did the risks; but so did the money, so the risks were offset against a husband’s safety.
But why was Jim still around? It was over. Why would he be driving up and down a street in the daytime except to draw attention to himself? And why would he want that attention to be drawn by someone who could name him as a possible suspect in a murder?
Further, why was Tina reacting in fear? In the years we'd been married the only thing she'd ever been afraid of was losing an argument. She could deal with any myriad of situations, and some low-life causing irritation could be removed with a phone call. Yet she chose to cower. It didn't make sense. There was something missing.
I thought back to my inquest. I had the pleasure of attending--I was the guest of honor--but it turned out to be nothing more than a long wait to a short verdict.
Murdered. No suspects. Unsolved. Filed away.
You'd think it would have been easy for the police. Here I was shot dead in front of my client's home. Some routine questions should have brought out the truth.
But no, and the fault was mostly mine.
The Hewitts were questioned, as was everyone on the block, but no one had ever seen me before, including Brenda Hewitt. No one knew why I would be there, including my wife. No one had heard anything except the shots. And it was all a lie.
I had placed a report in Brenda Hewitt's hands, which gave reason for my presence. But she kept quiet. She had hired me to dig up dirt about her husband, not to involve her in a murder investigation. She had no reason for disclosing what she knew.
Tina made a brief appearance at the inquest to swear ignorance of what I'd been working on or why I might have been on that street that night, though a copy of the same report I'd given Brenda (with some minor changes) was in my files. But Tina testified that she had gone through all my papers and found nothing to indicate any current case which would have lead me to that location. She also added that I was out late many nights for reasons not always attributable to work.
Perhaps she knew more than she let on.
No matter. The verdict: I had been the victim of a possible robbery gone awry, or perhaps another in a long line of drive by shootings.
Drive by.
I looked into Tina's face. Anxiety, panic, her eyes fixed but unfocused, deep in fearful thought.
I put my hands to her head and pushed.
It was a swirl, a dark tornado of thoughts and emotions and memories. All was chaos, except the eye of the storm where one word stood alone, overshadowing everything in its aloneness.
Tyler.
"Tyler?" I said aloud. "What about Tyler?"
I probed deeper but it was like hands holding a storm. No clues but my son's name. Confronted with my killer, that was her focus.
Maybe all she knew was that Jim was a threat, but why to Tyler? Pure motherly instinct? Tyler was in no danger. But any connection Jim had with Tina or Tyler should have ended the day he killed me.
I tried again, probing thoughts, fighting the twister. Another word came, and I reached down and grabbed it.
Money.
Tyler, money. Money, Tyler.
I frowned at the frustration. There was more buried than I knew, more I couldn’t get to. Jim was a threat to my family in some way; maybe his job wasn't over.
I didn't have to see fully to understand. If he was still around, then my job wasn't over, either. I put my arms around Tina.
"I don't know what happened," I told her, "but I'll take care of it. You wait and see--"
But she turned and walked away as if she'd heard it all before.
I waited, pacing the bungalow floor. Teresa had come and gone twice and I'd paid her no mind. She was safe out on the streets with the rest. I knew he'd show eventually, and he did, carless, stomping into the bungalow. As soon as he set foot inside I attacked.
"You need to get out," I said, clamping onto his back and pushing deep into his head. "They're on their way, they want you dead, they want your blood, they want to hear you screaming. You'll never escape once they're here, get out while you can, while you still have life in your veins, while your mind is still your own, while there's still a heartbeat in your chest."
He waved his hand as if swatting a gnat.
I sat on the end of the couch and watched him make the rounds to the bathroom and bedroom and kitchen. There was blockage now, and whether that was an indication I was doing something I shouldn't was a question Rollins had never answered.
"Sometimes," Rollins told me, "everything you do will work. Other times it will be like swimming in molasses. But you can't lean on experience as an indication of whether you're on the right track or not. Sometimes," he had told me, "you have to go on faith."
Faith, I thought, can take many forms.
The manager's name was Skinner and it took ten minutes to pull him away from the World War II documentary he was watching. The Nazi's were being pushed from Paris and he wouldn't leave until they were East of the Argonne.
"What is that man up to?" I asked, pointing him in Jim's direction. "He comes and goes, comes and goes. Never speaks a word to you, always late on rent. He owes you money right now and never says a word about it. He thinks you're a fool who won't stand up to him. He doesn't know you served in the military. Sure, you were just a cook, and the Purple Heart you received was from stepping into a bucket of hot water. But that doesn’t matter. He has no respect for you, and he's taking advantage like everyone else does, just like the Nazi’s, just like your wife used to before she died. Nagging, whining, complaining about each and everything you tried to do. That's why you could never succeed in her eyes...people like her, and him, putting you down. Always thinking less of you, knowing full well you'll take it and take it and take it."
He pushed his glasses back on his nose, his face and bald head starting to sweat. He clenched his teeth. "Well, I'm not going to take it," he said. "Not anymore."
His banging brought Jim angrily to the door. "What do you want?"
"Money," Skinner said, retreating. I pushed him the step forward. Remember the Argonne. "Don't think I don't know what you're up to."
"What? I ain't up to nothin'."
"You say. I want money."
Jim looked at him oddly, like another bug he wanted to swat.
"Money," Skinner said again. "I'll call the cops."
"The cops?" Jim was unsure now.
"The cops." Skinner stuck out his skinny chest. "I'll tell them everything."
"Wait, wait a minute. What do you know?"
"I know all about what you've done. You won't get away with it."
"What have I done?" Jim asked, feeling his way.
"I'll call the cops. I'll tell them everything."
Jim looked at him, th
en laughed without mirth. "They won't believe you. You have no proof."
"I have all the proof I need. It's all written down."
Jim took a step back. "Written where?"
"You'd like me to tell. Think I'm a fool?"
"You've got nothing."
"Only everything. Every move you made since you moved in here. Don't think I don't know about your drugs and your whore girl friend."
"Where is it?"
"You'd like to know."
"In the office?" Skinner took a half-glance back and Jim howled and pushed him out of the way.
Skinner caught up and grabbed Jim's shirt. "You can't go in there."
Jim flung his arm back without looking to loosen the man's grab but slapped his face in the process. Skinner let go and put his hand to his face.
"That's assault!" he cried, bending over. "I'll call the cops."
Jim grabbed his arm. "Say that again and I'll give you something to yell about. Now show me where it is."
He half-dragged the man to the office. I ran out to the street, looking up and down for a patrol car. There was never a cop around when you needed one, always out chasing murderers. I ran a block up and found one parked in a favorite speed trap. I got in the back and spoke to the lone driver.
"There's something strange happening at the Hi-Way Inn. Look down there." I turned his head. "You should check it out. Maybe it's nothing, but sometimes your hunches pay off. This might be one of those times. It might not. Why take the chance? A promotion would bring a nice raise. You know how your wife likes nice raises. You know what she does when..."
He started the car.
I couldn't have planned it better. He parked right in front of the office and when he got out of the car was greeted by Skinner yelling in a high screech and Jim replying in lower tones.
"I won't show you, I won't."
"Now, before I bust your head."
"You can't make me, I'll call the cops."
"Not if you're dead."
"Trouble here?" The officer had his hand on his revolver and was standing calmly in the doorway.
"Officer," Skinner said, putting his hand back to his face. "This man struck me, then forced me in here. He's trying to make me show him my private records."
Jim's eyes were darting, his muscles tense. The policeman never blinked. "Don't move. What's your story?"
Jim licked his lips. "Nothing. He grabbed me, I shook him off. That's all. No trouble." He tried a smile.
The officer took a quick glance at Skinner's face, then at Jim's smile. Remember your wife, I sang into his ear. He took out his handcuffs while keeping his eyes on Jim. "Turn around.”
Trace the Dead Eye Page 15
