Shattered Shell (31 page)

"No, Diane," I interrupted. "Not wise. You start making phone calls and doing record checks, you'll be leaving a trail that you really don't want to leave. Right?"

The look was still there, and then she nodded and said, "Good point. But the minute you've got anything, anything at all, I want it, and I want it yesterday."

"All right," I said, draining the last of my cold coffee. "What else is going on?"

She looked out at the empty sands and the long line of cold waves. "Kara talked the other day to Inspector Dunbar from Newburyport, about the murder of her landlord, Jason Henry. She told him what she could and he didn't say anything useful in return. Just that the matter's under investigation, but you and I know that's a crock."

"Hell of a coincidence, a rape and a murder happening there in less than a week."

"Oh, I agree, all right, and from his tone of voice, I do believe the inspector may believe that it was just a coincidence. Of course, that didn't stop him from asking her if poor old Jason had done it to her, and if her, um, friends hadn't gotten their revenge."

"That's a hell of a reach."

"Yeah, well, I talked to Dunbar and he didn't have much else to offer." She looked over at me again. "You'll do good, won't you?"

"The best I can."

A pause. "I have an odd favor to ask."

"Go ahead."

"Put your arm around me, will you?"

"Excuse me?"

Diane said, "You heard me. Not a very hard request to fill now, is it?"

"Not at all."

I let my empty cup fall to the floor and I reached over with my  right arm and pulled her close. Diane snuggled up to me and said, "Squeeze a little harder, will you?"

"Sure."

Diane seemed to sink down a bit and her head ducked onto my shoulder. Both of her hands were clasped together in her lap. Her brown hair tickled my face and smelled of clean soap, and she sighed and said, "Don't get any ideas."

"Nary a one."

"I just felt a need to be held, and you were there."

"Glad to be of help."

"I know I've got this image thing," she said, her voice quiet.  "At work I'm the tough, no-nonsense detective who's not afraid to talk to anybody or chase down leads or fight with the selectmen over my budget. With Kara, I'm the take-charge type who's promised to be with her and protect her and help her."

"That's a lot to carry."

"Sure is," she said. "Sometimes…" and her voice was almost a whisper, "sometimes I just need to be hugged and told everything will work out, by and by."

I cleared my throat. "Diane, things will work out, by and by."

"You're a lousy liar."

"Just part of trying to be a good friend."

She shifted some more, her fine hair stroking my cheek. "You and I have been through some odd times, haven't we?"

"That we have."

"And I'm sure some odd ones are coming down the pike, that we can't even think about."

"True enough."

"You know, when you came here, a few years back, I didn't know what the hell to make of you. You started living in that old government house and you had an odd job and lots of money. I thought you were in the witness protection program, of all things."

"A good guess, based on what you know," I said.

"Then I got to know you, and you started doing those odd little stories of yours that never go anywhere and, well, there's still some things that don't make sense. I know you used to work at till' Pentagon, and that's it. I guess you left there on a bad note."

Well, this wouldn't breach the agreement. "Absolutely right."

She moved her head against my shoulder. "You had a woman then, didn't you?"

Oh, my Cissy. "Yes."

"Something bad happened back there, didn't it?"

Out there in the desert with her and the others in my section, the high blue sky, and the helicopters coming by, our mistake If II being in the wrong place at the wrong time, out there during a biowarfare experiment. And I the sole survivor, pensioned off to this town with the bad memories and the worse medical history, waiting for those odd bumps and swellings in the skin that meant the old bio agent had bit me yet again.

"Something quite bad," I said.

"She's dead, isn't she?"

I cleared my throat again. It was quite dry. "How did you guess'?"

"Because you never talk about her, that's why. Because there's no regular woman in your life, except for me and whatever the hell is going on with you and Paula Quinn, that's why. You're still mourning her, aren't you?"

I was glad she couldn't see my face or my eyes, as I stared out at the darkening ocean. "Some days, yes."

Her voice, almost a whisper. "Let her go, Lewis. Let that time slip by. Believe me, I know. You keep on mourning for what was there, for what can never come back, it will eat you and change you into a not-so-nice person, and I don't want that to happen."

"Thanks," I said, and it was the only word I could say.

We watched the ocean for a while in silence, the quiet gulls skimming across the foam and sands. Diane moved a bit and said, “I’ve never been a follower. I went my own way and did what I wanted, and loved who I wanted. I didn't dress to make a statement or march or be political, and unlike a few I know, I don't have a hatred of all men."

"Speaking as a male, I'd like to say thanks."

"You're welcome," and I sensed her smile. "And I'm glad I didn’t have that blind hatred, for I might not have met you, and I can’t imagine not knowing you."

Something seemed to be in my eyes. "The same, Diane. The same."

We were quiet for a while longer, until she gently moved from my from my grasp and said, "Please take me back to the station, will you?" And another, gentler smile. "Before someone sees us out here and gets all confused."

"I wouldn't mind."

"Neither would I, but I do have work to do."

Which I did, too, due south. "You've got it," and as I drove her back to the station, Diane held my hand, every yard of the way.

An hour later I was on my own camp stool, shivering. I had found the turnoff just as Felix had described it, about a half mile from Doug's house. It was a dirt road that had been plowed out and rose up the slight hill. There was a cleared area off to the right, probably used by a snowplow for a turnaround. There were also tire marks, left by Felix's car. I had backed in as far as I could and then trudged through the snow, following his tracks and setting up a watching spot that he had so thoughtfully scouted out for me.

I lifted up the binoculars in my gloved hands and scanned the crumbling structure that was Doug's home. His car was in the driveway, and on a couple of occasions I made out movement behind the front window. It was cold. I had on my heavy winter coat, lined pants, long johns, and a shirt and sweater and wool hat, and I still shivered and stamped my feet. At my side I had a small rucksack with a Thermos full of hot tea, a couple of chocolate bars, and an apple. I was going to stay for a while, but not the entire night. Freezing to death in these woods wasn't part of the deal.

A couple of chickadees skittered through the limbs and then moved on. A car or two traveled by on the road. If Doug were to leave, I figured I had a good few minutes to get the hell back to my Rover, supplies in hand, and get down to the road in another minute or two. With the poor condition of Doug's car and the lack of side streets on this particular stretch of road, I knew I would have little problem in catching up with him.

Another shiver. I ate one of the chocolate bars and sipped from a cup of tea that quickly cooled. It was getting colder. The flesh on my face was getting numb. I fell into a routine of sitting, with hands in pockets, and then every few minutes lifting up the binoculars for another dull scan of the house. The minutes seemed to ooze by as it grew darker. The cars going by had their headlight on now. The birds went away. A light went on from inside Dougie’s house and I kept it in view, seeing him move around, seeing him with a bottle of beer in one hand, and a slice of pizza in another I wondered what he would do if I were to visit him. I wondered how the pizza tasted. And I also wondered how and why that sculpture from Kara's ended up on his bookshelf.

It was time for the apple, and the tea was now cold. My feet were getting stiff and I tried wiggling my toes. No luck. I tilted my head back and tried to look at the stars, and all I saw was a tangle of tree branches. Another pass with the binoculars. There was a flickering blue light coming from the house. Doug was watching television, now munching on pretzels. How nice. I wondered if his lips moved as he watched his favorite shows, whatever they were.

I lost track of the time, though my stomach's clock was grumbling and quite active. I finished the last of the chocolate and I had been bright enough to pack my portable shortwave radio. At least I could have had something to listen to while watching Dougie watch television and eat pretzels from a bag. Another loud grumble from my stomach, competing with the sound from the highway. Almost time to go home.

Almost. Up with the binoculars again. There was a seductive feeling here, of watching someone without him knowing it, but after a while that feeling was replaced by boredom. I yawned and looked up at the branches again, trying to see if there were any stars.

Nothing.  Then the wind sighed past me, and a chunk of snow fell on my face.

After sputtering and wiping my face, I decided the wayward chunk of snow was a sign from someone, and I packed up and slowly walked back through the snow, wondering how Antarctic explorers could put up with this every day. My hands trembled as I unlocked the door, and I got in the Rover and let the engine and heater run for a few minutes before I began to feel warm again, before I started to feel human.

When I got back to Tyler I stopped off at a Sunoco gas station near the center of town. As I pumped the gas I was shivering again, and I also knew that I would be in bed soon enough, comfortable and cozy and deliciously asleep. After paying the attendant I went I back outside and a red Taurus drove up next to me, the window rolling down.

"Hey," came a male voice. "Lewis." I looked over, quite surprised. Fire Inspector Mike looking up at me from inside his personal car, out of uniform. I tried to keep a poker face, knowing what I did about his history and his opinions of businesspeople, but still, here he was.

I nodded over at him. "Hello, Mike. Pretty late to be up isn't it?"

He shrugged. "Had some night business to catch up on.  Hey, I've got some information to pass along. Interested?"

I came over closer to the car. "Arson information?"

A quick and friendly nod. "The same. Climb on in, I'll you an update, and maybe you'll have something you can help with."

I looked longingly back at my Range Rover, which was to take me home, and then looked back at the expectant face of Mike and said, "Give me a minute just to move my wheels from the pumps."

When I was done I climbed into the warm interior of' the Taurus. I snapped on the seatbelt and Mike drove out onto Route One and headed south. Traffic was light. The interior of the car comfortable and had a pleasant scent of old tobacco and that new car smell. I undid my coat and checked the dashboard clock. Well past eleven p.m. A late night for me. I was hoping this would only take a few minutes. I really needed the sleep.

Mike turned right down Drakeside Road, and I was pushed back into my seat by the acceleration. He was moving fast.

"Hey, Mike," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "Slow it down some. You don't know where the cops might be hiding tonight."

He didn't look at me, but shifted the car up into fifth. "Yes but I do know. Here's a little secret. These small towns around here, after eleven o'clock, maybe there's one or two cruisers out here. That leaves a lot of open miles that you can do pretty much do what you want on. And there are a lot of back roads out here in Wentworth County."

The road was empty, but it was a narrow country blacktop with high banks of snow. Farmhouses and the occasional trailers could be seen through the trees, the lights from the windows and porch lights illuminating the snow and ice around the buildings. Another sharp curve and there was the fierce squeal of the tires.

“Mike, this is ridiculous," I said. "Slow it down."

He glanced over at me. The look wasn't too friendly. "Looks like l’m the driver here, doesn't it?"

"I don't care. Slow it down or bring me back."

We went up a slight hill and crested, and the road tipped down and to the side. Mike downshifted and I could feel the rear wheels of the car sway as we hit a patch of ice, and I grabbed on to the door handle.

"Mike, that's it. Take me back."

He wasn't looking at me. "Thought you wanted to know more about the arsons."

"Right now I don't care. You're making --- Jesus!"

I blurted that out just as we rounded another corner. A pickup truck was in front of us, moving at least twenty miles or so lower, and Mike swore and downshifted, and then passed the truck. There was a loud scrape and a banging noise as the car bounced off a snowbank. Another swerve and a screech of brakes and the blaring of horns behind us, and I was grabbing the door handle even tighter, my hand slippery with sweat.