J is for JUDGMENT Read online

  The next time I looked at my watch it was 6:45. I felt anxiety stir. I’d meant to spend only a couple of hours at my desk, making use of the time until Eckert got back. I shoved a few bucks in my jeans pocket and grabbed a sweatshirt, pulling it over my head as I went out the door. I half trotted back to the marina, through that artificial twilight that gloomy weather generates. I caught up with a woman going down the ramp toward Marina 1. She glanced at me idly as she unlocked the gate. “Forgot my key,” I murmured as I followed her in.

  The Lord was back in its slip, shrouded in blue canvas covers. The cabin was dark, and there was no sign of Eckert. There was an inflatable dinghy bobbing in the water behind it, attached by a line. I stared at it for a while, exploring the possibilities. I walked back to the yacht club, which was blazing with lights. I pushed in through the glass doors and went up the stairs.

  I spotted him across the dining room. He was sitting at the bar, wearing jeans and a denim jacket, his silver hair ruffled from the hours on the boat. The jacket-and-tie dinner crowd was already heavy, the bar itself jammed with drinkers, air dense with cigarette smoke. The maitre d’ looked up at me, feigning startlement at my attire. In truth, he was probably just annoyed that I hadn’t paused to genuflect as I passed. I waved toward the windows, letting my face light up as if with recognition. He glanced in that direction. There wasn’t any dress code in the bar, and he knew it. Half the people in there wore polo shirts and long pants, windbreakers, deck shoes.

  Carl Eckert turned, catching sight of me when I was ten feet away. He murmured something to the bartender and then picked up his drink. “Let’s grab a table. I think there’s one outside.” I nodded and followed as we picked a path through the crush.

  Both the noise and the temperature dropped considerably once the door closed behind us. We were out on the deck, where only a few hardy souls were huddled. It was getting darker by the minute, though the sun was actually setting behind clouds. Below us, the ocean bucked and heaved, waves breaking on the sand with a constant thunder and swish. I loved the smell out here, though the air was damp and uninviting. Two tall propane heaters generated a rosy, oblong glow without doing much to warm the air. We sat near one nonetheless.

  Carl says, “I ordered you some wine. The guy should be out with it in a minute.”

  “Thanks. You got your boat back, I see. What’d they find? I’d guess nothing, but one can always hope.”

  “Actually, they found traces of blood. Couple of little smears on the railing, but they don’t know if it’s Wendell’s.”

  “Oh, right. Like it might be yours.”

  “You know the police. They’re not going to jump to conclusions. For all we know, Wendell did it himself, trying to create the suspicion of foul play. Did you see Renata? She just left.”

  I shook my head, noticing the change of subject he’d engineered. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

  “I know Renata. I can’t say we’re friends. I met her years ago when Wendell first fell in love with her. You know how it is when a good friend has a mate you don’t really get along with. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t happy with Dana.”

  I said, “Marriage is a mystery. What’s she doing up here?”

  “I’m not sure. She seemed down in the mouth. She wanted to talk about Wendell, but then she got upset and walked out.”

  “I don’t think she’s handling this business well,” I said. “What about the money? Is it gone?”

  His laugh was a dry, flat sound. “Of course. For a while I had hopes that it might still be on the boat. I can’t even call the cops. That’s the irony.”

  “When did you last talk to Wendell?”

  “Must have been Thursday. He was on his way to Dana’s.”

  “I saw him after that at Michael’s. We left together, but his car wouldn’t start. I’m sure now somebody tampered with it because mine was tampered with, too. I was giving him a lift when my engine cut out. That’s when somebody started shooting at us.”

  Behind us, the door opened with a burst of noise. The waiter came out with a glass of Chardonnay on a tray. He had another Scotch and water for Carl. He set both drinks on the table, along with a bowl of pretzels. Eckert paid in cash, tossing out an extra couple of bills as a tip. The waiter thanked him and withdrew.

  When the door closed again, I shifted the conversation. “I talked to Harris Brown.”

  “Good for you. How is he?”

  “He seems fine. For a while I thought maybe he was a likely candidate for Wendell’s murder.”

  “Murder. Oh, right.”

  “It does make sense,” I said.

  “Why does that make sense? It makes just as much sense to think he’s gone off again,” Carl said.

  “Why not suicide? God knows the people here didn’t exactly welcome him with open arms. What if he killed himself? Have you considered that?”

  “What if he was taken up in a spaceship?” I countered.

  “Make your point. I can feel myself getting irritated with the subject. It’s been a long day. I’m bushed. I’m out at least a million bucks. Not fun, I can tell you.”

  “Maybe you killed him.”

  “Why would I kill him? The fucker stole my money. If he’s dead, how am I ever going to get it back?”

  I shrugged. “To begin with, it wasn’t your money. Half of it belonged to him. I only have your word for the fact that the money’s missing. How do I know you didn’t take it off the boat yourself and hide it somewhere else? Now that Harris Brown knows about it, you may be worried he’ll hit you up for more than the hundred thousand he’s claiming.”

  “Take my word for it. The money’s gone,” he said.

  “Why would I take your word for anything? You were filing bankruptcy while two hundred and fifty investors were getting a judgment against you for money they couldn’t collect. Turns out you had it all the time, playing poor while you had millions stuffed under the mattress.”

  “I know it looks like that.”

  “It doesn’t just look like that. That’s how it was.

  “You can’t possibly think I had a motive for killing Wendell. You don’t even know if he’s dead. Chances are he’s not.”

  “I don’t know what the chances are one way or the other. Let’s just look at it this way. You had the money. He came back to collect his share. You’d had the cash so long you were beginning to think you were the only one entitled to it. Wendell’s been ‘dead’ for five years. Who’s really going to care if he’s ‘dead’ for the rest of time? You’d be doing Dana a big favor. Wendell turns up alive, she has to give the money back.”

  “Hey, I talked to the guy on Thursday. That’s the last I ever saw of him.”

  “That’s the last anybody ever saw of him except Renata,” I said.

  He got up abruptly and headed for the door. I was right on his heels, banging through the door behind him.

  People turned to watch as he pushed his way across the crowded bar with me in his wake. He clattered down the stairs, around the corner, and out through the front door. Oddly enough, I wasn’t worried, and I didn’t care if he got away. Something was stirring at the back of my mind. Something about timing, about Wendell and the sequence of events. The dinghy bobbing in the water, trailing along behind the Lord like a little duckling.

  I couldn’t put my finger on it yet, but I was going to get it soon.

  I could see Carl ahead of me, pausing at the locked gate. He was fumbling for his card key, and I trotted down the ramp behind him. He looked back in haste, and then his eyes flickered up toward the breakwater behind me. I glanced up. There was a woman at the railing. She was barefoot, in a trench coat, staring down at us. Her bare legs and the pale oval of her face were like punctuation against the darkness. Renata.

  I said, “Hang on a minute. I want to talk to her.”

  Eckert ignored me, pushing on through the gate while I retraced my steps. The curving wall along the breakwater is about eighteen inches wide, a
ledge of hip-high concrete. The ocean crashes perpetually against the barrier, water shooting straight up. A line of spray is forced along the wall and around the bend, which is marked by a row of flagpoles. The wind off the ocean blows a constant mist in this direction, waves splatting onto the walkway on the harbor side. Renata had hopped up on the wall and she was walking the curve, waves catching at her shoulder almost playfully. Her raincoat was getting soaked – dark tan on the ocean side, lighter tan on the left where the fabric was still dry. It was like getting rained on, that spray. I could feel it on my face.

  “Renata!” She didn’t seem to hear, though she was only fifty yards ahead of me. The walk was slippery from seawater, and I had to watch my step. I broke into a trot, moving gingerly, hopping over puddles as I tracked her progress. The tide was in. I could see the ocean churning, a massive black presence disappearing into blackness. All the flags were snapping. There were lights at intervals, but the effect was ornamental.”

  “Renata!”

  She glanced back then and saw me. She slowed her pace, waiting until I caught up with her before she started up again. She stayed one pace ahead of me. I was on the walkway below while she kept to the top of the wall so that I was forced to look up at her. I could see now that she was crying, mascara smudges below her dark eyes. Her hair was a series of dripping strands that hugged her face and clung to her neck. I tugged at her coat hem and she stopped, looking down. “Where’s Wendell? You said he took off Friday morning, but you’re the only one who ever claimed to have seen him after Thursday night.” I needed details. I really wasn’t sure how she’d managed to pull it off. I thought about how haggard she’d looked’ when she showed up in my office. Maybe she’d been up all night. Maybe she was making me part of her alibi. “Did you kill him?”

  “Who cares?”

  “I’d like to know. I really would. CF took me off the case this morning and the cops don’t give a shit. Come on. Just between us. I’m the only one who believes he’s; dead, and nobody’s listening to me.”

  The answer was delayed as if traveling from a distance. “Yes.”

  “You killed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “I shot him. It was quick.” She made a gun barrel of her index finger, firing it at me. The recoil was minimal.

  I scrambled up on the wall beside her, so that our faces were level. I liked it better that way. I didn’t have to raise my voice to be heard above the surf. Was she drunk? I could smell alcohol on her person, even downwind. “Was that you shooting at us at the beach?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I had your gun. I took it away from you on the boat.”

  Her smile was wan. “I had a collection to choose from. Dean kept six or eight. He was very paranoid about burglars. The one I used on Wendell was a little semiautomatic with a suppressor. The shot didn’t even make as much noise as a hardcover book falling on the floor.”

  “When did you do it?”

  “That same night, Thursday. He walked home from the beach. I had my car. I got home first, so I was there to meet him when he got in. He was exhausted and his feet hurt. I made him a vodka tonic and took it out to him on the deck. He took a long swallow. I put the gun against his neck and fired. He barely jumped, and I was quick enough to keep the drink from spilling. I dragged him down the dock to the dinghy and hauled him in. I covered him with a tarp and putt -putted out of the Keys. I took my time about it so I wouldn’t attract attention.”

  “Then what?”

  “Once I was out about a quarter mile, I weighted his body down with an old twenty-five-horsepower motor I was getting rid of anyway. I kissed him on the mouth. He was already cold and he tasted like salt. I heaved him overboard and he sank.”

  “Along with the gun.”

  “Yes. After that I shifted into high gear and jammed it from Perdido up to Santa Teresa, where I eased into the marina, attached the dinghy to the Lord, and motored it out to sea. I brought the boat down along the coast and hauled the sails up. I got back in the dinghy: and puttered into the Keys again while the Lord headed out into the ocean.”

  “But why, Renata? What did Wendell ever do to you?”

  She turned her head, staring out at the horizon. When she looked back, I saw that she was smiling slightly. “I lived and traveled with the man for five years,” she said. “I provided him money, a passport, shelter, support. And how does he repay me? By going back to his family. by being so ashamed of me, he wouldn’t even admit my existence to his grown sons. He had a midlife crisis. That’s all I was. Once it was over he was going back to his wife. I couldn’t lose him to her. It was too humiliating.”

  “But Dana wasn’t ever going to take him back.”

  “She would have. They all do. They say they won’t, but when it comes right down to it, they can’t resist. I’m not sure I blame them. They’re just so bloody grateful when hubby finally comes crawling back. It doesn’t matter what he’s done. Just so he shows up again and says he loves her.” The smile had faded, and she was starting to cry.

  “Why the tears? He wasn’t worth it.”

  “I miss him. I didn’t think I would, but I do.” She: pulled the belt on her coat and let it slip off her shoulders. She was naked underneath, slim and white, shivering. Like an arrow of flesh. “Renata, don’t!”

  I saw her turn and propel herself into the boiling ocean. I pulled my shoes off. I yanked my jeans down and pulled the sweatshirt over my head. It was cold. I was already soaked with spray, but for a moment I hesitated. Below me, out about ten yards now, I could see Renata swimming, slender white arms cutting through the water methodically. I didn’t want to go into the water at all. It looked deep and cold and black and bitter. I flew forward, feeling birdlike, wondering if there was any chance of staying airborne forever.

  I hit the water. It was stunning, and I gasped and then heard myself sing aloud with the surprise. The cold took my breath away. The weight of the water forced my lungs to labor. I caught my breath and started moving. Salt stung my eyes, but I could see the white of Renata’s hands, face bobbing through the water a few yards in front of me. I’m an adequate swimmer, but not a strong one by any means. To swim for any length of time, I’m usually forced to shift from stroke to stroke – the crawl, the sidestroke, the breaststroke, rest. The ocean was buoyant, nearly playful by nature, a big liquid death, cold as torture, unforgiving.

  “Renata, wait!” She looked back, apparently surprised that I had braved the water. Almost as a courtesy, she seemed to slow down a bit, allowing me to catch up with her before she started off again. I was already winded from exertion. She seemed tired, too, and maybe that’s why she consented to the rest. For a moment we bobbed together, water lifting us up and down like some kind of bizarre attraction at an amusement park.

  I went under, coming up again face first, washing the hair back out of my eyes. I wiped my nose and mouth, tasting brine. Pickled by death, I’d become a human olive. “What happened to the money?”

  I could see her arms move in the water, the motion keeping her near the surface of the water. “I didn’t know about the money. That’s why I laughed so hard when you told me.”

  “It’s gone now. Somebody took it.”

  “Oh, who cares about that, Kinsey? Wendell taught me a lot. I hate to sound trite about it at a time like this, but money really can’t buy happiness.”

  “Yeah, but at least you can afford to rent a little bit.” She didn’t even bother to laugh politely. I could tell her energy was flagging, but not nearly to the extent mine was.

  “What happens when you can’t go on swimming?” I asked.

  “Actually, I’ve done some research. Drowning isn’t such a bad way to go. There’s bound to be a moment of panic, but after that, it’s euphoric. You simply slide into the ether. Like going to sleep, except you have nice sensations. It’s the oxygen deprivation. Suffocation, in effect.”

  “I don’t trust the reports. Gotta be from people who d
idn’t really die, and what do they know? Besides, I’m not ready. Too many sins on my conscience,” I said.

  “You better save your strength then. I’m going on,” she said, and moved off through the water. Was the woman a fish? I could barely move. The water did seem warmer, but that was worrisome. Maybe this was stage one, the preliminary illusion just before the final full-blown hallucination. We swam. She was stronger than I was. I went through all the strokes I knew, trying to keep up with her. For a while, I counted. One, two. Breathe. One, two. Breathe. “Oh, Jesus, Renata. Let’s rest.” I stopped, winded, and turned over on my back, looking up at the sky. The clouds actually seemed lighter than the night around us. Almost as a form of indulgence, she slowed again, treading water. Out there in the darkness, the waves were pitiless, inviting. The cold was numbing.

  “Please come back to shore with me,” I said. My chest was burning. I was panting in the water, but I couldn’t get enough air. “I don’t want to do this, Renata.”

  “I never asked you to.”

  She started swimming again.

  I experienced a failure of will. My arms felt like lead. For a moment I thought about trying to keep up, but I was close to collapse. I was cold and tired. My arms were getting heavier, burning down the length of them from total muscle fatigue. I could barely breathe. I’d begun to miscalculate, gulping down saltwater every time I tried for air. I might have been crying, too. Hard to tell out there. I trod water for a bit. I felt like I’d been swimming forever, but when I turned and looked at the shore lights, it was clear we’d gone only half a mile, if that. I couldn’t imagine what it’d be like swimming to exhaustion – in the dark, in black water, until fatigue overtook us. I couldn’t save her. There was no way I was going to match her, swimming stroke for stroke. And what would I do if I caught up with her, wrestle her into submission? Not likely. I hadn’t practiced any lifesaving skills since I was certified back in high school. She was on her way out. It wasn’t going to make a bit of difference to her if she took me out with her. Once people get into killing mode, they don’t always know how to stop. At least I understood now what had happened to Wendell and what would happen to her. I had to stop. I trod water, conserving energy. I simply couldn’t go on. I couldn’t even think of anything pithy or profound to say to her. Not that she was paying attention. She had her own destination, just as I had mine. I heard her briefly, but it didn’t take long before the splashing sounds were swallowed up by the night. I rested for a while and then turned and started back to shore.