Glitsky 01 - Certain Justice, A (16 page)

Kevin, turning back: 'What are you doing?'

'Stay down!' she yelled, 'I'm jamming it!'

'Shee-it!'

'They back there?'

'Not yet.'

'All right.
Now
.' There's no way, she was thinking.

But it was the only way. Aiming the car at the dead center of one side of the walkway, she slammed her foot to the floor. She didn't realize that the screaming she heard was her own.

The side mirror snapped off with a pop, and they were in the school's open asphalt playground. She jerked the wheel as hard left as she could, hoping they were out of sight of the street behind them.

They there?'

'No.'

She kept moving, along the fence, seeing her spot, streaking then across the lot to the corridor between the low buildings, finally daring to use the brakes – lights or no lights, she had to stop – pulling up, killing the engine.

They both sat, breathing heavily, Kevin's attention still glued to the gate they had barely cleared.

Ten seconds passed.

Twenty.

They'd lost them.

'How did they know where you lived? Cindy?'

'I think so. Must have been.'

They waited a couple of minutes in their hiding place between the buildings at the school, then turned on their lights and exited at the main-entrance parking lot, getting back out to 19th and turning south, away from the city.

Melanie needed to spell it out for herself. 'She must have told the police about us, that you might try to get in touch with me.'

'She's a sweetheart, that Cindy. What do you say we go by her apartment and kill her.'

Melanie shook her head. Almost, for a minute, took him seriously. 'I think we should break her kneecaps first,' she said.

Kevin chuckled, going with her. 'Her kneecaps are already astoundingly ugly.'

'All of her is ugly.'

'Hideous. Grotesque. The ugliest woman on the planet. And you did good.'

'I'm prettier than her, that's why. You're as ugly as her, you can't drive straight.'

He reached a hand over and touched her hair, spoke softly. 'No part of you is as ugly as the prettiest part of her.'

She brought her hand up to cover his. 'So what do you think we ought to do now?'

' I think,' she said,' we' ve got to get you out of town, for a while, at least.'

A small hesitation, then Kevin nodded. 'Okay, one night. You call it, Melanie, you're doing better than me.'

It was a little after eleven. She took the first turnoff into Brisbane, home of the Cow Palace and little else. There was a row of strip motels, and Melanie pulled into the third one down on the right, the Star, because it had an interior courtyard invisible from the street. Kevin waited while she went to the office, his shoulders hunched, his ribs aching, unmoving.

'You know I've never done that before?'

'What?'

'Registered at a motel. I told the man it was just me. I think he was hitting on me a little.' She was whispering, turning on the television for background white noise, turning the channel to avoid news programs until she came to a rerun of 'Land of the Giants' and left it there, turned low.

Kevin had come in from his scrunched-down position in the car, which Melanie had parked directly in front of the room's door. Now he was making sure the drapes were closed all the way. Turning, he sat on the one double bed and looked across at Melanie sitting with one leg crossed over the other on the room's single, mostly green, upholstered chair.

Kevin thought that even though she had spent the better part of the day under tremendous pressure in the driver's seat of her car, Melanie was likely the best-looking female the night clerk had seen in a lot of days. No doubt he had tried to hit on her, an unattached young thing staying alone in a place like this.

In the room's dim light her dark hair still managed to shine. She wore a man's white shirt tucked into a pair of jeans that fit ideally. The shirt still looked ironed, its top three buttons undone and beginning to reveal the shadowy swell of her breasts. A glimpse of white brassiere with a lace border. He had no idea how she managed to retain her freshness under these conditions, and where before it would have bothered him that she was so perfect, tonight he thought it wasn't so bad.

Her shoulders seemed to settle. She let out a small sigh. 'Are you all right?' she asked.

'I don't know,' he said, the effort at speaking almost too much. 'I guess I should try Wes again.' He staggered over to the phone and listened to it ring eight times before he hung up. He didn't ask Melanie where she thought Wes might be – he knew what she'd say and he was afraid she'd be right, that Wes was somewhere getting himself into the bag.

He eased himself all the way into the chair, closed his eyes, letting his head fall forward, then raising it again, his expression tortured. 'I keep seeing it,' he said. 'I close my eyes and I keep seeing him . . .'

'Arthur Wade ...'

'I think if I'd just
known. I
mean, it was like I didn't believe it was going to go that far, so maybe I didn't—'

'Kevin, you did everything you could.'

Shaking his head, Kevin forced it out. 'No. It wasn't enough, Mel. If I'd just—'

'How could you have?'

'That's just it. Don't you see? I could have. I
should
have seen from the beginning. I was too damn slow.'

'But you
did
get to him.'

'I got to him. Then they got to me.'

'That isn't your fault.'

Again, he shook his head. 'I kept believing it would stop. After I got to him I must have eased up a minute. I didn't want to kick and punch and yell and stab at everybody around me. I mean, just five minutes before I was drinking with these guys. I thought once I got to holding him up, then everybody would realize like, "hey wait a minute, this has gone far enough, we can't do this." But it didn't happen. I just wasn't prepared for that much
hate
. I let them beat me, and it killed Wade. Now it might kill me, and you.'

Melanie came up off the bed onto her knees in front of him. 'You know what this is, Kevin? This is fatigue. This is total exhaustion. You don't have
anything
to be ashamed of.'

'I keep seeing him . . .'

She nodded. 'And you probably will for a long time. You tried to save him,
that's
what's important.'

'It didn't work, Mel.'

'Lots of things don't work, Kevin. That doesn't mean they weren't worth trying.'

He took in a breath and looked up at the darkened ceiling. 'How about
if nothing
works? Ever. How about that one?'

She held his arms tightly until he looked down into her eyes. 'That's a tougher one,' she said, 'but that's not you.'

She went into the bathroom and when she came out Kevin was stretched out on the bed, his breathing labored and heavy. When she sat on the side of the bed he opened his eyes. 'Thank you,' he said.

She brushed a finger over the side of his cheek. 'How bad are the ribs? Let's see.'

'I'll show you mine if you show me yours first.' She ignored that and started to pull the UCLA shirt. 'Easy,
easy
,' he said. Another heavy breath. 'I don't know if this is going to work.'

'Can you lift your arms?'

'A little.'

He raised them as high as he could, and Melanie tugged at the shirt, gently, until it cleared. 'Oh my God, Kevin.' The right side of his chest seemed to be encircled by a rope of bruises – black, red, purple. The skin was broken in half a dozen places, looking infected. 'We've got to get you to a doctor.'

'I don't think that's a great idea.'

'Then what are we going to do?'

'I think we should get some sleep and think about it in the morning. I don't think I've got much left, Mel.'

'Okay, you lay down.' She took his shoulders and carefully helped him lower himself. 'All the way up, head on the pillow,' she directed. When he was settled she saw the physical relief flood through him, his eyes closed, his body relaxing. Covering him to his waist with the thin comforter, she turned and went into the bathroom, got a washcloth and ran warm water over it.

By the time she was back to his side, perhaps one minute had elapsed, and Kevin was asleep.

She tested the washcloth against her arm, then with great care wiped the bruises on his chest, drying it with one of the bathroom's towels and bringing the comforter up to cover him to the neck. Going around the bed, she turned off the television, then the lights by the door and stepped out of her shoes. Otherwise still dressed, sliding in beside him, she lay down on her back, hands at her sides, hardly daring to breathe.

The knock was barely audible. 'Ms Sinclair? Melanie?'

What
? No one knew she was here except...

She parted the drapes a couple of inches and was staring into the face of the clerk from the office. Not a young man, his deep-pitched gravelly voice seemed to make the window vibrate against her hand. 'I thought you might be lonesome, want a little company?' The look in his eyes chilled her, and she glanced quickly at the thin chain that, in theory, protected her.

She let the drapes fall, stepping back. Another knock, quietly. 'Ms Sinclair?' A pause. 'Okay, then, no offense.'

She waited as long as she could bear it, then tried the drapes again and looked. He was gone.

Getting into the bed again next to Kevin, she pulled the comforter up around her, but after a short while suddenly lifted it off and sat up.

She walked around the bed, picked up the telephone, and punched in some numbers. It was after ten and she'd been trained not to call anyone after that time, but this time she was going to make an exception.

The tired voice answered. 'Hello? What time is it?'

'Cindy?'

'Melanie? Where are you? Are you all right?'

'I'm fine. One thing, though ...'

'Sure, what, anything.'

'Fuck you, Cindy.' And she hung up.

Glitsky went straight up to homicide, but Marcel Lanier, the inspector who had been on call in the office when Loretta Wager was brought downtown, had decided it would be wise to move the senator to avoid the media circus and had chosen a place he thought would be less likely to be used for the next couple of days – Chris Locke's office. He had borrowed a couple of uniformed officers and asked them to wait, standing guard in Locke's reception area until Lieutenant Glitsky arrived. The way things were going he just didn't know – the senator had almost been killed once tonight, and Lanier wasn't about to have anything like that happen again while he was on duty.

Glitsky dismissed the two men in the reception area, closed the door behind him and for the first time in almost twenty-five years was alone in a room with Loretta Wager.

She raised her head. She'd been sitting with her back stiff, one foot curled under her, on one of the couches in Locke's office. Her profile was to him and she held it there. He remained by the door a moment, struck by the control in her posture, the unexpected vulnerability of her face.

'Hello, Loretta.' He stepped toward her. 'Are you all right?'

Her voice had a mechanical quality – shock. 'I don't know how I am. I don't. . . they tell me a bullet missed me by less than six inches.' She uncurled the leg that had been under her, stood up and faced him. She was barefoot, shorter than he had remembered – an inch over five feet. Her shoes and a small clutch purse that matched the color of her blue suit lay on the floor by the end of the couch.

'But Chris .. .' She shook her head wearily, lapsed into silence. 'This isn't how I would have chosen to see you again.' She let her posture slip, something giving in her shoulders. 'But then again, you'd chosen not to see me at all.'

Glitsky ignored that, still standing at the doorway. 'You want to tell me what happened?' She cocked her head to one side, some expectation verified. Glitsky felt he should say something, explain himself, though he couldn't say why. Not exactly. 'I run the homicide department. Chris Locke is a pretty important homicide. I gather you're the only witness we've got. I'd like to hear about it.'

Loretta closed her eyes, sighed. Glitsky knew she must have been through it tonight. 'I told my story upstairs to several officers and a tape recorder. I'm sure they're writing it all down.'

'I'm sure they are.'

'But you want to hear it again?'

Glitsky shrugged. He didn't understand why she'd asked for him, but he did know why Lanier had humored her. Well, he
was
here now, and this is what he did. 'If you want to humor me I'd appreciate it. I understand you asked for me. Here I am.'

There was the start of a smile, but Glitsky couldn't read it. 'When you're bidden.'

'That's just the way I am, Loretta. I'm trying to do my job. You know that.'

A pause. Then: 'I remember.' Unexpectedly – he 'd crossed over to her now – she reached a hand up to the side of his face. But no sooner had the touch registered than she pulled it away. 'All right,' she said, 'but God, I am so tired.'