Liquid Smoke (19 page)

I opened the fridge, found a bottle of water, and downed it in about four swallows.

“You alright?” he asked.

I threw the empty bottle in the sink. “Time is it?” My throat was tight and raw.

“About four o’clock.”

I looked out the window. The weak sunlight I’d seen in my room was about to disappear again behind clouds the color of steel. “You spend the night here?” I asked. He hesitated. “Both nights.” I looked at him. “Both?”

“You haven’t come out of your room for almost two days, man.” I nodded like I knew that. I grabbed another bottle of water out of the fridge and drank half of it. “Where’s Miranda?” “My place.”

The clouds swallowed the sun, and the rain started to fall. “Still raining?” I said.

“It’s barely stopped,” he said. “Wellton wants you—” “Don’t.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“Not yet,” I said, watching the waves tumble outside.

Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. I watched the water, and he watched me.

“There’s one thing, Noah,” he finally said. “I think you should know.”

I emptied the bottle, tossed it into the sink with the other, and took a deep breath. “What?”

“Tomorrow. Ten AM,” he said, his voice cracking a little. “Her funeral.”

I grabbed another bottle of water from the fridge and went back to my room.

Police funerals are like parades.

Everyone gets dressed up. There is marching, speeches, and music. The dead are treated like heroes, as they should be.

I assume they did the same for Liz, but I didn’t go to watch it.

Carter and I—several times I’d told him I was fine, that he could leave me alone, but he never bought it and he was probably correct not to—waited for the pomp and circumstance to end and then drove out to the cemetery on Coronado. He dropped me off at the gate and said he’d be back in an hour.

I wandered through the park, headstones rising out of the muddy ground like dominoes, until I found the one I was looking for.

Elizabeth Shannon Santangelo.

I knelt down next to the freshly turned earth and ran my hand across the dirt, knowing she was somewhere beneath it.

I wasn’t sure what I believed when it came to the afterlife. Like most people, I hoped that there was something else, that in some way we lived on after our lives were extinguished here. But maybe that was just a concept, developed and perpetuated throughout time, meant to help us deal with the finality of death.

As I let the dirt fall through my fingers, I chose to believe that there was something else, because believing that this was the final stop for Liz was too much for me to bear.

The wind picked up and whistled across the cemetery, the rain taking a momentary respite.

I’d heard people say that when someone you care about dies unexpectedly, it doesn’t seem real.

That wasn’t the experience I was having.

Sitting in a cemetery, next to a headstone with her name engraved in elegant letters, made it very real.

I was surprised to see the headstone already in place, but the department arranged her funeral and I assumed that they expedited the creation and placement of the marker, not wanting one of their own to go anonymously into the earth.

I ran my index finger across the letters. The stone was cold, and it sent a chill through my arm, down my spine, and into my heart.

I wasn’t there to say goodbye. Maybe I’d be ready to do that another time, but not now.

I just wanted to be near her.

But as I sat there, knowing she wasn’t coming back, the chill in my body began to pulse, like someone was tapping my insides with a frozen hammer. Everything hurt.

I stared at her name on that headstone for a long time. There were no tears. I don’t know why. But they didn’t come. I knew they’d arrive later, at some unexpected and irrelevant point when I finally gave in to being without her.

The wind gathered speed and rain drops smacked the back of my neck.

I grabbed another handful of dirt. I folded my fingers around it and squeezed.

As the rain pelted me, I stood. I opened my hand, and it looked to me like some of the dirt had disappeared. It had probably just slipped out of my hand, but I liked the idea that it had forced its way into my skin, into my veins, and into my soul to stay with me forever.

I looked down at the earth, the rain matting it down like it was trying to put a protective seal over her.

“I’m sorry I let you down,” I told her, my voice cracking, as I backed away from Liz Santangelo’s grave. “But I will fix it.”

“What are we going to do?” Carter asked.

We were headed back to Mission Beach, a light rain slicking the highway.

“Moffitt first,” I said. “After I talk to him, I’ll have a better idea of what I want to do.”

“Miranda’s getting restless,” Carter said, swinging his car onto Mission Bay Drive. “She feels like Darcy’s getting forgotten in all of this—”

“I don’t care. Tell her to go home. Or don’t. But I don’t care what she does.” The gray clouds were sinking lower, obscuring even the rooftops of the hotels as we moved over Bahia Point. “I’m off Darcy’s case. The police can worry about her. It’s not my concern.”

“She still thinks you’re working to help Simington,” he said.

I laughed, but it sounded harsh and bitter. “She’s wrong. I’m done with him.”

Carter pulled to a stop behind my place in the alley. Klimes’ Crown Victoria was a block up, but I didn’t mention it.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll get it settled with her and wait to hear from you. Then we get it done.”

I opened the door and stepped out of the car. “Right. I’ll call you.”

He sped off down the alley.

He kept saying “we,” and I knew he meant it. I knew he’d do anything—no matter the consequence—to help me.

But there wasn’t going to be any
we
in getting this thing done. Keene had taken Liz from me.

And now I was going to take Keene from everyone else.

I walked into my living room and saw Klimes, Zanella, and Wellton standing outside on my patio, each holding an umbrella. Klimes was peering in the door and raised an eyebrow when he saw me.

I opened the slider and let them in.

“Didn’t see you today,” Klimes said, closing his umbrella and dropping it on the patio. “Wanted to make sure you were fine.” Zanella and Wellton came in behind him. “I’m fine,” I said.

“This always sounds empty,” Klimes said, running a hand across his jaw. “But I’m really sorry, Noah. Not just for you, but for us, too. She was a good cop.”

I nodded but said nothing. Zanella looked uncomfortable, refusing to meet my eyes. Wellton looked exhausted, his eyes rimmed with red, his tie pulled loose at the neck.

“We’re looking for Keene now,” Klimes said. “Have you heard from him?”

“No.”

Klimes nodded, like that’s what he expected. “Okay. Alright.” “Why are you here?” I asked.

Klimes bit his lip and glanced at the other two. Zanella still looked nervous, and Wellton’s eyes just seemed vacant.

“We wanted to check on you. We know how hard this must be,” Klimes said.

“I’m fine. But you’re lying,” I said. “Why are you here?” “We want to make sure you don’t do anything stupid,” Zanella blurted out.

“Like what? Hit you again?” Color rose in Zanella’s cheeks.

“I’m ready to go anytime,” I said. “Say the word.”

I felt drunk. The exhaustion and emotion had pulverized me. I knew that if Zanella made even a minute move in my direction, I would shred him. I was saying stupid things and acting even more stupid. But I didn’t care.

“Noah,” Klimes said, his voice a little more official now. “We know what you’re going through. It’d be natural for you to wanna go get Keene. Hell, you’ve got an entire department that wants him now. But we need to make sure it goes down the right way.”

“Really? And what’s the right way?”

“You know what that is, Noah,” Klimes said, trying to soothe me. “Let us do our work and bring him in the right way.”

I shook my head, the bitter laugh coming out again. “Right.”

“Think about it,” Klimes said. “We find Keene’s body, you know who the first person is we have to come to? You. We don’t want that. We’ll get him. And trust me. Nothing a bunch of cops like more than bringing in some piece of shit who killed one of our own.”

“How about you, Zanella?” I said, turning sharply to him. “You feel that way too? I mean, before, you told me that Santangelo didn’t mean shit to you. I believe because she was fucking me.”

That wasn’t exactly what he’d said, but I wasn’t thinking exactly straight.

Zanella flushed again, started to speak, then stopped. He cleared his throat. “She was a cop. He killed her. That’s all I care about.”

I wanted to fight with someone, but even Zanella could see it and wouldn’t take the bait.

“She wouldn’t want it that way, Noah,” Klimes said. “We both know it. She would not want you to take the fall on this.”

I took a step closer to Klimes. “Do not tell me what she would’ve wanted. Ever.”

“We’re your friends, Noah,” Klimes said. “We’re all on the same side. Let’s make sure it stays that way.”

He turned to leave, and Zanella quickly followed him out. Wellton lingered in the living room, staring at his shoes.

“Your ride’s leaving,” I said.

Wellton turned and watched Klimes and Zanella disappear off the patio. Then he looked at me.

“You find him, you call me,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Any time, any place. Call me. Not them.”

He walked out into the rain.

A knock on the door the next morning startled me out of bed. I grabbed my gun for no other reason than I was hoping it was Landon Keene. I looked through the peephole and saw Miranda.

I opened the door, and she looked at the gun.

“Easy, Homeland Security,” she said.

“What do you want?”

“My stuff. I left some of it here.”

I stepped aside and let her in, closing the door behind her.

“I’m going home to San Francisco,” she said, sitting down on the arm of the sofa.

“Oh. I think your backpack is in the bedroom.”

“Great. I have to get back to school. And there’s nothing for me to do here anyway,” she said, disgust in her voice. “Not like anyone’s gonna do anything for Darcy now.”

I leaned against the door.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Look, I know your girlfriend is dead. I’m sorry. I really am. But my friend is dead, too. I didn’t know your girlfriend, but I did know Darcy. It bothers me that what happened to her is going to take a backseat now.”

I understood what Miranda was saying, but it didn’t change a thing for me. And I also thought that if I took care of Keene, that would be doing something for Darcy, too. Maybe Miranda didn’t see it that way.

“Look, I didn’t come here to fight with you,” she said. “I came to get my stuff and to confirm that you are off Simington’s case.” “Confirmed.”

She nodded slowly, not surprised. “Figured as much. I’ll see if I can find another attorney to take it over.”

“Won’t matter. He doesn’t want to get off. He’s done.”

She shrugged her bony shoulders. “Whatever. Darcy would want me to find someone to at least try.”

I turned away from her. Trying was a waste of time, and we both knew it. But I didn’t doubt she’d go through the motions on Darcy’s behalf.

She disappeared into the bedroom and reemerged with her backpack.

“You gonna go see him again?” she asked. “I don’t know.”

“If you do, don’t go for the wrong reasons.” “And what the hell would those be?”

She clutched the backpack to her body. “I’m guessing you think he might be able to give you some answers, help you solve all this?” I didn’t say anything.

“Then you’ll take care of things on your own, right? Exact your own revenge because justice isn’t enough?”

I turned and looked at her. “You have a fuckin’ point?”

“You hate Simington,” she said, tilting her head to the side, like she was trying to get a better look at me. “And, probably, that’s fair. He fucked you over, and there’s no denying he’s a piece of shit.” Miranda stepped closer to me. “If you do this, you become him. The whole circle of life thing.”

Something resembling an icicle formed in my chest. “Fuck you.”

She laughed and smirked at me. “Are you serious? You don’t see it? You think because you’re hurt, that makes what you’re thinking about doing different?”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking about doing.”

“I don’t?” she said, raising the eyebrow with the ring in it. “That vicious scowl you’re wearing as a mask? What’s that for? That’s not grief, Noah. That is hate and anger and I’m-going-to-kill-the-motherfucker-who-did-this-to-me all over your face.” She let the eyebrow drop. “And why else would you think about going back to see a man you hate? It’s not going to be to tell him you’ll miss him.”

The icicle grew bigger, and I looked past her to the slider. Rain was slapping the big window, running down the glass in thick, blurred streams, obscuring the ocean.

I moved my gaze back to Miranda. “What about you? You don’t want justice for what happened to Darcy? We’re talking about one person who did this to both of them.”

A moment of hurt passed through her eyes. “Of course I want justice for her. But I want the right kind. Not vigilante shit. Darcy would’ve hated that. It’s exactly what she was fighting against.” She shook her head. “I’m angry. I’m hurt. I miss her. But I won’t let it ruin my life.”

She walked past me to the door and opened it, then paused and turned back to me.

“Killing is killing no matter the reason,” Miranda said. “Darcy used to say that a lot because she believed it. I do, too. There’s no difference between what Simington did and what you want to do. You can rationalize it all you want, but that won’t change it. I can see it in your eyes. You think doing this will make everything right and ruin this guy’s life.” She threw her backpack over her shoulder. “If you kill him, Noah, the only life it’s going to ruin is yours.”