Shattered Shell (5 page)

"You're so right." She turned to me and her face was a gaunt shadow. "He did everything right and asked the right questions, and he and a squad are going over to her apartment right now, but I can tell. He's just doing it. He's just going through the motions. Call it cop sense, but I don't think he's going to bust his butt on this one, and I can't allow that, not for a moment."

I chose my words carefully. "Do you think he knows about you and Kara?"

I think she tried to smile. "You mean about our alternate lifestyle? No, I don't think so. I think he's just a guy cop a bit overwhelmed with his job and Kara's story so far.... Well, she did everything wrong. She shouldn't have destroyed the evidence the way she did. She panicked, and I think this guy is going to hold it against her. I don't think he will make this case a priority, that's what."

Another sigh, and she put her head in her hands and said, "Shit, shit," over and over again, and then said, "We've been through some times, you and me, right?"

"Absolutely true," I said, remembering with a quick tinge of comfort the first time we had met, and how she had helped set me on the road to living again, after the worst months of my life. Although she was aware of what she did, those years back, I'm sure Diane doesn't know the extent of how much she had saved me.

"Then I can ask you for a favor, the biggest favor I've ever asked you."

I shifted some in my seat, the heat in the front just reaching the comfort zone. "You can ask and it's yours."

"You probably won't like it."

U-oh. "You're probably right, and I think it probably doesn't make a difference. What do you need?"

She sighed again. "I want your help, Lewis."

"You've got it. Just name it, Diane."

It seemed to take a few minutes as she raised herself up and sat back in the seat, and she reached across and grabbed my hand.

She said, "I want you to help me find him."

No need to ask who he was. "It'll be hard, and might take a lot of time, and the cops here might not like me sniffing around."

"I can handle that," she said. "Will you do it?"

I ran my fingers across the steering wheel. "So we can give him to the cops?"

A pause that seemed to stretch for quite a long time. "No," she finally said. "So I can kill him."

Chapter Three

A snowplow grumbled by through the parking lot, its amber lights powerful enough to pierce the snow-covered windshield. I looked into Diane's eyes and saw a fierce determination there, a look highlighted by the plow's lights.

I said, "Diane -- " and she just as quickly interrupted me.

"I'm absolutely serious," she said. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm distraught, I'm overwhelmed and a bit crazy, and all of that's true. But it doesn't change what I feel now, and what I know I'm going to feel tomorrow, and feel next week. I want that man dead. I want him gone. And I'm going to need your help."

"What makes you think I can do anything?"

She nailed me with her reply. "Don't give me any crap about being a simple magazine writer. You were once a Pentagon spook, and the fact I've never been able to learn anything about you from the Department of Defense tells me you were important. And if you were important, you were good, and you've got the talents to find this slug."

"You're asking a lot," I finally said, and it felt like the heating system had died.

"I know. But I'm sorry, I need you for this. If they're lucky, the cops may find a suspect. And that's a big maybe. And then my Kara will have to go into a room full of strangers and talk about the intimate details of her life, all while some smart sport from law school does his level best to destroy her on the stand, so his paying scum can slide away a free man. Do you think I'm going to allow that to happen to my woman?"

"Diane, think of what you're doing," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "You're asking me to get involved in something that could put the both of us away for a very long while, not to mention putting a serious crimp into your career --- "

Again she interrupted, with an epithet of what I could do with her career. "I don't need lectures. I'm a cop, and I know the chances of anything happening to that bastard are slim. If he's arrested, if he goes to trial, and if he's convicted, then he ends up in the Massachusetts prison system. And excuse me for living, but I'm not too enthusiastic about a prison system that practically has a union for murderers. And if you think he'd serve out his full term in this lovely state, then you're nuttier than I think you are."

"I must be pretty nutty just for staying here and listening to you."

"Maybe so," she said with a sigh. "Remember, too, if he does get convicted, facing a ten- or fifteen-year sentence, then I have Kara facing life ... " and her voice cracked. "Kara ... she's been raped once, Lewis. I'm not about to let her get raped again by the judicial system. Believe me, I know," and the last four words were said particularly harshly. "That's why I'm going to do this, and I'm going to need your help."

Oh, my. I squeezed the steering wheel and looked over at her, recalling my first months at Tyler Beach, when I had arrived thin and jumpy, waking up at odd hours from dark and steaming dreams, sitting alone at my beach house, drinking and staring out at the ocean, feeling the acid of guilt dissolve me from the inside out, one bone and organ at a time. Then I began my involvement in those activities that skirted and sometimes crossed over the line of legality, and Diane had been there, as I clambered back to life. She had been there from the start, letting me do what I had to do, sometimes passing along help and information at crucial times, and always letting me get away with situations other police officers would have gladly arrested me for.

Diane.

I reached over and touched her face. "I'll do it."

I walked her back, her arm looped through mine, and the snowflakes still fell and danced to their death on the ground. As we went up to the lit door I turned to her.

“I might need some other help for this, you know."

"Such as?"

"Such as Felix Tinios." I brushed some snow from my eyes as we stopped. "You and I both know I might have to go into some pretty dark rooms eventually. If that's the case, I want Felix with me, much as you don't like him."

She turned and held my hands in hers. "Last November, when we watched that documentary on Winston Churchill, the night I wanted to watch the ice skating, you said something funny about what Churchill did, back when Hitler invaded Russia. What was it?"

I nodded, impressed once again with Diane's cop memory.

"Churchill got in a load of trouble when he announced England would become allies with the Soviets, right after Hitler invaded. Some of his colleagues were shocked that a conservative anticommunist like Churchill would actually become an ally of Stalin. Some just wanted Hitler and Stalin to fight it out, to bleed each other."

"And didn't he say something about making a pact with the Devil in reply?"

I gave her hands a squeeze. "He said if Hitler invaded Hell, he would at least make a favorable reference to the Devil in the House of Commons."

Diane attempted another smile. "If Felix assists you, I will at least say nice things about him the next time his name comes up at a staff meeting. Do what you have to do, but try to be discreet." She squeezed my hands back. "Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Absolutely." I hugged her and she choked, "Sweet God, I love her so much.... "

"I know you do. Now go in there, because she needs you."

She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and walked into the emergency room, her shoulders slumped, and I looked around at the snow and lights and homes and wondered where the man was, the man that had brought me out into this night and had ruined two women's lives with less than an hour's effort on his part. Probably near here or in a neighboring town, resting. Was he sleeping? Did he feel guilt? Happiness? A satisfied glow? A lot of questions, and nothing but hard work and dismay ahead for me. I put my hands back into my coat pockets, shivered in the snow and walked back across the lot. 

At home I boosted up the heat and saw from the kitchen clock that it was almost four in the morning. I made a cup of hot chocolate and went out to the living room, sitting on the rear of the couch. The ride home had been rugged enough, with the poorly plowed roads and the snowfall, and even though my vehicle is a nimble beast on bad roads, I was glad when I got her into the garage. I held the steaming cup of hot chocolate in my chilled hands and looked out the sliding glass doors after opening up the drapes.

With no lights on, I was looking out in the dark, watching the snowflakes rage down from the night sky. I felt a draft of cold air drift across my bare feet. Now that I was here, alone and in the dark, I had the time to think, and some very loud voices were screaming at me. I tried to tell them to shut up, but I failed. Mostly the voices were saying the same thing, over and over: Are you insane?

"Maybe so," I said, speaking aloud, but it also seemed so right, back in the parking lot, to help her in return for the so many things she had done for me. But now, sitting alone in my house and watching the snow come down, my voices were demanding to know why I had just agreed to take part in something that could result in a murder, and could result in my being brought up on conspiracy charges, or could even end in my own injury and death if I wasn't careful. Marvelous. Ain't friendship a wonderful thing?

So I sat thinking, until the hot chocolate was gone and I rubbed the still-warm mug against my cool face, and then I left the mug on the coffee table and went upstairs and crawled back into bed, listening to the wind. I thought some more and made a decision, one that I wasn't particularly proud about. Then I debated for a while on whether to turn on the light and do some reading, and while that debate was going on, I fell asleep.

I woke up and went back to sleep and repeated the pattern again, until it was nearly eleven a.m. when I stumbled out of bed. After getting dressed and a quick breakfast of tea and toast, I called Felix Tinios's house three times, and each time got a busy signal. The snow had finally stopped and the sky was the deep blue that comes right after a good-sized storm. I then shrugged on my heavy coat, pulled on some boots, and did some work, shoveling a path from the front door of my house to the garage. The first winter I spent here I had ignored the shoveling and had just beaten down a path to the garage. That had worked well until the hard-packed snow had transmuted itself into slick ice and I fell on my butt. Now I take the time to shovel. I may not be bright, but I can be taught.

After two more unsuccessful calls to Felix, it was time for a drive. The boy must have had his phone off the hook, and I was aching for a visit. During the time I had been outside, I had been thinking with every toss of the shovel. Felix's help was critical, and without it, well, Diane was going to be even unhappier when I next saw her. I couldn't do this alone. I had paused for a moment, breathing hard, resting on the shovel. I looked out toward my tiny cove and looked at the waves and ice, and wondered if any beautiful shells were over there, covered by the snow. I closed my eyes and saw a scared, trembling woman with wounds I couldn't even imagine, and I shook my head and gave it up. I had said yes. I would see it through, and I went for a drive.

Felix lives in the next town over from Tyler, called, oddly enough, North Tyler. Atlantic Avenue was also mostly clean of the snow that had fallen over the night, and say what you will about New Hampshire and its tiny state government, at least they know how to plow roads. Away from the heavy traffic of the summer, everything looked clean and crisp. With the sharp January air, the Isles of Shoals some miles distant out on the Atlantic looked perfect enough to be Christmas decorations.

Felix lives on Rosemount Lane, which juts off Atlantic Avenue to the east and contains six houses, and his home sits alone on a small bluff, overlooking the ocean. Like me, Felix enjoys his privacy, but our living quarters have nothing in common. His is a low slung ranch, only ten or twenty years old, and I was surprised at what I saw. There was another vehicle, parked next to Felix's own red Mercedes convertible. It was a black Trans Am with Massachusetts plates, its sides smeared white with old road salt. Oops. Looked like Felix had an overnight guest, which explained the busy signals. I was going to turn around and try again later when the door of the house opened up and Felix stepped out with a man.  Oops again. Felix saw me and nodded, and I pulled to the side of the road.

The guy was talking to Felix and then shrugged, and Felix gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder and the guy walked down to the Trans Am. I checked him out through the rearview mirror. He was a few years younger than me, maybe in his late twenties, with a thick brown mustache, a day-old stubble of beard, thick, wide shoulders, and dark sunglasses. His brown hair was done up in a tiny ponytail, and he had on pale blue jeans, white hooded sweatshirt, and a dungaree vest. He looked up at Felix when he got to his car and gave a well-I-gave-it-my-best-shot shrug, and opened up the driver's door to his Trans Am. When his door slammed shut, I got out and went up the driveway, where Felix was standing outside.