Still Water (34 page)

You look as if you could use some company.”

Sally Brewster slid into the other side of the booth. She had on the pale chocolate uniform she wore at the coffee shop where she worked, and as she sat she leaned over and slipped her heels out of her shoes.

“God, my feet are killing me. My mother had varicose veins by the time she was forty. I have to get another job. It’s being on your feet all day that causes them, did you know that? I guess you didn’t. Guys don’t have to worry about getting varicose veins, huh?”

She smiled lopsidedly and gestured to Matt’s empty glass. “I think I might join you if you’re offering.” Without waiting for him to reply she signalled to the waitress who came over and took her order for a Bloody Mary.

“And get my friend here another of whatever he’s having, Rita, would you?”

“Sure. Another bourbon on the rocks.”

Sally lit a cigarette. She sighed as she blew smoke. “So how long have you been here?”

Matt glanced at his watch, and was surprised to see that it was after ten. Music was playing in the background and a press of people were at the bar swapping exaggerated fishing stories. A couple of hours,” he said.

Try three.”

“It could be three,” he admitted.

“How many of those have you had?” Sally indicated his glass.

“A couple.” He saw her sceptical look. “Maybe a couple more. How’d you know I was here?”

“What makes you think I knew you were here? I just stopped in for a drink after a hard day’s work.”

It was Matt’s turn to look sceptical.

“Okay. It was Rita. She called me. She knows I have a soft spot for guys like you, the sad cases. She said you’d been here a while and you looked like you were settling in for a long night. She thought I might want to come by.”

Rita brought their drinks over, and Sally thanked her and tasted her cocktail. She made a face. “They never put enough vodka in these things. I should just forget about the tomato juice next time.” She set her glass down, and her expression became serious. “By the way, what happened to your face? You look as if somebody mistook your head for a punch-bag.”

He managed a smile. “You should see the other guy.”

“That’s better.” She grinned at him.

Matt raised his glass and half emptied it. He was feeling a little drunk, but it was a good feeling he decided. He felt a little numbed. “I think I lost my faith in people, Sally.”

“Yeah? Well join the club.”

He looked at her askance. “Don’t tell me you’re a cynic.”

She shrugged. “Me? I’m not a cynic, I’m just a realist. I don’t expect too much from myself or from anyone else. That way I don’t get too many disappointments, and every now and then I get a nice surprise when something good happens, and that makes me think we’re not so bad.”

Matt wondered if that was perhaps a cynical view after all. That’s a little sad isn’t it, if that’s the best we can expect?”

“Seems to me it’s better than expecting too much. That way you’d be disappointed all the time.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

Sally finished her drink. “Nope. Just trying to make you stop sitting there looking so godawful sorry for yourself, that’s all.”

“Ouch.”

“Sometimes people need a little kick in the pants,” Sally told him. “Right now what I need is to get home and get out of this thing.” She plucked at her uniform. “Listen, why don’t you come with me? I can fix us something to eat. I bet you haven’t eaten all day and you’re sitting here drinking on an empty stomach.”

Matt started to say he wasn’t hungry, but she stopped him.

“I’m offering to fix you a meal, Matt. Nothing else. You shouldn’t drive yourself anyway, and I live just across the street.”

She was right, and now that food had been mentioned Matt decided that he was hungry. He looked about the restaurant, and thought dinner with Sally was actually appealing. He didn’t want to be among a lot of people, but he didn’ twant to be alone either. He didn’t want to go home and think about Kate Little or Ella right now, and what all that he’d learned that day meant.

“Thanks, Sally, I’d like that,” he said.

As they left, Rita caught Sally’s eye. “Have a good night,” she said.

When they reached her apartment, he asked her a question as she slipped off her shoes with a sigh of pleasure.

“You said something one day in the coffee shop, about people lining up to kill Bryan if that’s what happened. What did you mean?”

“I did? I don’t remember.”

“Sally.” She turned to look at him. “This could be important. Did you ever go out with Bryan?”

“What? You think I killed him now? That’s all the thanks I get for taking pity on you?” He didn’t say anything and she saw he wasn’t buying her affronted act, and she sighed and sat down. “Okay. I went out with him a few times. And I’ll tell you now what I told you then. Bryan was a gold plated bastard.”

“Did he ever hit you?”

She gave a wan smile. “Yes, a couple of times. At first he said he hadn’t meant to. You know it was an accident blah blah. I guess it took me a while to get it through my thick head that was a crock. He meant it all right. Anyway I told him to take a hike.”

“How’d that make you feel?” Matt asked. “When he beat up on you?”

She studied him, and smoked for a minute in silence, weighing up her answer. In the end she shrugged. “I’ll tell you this. When I heard he might be dead, I poured myself a glass of wine and hoped the sonofabitch got a little of what he gave out before he said goodnight. And that’s the truth.”

Once during the night he woke. He’d been dreaming about Paulie, and about that day in the cove, the sensation of water flowing over his head before Paulie had plucked him into the air again. Then he saw Ella, and it was she who dragged him on to the beach where he lay gasping and wet through. She looked down on him, her eyes grey and green like the sea in winter and he reached up and pulled her towards him. He felt her body against his then his hands closed on thin air and she was gone and he was left with a feeling of emptiness, of being alone. When he opened his eyes the room was dark and still. Vaguely he was aware of a feeling of unfamiliarity, of scents he didn’t recognize, the scrape of the branch of a tree against the window where there should have been no tree, no window even, but the dislocation was hazy and he let it fall away and drifted back into sleep.

When he woke again it was early in the morning. Soft light filtered through a curtain that ruffled in the breeze and the smell of the harbour was tangy with salt. Matt sat up and remembered where he was. Sally lived in a four-room apartment on the top floor of an old three-storey house one street back from the harbour. He’d slept on the couch, though he couldn’t remember how he’d got there. On the bench that divided the room from the kitchen were two empty wine bottles. He got up, and padded with bare feet to the sink where he poured a glass of water. His pants and shirt were folded neatly over a chair, though once again he couldn’t remember taking them off. The door that led through to the passage and the bedroom was partly ajar. Matt dressed and went through and pushed open the bedroom door. The light was dim, the curtains drawn, and Sally was asleep. He started to leave, then hesitated and changed his mind. He couldn’t just go without saying anything. Though he was encouraged by the fact that they’d obviously slept in separate rooms he wished he could remember going to sleep. They’d eaten spaghetti, and drank a lot of wine, and he thought maybe after that Sally had found some brandy. He had a vague unsettling memory of a fumbled embrace at the end of the night. The dream he’d had during the night came back to him, and he wondered if it really had all been a dream.

Sally opened her eyes, and saw him standing beside her bed.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

“What time is it?” Her voice sounded hoarse.

“It’s early, don’t get up.”

Sally groaned. “My head feels like somebody hit me with a hammer.”

“I know the feeling.”

She got up on one elbow, and the strap of her nightdress fell off her shoulder. Unselfconsciously she pulled it up again and swept her hair back from her face. “You leaving?”

“Yeah. I should get going.” Matt hesitated, wondering how he could broach the question he wanted to ask.

“Well, you want me to fix you some breakfast?”

“No, that’s okay.”

Sally watched him, waiting for him to make a move, then a sly smile crossed her face. “In case you’re wondering whether you ought to kiss me, nothing happened.”

“I wasn’t wondering whether to kiss you,” Matt said. He bent and brushed her lips.

“Hmm. I think you oughta get out of here before I forget myself.”

Matt grinned. “Thanks, Sally.”

“For what? We just talked.”

“That’s what I mean.”

She waved a hand, dismissing him. “This is too early for me.” She flopped back on her pillow.

As he left Matt heard her call out to him.

“You better do something about her Matt.”

“Who?” He paused at the front door, but there was no answer.

He stepped out into the half light of dawn. Through the intersection opposite the house he had a clear view of the dock which was already busy as boats put out to sea. He stood on the top step and watched for a while. Out towards the heads half a dozen boats were making their way out of the harbour. The Santorini was still at the dock, but even as he watched, Ella’s truck pulled up and as she climbed out she looked over and their eyes met. It lasted for a couple of moments. He realized how he must look, coming out of somebody’s house where he’d obviously spent the night, and he started to call out to her, but somehow he couldn’t. He realized he wouldn’t know what to say to her. She had lied to him about Kate, and probably a lot more besides. He felt the gulf between them open up again, and yawn like a chasm.

Abruptly Ella turned away.

Kate came out of the market clutching a bag under her arm. She wore sunglasses pushed up on her head, and khaki pants. As she loaded groceries into her car, Baxter looked at the fax in his hand. It was confirmation from the lab that the print taken from the faucet in Bryan’s house matched the one lifted off a cocktail glass that came from The Lobster Pot. It was a right thumb print, and it belonged to Kate Little.

Baxter told himself again that the print only proved that at some recent time Kate had been in Bryan’s house. There could be any number of explanations for that.

Yeah, right, Dave, pull the other one, it plays a tune.

He read the fax over again. There were no names. Just sample A matches sample B. The fax paper was the thermal type, it felt insubstantial, like rice paper. He could crumple it into a ball and toss it in the trash and nobody would ever know.

Across the street Kate got in her car and pulled out. At the stop sign she made a right and headed out of town, and after a moment Baxter started his car and followed her. He caught her up on the point road and flashed his lights until she saw him and indicated to pull over. He stopped behind her, and as he approached she wound down the window.

“Hello again. Was I speeding?”

“Nothing like that,” Baxter said. “I was just heading this way, thought you had a faulty brake light.”

Kate frowned. “I do?”

“Let me check it.” Baxter went around the back and he called out for her to turn the key and put her foot on the brake. Both lights went on. Baxter wondered what the hell he thought he was doing. He went back around. “I guess I must have been mistaken. You might want to get them checked out next time you put her in for a service though.”

“I’ll do that.” Kate smiled, looking vaguely puzzled. “Looks like it’s going to be hot again.”

“Yes, it does,” Baxter replied. For a moment they both looked through the trees to the glimpse of ocean beyond.

Baxter snapped his fingers, as if something had just occurred to him. “Hell, I knew there was something I needed to ask you.”

“There is?”

“Yeah. You know what, the guy that’s missing, Bryan Roderick? His house is down in the cove. I wondered if you might have been there anytime. Could be you passed it out walking and you needed to use the phone or something? Maybe asked for a glass of water.”

Kate looked at him for about a second and a half, and Baxter knew she wasn’t taken in. He guessed that apart from the fact he was a lousy actor, it was just about the lamest thing he’d ever heard himself.

“Why would you think I’d been to his house?” she asked.

“I don’t. I mean I just wondered.”

“You just wondered if I might have been in somebody’s house? For no reason?”

“Well, it’s possible. Maybe you talked to Bryan and you didn’t even know who he was.” Baxter could feel the sun beating down on his head and neck, and he felt sweat break out on his back. She didn’t believe a word of it and he didn’t blame her.

“Well, the answer’s no.”

Baxter shrugged uncomfortably. That’s what I figured. It was just a thought.” He stepped back from her car. “You have a good day.”

“Thanks. Same to you.”

“Sure.”

He watched as she drove away, and as he went back to his car he told himself he was an idiot. For several long minutes he stared thoughtfully along the now empty road. He took out the fax and read it again. He’d told Matt that handing Ella over to the state authorities, even though he had serious doubts himself about Jerrod Gant’s statement, was partly because he wanted to protect her. Was that true? Deep down, he admitted that it probably wasn’t. He stared at the fax for a long time, then finally he folded it again and then picked up his car radio.

“What’s up, Chief?” Martha asked when he called in.

“See if you can find Matt Jones will you, Martha? Ask him to meet me at my office.”

He put up his radio, and looked ahead through the windscreen, then after a moment he swung his car around and started back towards town.

That afternoon they drove through the gates and up to the Littles’ house, along a drive shaded by tall oaks. Kate herself answered the door, and she looked first at Matt, then rested her gaze on Baxter, and didn’t seem surprised to see them. She led them through to the living room.