The Fourth Motive (32 page)

Ray began unpacking his things and setting up his observation post, not expecting
any activity at the house for several hours. He was delighted to observe the whore,
true to her routine, emerge from the dwelling at first light. He was less delighted
to see the muscular man and dog emerge several minutes later and follow her. He couldn’t
be certain but was almost sure the man was the one who intervened on the slut’s behalf
the day he tried to take her.

He remembered how the housekeeper scoffed at the theory of the slut having a boyfriend.
If he wasn’t a boyfriend, who was he? A bodyguard? That possibility concerned Ray.

He planned to observe and gather intelligence today. He knew from his father’s lessons
and a book he read on the origins of the Office of Strategic Services, the most important
weapon in any soldier’s arsenal was intelligence. How well you knew your enemy could
be the difference between victory and defeat.

Nonetheless, Ray felt ready for what lay ahead. He fantasized he was fighting in Korea
alongside his father. The weight of the carbine felt reassuring, and he was certain
if his dad could see him now, he would be proud.

Ray badly wanted a cigarette but resisted the impulse to light one. He remembered
reading that the Viet Cong could smell American tobacco in the sterile jungle environment
at a distance of several hundred yards.

He watched through the binoculars as the slut and her friend jogged steadily up the
hill, the yellow dog trailing behind them. Every part of him had been waiting, almost
living, for what would soon transpire.

Ray was aware his previous acts had been childish and amateur, not the actions of
a professional. He’d planned poorly and executed those plans impulsively. He’d let
himself become excited. He’d made mistakes. He would not make mistakes again.

He flashed his nicotine-stained teeth in a feral grin when he looked through the binoculars
and saw them kiss. So much for the “no boyfriend” theory. He laughed as they turned
around and ran back the way they came.

“Run along home, whore,” he said aloud, as he watched them depart. “Get in a fuck
while you can. Make it a good one, though; it’ll be your last.”

He set aside his binoculars and unfolded a camouflage-colored tarpaulin to use as
shade. He wasn’t particularly tired; it was a byproduct of the residual adrenaline
left over from his early-morning exertion, but he knew he had to rest. Soon, the heat
would set in and make sleep difficult. He wanted to be as fresh and ready as possible;
it was going to be a busy night.

Tomorrow would be even busier.

   

CHAPTER 39

 

 

Kearns sat outside on the rear patio, enjoying breakfast with Elsa. Cody was munching
on his own breakfast underneath Kearns’ chair.

When they returned from their morning run, Elsa was already in the kitchen. Paige
passed her wordlessly, ignoring her aunt’s hearty, “Good morning”.

Kearns smiled a greeting and went to the cottage for a shave and shower. Twenty minutes
later, he was on the patio, where Elsa was laying out breakfast with Cody dutifully
at her side. When Kearns arrived, Cody trotted up.

“How does breakfast sound?” Elsa greeted him.

“Marvelous,” he said, kneeling down and giving Cody a vigorous hug. “I’m starved.”

“How was your jog?”

“Could have been better.”

“I figured. The black cloud over Paige’s head was a clue.”

They sat down together and Elsa poured Kearns a tall glass of orange juice. “You know,”
he said, nodding his thanks, “sometimes I think I could screw up a cannonball.”

“Don’t give it another thought,” she consoled him. “Paige will be fine by this afternoon.
Be patient; I told you this place has a positive effect on her. She’ll come around.
Besides, it’s too beautiful a day to spoil with a sour attitude, even for her.”

“Maybe not; I really stepped on my dick this time.” He winced. “Pardon the expression,”
he added, an embarrassed look on his face.

Elsa tossed her head back and laughed. “No need to apologize,” she said. “It was one
of my husband’s favorite sayings. Only, he would say ‘I stepped on my dick with hobnailed
boots’. I’m not offended.”

“Paige sure was,” he said, buttering a slice of toast.

“Whatever happened between you two will blow over,” Elsa assured him.

“I doubt it; I kissed her.”

“You don’t say,” Elsa said, her eyebrows lifting. “Worse things could happen to a
pretty girl.”

“I should have known better.”

“Oh, phooey. I’m sure if you did it, it was the right thing to do. Damned if that’s
not just what she needs. A little kissing now and then never hurt anybody.”

“You think so?”

“I do. I’ve known Paige all her life, remember? She always tried so hard to be such
a straight little arrow to please that heartless father of hers.”

“I’ve met the Judge,” Kearns said. “I never thought of him as heartless.”

“You weren’t his only daughter. He was tough on her.” She sipped coffee. “When you’re
a little girl, all you want is for your father to put you on his knee and tell you
how precious you are. But there was none of that mushy stuff in Gene Callen’s home,
no, sir. He was as stiff at home as he was on the bench. It’s what eventually drove
his wife away.”

“You mentioned marital troubles before.”

“That’s right,” Elsa continued. “But I don’t blame Gene entirely. Claire was a big
girl when they met, and she knew what she was getting into when she married him. I
may have already mentioned Gene is an excellent judge of character; it’s one of his
many strong points. He knew his wife was more than a match for him. But his weakest
point, and it’s a flaw he’s passed on to his child, is his inability to express his
feelings. Oh, he knows the right things to say, all right, but when it comes to actually
relating to people, especially those he cares about, he’s all thumbs, always has been.”

“Is that why Paige is so cold-shouldered most of the time?”

“Of course. Like her father, she’d rather diminish the importance of a relationship
than admit she needs it. And just like her father, she’s driven by a fierce self-reliance
as a result.”

“Basically, you’re telling me she’s shy?”

Elsa laughed again. “Kevin, you have a way of eloquently simplifying things.”

“Just a guess,” he said.

“I’d call it an accurate guess. For goodness’ sake, she’s twenty-eight years old,
yet she acts like a bashful schoolgirl when a classmate shows interest. Not a lot
of men show interest, I’m willing to wager.”

“You kidding? Paige is beautiful.”

“She is, but she’s guarded. Standoffish. Most guys aren’t looking to work that hard
in their relationships; Paige is high maintenance. And she can be very intimidating,
even for an attorney.”

“I suppose I’m too dense to be intimidated,” he said.

“One of your strong points,” Elsa said.

“In any case,” he exhaled, “I was out of line. I shouldn’t have kissed her. It’s probably
why she hasn’t come out to join us for breakfast.”

“Nonsense. She’s on the phone with a police officer from Alameda. I heard them conversing
as I was coming out.”

“Sergeant Wendt?”

“I didn’t catch the name. In the meantime, have some eggs and sausage; for a guy your
size, you eat like a mouse.”

Kearns accepted a loaded plate. “I should mention,” he said, “that I took the liberty
of borrowing one of the shotguns. I have it out in the cottage where I can get to
it. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I just pray you won’t need it.”

“I’ll drink to that,” he said, raising his glass of orange juice.

The sliding glass door opened and Paige walked out, squinting in the sun. Kearns stood
as she approached the table and did not resume his chair until she was seated. Though
she nodded as he pulled out her chair for her, she did not meet his eyes.

“What’s the news from Alameda?” Elsa wasted no time asking.

“Dad’s doing a lot better. They’re going to move him out of the intensive care unit.
Sergeant Wendt said he’ll still be under guard, at least for now. I’ll be able to
speak with him later this afternoon.”

“Any progress in the investigation?”

Paige shook her head. A long silence ensued.

“Let me give you the day’s itinerary,” Elsa announced, ending the awkward quiet. “On
the agenda today is nothing, absolutely nothing. You two are going to sit by the pool
and keep Cody company. And you’re going to relax; that’s an order.”

“Sounds like heaven to me,” Kearns said. Paige nodded imperceptibly.

“Get your suits on. I’ll clean up. The rest of the day is for taking it easy.”

After breakfast, Paige and Kearns retired to their respective rooms to change as their
host had ordered. When Kearns emerged, he found two towels, two glasses, and a large
pitcher of ice water with lemon slices on the table nearest the pool. He’d brought
his own towel with the .45 tucked discreetly inside.

Kearns was arranging two deck chairs by the pool when Paige came out. She boldly walked
across the patio, but he could sense how self-conscious she was in her swimsuit. She
needn’t have been.

Paige was wearing a modest white two-piece, which displayed her magnificent legs to
perfection. Kearns felt a tightness in his throat as he tried not to stare, and was
grateful for the Ray-Ban sunglasses he wore and their ability to conceal his scrutiny.
Her long blond hair was pinned up, revealing the shaved patch and stitches, but also
showcasing her neckline and shoulders. Her firm breasts rode above a hard, flat, and
tiny waistline.

Elsa reappeared with a bowl of sliced fruit and several books.

“Aren’t you going to join us?” Kearns asked.

“At my age, the sun isn’t very kind. I’ll be inside in my favorite chair doing the
same thing you two are doing. If you want anything from the kitchen, give a shout.”

“Don’t you have anything more contemporary?” Paige said, examining the books. There
were copies of Cooper’s The Deerslayer, Wells’ The Island of Doctor Moreau, and Hemingway’s
The Sun Also Rises.

“The classics are always contemporary,” Elsa reminded her niece. “That’s why they’re
classics.”

“I love H.G. Wells,” Kearns said eagerly. “Haven’t read any of his stuff since I was
a kid. It’s perfect; thank you.”

“Ta-ta.” Elsa waved, returning to the house.

Once she left, Kearns and Paige settled into their chairs. Paige napped and Kearns
read. Neither spoke a word as morning faded into the afternoon. Every hour on the
hour after noon, Elsa would return to the pool from the kitchen with a beer for Kearns
and a margarita for Paige.

Occasionally, Paige or Kearns would take a dip in the pool to cool off; the temperature
was over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. During the times Paige was in the water,
Kearns found it particularly difficult to concentrate on the chapter he was supposed
to be reading. She glided across the pool, her strokes smooth and effortless. He noticed
she was careful not to get her stitches wet. He also noticed her glancing at him a
time or two when it was his turn for a dunk.

The combination of sun, relaxation, and alcohol had a tranquil effect. By late afternoon,
Kearns felt his eyes growing heavy. When he turned to look at Paige lying next to
him, he realized she was fast asleep. He checked his watch; it read after 5 o’clock.

Kearns stood up, yawned and stretched, and for the second time in as many days scooped
Paige gently into his arms. She gave no indication of waking up, and he could tell
by the depth of her rhythmic breathing she wouldn’t be waking anytime soon. He padded
noiselessly in his bare feet into the house.

Elsa sat up from her chair as Kearns strode past. She lowered her reading glasses,
her eyes flashing mirth.

“I see all the relaxation was too much for her,” she said.

“Me, too,” he whispered. “I’m going to grab a nap myself as soon as I put her to bed.”

“What about dinner?”

“Can we make it a late one? The sun and booze tend to kill the appetite.”

“That sounds ideal.”

Elsa preceded him upstairs and opened the door to Paige’s room. Kearns placed Paige
carefully on the bed. Elsa kissed her on the forehead, and they left her to slumber.

“If you don’t mind,” he said once they were downstairs, “wake me when Paige wakes
up, would you? We could have dinner then. I’ll cook.”

“You cooked last night. I hardly ever get to cook for anyone but Cody, so it’ll be
my pleasure. Enjoy your nap.”

Kearns retrieved his book on the way to the cottage in case he awoke before Paige.
Cody obediently trotted after him.

“You sure are a good fellow,” he told the Labrador, who followed him inside. He left
the door ajar in case the dog wanted out.

Leaning against door was a shotgun. It was a 12-gauge Remington model 870 Wingmaster
with a twenty-six-inch ventilated-rib barrel. It wore the scars of many seasons’ hard
use but had been lovingly cared for. Kearns envisioned Elsa’s husband squatting in
a duck blind, waiting for game birds to take flight. He wondered if he’d ever hunted
with his son Mark before his untimely death.

Kearns loaded the shotgun’s tubular magazine to capacity with four 00 buckshot shells,
leaving the chamber empty and the safety off. The government .45 he slid under the
pillow of the bed. He stripped off his shorts and slid under the covers, looking forward
to the bliss of sleep. Cody, uninvited but nevertheless welcome, hopped up on the
bed and lay at his feet.

When Kearns awoke, it was dark. He sat up with a start. Cody was gone, and the cottage
door was wide open. He sensed a presence in the room. With his heart pounding, he
guided his right hand under the pillow and over the grip of the pistol resting there.
He peered into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.