No Witnesses

matter. You need a hand, you got one. I didn’t know, that’s all. You’ve got my respect, Boldt, that’s all I’m trying to say. I didn’t know it was you. Get it?”

“Maybe not,” Boldt admitted, thinking that the man probably had him confused with someone else, but appreciating the change of tone and not wishing to challenge it. “But if you’ll help, then that’s fine.”

“I’ll head right over there. Right away while the coffee’s still warm, right? Check the neighbors first, huh? Maybe the postman?”

And a good cop to boot. Surprise. “Sounds good,” Boldt said.

“Be back to you by noon. That okay with you?”

“Just right,” Boldt answered. “The sooner the better.”

FOURTEEN

The wind blew swiftly from the southwest, changing the way the air smelled-or perhaps, Daphne told herself, it was just that she had not been out to Whidbey Island for a long time. She had driven here. After work on a Wednesday, no less … She felt irresponsible for having agreed so quickly and spontaneously. But Owen had that effect on her. He and Corky had arrived via his yacht, making it virtually impossible for him to have been followed. The home belonged to a friend of his. It was a split-level modern in the school of Frank Lloyd Wright-flagstone and glass, cut into a carpet of green lawn that spilled down to the shoreline.

The beach was steeply inclined and consisted entirely of fist-size smooth rocks. Huge cedar logs had been rolled up and deposited by storm tides, creating an obstacle course that Corky used for hiding places.

“We keep saying we can’t do this, and yet here we are again,” she observed.

“It’s only for the one night, and besides, Corky insisted,” Owen Adler explained. “She wants to invite you to her party, and there are some things a father cannot say no to, regardless of the so-called rules.” He added, “Not my rules, anyway.”

“Precautions, not rules.”

“Truthfully, I think she’s more excited about Monty the Clown than the party.”

“Who?”

“It’s an ice-cream bar with a gimmick, is all. The kids love it.” He sounded like a marketing executive.

“Do you want to talk about the investigation?”

“No. It’s what I came to get away from.”

“Fair enough.”

“In the morning if it’s necessary.”

“It’s not,” she said.

The water shimmered and she could make out several sailboats in the distance motoring with the sails down. But it was the lawn and the woods that called her, having grown up in riding boots.

She said, “The way you’re keeping track of Corky, the way you’re always watching her, always attentive to her needs-that’s part of you … who you are. You do that for me, too.”

“Not enough.”

“Yes. It is enough-that’s what I’m saying. It’s a quality in you. It’s not something I measure or keep track of-I don’t think of it like that.”

In a self-deprecating tone he said, “I don’t always pay attention. I leave you in the lurch. I get thinking, and suddenly I realize I’ve left you out of my thoughts-and that’s a criminal offense in any relationship-father/daughter, lovers, it doesn’t matter. It’s a selfishness, and I’m often guilty of it. I know it’s the kind of thing that eventually destroys relationships-”

“You’re doing it again,” she warned him.

“Am I?”

“You’re trying to give me a way out. Mark the exits. But I’m not going, Owen. I’m here. Like it or not, I’m in this.”

“I like it. And you’re right-that’s exactly what I was doing.” He hesitated, and allowed privately, “That’s what you give me.”

“What?” she encouraged-this was the great puzzle for her.

“Insight.” He pointed out a flight of birds in the distance. “You call me on my games. You see what I’m up to when I’m not even aware of it.”

“That doesn’t sound so good,” she admitted. “I don’t want to be a psychologist, I want to be a companion.”

“But it is good. I need both, I think. You’re not afraid of me-you can’t believe how many people act afraid of me. I hate it. It happens so much, so often, and it affects me-and it’s terrible.”

She collected her thoughts.

“You’re nervous,” he observed.

“A little uncomfortable,” she admitted. “The thing is: This is your private time. Your family time-you and Corky. It feels different than when we’re at the house.”

“It is different.”

“Like I’m intruding.”

“Not at all. You know that.”

“Maybe I don’t.” She added quickly, “And I’m not fishing.” She attempted to clarify. “I have a hard time knowing what’s going on inside of you.”

They skirted one of the large timbers, and then another. Corky slipped over a log and ducked low, out of sight. Owen Adler said, “We’ll pretend we don’t see her, okay? Act surprised.”

“Right.”

The child erupted with a “Boo!” coming to her feet and waving her arms, then threw herself into hysterics at their reactions and buried her face in her father’s stomach and laughed to that point where she was forcing it. Owen pushed her off, teased her, and sent her on ahead of them.

When they were alone again he admitted, “I hide, too-just like that.”

She allowed him time to think about this. “Have you always hidden?”

“No.” This seemed to encourage him.

“The result of something recent or something old?”

“Both maybe. As a child I hid-physically hid from my father. He had a short fuse. He drank too much on the weekends and he’d want to ‘play’ with me,” he said, drawing the quotes in the air, “which amounted to playing too hard. Wrestling. Some punching. He hurt me often enough that I learned to hide. There was a place in the woods. I would stay there. But truthfully, I’m not sure it’s that as much as when Connie died,” he said, referring to his sister. “We were best friends. And she was the last of my family.”

He went quiet for a time after that, interrupting the silence with, “I’m willing to work on any of this if it means the difference between losing you and keeping you.”

“It’s me who needs the work, Owen.”

Corky hid again, but she gave up impatiently and chased something imaginary down the beach of rocks.

“I’m afraid to commit fully to this,” Daphne admitted. “I see you tiring of me, leaving me, and that keeps me an arm’s length away most of the time. It happened to my parents-they never divorced, which is worse. They just grew bored with each other. Bored and old and despondent. I don’t want to bore you.”

“Of course you’ll bore me. And I’ll bore you, too. But that doesn’t have to be the permanent state of things.” He said softly, “Corky drives me crazy sometimes. So what? If we’re ready for that stuff, we’re okay. If we’re wearing blinders, we’re in trouble.” He added, “Are you worried we’ll end up like your parents?”

“I see it around me all the time: happily married boredom. I am not charming and entertaining every second of my life.”

“And I am?”

“Honestly?” she asked. “Yes. I’m never bored with you. That’s a big part of it.”

They walked for a while longer, Corky up ahead chasing the birds off the logs and running after them. His