Time Bomb

education because he was pretty articulate. But we never went into detail. The name of the game around here is hustle, hustle, hustle.”

“You never asked him for references?”

“He came from the college- they screen them there. And his landlady said he was reliable.”

“Have you talked to the landlady since his death?”

“Just once. Over the phone. I asked her if she knew anything about his family. She didn’t either. So I took care of everything. Did what I could. I figured cremation would be… I don’t know, cleaner. Ecologically. That’s what I want for myself.”

He raised his hands and let them settle on the desk. “And that’s about all I can tell you, gentlemen.”

Milo said, “What was the relationship between him and Holly?”

“Relationship?” Dinwiddie grimaced. “Nothing romantic, if that’s what you’re getting at. He was on a completely different level than she was. Intellectually. There’d be nothing in common between the two of them.”

“We’ve been told he was her boyfriend.”

“Then you’ve been misinformed,” Dinwiddie said, clipping his words. “Ocean Heights is flap-jaw capital of the world- too many small-minded people with too much leisure time. Take anything you hear around here with a container of salt. Iodized or otherwise.”

Milo said, “We’ve been informed that Ike and Holly used to talk.”

Dinwiddie’s hand rose to his tie and loosened it. “What Ike did tell me,” he said, “is that when he went to deliver to her house, occasionally they’d strike up a conversation. He said she was lonely. He felt sorry for her and took the time to make her feel good about herself- he was that kind of kid. She started preparing things for him- milk and cookies. Tried to keep him there. Which was really unusual for Holly- she never wanted to talk to anyone. I told Ike how unusual that was and I warned him.”

“About what?” said Milo.

“The sexual thing, her developing a crush on him. You know the fantasies people have about blacks- all the hypersexual nonsense. Put black and white together and everyone assumes it’s something dirty. Add to that the fact that Holly wasn’t psychologically normal and the risk of trouble was definitely something to worry about. To Ike’s mind he was just being friendly- the way you’d be to a needy child. But I could see her reading more into his friendliness than he’d intended. Coming on to him, getting rejected, and screaming rape. So I advised him to be careful. For all of our sakes.”

“Did he listen to you?”

Dinwiddie shook his head. “He thought I was worrying over nothing, assured me there was no danger of anything happening- Holly never got seductive. That all she wanted was a friend. What could I say to that? That he should reject her? Because she was white? What would that have said to him?”

Neither of us answered. Dinwiddie kept talking, in a low, deliberate tone, as if unaware of our presence. “One time I was driving home, doing a delivery that took me past the Burden house, and saw the two of them out in front. Ike was holding a bunch of books and Holly was looking up at him as if he were some kind of big brother. She and Howard had never been close. Ike looked more brotherly with her than Howard ever had. I remember thinking how strange it looked- a white kid and a black kid actually communicating. In Ocean Heights. It could have been a poster for tolerance. Then I thought how stupid it was that something as simple as that would be strange.”

He punched a button on his calculator, studied the number that came up as if it were a puzzle.

“They were just a couple of kids,” he said. “Trying to get through life. And now they’re both gone. And I’ve got a special on asparagus.”

16

He walked us out through the market. Business had slowed and the chubby cashier stood idle. I lifted a large yellow apple from its crepe bed and handed it to her along with a dollar bill. Before she could open her register, Dinwiddie said, “Forget it, Karen,” and removed the bill from between her fingers. Handing it back to me, he said, “On the house, Dr. Delaware. And here’s one for you, Detective.”

“Can’t take gifts,” said Milo. “Thanks anyway.”

“Then here’s two for Dr. Delaware.” Smiling but intense. I thanked him and took the fruit. He held the door open for us and stood on the sidewalk, next to a ficus mushroom, gazing after us as we drove away.

I cruised down Abundancia and came to a stop sign. There was a small golden sticker on each apple. Milo removed his, read it, and said, “Fiji. Hoo-hah, watch out, Gauguin.”

I said, “That was Tahiti.”

He said, “Don’t nitpick,” bit, chewed, swallowed. “A bit presumptuous, but fine nose and texture. These Ocean Heights folks sure know how to live.”

I said, “Let’s hear it for the good life,” lifted my own apple like a toast glass, and took a bite. Crisp and sweet, but I kept expecting a worm to wiggle out.

I drove through the empty, picture-perfect streets. At the next stop sign Milo said, “So. What’d you think of El Grocero?”

“Frustrated. Likes to think of himself as a fish out of water but feels guilty about keeping his gills wet.”

“Know the feeling,” said Milo, and I regretted the flippancy of my remark.

He knew what I was thinking, laughed, and cuffed my arm. “Don’t worry, pal. It’s a privileged position, being on the outside looking in.”

I turned onto Esperanza, and the conformist magnolias came into view. “Apparently the boyfriend wasn’t a boyfriend.”

“Maybe, maybe not. If this Novato kid did have a romance thing going with Holly, he wouldn’t have told the boss.”

“True,” I said. “So all we really know about him is that he and Holly talked a few times. And that he’s dead. Which in terms of- pardon the expression- understanding Holly could be relevant. If Ike meant a lot to her, his death could have tipped her over the edge.”

“Trauma leads to rifle games?”

“Sure. The loss could have been especially traumatic for someone with her history- the early death of her mother. She closed herself off from the world. Withdrew. I’ve worked with patients who lost a parent at a young age and didn’t get help. When you don’t grieve, the sorrow just sits there and festers. You stop trusting, learn to hate the world. Holly was a loner. If Ike was the first person who really tried to relate to her, he could have become a substitute parent- Dinwiddie said she was looking up at him as if he were a big brother. Let’s say he got her trusting again, brought her out of her shell. Then he dies. Violently. It triggers all the garbage she’d been sitting on for fifteen years. She explodes. Make sense so far?”

“As much sense as anything,” he said. “You know better than I do.”

I drove past another block of green lawns. A few people were out, walking dogs, washing cars. I thought of Linda’s car, remembered the fog and dread that had settled over Ocean Heights last night. The broken glass, the hooked cross.

What other demons hid themselves, crouching and sniggering behind the diamond-paned windows?

Milo stared out his window and munched. Cop-surveilling, force of habit. Pictures kept floating through my mind. Ugly possibilities.

When he turned away for a moment, I said, “What if Holly and Ike did more than just chat? What if they got into philosophical raps- the rotten state of the world, injustice, poverty, racism. Given Holly’s sheltered life, the experiences of someone like Ike would have been a real eye-opener for her- could have really changed her. That’s what happened in the sixties when white kids from suburbia went to college and encountered minority students for the first time. Instant radicalization. Someone else might have channeled it constructively- volunteer work, altruism. But Holly was vulnerable because of all that loneliness and anger and distrust. It’s the classic lone assassin profile, Milo. She could have seen herself as Ike’s avenger. Vanquishing Massengil- a symbol of racism- could have seemed noble.”