'I'm surprised Schwarzenegger could spare the bird.'
She cocked her head.
'Nothing,' he said, not wanting to go into it.
'Anyway, Ray's in the ground. Lots of ceremony, lots of news crews and crocodile tears. Jeez, you wouldn't believe what a big deal it was.'
Shane poured her a glass of Montrachet. She sipped the wine and looked out over the sandy beach and the ocean a hundred yards beyond. A light wind ruffled her perfectly streaked blond hair. She seemed to be working up to something. He waited and let her get at it in her own way. Finally she turned back to him, a small, sad smile on her face. 'This is strange, sitting here again after all these years, isn't it?' He nodded his agreement. 'God only knows why I chose to marry him, Shane. All day I've been trying to figure what was going through my mind. You were always the one.'
'You don't have to explain it,' he said, shifting awkwardly under the weight of the conversation and her penetrating stare.
'You were what I was looking for, but Ray told me you had beat that kid half to death in Southwest Division. He told me horrible things about you and I just… got mixed up. It wasn't until after we got married that he told me one night when he was drunk that he did it and that you had just taken the blame so IA wouldn't kick him off the job. He thought it was funny. 'Scully's just a dumb fuck,' he said.'
'It's okay. It's done. Forget it.' He felt his self-respect washing away like water rushing back to the sea, taking the sand beneath his feet, altering his stance, threatening his balance. It seemed wrong to be discussing this on the day that Ray went into the ground. Wrong to feel desire for his widow, wrong not to have found the courage to go to the funeral.
Barbara went on, in a hurry to rid herself of her own painful memories. 'Back then, when I told you not to call me anymore, I cried for a whole night. I thought you had done what Ray said, you were on trial at Internal Affairs for it… and I…' She stopped and shook her head. 'Ray started coming around a month later, and he seemed so strong. At first he could be so sweet, so tender. It was sort of touching, a huge brutish guy like that with an inner softness. I was looking for something, I don't know what. Then he kept at me… calling… gifts… it went on for years before I said yes. My dancing career was going nowhere, and I just thought…' She shook her head in exasperation. 'Whatta mistake, huh?'
'Barbara, you don't have to explain it to me. Please. I understand.'
'I want to, Shane. I need to. I know this is a shitty day for it, but frankly, in the twelve years we were married, I'd come to despise Ray, and I had come to despise myself for getting into such a mess with him. He drank, he cheated, he didn't come home sometimes for a week. Then a few years ago, he started hitting me. At the end, I was so frightened of him. I swear, it was a relief to see that casket go into the ground, almost like his grave was the doorway to my future.' She took a deep breath. 'If that seems coldhearted, I'm sorry. It's how I feel.'
Shane looked at her for a long time. Under the dark glasses he knew she had beautiful aqua-blue eyes, the exact color of tropical reef water. She had a luscious body and chiseled features. More than once, in the old days, he had walked into rooms with her and felt the gaze of every man in the place undressing her. She was a physical trophy, but it went beyond that. He thought she had intense feelings and a depth of personality that this conversation betrayed. God help him, Shane still desperately wanted her, wanted to hold her and make love to her, but the feeling diminished him. Making it worse, he could tell that she was reaching out to him, asking him for forgiveness and inviting him to try again.
'Barbara, I think, no matter what eventually happens between us later, this needs to wait.'
'I know. I know. It's just… I've been thinking about what it would have been like if things had been different. Sounds like a sad Barbra Streisand flick, doesn't it?'
He sat there looking at her, afraid to mention the number of times he had lain awake with the same thought. They'd really fucked it up. Ray had given it a nudge, but it had been the two of them, accelerated by Shane's pride and anger, who had pushed something special over the cliff. Now any future relationship was destined to be a reclamation project. Ray's memory would forever be between them.
'You said you had news,' Shane said, changing the subject.
'I got the phone printout like you asked, from AT amp;T. I got the number that woman called in on.'
'Great. Lemme see it.'
She handed over a slip of paper and he frowned. 'This is a Venice exchange.'
'I know.'
'Why would somebody send an important package through the mail, where it might get lost, when they could just drive by at midnight and stuff it into your mailbox?'
'I don't know. Doesn't make much sense.'
He pu*d out his cell phone and dialed the number. He got a recording. 'Disconnected,' he said as he snapped the phone closed. 'When you gave your statement, did you tell the police about the woman who called and the videotape she said was coming?'
'Yeah. I told them everything.' Then she added with a strange smile, 'I told them Ray fired first, that it was self-defense.'
Shane sat, thinking for a long moment. 'We need to take a look through your house. I want to do a thorough search.'
'There's nothing there. Robbery/Homicide looked already when they did the crime-scene investigation.'
'I wanna look anyway. Maybe they missed it. I think that tape the woman was talking about may be what this is all about. Can we skip lunch and go there now?'
'What if they have someone watching the house? They'd see us together.'
'With two-thirds of the department taking the day off for Ray's funeral, I doubt there's any spare manpower for a stakeout. Now is the best time. Let's go. If it's there, maybe we can find it.'
He paid for the wine, and they walked out of the restaurant. On the way through the lobby, Shane had another thought. 'Barbara, do you know Ray's cell phone number?'
'No. It was strictly a business phone. He told me never to use it, but I think he had it written down somewhere. Why?'
'When we get there, see if you can find it.'
'Okay.' She got into her red Ford Mustang convertible. The parking attendant stared openly as she pulled away, her blond hair streaming in the wind. Invisible in her wake, Shane got into his Acura and followed.
???
When they got to Barbara's house on Shell Avenue, the front door was ajar. Shane pulled up to the curb as Barbara pulled into her driveway. They both got out of their cars and looked at the half-open door with concern. Shane pulled his gun and handed Barbara his cell phone.
'Call nine-one-one if I'm not out in two minutes,' he said. Then he moved up the steps and onto the front porch. He could see that the front-door lock had been drilled. Part of the tumbler mechanism was lying on the porch at his feet. With his toe, he edged the door open, staying to one side, out of sight. Then, when he had determined it was clear, he slipped into the house.
He could hear drawers being opened and closed in the back. He moved silently in that direction, finally looking into the bedroom where, seemingly a lifetime ago, he had killed Ray Molar.
There were two uniformed police officers going through dressers and closets. Shane decided to retreat. He didn't want to be caught in this house with Barbara standing outside. As he took a step back, the floor squeaked; both policemen spun and saw him standing there, gun in hand.
'What the fuck're you doing going through Ray's house?' Shane snarled, switching to offense and glaring at the two officers.
They were both first-year patrolmen. One of them he recognized as John Samansky, Ray's last probation partner. He was almost too short to be a cop, probably barely reaching the LAPD five-seven male height requirement. He had made up for his short stature by lifting weights. His wide trapezius muscles were straining his uniform shirt collar. The other police officer Shane had never seen before. He was also young but prematurely balding, with a narrow, pockmarked face. His nameplate read L. AYERS.
'Whatta you doing here, Scully?' Samansky asked. He had the blown voice of a pack-a-day saloon singer or a throat-punched club fighter.
'You got a warrant?' Shane asked, ignoring the question.
