Sweet Dreams, Irene

I could have interrupted Bea Harriman to ask for help, I suppose. That would have been the smart thing to do. But I had the distinct feeling that Bea Harriman didn’t like me much. Frank had warned me that his mother had been disappointed when he broke up with Cecilia, a girlfriend from Bakersfield; he said it would take her some time to get used to the idea of someone new.

Someone new? Frank had broken up with Cecilia five years ago. I couldn’t credit all of Bea Harriman’s coolness toward me to something that had happened that long ago.

All the same, there was no use in complaining over every little thing, I told myself. It was Thanksgiving, and the list of things to be thankful for was a long one. I concentrated on that list as I looked over the photographs.

I decided that I was being too sensitive about Frank’s mom, probably in part because I was still worn out from Tuesday’s rescue at sea. It had been a long night.

The Coast Guard had been very efficient. Within moments, they had boarded the Pandora, taken Gannet and Stevens into custody, and treated Jack’s wound. Although we had a brief moment to reassure one another when Frank first came on board, things got hectic after that.

Jack shrugged off any attempt I made to express gratitude, saying that he knew he had scared me but that it wouldn’t do to have Gannet think he wasn’t serious. He asked me what had become of the envelope from Paul, and went to look for it soon after his wound was bandaged.

The Coast Guard went to work on getting the Pandora and the powerboat back to the marina, and soon took all of us aboard the cutter. I thought Frank and I would have a chance to talk then, but as soon as we sat down, Jack walked over and quietly handed Frank the envelope from Paul. It was still sealed. Frank opened it carefully and found not only a bloodstained knife, but a signed statement which described Gannet’s role in detail. As Jack and I read over Frank’s shoulders, it was clear that Gannet had initiated the entire plan to murder Mrs. Fremont.

As we read the confession, I glanced at Jack now and then, anxious about his reaction. There was nothing personally addressed to Jack beyond the words on the outside of the envelope; the confession itself was both brutally explicit and absolutely unsentimental. No remorse, no excuses. Simply a means to protect Paul from a double-cross by Gannet.

As we finished reading, Jack walked away from us, to stand leaning against a rail. Frank watched him for a moment, then went over to him. For the remainder of our time on the cutter, they spoke to one another in low voices. Without hearing what they were saying, I could still tell that Jack seemed more at ease as a result of the conversation. All Frank would say about it later was, “Jack just needs some time.”

Slow remedy, time.

When we finally got home that evening, we were both talked out. We had been met at the dock by members of the press (which included Mark Baker) and the police (which included Pete and Lieutenant Carlson); answering their questions had drained the last of our energy.

From listening to Frank, Pete, and Carlson, I learned that the police had already discovered the real function of the cable-TV van not long after Jack and I had left to go sailing. Frank had thought over the list of things I had said Gannet knew about us. While he was sure Gannet must have also had a connection to someone from the department or the D.A.’s office, Frank decided that even a friend in Robbery-Homicide couldn’t have told Gannet so much.

Pete, who can make a badger look like a creature that gives up too easily, talked the department expert on bugging devices into dropping everything he was working on, and checking out Frank’s house. The man suspected the cable-TV van the minute he laid eyes on it. Its occupant wasn’t able to drive off before Pete showed him his detective’s shield and asked to see cable company identification in exchange. No I.D. Lots of listening devices.

Most of the other members of the department weren’t too happy with Mr. Gannet at that point, including Carlson and Bredloe. Frank realized that our plans to go sailing had probably been reported to Gannet. When we were late getting back, Bredloe didn’t hesitate to ask the Coast Guard if they would initiate a search for us. The cutter had just cleared the breakwater when they saw the flare.

It was almost six in the morning before we got to sleep on Wednesday, which ended up being something of a lost day. Bright and early — very early — Thanksgiving morning, we got ready for the three-hour drive to Bakersfield.

Frank had helped me into the Volvo and put our overnight bag in the trunk. When he packed the overnight bag, I almost backed out of the whole deal.

“We’re staying overnight?”

He looked at me and said, “Sure, why not?”

“I didn’t know you wanted to stay there overnight.”

“Look, you’re going to have a hard time coping with the car ride out there and the day’s activities. If we try to drive back tonight, you’ll be tired and sore as hell.”

It made sense, of course.

“We’re staying at Cassie’s?” I said hopefully.

He shook his head. “All they could offer us is a couch. We’ll stay at my mom’s.”

“She’s expecting this?”

“Yes, I told her we would be staying overnight.”

“What about Cody?”

“Jack is going to feed him.”

I couldn’t think up any other objections right at that moment. I was trying to let the whole idea sink in. Somewhere on the 405 Freeway, it sank all right.

“What if I have a nightmare?”

“I’ll be there.”