Flight

“You rolled the r’s perfectly! You speak Spanish, don’t you? English, French, and Spanish?”

“Yes, but just those three.”

“Just those three,” she said mournfully.

“The French of Quebec, the English of California, and the Spanish of Baja California. There are undoubtedly Europeans who would tell you I don’t speak any of those languages properly.”

“When people read ‘Rosario’ on my badge, they definitely expect me to speak Spanish. I’m trying to learn Spanish, but the last people in my family who spoke the language came to California not long after Junipero Serra.”

“But you are not only Hispanic,” he said.

“That’s exactly it. Without telling you my whole family history, let’s just say I’m one of those people who could mark about four boxes when asked to indicate ethnic origins. African American, Chumash Indian, Spanish, Mexican, Irish, Greek… Maybe Hitch is right — I’m a mutt.”

“An American,” he said. “Like me — true no matter what side of the border I was born on, I suppose.”

She smiled. “Yes.”

They were silent again, but this time it was more companionable. She asked him how he came to know of this place, and he told her about being a military pilot and saving for the Cessna, searching for just the right one, and finding it — becoming more animated as he talked about flying.

When they had finished eating, he looked across at her and said, “Thanks for coming here with me.”

“My pleasure.”

Another silence stretched out, then she asked, “Phil, what was bothering you tonight — at the hospital?”

He frowned. “It’s this — probably half the department knows every detail that can be known about Whitey Dane’s appearance and habits, right?”

“Sure,” she said, surprised by the question. “All of us who’ve been part of the investigations connected to him, anyway.”

“And he has a number of affectations, right?”

“Like the patch, you mean? I’ve heard he’s not actually missing an eye,” she said. “I’ve even heard that he used to wear the patch on the other eye.”

“It’s not just the patch. For example, he sometimes wears vests.”

“Yes, usually. Complete with a watch on a chain.”

“Not a wristwatch.” He said it flatly.

“Not in a million years. You must have read about that in the files — he carries an old Hamilton railroad pocket watch on a gold chain and tucks it into a vest pocket. Makes a big show of winding it and taking it out and looking at it.”

“He’s never been seen wearing an electronic watch?”

“No — like you say, one of his affectations. Like the patch.”

Again he was silent.

She waited.

“Don’t mention to anyone that I asked about a watch, all right?”

“Sure.”

“It could be… it could cause a lot of problems, and be dangerous to Seth.”

“What?”

“Just don’t talk about it — not to anyone, not even Hitch.”

“I said I wouldn’t, and I won’t,” she said with some exasperation. “What’s this all about?”

He looked down at his hands, debating how much to tell her. He had so little to go on, and the implications…“I’ll take you back to your car,” he said.

He could see that she wanted to tell him to go to hell, but after studying him for another moment, said, “Okay.” They argued over the payment of the bill, which allowed her to discover that he was a little old-fashioned in some matters, and very stubborn.

“Do you have to go in early tomorrow?” he asked after they had driven in silence for a while.

“No, sleeping in. I have a late-night surveillance with Hitch on one of our other cases.”

Again he fell silent, thinking he should apologize to her, but not wanting to reopen the topic of the Dane case. He dropped her off at her car and watched her drive away. He had not been able to think of the sort of words that might have tempted her to stay with him a little longer, and deciding that it was useless to wish for what was beyond his reach, he started to get out of the car. He noticed something small and white on his passenger seat. A business card. He picked it up and saw that it was hers. In bold blue strokes, she had written her home address and phone number on the back. He sat for a long time, tracing its edges with his fingertips, then started to put it away in his wallet. He hesitated, then tucked it into his shirt pocket instead.

“Anyone come by?” he asked the guard.

“No, sir. And I’ve checked on him a couple times — he’s asleep.”

Just as Lefebvre was about to enter Seth’s room, he saw the door to the patio open slightly, then quickly close,