Flesh And Blood

Another hospital bed, the stoic Dr. Maccaferri standing by the headboard, drawing blood through a syringe that he’d jabbed into an IV line.

Another too-small bed. A tiny, bald head barely visible above blue satin covers. Wizened, elfin. Sleeping or approximating slumber. Gaping mouth, toothless. Motionless.

The pressure on my elbow intensified. Mr. Nice Day said, “Please keep moving, sir.”

I drove home, knowing the house would be empty.

After that night on the pier, I’d spent hours at St. John’s Hospital. Had phoned home twice, gotten the machine. Returned just after two A.M. to find Robin wide awake, in the bedroom, packing a suitcase.

When I tried to hold her, she said, “No.”

“Early vacation?” I said. Everything was wrong, and I was talking gibberish.

“By myself,” she said.

“Honey-”

She threw clothing into the valise. “I got home at ten, was worried sick until you just happened to call at midnight.”

“Honey, I-”

“Alex, I just can’t take this anymore. Need time to settle myself down.”

“We both do,” I said, touching her hair. “Let’s stick with the original plan and get away together. I promise-”

“Maybe in a few days,” she said, suddenly crying. “You don’t know the pictures that filled my head. You… again. Then Milo told me what happened – what were you thinking? A date with a bimbo? Another undercover adventure that nearly got you killed!”

“Not an adventure. Anything but. I was trying to help… some kids. The last thing I thought would happen was-”

“You can help kids by doing what you were trained for. Sit and talk to them-”

“That’s how this started, Robin.” Unable to keep my voice steady. “Lauren was a patient. It just got…”

“Out of control? That’s the point. When you’re involved, things tend to… expand. It’s like you’re a magnet for ugliness. You know me, I’m a structured person – I work with wood and metal and machines, things that can be measured. I’m not saying that’s ideal, or the only way. Maybe it means there’s something wrong with my psyche. But there’s something in between. Alex, the uncertainty you keep putting me through – every time you step out the door, not knowing if you’ll come back.”

“I always come back.” I reached for her again, but she shook her head and said, “Let me go.”

“I’m sorry, let’s talk about it-”

She shook her head. “I need… perspective. Then maybe we’ll talk.”

“Where are you going?”

“San Diego – my friend Debby.”

“The dentist.”

“The dentist,” she said. “She and I used to have fun together. I used to have friends. Now all I’ve got is you and Spike and my work. I need to expand.”

“Me too,” I said. “I’ll take up a hobby – golf.”

“Sure,” she said, smiling in spite of herself. “That’ll be the day.”

“What – impossible?”

“If there was something less likely than impossible, you and golf would be it. Alex, I’m not trying to tame you. I want you healthy – that’s the point. You standing around on the links in funny shoes, all that dead time, is not a prescription for well-being. Let’s not prolong this. I’ll call you.”

Latching the suitcase, she headed for the door. “Spike’s in the truck. I’m sure you won’t mind that.”

“Not only am I abandoned, it’s for another man.”

She kissed me hard on the lips, turned the doorknob, said, “Take care.”

“When will you call?”

“Soon. A couple of days.” Short, hard laugh.

“What?” I said.

“I was just about to say, ‘Be careful, baby.’ Like I always do when we’re about to go our separate ways. Rotten habit. I shouldn’t have to say that.”

CHAPTER 37

THE FIRST DAY she was gone, I was miserable, and the next one was shaping up the same way when Milo dropped by at nine a.m. and showed me Jane Abbot’s correspondence with Tony Duke.

“She kept copies,” he said. “In her safe-deposit box. On the bottom, under some stock certificates.”

Two letters. In the first Jane reminded Duke of their time in Hawaii and informed him he had a daughter. A penciled notation on the bottom was dated five days later:

TD called, 3 pm, no prob with $, wants to meet L. I said probs, maybe later.

In the second Jane thanked Duke for his quick response, apologized for restricting him from Lauren, describing her as “a very bright young lady, but unfortunately – through no fault of yours, dear Tony – she is currently emotionally ill and highly troubled.”

TD called 3X, says he knows doctors. Put him off.

Lauren gone, again, no idea where. Next time, bail or not?

A final page in Jane’s handwriting laid out the financial agreement. Fifty thousand dollars a year placed in trust for Lauren, to be supervised by Jane, with the understanding that Jane would do everything in her power to effect a reunion and that, by the time Lauren reached twenty-six, Duke would get to meet her.

Father and daughter had fallen short by six months.

I gave him back the papers. “What’s the status on Mel Abbot?”

“He should be released soon, though no one’s sure where to put him. The closest relative they can find is a cousin in New Jersey, almost as old as Mel. Meanwhile, Irving’s right down the hall from Abbot, in the jail ward – you did good work on his face. The D.A. will file multiple counts of conspiracy and first-degree homicide with special circumstances for mass murder, cruelty, and profit motive. Gretchen’s helping them put the case together in order to plea down her own conspiracy rap – The feds finally came through and verified that Irving had been one of her big-time clients. All we’ve got on her is her pal Ingrid knowing I was looking for Michelle and your seeing Gretchen enter the Duke estate the next day.”

“Gretchen works the system again,” I said.

“What the D.A. wants is Irving on a platter, and Gretchen can fill in the blanks. She can also supply the motive for Michelle – no, there wasn’t any blackmail, no one’s sure Michelle even knew anything dangerous. But Irving thought she did – to be brutally honest, my mentioning Michelle’s name to Gretchen signed her death warrant – and no, I’m not blaming myself, I was doing my job. It’s just the way things happen sometimes.”

He rubbed his face. “And Gretchen’s still claiming she’s never heard of Shawna. I’d like to say I’ve been right about Shawna not being part of this, but at this point I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t. For all I know Irving took pictures of her, boffed her, killed her.”

“Gretchen set up Michelle and Lance and she walks.”

“Maybe she’ll get hers one day… I also found out that Irving’s rag biz went under because of ‘financial irregularities’ – he left behind an army of creditors, and that beach construction project is leveraged to the hilt. Plenty of claws being sharpened – He ain’t gonna find too many character witnesses.”

“What about Anita?”