middle of the ocean.
She had been working frantically to learn the reason for Phil’s murder and to find out who did it, because being engaged in the investigation let her stay close to Phil. The connection was thin and waning, constructed of memory and intellect and intention, but it was something. Now that the truth about April had been driven into her skull, the connection was painful and sour. She couldn’t make herself think that Phil deserved her loyalty and devotion. She couldn’t even say he would have done the same for her.
Emily couldn’t sit still. She stood up and began to pace up and down the living room. She had to stop herself from formulating the idea that it was better for her to have learned about Phil’s infidelity now because knowing would help her break the bond with him. It was a cowardly impulse to make excuses for circumstance. Things didn’t happen for a reason, and people who thought they did were idiots. Knowing wasn’t better, and it didn’t make anything easier. She felt as bad about his cheating right now as she would have a year ago. She couldn’t even talk to him now and ask him why, or tell him she was hurt and angry, or do anything else. It was simply a fact that could never be changed.
She heard the sound of a car engine, but no sound of the car passing. Then she heard the slam of a car door. She stepped to the front window just as the bell rang. The sound seemed incredibly loud and intrusive. She stood still for a few seconds, then moved the curtain aside a half inch.
Ray Hall stood on the porch, looking straight into her eye. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t at home, or that she thought the person at the door was a salesman or a solicitor. She closed her eyes and sighed, then stepped to the door and opened it.
“I’m sorry, Ray. I’m just not feeling up to visitors right now. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“April told me.”
“All right. Come in.”
Ray stepped inside and Emily closed the door. He stood in the entry until Emily walked toward the kitchen, and then he followed her. She stood at the counter and started making coffee, and he sat down at the table.
Emily looked only at the coffeemaker as she spoke. “April said you knew, and that you were going to tell me. Is she right?”
“Not exactly. If I found out for sure, I would have told you.”
VVj1 J ? 77
“Because you asked me to find out who killed Phil and why. I’ve noticed that an extramarital relationship sometimes bears on those questions.” He paused. “I wasn’t ready to say anything because I could have been wrong.”
“But you weren’t wrong. When did you start to suspect it?”
There was nothing subtle about her questions. She wasn’t imagining he had forgotten she’d asked him a couple of years ago. He chose to answer a narrower question than the one she had asked. “A few months ago, I noticed she would stay late with Phil after everyone else had left. There wasn’t that much paperwork.”
“Go on.”
“Jesus, Emily. You really don’t want to hear about that. April said she had confessed to you already. Take her word for it.”
Emily shrugged. “I guess you’re right. I probably know all of his moves already. I suppose I’m just reacting out of shock.” She gave a single, unhappy laugh. “I don’t know where the shock comes from. You remember we had a conversation about this a couple of years ago, before April came along.”
“I remember,” he said.
She folded her arms across her chest. He recognized that she was unconsciously protecting herself from what was coming. “Tell me, Ray. Were you lying then?”
“I don’t know. I thought he might be seeing somebody. I wasn’t sure, and I couldn’t tell you he was cheating if I wasn’t sure. I didn’t think what I was saying was a lie.”
“After I talked to you, did you try to find out?”
“No.”
“Not an honorable thing to do to your friend?”
“No. Come on, Emily. I think it’s time to go.”
“Go where? What are you talking about?”
“I’m going to take you out to dinner.”
“No. I’m not in the mood to get dressed up.”
“You already are dressed up. You got dressed up to go to work.”
“I can’t go out. My husband just died, and I want to be alone.”
“My friend just died, and I don’t want to be alone.” He took her hand and gently pulled her, picked up her purse, and conducted her to the door. “Nobody wants to be worthless on a bad day, Em. Not even me.”
“I’m not going, Ray. I can’t.”
He studied her face, and realized that she meant it. He put the purse on the chair near the door. “I wish you would. If you change your mind, or just want to talk, call me.”
“All right.” She looked at the doorknob.
He saw where she was looking, opened the door, and stepped outside. He watched her shut the door, heard the lock, and then the faint sound of her going deeper into the house. He felt a twinge, an impulse to protect her. It was as though he were missing a chance, letting something happen that he shouldn’t. He walked to his car. As he drove away up Emily’s street he looked in his rearview mirror several times, but he couldn’t find an excuse to stop or go back.
11
Jerry Hobart looked in the telephone book, then drove the blue Hyundai to the Disabled American Veterans storefront a few miles north of Los Angeles in Sun Valley. There he arranged to donate the car in exchange for a tax deduction. The pink slip carried the name David Finlay, so the tax deduction wasn’t much use to Jerry Hobart, who had not paid taxes since before his incarceration nearly twenty years ago. There was no immediate need to get rid of the car, but he liked to get rid of anything that might be connected to a shooting. He accepted a ride in the Hyundai from the man in charge of the office, a volunteer named Don who hit the pedals with his left foot because his right leg was made of glossy plastic. The part that Hobart could see above the sock looked like the leg of a doll.
Hobart didn’t talk much to Don because he didn’t like to be memorable. He did manage to plant in Don’s mind the idea that he was from Texas and was divorced. Before Hobart said anything while he was working, he always contemplated it to be sure nothing about it was true. Don let Hobart off in front of the apartment complex he had given as his address.
When Don had driven the donated car away, Hobart walked a few blocks and took a bus to the subway station at Universal City. He walked across the street past the big electronic marquee and up the hill to the Hilton Hotel where he was staying. He kicked off his shoes, put the Do NOT DISTURB sign on the door and took a long nap. When he woke, he knew he’d had a dream about Valerie, but he couldn’t quite bring it back. He remembered that they had been married in the dream, and she’d had some children with her who had the same blond hair that she had. He supposed they must have been his children, too.
As he showered and dressed, he felt Valerie’s presence in the room, and he continued his argument with her in his mind. It was late afternoon when he went out to pick up the equipment he would need. He had ordered a Kimber version of the .45 ACP 1911 over the telephone when he was in Las Vegas. The store was a small one in Burbank where he had bought several other guns under the name Harold Keynes, and he had been glad to learn that once again Mr. Keynes had stood up to the background checks. Since Keynes had been dead for six years, he could not have gotten himself into any trouble, but it was good to learn that Harold Keynes’s body still had not been found and identified.
Hobart had also ordered a gun-cleaning kit and a Remington Model 700 .308 rifle with a scope. He didn’t know whether this job would require any distance work, but having the rifle for it made him feel good. For a few hundred dollars, he had bought enough range and accuracy to place a bullet through a teacup at six hundred yards.
