January Justice Part 6

"I can't inherit anything from Haley," I said.

The gardener and the butler stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.

Teru said, "I thought we went over this before. You've already inherited her estate."

I took a deep breath. "Look. Because of my job, I had a believable reason to be around Haley most of the time when she was alive. It was risky, but it was possible to pull the marriage off without destroying her reputation. And she really wanted to be married, so okay, I agreed to that. I would have done anything to make her happy, and I could see that it was just barely possible.

"But inheriting her estate is just impossible. One of the butchers of Laui Kalay can't suddenly be worth hundreds of millions of dollars without making news. Even if I sold this place and all her other stuff and took the money off to Italy or someplace to buy my own houses and jets and yachts, after Laui Kalay, people would always want to know where I got the money. They wouldn't rest until they knew. The marriage would come out, and that would destroy her memory, her legacy. All the good she did-the hospitals, the homeless shelters, the orphanages, the medical research-everything we all worked so carefully to protect would end up tainted by a.s.sociation with me after all. I won't let that happen. I have to make sure the world will always remember Haley as she really was, not as someone who got married to a monster, not as someone who didn't care about the things they say I did, but as...as the kindest, the most caring..."

I had to stop. I wiped my eyes. I reached for the gla.s.s of lemonade before me on Haley's kitchen table. I picked it up. I saw my hand was shaking. I put the gla.s.s back down. I realized I was terrified at the possibility that my past might hurt her even now, in death.

Beside me, Teru was slowly nodding, and Simon said, "Yes, I see."

They allowed me a moment to compose myself. Then Teru said, "So...what? You plan to give it all away?"

I nodded. "Most of it, anyway. I think Haley would want me to keep a little, just enough to get started on my life again without her. And she'd want you guys provided for. And Maria. She kept house for Haley a long time. But yeah, I'll tell the lawyer who wrote her will to make it look as if she left most of her estate to her charities, and then I'll just disappear."

"Sir, Miss Lane was quite generous to me in her will," said Simon. "I shouldn't think it would be necessary to be 'provided for,' as you phrase it."

"Me, either," said Teru. "Haley left me a bundle."

I should have guessed she'd do that. "In that case, how come you're still here?" I asked.

They looked at each other and then at me. Simon said, "It would not have been proper for you to return to an empty home."

Home.

It was an idea I hadn't thought of much. For thirteen years my home had been the Marines, whatever hooch or barracks I was sleeping in that night, and then home had become wherever Haley was. Maybe that's why the word sounded so appealing in that moment. Or maybe it was the lingering weakness of my intellect, emotions slipping in where logic used to be.

I had to get a grip on myself. I said, "I appreciate that," and stood, and walked to the closest sink where I looked away from Teru and Simon and quickly wiped my eyes. I poured the rest of the lemonade down the drain. I rinsed the gla.s.s and put it on the counter. Without looking at them I said, "What do you think you'll do now?"

Teru said, "Find a garden I can work in."

Surprised, I turned to Simon. "How about you?"

"I will seek another opportunity to b.u.t.tle."

"b.u.t.tle?"

"Indeed, sir. A verb. To serve or act as butler."

"Simon, you intrigue me."

"One is gratified to hear it."

"You both intrigue me. Why keep working if Haley left you well set up?"

Teru said, "Money doesn't make a life. For that I need my gardening."

Speaking to Simon, I said, "Is that how things are with you?"

"I find I am most fulfilled by b.u.t.tling."

The word struck me as funny. I heard myself laugh a little too loudly. I silenced myself a little too abruptly. My emotions seemed to swing from one extreme to the other. The doctors had warned me about that, but it was still embarra.s.sing. I didn't trust myself to speak, so I moved toward the door. I opened it.

"Sir?" said Simon. "If I might offer an opinion?"

I looked back. "Of course."

"I don't wish to speak out of turn, but it does appear to me that you also find your work fulfilling."

"He ought to," said Teru. "He's very good at it."

Simon said, "Indeed. And extremely well qualified."

"That's what I just said," said Teru.

"Actually, Mr. Fujimoto, I believe there is a substantive difference."

Teru began to stroke his chin. "Interesting. You're saying he could be good at what he does and yet unsuited to the work?"

"One does think of many instances. In your area, for example, Mr. Fujimoto, one might encounter a talented gardener with severe allergies to pollen."

Teru said, "And there is the area of b.u.t.tling..."

I smiled. I wanted to cry. I slipped out and closed the door. I walked across the estate to the guesthouse. I went into the kitchen, poured myself a Scotch, drank it in one swallow, poured myself another, and took the gla.s.s into the bedroom. I also took the bottle.

10.

It was a couple of days later. I had boated across the harbor in the Boston Whaler, which was the tender to the Panache, Haley's seventy-five-foot Fleming motor yacht. Or my seventy-five-foot Fleming, I supposed, although the idea still hadn't quite settled in, and the situation was only temporary. I had tied up at a finger pier beside the marina seawall without asking anyone's permission, and I was sitting in the large corner booth by the kitchen door at the Galley Cafe, with a gla.s.s of water on the table in front of me.

The tiny diner was tucked away in a residential neighborhood about a quarter mile from the businesses along the Pacific Coast Highway. There were no other restaurants or shops nearby. Except for the office for the marina which the restaurant overlooked, and the Basin Marine s.h.i.+pyard next door, every other building for blocks around was a multimillion-dollar home.

The Galley Cafe was the only restaurant I knew of where they still mixed your Coca-Cola syrup with soda water, right in the gla.s.s, and they still knew how to make a proper malted milk. They were big on nostalgia at the Galley. They said it used to be a favorite of John Wayne, who had lived close by, and they had faded photos on the wall to prove it.

I had begun to think about going ahead and ordering a cheeseburger and fries when Sergeant Tom Harper came through the door, nearly thirty minutes late. With him was another guy I vaguely recognized.

"Sorry," said Harper, sliding into the booth. "Traffic."

"Could've used the siren and the lights."

"Sure. A lunch emergency. Why didn't I think of that?"

The other guy slid into the booth beside Harper. "This is Sal Russo," said Harper. "He's on the job with the LAPD, handling your case. Sal, meet Malcolm."

"Sure," said Russo. "We met already."

I stuck out my hand. "How you doing?"

He ignored my outstretched hand and said, "All right."

He didn't look me in the eye. He didn't smile. I remembered he would have thoroughly investigated my background, so he knew all about Laui Kalay. At least he knew the official verdict. That probably explained his att.i.tude. But the press hadn't made the connection between Haley Lane's bodyguard and the marine behind the camera at Laui Kalay. So he might not like me much, but that made two secrets the man had kept.

I withdrew my hand and said, "Thanks for coming."

"I wouldn't of, except I was down here anyway on another matter," said Russo, looking around. "Let's get a waitress over here."

Detective Russo had an unhealthy, muddy complexion, and his hair needed a shampoo. Maybe five foot eight and about twenty-five pounds overweight, he carried a lot of that around his neck and jowls, which were thick enough to make his head look narrow. I doubted if he could still pa.s.s an LAPD fitness test and wondered how often detectives had to requalify, if ever.

On the other hand, Sergeant Tom Harper of the Orange County Sheriff's Department looked like a rough, tough jarhead through and through. His sandy-colored hair was cut so short on the back and sides his scalp showed, and it stood about half an inch straight up on top. He had a barely contained energy about him, as if he were made out of steel springs. His teeth were pearly, his skin was tanned, and the whites of his eyes were perfectly clear.

Harper and I had met each other in the Corps. I had been temporarily attached to his office of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service at Camp Pendleton. I never knew for certain why the Corps chose my deployments, but I a.s.sumed it had something to do with the covert work I had already done on several missions, including Guatemala. The NCIS had trained me thoroughly in police work, and Harper had been a big part of that. So when he had a difficult time with some corruption allegations that I believed were false, I worked hard to clear him. Harper had shown up before my court-marital, offering to return the favor, but by that time the press had made the situation utterly toxic to anyone who touched it. I had turned down his help. So I was pretty sure he felt he owed me. After Teru and Simon filled me in on Detective Russo knowing about Haley and me, I had called Tom to set up the meet.

Looking at Russo, I said, "Didn't we meet before, at the hospital?"

Russo said, "Yeah, that was me. You were kinda out of it, but we had a few good talks."

"Sorry, I don't remember much."

He waved a pudgy hand between us. "Don't worry about it."

"Would you mind telling me what's happening with the case?"

"It's cold," said Russo.

"Cold? What does that mean?"

"Means we worked every lead, and it got us nowhere."

"There must be something you missed."

"Oh, you think so?"

"I'm just saying there must be something. Some kind of lead."

"The only eyewitness we know about is you. You ready to tell me what happened?"

"I don't remember."

"Yeah, that's what you said before."

"I have drug-induced amnesia."

"Uh-huh. What your doctors said."

"You talked to my doctors?"

"We interviewed a shrink name of Resnick, and another couple named Lamott and Trendle. Couple of nurses, too. McAllen and Odom. You recognize those names?"

I had spent a lot of time with all of them at Resnick. It was UCLA's adult intensive-care psychiatry unit. One of the executive producers of the film Haley was shooting when she died was a major donor. He had arranged for me to be admitted after the overdose, probably to cover the studio in case I wanted to sue for nearly getting murdered on their set.

I said, "Of course I recognize them, but I don't understand what they have to do with Haley's murder."

"No need to act so nervous, Cutter," said Russo. "Anything you told them is privileged."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "Whatever you want it to mean."

I heard my voice begin to rise and couldn't seem to stop it. "You think I have something to hide? I'll waive the right to privilege. Lamott and Trendle can tell you everything I said while I was there. I just want to know what kind of leads you have."

Russo shrugged. "We got nothing. Unless you want to come clean."

"Come clean? You think I'm holding something back? You think I wouldn't help you if I could?"

"Hey, Malcolm," said Harper, interrupting. "Let's tone it down a little, what do you say?"

I looked down at my own hands and saw they were clenched into fists. I looked up and realized several people at the nearby tables had stopped talking and were watching me. Harper was also watching with a worried expression. I didn't understand my own behavior. Russo had been honorable. He had kept the secret of my marriage and my ident.i.ty as one of the butchers of Laui Kalay, when a discreet word to a reporter probably could have netted him ten grand, or maybe more.

"Sorry," I said.

Harper reached over and gave my shoulder a pat. "Sure. After what you've been through, anybody would be touchy. I'm amazed you're up and around, tell you the truth."

I took a sip of water and told myself to think of what is true. I said, "If you're talking to my doctors, it means I'm a suspect, right?"

Russo stared at me without replying.

Harper said, "Don't worry about it, Malcolm. Sal and his guys are just doing their jobs. He has to run down every lead, even if he likes somebody better for the murder. You get a victim like Haley Lane, you want to make real sure you got all the bases covered, you know? Doesn't mean you're really on their radar. It's routine, right, Sal?"

"Sure," said Russo.

I said, "Do you guys have somebody you like better for the murder?"

Russo looked at me a moment. "What would you do about it if I said yes?"

"I'd do the right thing," I said. "Wouldn't you?"

"All right, that's enough," said Harper. "What's the deal with you two? Sal, try to remember Malcolm's a victim in this situation, will ya? And Malcolm, I'm sitting here vouching for Sal. He's a good cop, okay? So both of you guys back off." He looked back and forth between us. "All right?"

I said, "Sure."

"Sal?" said Harper.