Both Ends of the Night Read online

  She stood as still as Zach, watchful, one hand clutching the edge of the brightly patterned drapery. Her knuckles strained white, and when I came up beside her, I saw a tear snake down her cheek. I touched my fingers to it and brushed it away.

  Without looking at me she said, “He’s been like that ever since we saw it on TV.”

  “Rae says you tried to talk with him.”

  “He told me to go away.”

  “He’s hurting, Habiba.”

  “I know that. But I thought I could help him; I was hurt the same way.”

  “You can help. Just give him some time.”

  After a moment she sighed and let go of the drapery. “Sharon, why does stuff like this have to happen?”

  “It doesn’t have to. It just… does.” The inadequacy of my reply left me feeling small and powerless.

  Not so with Habiba. She turned on me, dark eyes flashing. “Well, it shouldn’t!”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to get Zach’s father back?”

  “I’m going to try.” Finding John Seabrook now served a dual purpose: only he could tell me who had reason to kill Matty.

  “You better,” Habiba said. “He needs his father… like I needed mine!”

  Surprised by the accusatory note in her voice, I looked closely at her. Yes, her anger was directed at me. With a stab of pain, I realized that at some point since the previous spring, Habiba had found out that I was present and helpless when her father was killed. I reached toward her, but she whirled and ran for the stairs.

  For a moment I pressed my fingers to my eyes, fighting back fresh tears. Then I went outside to Zach.

  He didn’t look around when I approached, even though I took care to make noise. When I came up beside him I saw his unblinking eyes were fixed on the Marin headlands. I put my hand on his shoulder; in spite of the chill, he wasn’t shivering. “Zach,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

  No response.

  “We need to talk.”

  He shrugged my hand off.

  “I loved Matty too.”

  Silence.

  “When you’re hurting, it helps to talk to somebody who’s hurting for the same reason.”

  He leaned forward, arms on the railing, staring down at the beach now. Darkness had fallen, and only the waves’ white spume was visible; the fog was rolling in, and the horns began their mournful chorus. Zach shuddered at the sound. I took off my leather jacket and draped it around his shoulders, then leaned on the rail beside him and waited.

  “Sharon?”

  A single hesitant word, but at least he’d taken the first step. “Yes?”

  “Did you… see it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it awful?”

  “It was over very fast.”

  “Do you think Matty was scared?”

  “I don’t think she had time to be.”

  “But you can’t say for sure.”

  “Well, no. But I’ve been in situations where I came close to dying, and I was too busy trying to prevent it to be afraid.”

  “But you didn’t die. Matty did.”

  I had no reply for that. God, I wasn’t any good at this kind of thing!

  We leaned on the rail in silence for a moment. Then Zach said, “I don’t think Matty ever got scared.”

  “I don’t think so, either.” It was a lie, but I wanted him to be able to convince himself. He’d have enough to deal with without the horrifying images I’d already entertained—would never fully exorcise, no matter how long I lived.

  Another protracted silence. Then he asked, “What’s going to happen to me now?”

  “Rae and Ricky would like you to stay here till we locate your dad. Is that okay with you?”

  “I don’t care. Whatever. I just don’t want to go home or to Uncle Wes’s. Or back to school.”

  “I understand. Do you want to go inside now? It’s pretty cold out here.”

  “In a minute.”

  “Shall I go on ahead?”

  “… No, stay.”

  “All right.” I waited for him to speak again, listening to the foghorns’ plaint.

  “Matty really didn’t get scared,” he finally said. “This one time? She was flying me around in that old Cessna so I could take pictures for a school project, and its engine cut out. She had to land in this field, and the whole time she explained everything she was doing, so I wouldn’t panic.”

  “She was good in an emergency.”

  “My dad’s like that too. I’ve only seen him scared once.”

  “When was that?”

  “When my mom died.”

  I frowned. Matty had told me John came to Los Alegres when Zach was a baby; I’d assumed he’d never known his mother. “How old were you then?”

  “Around two.”

  Come to think of it, he did look older than eleven. “You can remember that far back?”

  “Uh-huh. Dad always says I must’ve imagined it, that nothing like that ever happened. But it did. Why else would he refuse to talk about her?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, because of the way she… it was. Bad, really bad. Like Matty.”

  I waited.

  “Somebody shot her. She was coming out of the grocery store. Dad and I were waiting for her in the car. We saw it happen.”

  “The memory isn’t extensive,” I said. “Just his mother waving at them right before she was shot, and his father dumping him and his car seat on the floor of the backseat.”

  “But those details.” Rae shook her head. “They’re really vivid. Her pink dress, the blood, the close-up of his father’s wedding ring as he grabbed for him, the sand on the carpet in the backseat.”

  “What was it he called the grocery?” Ricky asked me.

  “The good-bye store.”

  “Symbolic, maybe, of saying good-bye to his mom there.”

  He, Rae, Hy, and I were gathered around the fire in the living room, draperies drawn against the thick fog. Zach and Habiba, their fledgling friendship mended, were talking quietly in the kitchen, and my unusually subdued nieces had gone downstairs to watch TV. Initially I’d been concerned about what effect the newscast might have had on them, but Ricky had talked with them and assured me they were okay. During a trip to the zoo earlier that day, they’d gotten on well with Zach; it was his distress, rather than the violent videotaped scene at the airfield, that had upset them. Having been raised on too much TV, they were, I supposed, inured to disaster—fictional or real-life—on the small screen.

  “Seabrook’s reaction interests me,” I said. “His wife’s coming out of the store and she’s shot, but instead of going to her, he moves to protect his son.”

  Ricky frowned. “What father wouldn’t, with a sniper on the loose?”

  “But Zach remembers he and his dad were parked in the shade of some trees far across the lot from the store. At that distance, why would Seabrook assume Zach would be the next target? And why, eleven or twelve years later, did he think that both Matty and Zach were at risk?”

  On the couch beside me, Hy tensed. I took his hand and moved closer to him. He squeezed mine, but absently.

  I said, “I wish I could gauge how accurate Zach’s recollection is. Can kids remember things from when they were two or younger?”

  From where she was curled up in the corner of the other couch, Rae stretched out one leg and nudged Ricky’s thigh with her stocking foot. “We’ve got somebody here who claims to be a kid expert—although you could’ve fooled me last night.”

  He caught her foot and held it. “Okay, so I had a temporary lapse. Who doesn’t? But to answer your question, I’d say Zach’s memory is pretty damn accurate. Those details, they’re the kind of things that get lodged in kids’ minds under traumatic conditions.” He smiled painfully. “You remember your aunt Clarisse’s bedtime stories?”

  Aunt Clarisse was a disturbed woman who pretended to dote on kids while secretly despising them; I suspected her pathology
included a sadistic streak that would have put the marquis himself to shame. She expressed it in the form of nasty, terrifying bedtime tales guaranteed to cause late-night shrieks and screams, and by the time she died, she was well on her way to warping the young psyches of two generations of our family.

  “How could I forget them?”

  “My point exactly. Your sister and I finally cut old Clarisse off from story hours when Brian was a little under two. God knows why we waited that long. But Brian can still recite word for word the tale about the wolf ripping the little bad boy’s heart out. And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he doesn’t also have the occasional nightmare.”

  “Jesus!” Rae exclaimed.

  “Yeah, Red, she was one mean old lady. Now, here’s another example; it doesn’t put Charly or me in a particularly favorable light, but the present company’s got no illusions, anyway. When Charly told me she’d ‘accidentally’ gotten pregnant with Lisa, we had one hell of a knock-down-drag-out. As I recall, it involved an awful lot of broken dishes, lamps, and glassware. I couldn’t tell you exactly what or how much, but Molly—who was two—can easily give you a full inventory.”

  “I get the picture.”

  Hy said, “So Zach’s memory is probably the genuine article. Which tells me that John Seabrook did something back then that put his family in jeopardy.”

  I nodded. “And after his wife was killed, he created new identities for himself and Zach and went into hiding in Los Alegres.”

  “Hiding—just like he told Matty to do. Dammit, McCone, we should’ve encouraged her to follow his instructions. Or at least lie low until we could figure out what was going on.”

  “Hindsight’s no good, you know that.”

  “I don’t know anything, except that Ed Cutter’s gonna pay for her death. He’s gonna pay big-time.”

  Eight

  The headlights of Hy’s old Morgan swept the interior of Pier 24½ as we drove in; their probing beams made shadows move eerily and distorted the shapes of familiar objects. We got out and climbed the iron stairway, our clanging footsteps a counterpoint to the rumble of bridge traffic. A shaft of light lay across the catwalk; Mick was already in his office. My nephew had been willing and even eager to come in at ten on a Saturday night—a sure sign that his relationship with Charlotte Keim had ended.

  But maybe not. As we neared the door I heard Keim’s deep-throated, bawdy laugh, followed by the words, “Way to go!” The Texas accent she’d labored to lose after moving to San Francisco always surfaced when she was excited, and now it rang loud and clear. Mick said, “We’re not there yet, Sweet Charlotte. Hold on.” Keim laughed again.

  Anyone who didn’t know the players might have assumed they were engaged in some sex game, and had they been anywhere other than the office, I wouldn’t have ruled out the possibility. But here their computers were the center of their universe; when I stepped through the door I wasn’t surprised to find Mick hunched over his PowerBook, Keim leaning over his shoulder so her long brunette curls brushed his cheek.

  “Got it!” he exclaimed.

  I asked, “Got what?”

  He swiveled abruptly, knocking Keim off-balance and grabbing her by the waist to steady her. “God, Shar, don’t do that!”

  “Sorry.” The overhead noise had the property of masking sounds within the pier itself—something that often made me wary when working alone late at night. “So what’ve you got?”

  “The address you asked me to track down. Ed Cutter lives on Airport Road in an unincorporated part of Sonoma County northeast of Healdsburg. Information wasn’t easy to come by because—”

  I cut off his self-congratulatory explanation by turning to Hy. “Do you know where that is?”

  “I might. Maybe six months ago I was fueling at Willits and the lineman introduced me to a guy name of Matthews, flies a Twin Comanche. Lineman mentioned I’d flown for K-Air in Southeast Asia, and it turned out Matthews was a pilot for one of the other big outfits there. A few years ago he bought an abandoned airport in the Healdsburg area, runs charters out of it, and he asked if I was interested in picking up some work. Of course I turned him down. But he did say I should stop and see him sometime and that there’s a good independent mechanic who rents a place on the property. Could be Cutter. I’ve got a sectional in the car; let me fetch it.”

  When I turned back to Mick, he was looking put out because I’d interrupted him. Keim sat on the edge of the desk, trying to jolly him out of it by rubbing her foot against his calf. I was in no mood to indulge him, so I quickly outlined the additional searches I wanted him to make.

  By the time I finished, he was sufficiently intrigued to get over his mood. “I don’t know, Shar. A shooting in a grocery-store parking lot ten to twelve years ago. Sand on the floor of the backseat. Not much to go on.”

  “There’s another detail, remember? The good-bye store.”

  “Like Dad suggested, probably a symbol—”

  “Or an actual name—Good B-u-y.”

  “Ah. That’d help a lot. Anything else you need?”

  “To locate a Dr. Sandler, probably in the Los Alegres area.”

  Keim said, “Simple. I’ll take care of it.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t use you on this; your caseload’s already too heavy.”

  “Just let me pick up the slack for Mick tonight.”

  “Well, okay—but only tonight. Now, I’ve got some bad news.” I explained about the plane crash.

  “Shar, I’m sorry,” Mick said. “I know you really cared for Matty. But if we don’t have a client—”

  “Matty gave me a retainer; we’ll work on her case till it runs out.”

  Hy came back just then, an open sectional in his hands. He spread it out on the desk and pointed to an area on a triangular course between the circles for the airports at Healdsburg and Cloverdale. “There it is.”

  I leaned closer, studying the location of the magenta circle containing the letter R, which indicated a private or restricted airfield.

  He added, “We can be there within the hour if we hurry.”

  “Tonight?”

  He nodded and folded the sectional.

  Somehow I’d thought it would take longer to track down the man who’d sabotaged Matty’s plane. I’d thought I’d have time to decide on a course of action.…

  Seeing my hesitation, Hy said, “Let’s take a walk while we talk this over.”

  The fog hung motionless and murky, hazing the security spots and muting the streetlights along the Embarcadero. A thick, warmish blanket that could possibly extend inland from the coast, creating poor visibility. No problem for Hy, of course; he had over two decades of instrument flying under his belt and would be sure to get a weather briefing and file an IFR flight plan, if necessary. Or maybe if IFR conditions prevailed, he’d decide against going. I could point out that filing IFR would constitute evidence he’d been to Cutter’s and that not filing was a violation of regulations—

  But when had Hy ever felt bound by the regulations?

  He took my arm and guided me to the walkway alongside the pier. “You having second thoughts about being with me in this, McCone?”

  “The weather’s got me spooked. And that airport looks to be in the hills; landing there in the fog could be risky—even for you.”

  “If we wait till tomorrow, we might never catch up with Cutter. He’s probably making plans to leave the area before anybody figures out what he did.”

  We reached the end of the pier. He let go of my arm and leaned on the rail in a manner reminiscent of Zach leaning on the deck rail. Another grieving figure, looking down into black water.

  I asked, “So what’re you going to do if and when you come face-to-face with Cutter?”

  He didn’t reply.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked again. “I need to know.”

  “You know what I want to do.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I won’t. Cutter’s not the one.”

&nb
sp; “What?”

  “Oh, he sabotaged the plane, I’m sure of that. But he did it for money. He’s not the one who planned it, but he sure as hell can finger the person who did.”

  “And after he does? What then?”

  “You mean, what am I going to do to Cutter? Nothing.”

  My silence must have told him I didn’t believe that. He raised his head and looked at me, his eyes glittering in the light from the security spots. “I may be crazy, McCone, but I’m not totally insane. And it would be insane to fly to an airport where I’m known and kill a man. I’ll save my revenge for the person who ordered the hit.”

  I nodded and joined him at the rail, looking out over the water. A Saturday-night harbor cruise was churning past, its wake sloshing high among the pilings. Mist wrapped it, muting the light in its windows, obscuring the carefree partygoers.

  Saturday night…

  At Lake Tahoe, after a good dinner and some low-stakes gambling at one of the casinos, Anne-Marie and Hank were probably returning to the cabin he’d inherited from his father. Here in the city on nearby Tel Hill, Ted and Neal would be serving brandy to cap off one of their elegant dinner parties—this time a Chinese feast, their latest culinary enthusiasm. Across town, Rae and Ricky were by now ensconced in the hot tub, without benefit of swimsuits. And in southern California, my sister would be back in the arms of her new husband—and giving heartfelt thanks for the defection of at least two of her children. Hell, even Mick and Charlotte were having a good evening, on their romantic journey through cyberspace.

  And Hy and I? We were about to fly off under marginal weather conditions to a remote airport. About to embark on a reckless path that might lead us anywhere. I’d never believed in vendettas, and neither had he. Could Matty’s death have changed us so much that we’d actually carry through with one?

  “Sometimes you’ve got to break the rules, McCone.”

  I knew that, because I had—over and over again.

  “Are you still with me?”

  “I’m still with you.”

  The airport’s beacon light flashed ahead of us—green, white, green again.

  “Some of the runway lighting systems at these private fields are radio-controlled. Let’s see about this one.” Hy keyed the Citabria’s microphone.