Blinded (32 page)

Only one other house on Holly Malone’s block seemed to be having people over for the holiday celebration. As far as Thanksgiving was concerned, this was a neighborhood of guests, not hosts.

Carmen and I took turns dozing off for the next couple of hours. On one of my turns awake I walked around the block, not so much because I expected to find anything going on as because everybody had been telling me that it was good for my heart to get my pulse up every once in a while.

I was beginning to suspect that Carmen was good for my heart, too, though the fact that she was sleeping right beside me in the car was distracting me in ways that left me uneasy. The minutes passed especially slowly as she napped, but it was okay. I spent a portion of the silent hours lost in a familiar cop reverie about evil, an evil that I felt was hovering over that South Bend neighborhood like a dark cloud in still winds.

Somewhere around six o’clock Carmen and I got confused about whose turn it was to nap. The second I opened my eyes I knew something didn’t feel exactly right. It took me longer than it should have taken to realize that she, too, was snoozing.

“Activity,” I said.

Carmen’s eyes popped open. “What, what?”

“Activity.”

The activity was the arrival of a minivan, an older Plymouth that had those tacky fake wood panels on the sides. It hadn’t been washed since water was invented. The minivan had parked right behind the little Lexus, so our view of the ensuing disembarkation was partially obscured. Still, I could tell that a small crowd was forming on the sidewalk.

“The other sister,” I said.

With some wonder in her voice, Carmen said, “My, she’s fertile. Look at the size of…”

I counted five kids congregating on the sidewalk, but anyone who was shorter than three feet or so in height probably remained invisible to me because of the angle and the intervening Lexus.

“Two adults?” I asked.

Carmen said, “Yes. One mom and one dad. One, two… five kids. Or six? What do you get?”

I counted again. “I get six. How old is Holly’s sister? She tell you that when you talked to her yesterday?”

“If this is the one I think, she’s five years older than Holly. Jeez, Sam, think-that poor woman has been pregnant almost every other day of her life since her eighteenth birthday.”

The members of Holly’s oldest sister’s brood were dressed like kids, in sharp distinction to Artie’s offspring, who were dressed as though they expected a relative to die during dinner and Artie wanted to be certain they were prepared to attend an immediate funeral.

The newly arrived posse broke ranks as they moved toward Holly’s front door. Running. Laughter. Teasing.

“Wait,” Carmen said. “I get three adults now.”

“Yep, me too. The blonde is Holly’s sister?”

“I guess,” Carmen replied. “Who’s the other one, then, the woman with the dark hair?”

I didn’t answer. Holly answered the door, and the passel of nieces and nephews funneled inside, followed by the blond woman and then the rotund brother-in-law with the big smile. Everybody got either a hug or a kiss or both. The woman with the dark hair stood patiently on that classic Craftsman-style porch holding a covered dish, waiting for her turn to arrive. Once her relatives were safely inside the house, Holly stepped out to speak with the woman. Holly’s head was tilted to one side the whole time.

After listening for about thirty seconds, Holly took the woman by the elbow and guided her farther from the door. They talked for another minute or so, their faces only a foot apart.

“A friend? Neighbor?” Carmen conjectured.

“Maybe.” I didn’t want to come to any conclusions at that point. I wanted to observe.

The covered dish finally changed hands, some final words were spoken, and the woman stepped down from the porch without a hug or kiss from Holly. She walked down the sidewalk away from the house, which was also away from me and Carmen. Holly hesitated a second at the door before she stepped back into the house. Had she looked our way before she went inside? I wasn’t sure.

I figured she figured I was close by.

I checked my cell phone to make sure it was on. It was.

“Want me to follow her?” Carmen asked.

She was talking about the covered dish lady. That didn’t surprise me. She was asking me what I wanted her to do. That did. “Don’t think so. You’re probably right. Just a neighbor.”

Carmen said, “I’m getting hungry. You?”

“Always. You think maybe we could get Holly to bring us a plate? Her turkey will come out of the oven soon. I bet they end up eating around seven, maybe a little after.”

She reached into her purse and offered me an energy bar. “You might get a plate, Sam. Not me.”

I shocked myself; I took the bar. “If I get any turkey and stuffing, I’ll share,” I said. “Promise.”

Six forty-five. Night had arrived under slate gray skies.

I said, “Turkey’s coming out of the oven right about now. I’m going to do a stroll around the block again, see if I can work up an appetite.”

It had been a joke, but Carmen missed it. She put a hand on my arm. “We wasting our time?” she asked.

“Probably.”

“How long can we last? Just the two of us, I mean? Tomorrow morning? What then?”

I’d thought about that, too. “I’m hoping something new develops with the investigation, something we can use to get the local police willing to help keep an eye on Holly. If that doesn’t happen, I’ll go talk to Holly again, see if I can get her to go stay with one of her sisters in Chicago for the weekend.”

“I know which sister I’d choose.”

“Yeah. Artie doesn’t seem likely to have a dominant good-host gene, does he?”

“I’m sorry about your holiday, Sam.”

“Company’s good, Carmen. That helps.”

She didn’t miss that I said that. Her hand was still on my arm. The pressure changed. “Sam? Before you go, call Gibbs. Do you mind?”

“I didn’t think you were that attached to Gibbs’s well-being.”

“I’m not. I was just thinking that if Gibbs has seen Sterling in Colorado, then we’re all done here, right? You and me, we can pack up and go someplace together and, you know… eat.”

My heart hiccoughed during the hesitation at the end of Carmen’s sentence. Missed a beat? Double beat? I couldn’t tell. “I can do that.” I pulled out my cell phone, fit my reading glasses on my nose, checked for Gibbs’s number in the memory, and dialed. She answered after three rings.

“Hello,” she said.

The sound of Gibbs’s voice moved me like the refrain of an old song. I knew it wasn’t right that it happened that way. But it did.

“It’s Sam. Hey, how you doing?”

“Did Alan Gregory tell you to call?”

What was that about?
“Nah. Just wanted to be sure you’re safe. We haven’t talked. Where are you?”

“Vail. A motel.”

“Is it pretty?”

“Low clouds. It’s okay.”

“Here, too. Low clouds. Gray.”

“I hear the South is like that sometimes.”

She sounded cryptic. Maybe she was aggravated to be alone on the holiday in a motel. I could relate to that.

“I’m not in Georgia anymore. I drove north. I’m up in Indiana.”

“You are? Why on earth would you go to Indiana? Where?”

“Currently, South Bend.”

“Really? Do you have family there? Is that it?”

“No, my family’s up in Minnesota for the holiday. I’m following up a long shot. A tip we got. Probably a waste of time. You’re okay? You haven’t heard from Sterling? Seen him anywhere?”

“I guess I’m okay. I feel terrible that my problems have kept you away from your loved ones on Thanksgiving. You shouldn’t have to do that. I wish you’d just go get on a plane and go be with your family. I’ll pay. That would make me feel better. Will you do that? Just go to the airport right this minute?”

“No Sterling?”

“No.”

“Well, I’m fine, Gibbs. Don’t concern yourself with me. You try to make the best of your holiday, but stay vigilant, okay? You’ll do that? Keep an eye out for Sterling. Give me a call if anything makes you nervous?”

“I promise. Good-bye, Sam.”

I closed the phone. “He’s not there.”

Carmen said, “Thanks for trying.”

I’d stiffened up. Let’s say pulling myself from behind the wheel to get out of the car wasn’t one of the most graceful things I’d ever done.

Holly’s house had a three-foot chain-link fence around the backyard. Since the house was on a corner, it was possible to get a real good look around the entire property by strolling the sidewalk. With ten kids inside I could hear noise and laughter from the house half a block away. I turned around at that point and retraced my steps toward the house.

On my first pass around the corner nothing had seemed amiss. On the way back, though, the latch on the backyard gate had been moved to a different position. The gate hook was one of those horseshoe latches that raise up to allow the gate to swing open and then slide back down to horizontal to lock everything into place. I was sure it was down during my first pass.

It was up during the second.

I crossed the street and phoned Carmen.

“It’s me. The latch on the back gate. You know the one?”

“The chain link?”

“That’s the one.”

“Yeah, I know it.”

“Was it up or down when you last came by?”

“Couldn’t tell you. Why?”

“It’s up now. I thought I remembered it being down.”

“There’s a houseful of kids in there, Sam. One of them must have run outside for something.”

“I guess. Can you see it from where you are?”

She hesitated. “No, I don’t have a good view of the gate from here.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

I crossed back across the street, waiting in the dark shadows of a big tree I thought might be an oak, and I watched the rear of the house. Laughter, chatter, kitchen activity. An occasional child’s yell. Just what you’d expect.

Nothing more, nothing less.

It took me a few minutes of watching to recognize that something was missing.

Holly.

Holly was missing. Her two sisters were making frequent appearances at the sink that was under the kitchen window. But Holly hadn’t made a single appearance since my first pass around the corner.

Not one.

I felt a sharp tug just below my rib cage and reflexively reached into my pocket to find the little brown bottle of nitro.

As I rolled it back and forth between my fingers, I continued to stare at the kitchen window. It had been dark for a while. Now it wasn’t.

I saw one blond sister. Then the other blond sister.

No Holly.

I listened to the cacophony of voices.

No Holly.

That wasn’t right.

I checked my watch. Four minutes after seven. I figured it was just about time to carve the turkey. I was guessing the brother-in-law who wasn’t Artie would be doing the honors.

I strolled closer to the house and leaned against the corner of the detached garage that was about ten yards away across the little backyard.
Come on, Holly. Come on. Show your face.

Talk to me.

I called Carmen again. “Holly go out the front door for any reason in the last few minutes?”

“No. What’s up?”

“Maybe nothing. I’ve lost track of her.”

“Sam, she’s inside with her family.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

I flicked my reading glasses down, hung up, and searched for another number in my cell phone’s memory. Found it.

Holly’s number.

Four rings. Finally, a kid answered.

“May I speak to Holly, please?”

“Hold on,” the child said. He or she threw the phone onto something hard. The resulting explosion in my ear was painful.

Come on, Holly. Come on.

A minute, a dozen different voices. A loud call of “Aunt Holly?” Another. Then, “Anybody seen Aunt Holly?”

Holly’s voice anywhere in the mix? I didn’t think so.

The child came back on the line, finally. “I can’t find her. Can you call back, please?”

“Sure.”

Just then someone shoved a dull knife up under my rib cage. Rotated it side to side. Did it again. Deep.

That’s what it felt like, anyway. The pain took my breath away, literally. I did an inventory.

Pain in my neck or jaw? No.

Down my arm? No.

Sweaty? Yes, a little. Okay, quite a bit.

I unscrewed the top of the little brown bottle, popped a nitro under my tongue, and braced myself for the inevitable flush.

Here we go,
I was thinking.
Here we go.

Tayisha was finished in five minutes.

She joined me where I was waiting for her in Diane’s office.

“Don’t be looking like your hemorrhoids are acting up,” she said. “I won’t charge you the whole thing. Tell you what, we’ll make it… we’ll make it two-fifty. How’s that?”

For five minutes?
I should have been grateful. Tayisha had cut her original price in half. It still seemed like a lot of money for five minutes of anything.

I started unpeeling bills. “I only have twenties. You know, the cash machine.”

“We’ll make it two-sixty, then. That’ll work.”

I finished counting to thirteen and held out a thick stack of bills. She snapped them from my hand, folded them once, and stuffed the wad into the back pocket of her jeans.

“The thing is going to work? You’re sure?” Any enterprise that required me to turn over a large quantity of cash in total secrecy tended to leave me feeling a little bit anxious.

“I tested it; it’s all good.” She eyed me the way people eye a friend after he insists he can drive just fine after a night out drinking. “You know what you’re doing, right? You’re not planning something stupid?”

I shrugged.

“Figures. I’ll be back next week to sweep the rest of your building. Just save the equipment for me. Don’t rough it up; it’s fine stuff.”

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks. I appreciate your doing this on Thanksgiving.”

She patted the back pocket on her jeans. “That’s a car payment. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

Diane’s office, like mine, has a solitary French door leading out to the backyard. That’s the way Tayisha left the building.

Five minutes later it was also the way that Adrienne arrived.

Adrienne was my neighbor, she was Sam’s urologist, and she was, most important, my friend. I’d chosen her to assist me that night for two reasons. One, she was a conspirator by character. Her life as a respectable, and respected, physician was a cover for her true calling as an anarchist. Second, she was on call for Thanksgiving anyway and had spent a good chunk of the day at Community Hospital, which was only ten or so blocks away. Since I’d already fed her son, I knew I wouldn’t be pulling her away from a holiday dinner with him.

She was dressed as though she’d awakened in Boulder that morning and discovered the whole town had been moved to the Arctic. Scarf, hat, gloves. A down parka that made her look like the Michelin Man’s little sister.

“This sort of thing doesn’t happen to normal people, you know.”

That was Adrienne’s version of hello.

“I never claimed to be normal people.”

“A bug? Somebody planted a bug in your office?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Do you know who?”

“I do. A lawyer.”

She perked right up. “A lawyer? We’re trapping a lawyer? Hell, I’ll get naked with you for that.”

“That won’t be necessary, Adrienne.” She would have. I had no doubt. I was more curious about the associative stream that led her to make the offer than I was about the prospect of seeing her
au naturel
.

She sat down on Diane’s sofa and said, “What do you want me to do? If I get a page from the hospital, though, I’m out of here. Just so you know. Today I’m the catheter queen. Who knew? If the nurses can’t thread the needle, they call me. Sometimes I don’t do a single emergency Foley in six months of call. Today I’ve inserted three Foleys in five hours. Must be a turkey thing. Whatever it is, one more and I’m calling Guinness.”

I didn’t want to hear about any dubious urological records. Foley catheters made me squirm.

“You’re going to play a doctor,” I said.

“It’s a bit of a stretch, but I can do that. What kind of doctor am I?”

“A shitty doctor who just screwed up a procedure.”

“Hardly,” she said. “Who’s my patient?”

“You’ll see.”

Her face lit up. She’d started playing along with me in earnest. That was when I knew I had her cooperation. “Am I a urologist? Precisely what did this mystery patient come to me to have examined?”

“You’re a Denver urologist, but you live here in Boulder.”

“Which means I’m a Denver urologist with taste.”

“You screwed up a vasectomy. You cut a nerve or something, made a guy impotent.”

She shook her head at my ignorance. “Sorry, hon, but that’s not exactly how the anatomy works. To make a guy impotent during a vasectomy, I’d have to use a tomahawk instead of a scalpel.” She proceeded to explain the complex physiology of erections and the precise surgical maneuvers involved in completing a vasectomy in much more detail than I ever wanted to know. Erotic it wasn’t.

“Once we get started in there, could you simplify it a bit, Adrienne? This is for a lay audience.”

“Don’t worry, even though your way is pure science fiction, I’ll play along. But you’d better hope there are no doctors in the front row of the theater.”

We rehearsed for a few minutes. I checked my watch. It was fifteen minutes after four o’clock.

I’d told Jim Zebid that I would be handling an emergency prior to our Thanksgiving evening appointment. If he was planning to eavesdrop on the emergency session, he’d be in place outside already. I imagined him sitting in a darkened car on Walnut Street with his receiving unit finely tuned and a pair of good headphones over his ears.

“You feel ready?” I asked Adrienne.

“Just show me the stage.”

“This way, madame. Break a leg.”

Adrienne whispered, “You know this would never happen in real life? Me screwing up a procedure like this?”

“I know. Goes without saying.”