Goodnight, Irene (3 page)

I tried to figure out how long ago all that had been. It was about twelve years ago that the
Express
had offered me the job in Las Piernas, and I had moved back to my hometown from Bakersfield, Frank’s hometown. Seven of those twelve years passed before he got transferred down here; by then we were both seeing other people. He got in touch with me once when he first moved to Las Piernas, but other than hearing word of each other from other cops or reporters every now and again, our lives had stayed separate. The last I had heard of him had been a year or so ago, when Mark Baker told me that Frank had asked him about me, and about why I had left the paper. I wondered if Frank was still seeing the same woman he had been with five years ago. Or any other woman.

There was another knock on the screen and Frank let the forensics team in. While they talked to him, I walked back to the bedroom to look for Cody. A quick search of the closet revealed nothing, but when I got down on the floor and looked under the bed, I saw a pair of almond-shaped eyes reflecting back from the farthest corner near the wall, out of arm’s reach and harm’s way. I tried coaxing him, but no luck. I got a flashlight and tried to see if he was hurt, and couldn’t see any damage — just irritation and fright. I left him there, thinking that it was better to let him come out on his own time, when he felt safe again.

I walked back out and watched as the very reserved and professional Detective Harriman started winding things up with the lab guys. It hadn’t taken them long.

As they left, I realized that I was seething with anger at the folks in the blue car. I walked back to the kitchen and got a broom and started sweeping up the glass to try and work some of it off.

“Let me do that; you’ll cut your feet.”

“What will Officer Williams think when he comes back to report?”

“I’ll tell him it’s a time-proven evidence-gathering method. Officer Williams will never be the same after today anyway.”

“That makes two of us,” I said, looking for my shoes.

“No, three,” he said.

I watched him for a moment, then my thoughts turned back to O’Connor. “Frank, it’s the same people, isn’t it? But why? Why would anybody take a shot at me? Or at my house, anyway.”

“Hard to say. Somebody was probably watching O’Connor’s house last night before they delivered the package. They may have followed you from there. They may have been watching today, may have seen you talking to me at the scene and figured you were going to tell us too much. They could have followed you from Banyon’s. They may have already known you and O’Connor were close friends and figured they’d call on you just in case he had told you something. Maybe they saw the Corvette and thought Kenny was here.”

He looked over at the chair and the remains of his suit coat. “If they hadn’t hit so low, and risked it the middle of the day, I’d think this was just a warning, but maybe they didn’t care whether they killed you or not. They can obviously do it if they want to. They succeeded once already and came close to being two for two.”

I felt a little sick to my stomach. Frank saw the look on my face and set the broom down and came over to me. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m so used to you being a reporter, I wasn’t phrasing things the way I should.” He put an arm around my shoulders. “Got any coffee? Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll call somebody to board up the window. Getting the glass replaced on a Sunday would cost you a fortune.”

While we waited for the board-up crew, I made some coffee and poured a couple of cups. We sat back down at the table.

“Before we were so rudely interrupted by gunfire,” I said, “we were talking about O’Connor. What did you learn from Kenny? Like I said, his car was there last night. This morning, as I was leaving… after the explosion, I mean…”

I heard my own voice trailing off, as if it belonged to someone else. I could suddenly see the destruction before me again, feel the numbing chill of realizing that it was impossible for O’Connor to have survived it, knowing that he was gone, would never be around again. No more listening or laughing or talking or anything at all.

Again that need to wail like a lost child was welling up within me, that longing to cry and cry. But nothing happened.

Frank was waiting for me to pull it together, trying not to make me feel self-conscious. He got up to refill his coffee cup. I took a few deep breaths and went on.

“Anyway, Kenny’s car was parked in front of the house last night, but not this morning. He doesn’t usually get out of bed before he has to — one of the things that drove my sister Barbara nuts when they were married. But he was safely out of the house this morning before the explosion, got back there after you guys were already on the scene. Now his car just happens to mysteriously appear near my house on the same afternoon I’m shot at, and he’s nowhere around.”

“Yeah, it’s odd, all right, and I’m anxious to talk to him. But he has a legitimate reason for being gone this morning and it checks out… Yes, I checked it myself,” he added, seeing my look of disbelief.

“Where was he?” I asked.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

I was furious. “Frank Harriman, you’ve got a hell of a nerve coming in here and asking questions and then refusing to give me information in return!”

“Don’t give me that crap, Irene! This isn’t some goddamned newspaper story. You’re not a reporter anymore and we’re not just involved in an exchange of information. An old man was blown to kingdom come this morning. I’ve been shot at, I’ve had my face scratched by your cat and my best suit coat blown to shreds. All the same I’ve tried to protect you from harm and from what would probably be a much less considerate style of questioning. I don’t…” He stopped.

I was finally starting to cry.

I
RENE
. Irene, I’m sorry…

“I held up a hand. When I could talk again I said, “Not your fault. Not a good day for either of us. I’m sorry. Excuse me for a moment…"

I got up without looking him in the face and went back to the bedroom. I closed the door, flopped down on the bed and indulged myself with a good cry. Cody came out from under the bed and crawled up next to me, licked my face and gave little mews of consolation. I was angry with myself for breaking down in front of Frank, felt awkward about the idea of going out red-nosed and froggy-eyed from crying. How embarrassing. But I knew I couldn’t just leave the guy standing out there in my living room.

I heard Williams come back by, but I couldn’t make out anything they were saying. He left and all was quiet again. A couple of times I heard Frank start down the hall, then hesitate and go back toward the front of the house.

The doorbell rang. I could overhear him talking to the board-up crew and was relieved to have him occupied. I went into the bathroom, blew my nose and splashed a lot of cold water on my face. My blue eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. For a distraction, I twisted my dark hair up off my shoulders and pinned it. My neck was cooler, but a glance in the mirror convinced me I looked like a schoolmarm, so I let my hair down again. I brushed it; the action calmed me. I didn’t look great, but at least I had stopped crying.

There was a soft knock at the bedroom door, and Cody ran back under the bed.

“Irene?”

“Yeah, Frank — I’ll be right out.”

I opened the door, and he backed up a couple of paces, as if he was afraid of what I might do next. Couldn’t blame him. I didn’t know either.

It was getting dark, and looking out the back screen door, I could see a bright-red sunset. He leaned against the hallway and watched me. In the background, I could hear the board-up crew break out the remaining glass in the window.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so. Actually, you’ve been a help. I’ve been trying to cry all day.”

“Glad it made one of us feel better.”

“Don’t feel bad, Frank. I know the rules. I’ve covered crime beats and I know better. I’m just… not quite myself right now. I’m so damned angry. Sorry I took it out on you.”

“Normal to be angry.”

“God, don’t start telling me I’m normal. I’ve had all the bad news I can handle for one day.”

He smiled. “You’re not as off-beat as you think you are.”

The crew was hammering the boards in place, making a hell of a racket.

“Let’s sit out back,” I suggested. We brushed off a couple of chairs on the back porch and sat down. The winds had died down to a breeze. Crickets had started to sing and the air was laced with the fragrance of jasmine from my neighbor’s backyard.

“Irene, look, I’ve been thinking about it, and I can let you in on a few things under certain conditions. And, well, I’ve got an idea that might work out for both of us. If you’re willing to try it.”

“Go on, I’m listening.”

“You can help me in two ways. I figure the intended target of the bombing may have been O’Connor himself, or his son. Any other possibilities became a lot less likely this afternoon when those shots blasted through your window.

“I think you can help me learn more about O’Connor and his son. In exchange, I’ll tell you whatever I can, on the condition that you do not try to pursue this on your own — that you keep working with me and let the police deal with these people.” He paused. “I mean that, Irene. Whoever they are, they’re dangerous and they mean business. I don’t want your blood on my hands.”

“What are the ‘two ways’?” I asked.

“Promise me you won’t try to play Nancy Drew.”

“Frank, I’m the curious sort. Too many years of reporting to say I won’t snoop into things. But I promise to tell you whatever I learn, and that I won’t intentionally place myself in personal danger.”

He sat there thinking for a while, unconsciously reaching up and touching the scratch marks. “I might as well face it; even this morning I knew you’d start digging around on your own, no matter what I said. You’re about as hardheaded as they come. Maybe if you’ll work with me, we can keep that stubbornness from getting you killed.”

“I’ll be careful. Tell me how I can be of help.”

“I need for you to try to get your job back at the paper. You’ll have to eat humble pie, kiss Wrigley’s behind and tell him that O’Connor told you all about the mayor’s problems and every other story he was working on. Offer to take up where O’Connor left off.”

I nodded. I had been thinking about doing it anyway. It was the only way I could learn more than I already knew about the things O’Connor was working on. Working with Wrigley would be hell on earth, but if I knew him at all, he had already started to worry about what he was going to do with the mayor’s story. I was also pretty sure I could manage getting my job back without too much groveling. Wrigley had already made overtures, which until now I had turned down.

One of the workers made his way back to say they were finished, and I went inside to pay them. I thanked them and closed and bolted the front door after they left.

“Okay,” I said to Frank as I came out back again, “I’m with you as far as the paper goes.”

“Great. I’m afraid the next item involves telling you something that’s not going to make you happy.”

I waited. What could make this day any worse?

“Williams came by a little while ago,” he said. “He told me that Kenny had not checked into the Vista del Mar. He asked the lady across the street from you about the Corvette, she said she saw Kenny pull up and park; shortly after that a tall redhead that she’s seen over here before pulled up behind him; said she thought the woman was your sister.”

“Barbara?!”

“I couldn’t remember if your sister was a redhead from back when you used to talk to me about her. So you think it’s her?”

I nodded.

“Your neighbor said the woman acted like she was going to come to your front door but that the man stopped her, and then they got into her car and drove off.”

I was stunned. Kenny had gone middle-aged-crazy at forty, bought the Corvette and started hopping from bed to bed like crab lice. When Barbara was finally forced to confront him about it, he gave her the “It’s all your fault” baloney and worse. He said things to her that boys in a high school locker room would blush to hear.

“Jesus, Frank. I’ve heard of gluttons for punishment, but this is like volunteering for the Spanish Inquisition. How can my own sister have such low self-esteem? I’m calling her. I’m calling her right now.”

“Hold it, Irene. Barbara’s not a child. Your older sister, as I recall. She can see anybody she wants to.”

“It won’t work. God, he is
such
a user! She’ll mother him.”

He didn’t say anything.

“You’re right,” I said, calming down a little. “You’re right. I’ve got to stay out of it.”

“Well, actually, what I had in mind was a little different. I need you to be sympathetic to her. We’ve got to find out what, if anything, would make someone want to kill Kenny.”

“You’d better arrest me.”

“You know what I mean. From what I can tell at this point, all three of you may be targets. Kenny must be pretty sure he’s a target, or he wouldn’t have left his car here. He may not have wanted to leave it in an unfamiliar neighborhood, or maybe he was trying to draw attention to you, I don’t know. Anyway, I’m going to have it towed in, so you should have some satisfaction.”

I must admit it cheered me to imagine Kenny’s face when he found his most prized possession missing.

“Meanwhile,” Frank went on, “for obvious reasons, I don’t think you should stay here. At least not until we get a better handle on things. They probably won’t come around here again until they’re sure cops aren’t going to keep dropping by, but you need to watch your back. Anybody you can stay with?”

I thought about it. It wasn’t a problem of being willing to leave — I wasn’t really feeling comfortable in the house, and even the nuisance of living away from it for a few days didn’t seem like much compared to being on edge in my own home. Barbara’s house was out of the question. There was a limit to what I could stand in the way of watching her sacrifice herself to Kenny.

“Let me try Lydia Ames. We’ve been friends since grade school.”