Time and Trouble (55 page)

The dark around her thickened. And then, again remembering that summer day with Jesse, she felt a surge of excitement. This was a park with a gatehouse, an entry fee-
—
a ranger. He
’
d call for help. He
’
d
be
help.

Except he wasn
’
t there. The little house stood empty and a sign nearby suggested an honor system of payment until the park closed at seven P.M. Maybe then somebody would return to check on things, although tonight, maybe not. Not even desperate teens were willing to be blown around and doused for the sake of illegally drinking a beer.

What was he doing in there? Where were the children?

Images of two new graves on the shallow strip of beach flashed across the dark windshield. Stephen Tassio
’
s face, that she
’
d never seen alive and animated. She
’
d been too late for him. Trailing too slowly.

Harley must have killed Stephen. Harley was a killer. The phone call
—
the man about the jewelry. He
’
d known that Stephen was involved. Penny had told her about the visits, the battle about the pendant.

Poor, poor Stephen. If that was what happened, then poor Stephen. The innocent middleman. Trapped by the fluke of finding a glittery piece of costume jewelry somebody else thought endangered him. Or of befriending a troubled girl.

Poor, dead Stephen.

There couldn
’
t be any more murders to protect earlier murders. Not on her watch.

She dialed Emma.
“
The mobile number you are calling
—”

Don
’
t panic. Don
’
t despair. Had to mean that Emma was around the corner, that the quarry blocked the signal. Didn
’
t mean anything
—
the troops were approaching.

While down on the beach
…

Move faster. No more lost children. No more small skeletons. No more Stephen Tassios. She put the car in gear and drove forward, only her parking lights on. She could run him over, use the car as her weapon. Or not
—
she
’
d simply see what was happening
—
be able to tell the police when they arrived, speed things up and avoid confusion. The thing was to go forward.

Her pulse beat hard in her throat and ears
—
she could hear it, as if she
’
d just run miles.

And then it was smothered under a hard, shattering explosion. Glass. In the woods. Under her tire. Beer bottle. Soda bottle. Some bottle. She felt the tire sag, the car tilt and drag lumpily.

Stranded in the rainy woods with a killer.

And they were still there, on the beach, with time against them no matter her problems. She had her feet, her wits. If she stayed paralyzed in her car, which was her impulse, she was a sitting target. His last victim had been in a car. She refused to be the next.

Use the brain, it
’
s all you have.

She left her car, clutching her raincoat tight. It wasn
’
t sufficiently warm or waterproof and the wind entered between each thread. She trotted down the path toward the parking lot, slowly, trying not to slide on wet leaves, mentally mapping the landscape ahead, based on the one Sunday she
’
d visited with Jesse. She had forgotten how long and winding the road into the park was
—
doubly so on foot. How many eucalyptus trees lined it, creaking and moaning in the storm.

They broke in high winds, she knew. Too brittle. Burned, too. Too oily. They seemed out of a horror film, echoing the protest she felt, threatening to crack as she ran and slipped between them on the endless path, as they reached for her, blowing and contorting into nightmare shapes.

Finally she rounded a curve and was on the parking lot that faced the open Bay. Far off, the San Rafael
–
Richmond Bridge, the East Bay refineries.

But here, no sign of life. No adult, no children
—
no car on the parking lot. As if they
’
d blown into nothingness. Lifted off and taken out to sea. Or never existed in the first place.

She ran to the left toward the beach, her breath a harsh sob, her wet hair stuck to her face.

No one. She went closer to be certain
—
the dark wet made vision nearly impossible. They weren
’
t there. They weren
’
t anywhere.

She ran up the small rise to the swimming pool, afraid she
’
d see the children facedown in it. And he
’
d be gone
—
out a secret exit he knew. Out for a run all the way home.
“
Got caught in the storm,
”
he
’
d say.

Of course, people would say the Redmond kids had broken in for an illegal swim. Too bad about those kids.

But the pool, inside its high, locked fence, was deserted.

No one was on the long fishing pier. Not even the seagulls.

She walked back to the parking lot and stood sniffling, stymied until she realized she was ignoring the other side of the lot. Beyond the volleyball court, beyond the picnic tables, beyond the portable toilets. She and Jesse had never gone in that direction and, in fact, few did. It wasn
’
t scenic or inviting. She wasn
’
t even sure it was officially part of the park, because the place dwindled from manicured hillocks and walkways into unsculptured nature and then, the look of a small dump, where rocks, cement and old boards were tossed haphazardly. No beach, just a stony, difficult edge to the land. This side bordered the quarry which lay behind the low, littered rise. She could make out the tops of the towering machinery from this side, too, and a fence on the little hill, with KEEP OUT signs.

As her eyes scanned the dark corner, she saw a still-darker bulk against the rise. She reflexively ran toward it. Had he left the car, left them dead inside? Wet as it was, the hair on the back of her neck rose.

No one was in it, at least in the seats, and the trunk was open. She stared at that. Spacious enough to hold somebody. Definitely Wesley. And if Penny were in the backseat
…

No one was in it now. She listened, but heard nothing except the endless rustle of the buffeted leaves, the moan of the wind, the smack of rain. Nothing. And there was nothing else and nowhere else to look. She stood defeated.

Then realized there was a somewhere else. So obvious that she
’
d missed it. The enormous expanse of water bordering this tip of land. She looked again at the quarry fencing, wondered that he
’
d parked so close to it, and trailed it over the crest of the small hill down toward the water, where it extended as a barrier about twenty feet out. Not far enough, she thought. Tempting for kids who could too easily take the dare to get around it.

And now she saw them, and his plan. They were all no more than shadows. She moved closer as silently as possible. This was probably a substitute plan for when the quarry had proven impregnable. Anything to play to the idea that the Redmond kids had gotten themselves into fatal trouble. People would
tsk
over it, shake heads in sorrow
—
that Penny Redmond was certainly a bad influence, encouraging her little brother to go into the water on a night like that. She had seemed so responsible when she baby-sat, but something must have snapped. Ran away, then this. Maybe because of the stepfather. Just thank God she stayed sane while she was with my kids!

But while she heard those future voices, Billie crept toward the shadow people and finally made out the rocky edge of the land.

She saw only two of them at first. Harley carried Wesley into the shallows, along the gate. Billie saw the torn and twisted spots in the fencing
—
the marks of other would-be intruders. It was too easy, too much a setup to wedge their bodies in the preexisting holes. As if he
’
d found a custom-designed murder site. And it would be totally believable that the storm-encouraged tides had driven them there, wedged and trapped them.

Wesley
’
s head dropped onto Harley
’
s shoulder. He looked like an overgrown child being taken up to bed.

He
’
d drugged them. They
’
d have properly water-filled lungs when found. The rain was a lucky break for him, gave an unexpected sharp edge to their supposed prank, made it more believable that only tragedy could be its result.

She stood above them, watching Harley
’
s careful slow steps. He had the boy in both hands, which meant he was unarmed, for the moment. They were as equal combatants as they ever would be. She squatted and searched the ground until she found a fist-sized stone. And then another.

“
Stop!
”
she screamed as loudly as she could.
“
Stop that right now!
”

It took awhile for her bellow to register in the surrounding din, but Harley looked up at her with no sign of comprehension.
“
Everybody knows!
”
she screamed.
“
The police know. There
’
s no point
—
put him down!
”

She saw Penny now, below her, sitting propped against the low rise. Her hands looked bound and she stared at Billie with a drugged, dull-eyed lack of interest.
“
You shouldn
’
t be doing this,
”
Harley said, and even through the rain, his voice was rich and convincing.

“
Put him down!
”
she screamed again. And if he did? Then what? Then Harley could use his hands. She
’
d be worse off.

Then
…
then she
’
d have another idea. Their car, maybe. Tie Harley up. Leave him.
“
Put him down!
”
she screamed again, and to her amazement, he did.

And started toward her, reaching into his pocket. She saw it then, the glint of metal in his hand. He had a knife.

She had a rock. She raised her arm and aimed. He was a perfect target, directly below her and so resolutely enraged he barely reacted to her arm in motion. Barely reacted at all until the rock hit his mid-section, the knife flew out of his hand, and he fell with a shout.

She scrabbled down the short hill, sliding and tripping, toward the children. But his hand grabbed her ankle, pulled her sideways, down.
…

Not a big-enough, hard-enough rock. Not enough.

“
You
’
re dead,
”
he snarled. He held on to her while he twisted. Looking for the knife, but it wasn
’
t near enough, and it was too hard seeing anything clearly and he was too winded to be completely mobile and dangerous. Yet.

She had a minute and another rock. All he had was her ankle.

She kicked at his hand with her other foot, kicked as hard as she could, hoped to hear breaking bones, but settled for a momentary loosening of his fingers. And she scrabbled to her feet, digging into her raincoat pocket at the same time until she stood, looming above him as he tried without success to get his footing again.

This one to the head. No squeamishness. Not thrown. Pounded. This was the end of the line. Whoever she
’
d once been, she wasn
’
t anymore. She was going to kill.

She raised the arm.

And felt it pulled down from behind as a voice said,
“
Don
’
t move. I have a gun aimed at your head.
”

Harley Marshall, who
’
d been halfway to sitting again, looked up and over, then silently lay down flat on his back. Obedient man.

“
Your radio show stinks, too,
”
Emma said.
“
This is a pretty extreme way to get you off the air, but whatever works.
”

Billie hadn
’
t heard the car, hadn
’
t heard her.
“
Emma,
”
she whispered.
“
Emma, I thought
—”

“
Why don
’
t you untie the kids?
”
Emma asked her. Then she spoke into her phone.
“
The side next to the quarry. Down by the water,
”
she told someone.

“
What happened to everybody, where were the
—”

“
Bad accident on North San Pedro. Fatality and injuries. They had to stop, call for help. I came as soon as I could.
”

“
God, I can
’
t thank you enough, I was so
—”

“
The kids, Billie.
”

Billie felt the flash of resentment, and then she looked at Emma, her steel hair flat and dripping onto her face, the gun aimed at Harley, who looked bizarre on his weedy patch of earth, lying like a sunbather in a storm. And Billie smiled, nodded, and went to untie Penny Redmond. And as she did, she saw headlights, heard voices, and was glad of the rain so no one could tell that she
’
d burst into tears of relief.

*

“
You did it, then,
”
Emma said. The police had taken Harley to the lockup, Penny and Wesley for observation. Harley had practically tortured Penny to try and find out who else knew about the heart and its engraving. Triple-A had towed Billie
’
s car and Emma was driving Billie home.