Текст книги "January Justice"

Автор книги: Athol Dickson

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Teru said, “Find a garden I can work in.”

Surprised, I turned to Simon. “How about you?”

“I will seek another opportunity to buttle.”

“Buttle?”

“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 buttling.”

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 embarrassing. 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 buttling…”

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 glass 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 glass 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 Shipyard 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 glass, 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 attitude. 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 pass 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 assumed 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 identity 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.

“Whatever,” replied Russo.

“All right,” said Harper. “Now, then. Malcolm, what do the doctors have to say about your situation? Any chance you might remember something that could help?”

I shook my head. “I’ve lost about a month of time, near as they can tell. Couple of weeks before to a couple of weeks after. It’s like it never happened.”

“That’s tough. But it’ll come back to you eventually. Bound to.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Bound to.”

Russo picked up a menu. “What’s good?”

I said, “I was gonna have the cheeseburger and fries.”

Turning around, Russo made a big production out of waving for the waitress. She came right over. She was about fifty, but she wore a form-fitting T-shirt tucked into a tight pair of jeans. She could get away with it. She had the figure of a teenager. “What can I get you guys to drink?” she asked.

“Got no time for that,” said Russo. “We’ll order lunch right now.”

After the waitress had taken our orders and left the table, I said, “You seriously have no leads?”

“Seriously,” said Russo.

“Nothing at all?”

“Look,” he said, “you two were alone together, you both got doped, she went over the edge, and you went to the nuthouse. The drugs in your food and in your systems are the only evidence. I had nearly forty guys go over the scene for two days. There was nothing. No evidence whatsoever.”

It wasn’t good enough. They simply had to find her killer. I couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “Wow. You looked for two whole days?”

Russo turned to Harper. “This is why I don’t usually talk to civilians about cases.”

Harper said, “I know Malcolm appreciates this, don’t you Malcolm?”

“Oh, I do.”

Russo said, “Yeah, whatever.”

We sat there, the three of us saying nothing. I took a sip of water. Harper sighed. Russo stared at the wall and blinked sometimes.

“So, Malcolm,” said Harper at last. “You been working?”

“A little.”

“Anybody interesting?” Harper looked at Russo. “Malcolm drives movie stars for a living.”

Russo said, “I know that, Harper.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Harper. “So, how about it, Malcolm? Who you driving lately? Jennifer Aniston maybe? Angelina Jolie?”

I said, “Nobody like that. Business is pretty slow since I got out. So far just a couple of guys from Guatemala.”

“I never heard of a movie star from Guatemala.”

“They weren’t movie stars. They were sort of unofficial diplomats who used to be terrorists.”

Harper laughed. Russo looked bored.

I decided to tell them about it, thinking maybe they could shed some light on the Doña Elena Montes case. I started talking, beginning with pickup at the hotel when I first spotted Vega and Castro’s handguns, then covering everything else in detail, from the high-speed drive to Hollywood to the proposition Vega made in front of Musso & Frank. I didn’t mention that he and Castro were with the URNG, and I didn’t mention their names.

When I was done, Harper said, “Did you take the case?”

“I turned them down. But I thought you guys might be interested.”

Russo said, “Why’d they go to you?”

Harper said, “Sal, I told you what Malcolm does.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not big on private dicks.”

I said, “They came to me because you guys wouldn’t help them.”

Harper sighed.

I watched a couple of Latino men come in and take a seat in the booth across the restaurant. They were both nicely dressed. One wore tan slacks and a cream-colored raw-silk shirt with the top three buttons open to expose a gold medallion on a chain around his neck. The other wore a pair of jeans, but they were pressed and starched, and his shirt was also silk. It seemed like the one with the medallions glanced my way, but he was wearing sunglasses so I couldn’t tell for sure. I was pretty sure I’d seen them before. I watched the waitress bring them menus. It occurred to me that I wasn’t really angry with Russo. I was just angry.

I said, “So, do either of you know anything about the Toledo murder?”

“Sal, you were in on that one, weren’t you?” said Harper.

“Yeah. They give me most of the cases with movie stars.”

“How come?” I asked.

Russo looked at me. His eyes barely showed behind his squinting, fleshy lids. He said, “I don’t know. Maybe ʼcause I can keep a secret.”

I could feel my face turning red. I looked down. I took a breath. I looked back up at him. “I’ve been feeling pretty angry lately. Sometimes I take it out on the wrong people.”

Russo looked at me another moment, then nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”

Harper said, “That Toledo case, we never collared the perp, right?”

“No,” said Russo. “She’s still out there.”

I said, “How much money did she get?”

“Two hundred thousand.”

I thought I’d heard him wrong. “Two hundred thousand dollars?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Did Toledo talk her down or something?”

“He did, yeah. Five hundred is what she asked for.”

“Why only five hundred? The Guatemalans told me Toledo was supposed to be worth something like sixteen million.”

Russo said, “That’s a good question.”

The waitress brought our food. Russo took a massive bite out of his burger. He chewed with his mouth open. Bits of burger fell onto the table. I looked at Harper and raised my eyebrows. Harper shrugged and dug in.

“So,” I said, “what do you know about the kidnapper?”

Russo made no comment.

I took a bite of my cheeseburger, chewed, and swallowed before saying, “I heard the woman’s name is Alejandra Delarosa. I heard she was Toledo’s mistress.”

“How about that. I think we heard that too.”

“Were you able to confirm it? Anybody see them together at hotels? Unexplained gaps in both of their calendars? Anything like that?

“Nope,” said Russo, “but that don’t mean a thing.”

“Do you have proof they even knew each other?

“She worked for him. A secretary. Or administrative assistant. Whatever.”

“How long did she work for Toledo?” I said.

“About a year, maybe. We’re talking about a seven-year-old cold case here, so I could be wrong. But she was with him for a while.”

“She knew him pretty well?”

“Looked that way to us.”

“It’s hard to kill someone you know well.”

“Baloney. Almost every killer knows the victim.”

“In cold blood, I mean. It’s harder to do it in cold blood when you know someone well.”

Russo talked around a last big bite of burger. “If you say so.” Even someone clear across the dining room could have seen the contents of his mouth. Then, just for a second, I looked him in the eye. He looked away immediately, but I had seen the raw intelligence there, and I realized all the rest of it was probably an act. I decided to call him on it.

I took a huge bite of my own burger and let a little bit of it fall out when I talked. “I heard the Delarosa woman was with the URNG.”

“Seems like you heard a lot.”

“Do you think she was with them?”

“She most likely was, yeah.”

“What makes you think that? Because she said so?” My mouth was still full. It was hard to say the “s” sounds without spewing bits of burger across the table, so I did.

Russo was watching me suspiciously, his eyes aimed at my mouth. He said, “Because of the evidence, all right?”

“What evidence?”

“She knew a lot of details about Toledo’s life back in Guatemala. She talked about him like he stole his money from the Indians. She sent her demands to a TV station. She sent in videos. You probably saw them, right? Everybody else did.”

“I remember.”

“Yeah, well, the uniform she wore and the insignia checked out. And she mentioned several known members of that commie group of hers.”

“The URNG aren’t really Communists. At least not anymore. Nowadays they’re just another Guatemalan political party.”

“Whatever.”

“Why would she shoot videos?”

“To convey her demands.”

“Yeah, but videos contain a lot of extra information. It’s harder to control. It’s not safe. Why not just send notes?”

Russo pushed back from the table. “Obviously Delarosa wasn’t trying to play it safe, because the deal wasn’t about the money. It was personal. She believed Toledo was responsible for her father’s disappearance in Guatemala.”

This was new information to me. “How do you know that?”

He looked at me. “We did our job. She could of picked any of the guys who used to run things down in Guatemala, but she picked Toledo. We wanted to know why, so we asked around. Turned out she had a grudge against him personally because of her father. But it was also an act of terrorism. A way for the Unidad Revolucionaria Nacional Guatemalteca to make a statement in a big way. If you steal from the Guatemalan people, the URNG will get the money back, and they will kill you, okay?”

I nodded. He had pronounced Unidad Revolucionaria Nacional Guatemalteca perfectly. I felt a little foolish for underestimating him earlier. I said, “That makes a lot of sense.”

He brushed bits of food off his potbelly, slid out of the booth, and stood up. Looking down at Harper, he said, “You ready?”

Harper started to go for his wallet. “I guess so.”

I said, “Don’t worry about the check.”

Russo said, “We won’t.”

11

The next day was Haley’s birthday. It was the first thing on my mind when I opened my eyes that morning. I ached at the thought. I probably would have rolled over and gone back to sleep in self-defense, except I didn’t want Simon coming over with a cup of french roast at three in the afternoon. So, although it took a few minutes to summon the gumption, I got up. I decided the time had come to go see Haley.

After a shave and shower, I put on my best black suit. I walked across the property to the garage and got into her Bentley. As I waited for the gates to open at the end of the driveway, I saw Teru standing in the distance. He wore his usual green shirt and trousers, and a pair of black rubber boots that came up nearly to his knees. He was sending smoke signals skyward from his pipe and spraying water from a hose onto a flowerbed. I saw a little rainbow in the mist around him. I realized he was watching me. The gates were open and I drove out. I didn’t wave good-bye.

They must have picked me up outside the estate, but I was in my own little fog of grief. I didn’t notice until I had already turned south on the Pacific Coast Highway and had gone nearly all the way through Corona del Mar. I glanced in the mirror as I drove by the Five Crowns restaurant, and there they were, three cars back in that same black Suburban.

The anger came back all of a sudden. It drove away the grief. It seemed to be my only other setting. I decided it might feel good to do something about the guys behind me, so after I passed Cameo Shores and the shopping center, I turned left at the light toward the upper parking lot for Crystal Cove State Park. I paid the ranger lady with the Smokey the Bear hat, and she raised the traffic bar. I drove in about one hundred feet, then stopped. I shifted into reverse and waited.

The Suburban pulled up to the kiosk about a minute later. After the men had paid and driven past the upraised bar, I stepped on the accelerator and moved in reverse. About a second later, I was right in front of them. With the kiosk on their left, the curb on their right, and the bar already down behind them, they had nowhere to go.

They got out.

I got out.

We met on a little gravel-covered area beside the driveway.

One of them wore the top three buttons of his shirt undone, showing off a gold medallion that he wore around his neck, just as he had done the day before at the Galley Cafe. When we were about six feet apart, the other one moved a couple of steps to Medallion’s right, so they had me flanked. It’s what I would have done.

I shifted my weight slightly forward to the balls of my feet. My knees were bent a little, and my left foot was a little farther forward. I held my arms down with my elbows flexed to place my hands slightly in front of my hips with the thumbs rotated up. I didn’t take up the stance consciously. After countless hours of hand-to-hand combat training, it was second nature. I noticed both of them were standing the same way. I thought that was interesting.

I said, “Hi, there.”

“Hello,” replied Medallion. “How can we help you?”

“I don’t know. I think my car might be stuck here.”

“Stuck, he says,” said the Other One. I noticed that he had a Beretta M9 holstered in plain sight at his right hip. I thought that was another interesting thing.

The ranger lady opened the kiosk door and said, “What’s going on out there?”

The Other One said, “You better stay inside.”

She looked at me. “Do I need to call the police?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” I said.

“Okay.” She closed the door.

“That’s fine,” said Medallion. “But while we wait, I do think maybe we can help you. Do you mind if I offer some advice?”

Since they were both speaking with a Spanish accent, I switched to that language. “I am always willing to listen to advice.”

He switched to Spanish too. “Stay away from the URNG.”

“Who are you guys?”

“That Valentín Vega, he is a bad man. He could get a person hurt.”

His accent was Guatemalan. I said, “Seriously, who are you?”

“I am Señior Rodriguez. My associate is Señior Lopez.” It was like saying they were Smith and Brown. “But we want to keep this conversation focused on you, Señior Cutter. We are very worried that you might become involved with Valentín Vega. You could get hurt if you do that. You might even get dead.”

“Who is going to kill me? You?”

He seemed to think about it, wrinkling his brow a little. “It is better not to talk about things that way. We would like to be your friends. We are just hoping to help you avoid some very regrettable trouble.”

Switching back to English, I said, “Trouble is my business.”

“We know what business you’re in. You should find a different client.”

“No, come on. Trouble Is My Business. You know. Philip Marlowe?”

He looked confused.

I said, “The Raymond Chandler novel? No? Seriously?”

The Other One said, “Are you trying to make fools of us?”

“Foolish is as foolish does,” I said.

I didn’t care who they were or why they had been following me. I only wanted to offend them. I wanted to fight. I wanted to hurt them or somebody, anybody, even if it was myself.

The Other One took a step forward. I smiled and made a little “come on” motion with the fingers of one hand. He reached for his gun.

“Stop,” said Medallion. “Listen.”

We all heard the approaching siren. The two Latinos didn’t seem concerned. When the police arrived, Medallion and his partner could simply say I had blocked them in for some reason, and I seemed to want a fight. Their proof was the position of my car. On the other hand, I could say they had been following me for at least two days, but of course I had no proof. It seemed best to avoid that conversation altogether.

I said, “Maybe we should finish this another time. Unless you want to stay and speak with the police?”

“Just move your car,” said Medallion.

I stepped backward, facing them as I moved away. They both did the same as they backed away from me. Moments later I had pulled out of the driveway and into the parking lot. With the Bentley no longer blocking them in, they did a U-turn and drove back out past the kiosk toward the Pacific Coast Highway. I followed them out of the lot. We passed the police cruiser coming in. At the PCH, the guys in the Suburban turned right, back toward Corona del Mar. I turned left toward Laguna Beach.

As I followed the coast, I told myself it would have been better if I had restrained my anger just a little bit and focused more on learning about the men. But I had picked up a few things. It seemed they were professionals. Amateurs would probably have stood close together for moral support. The way they had immediately stepped apart to flank me implied good training. Also, their posture as we had faced off indicated pretty clearly that they had extensive hand-to-hand combat experience.

But professionals aren’t so easily spotted when they tail a vehicle, so it also seemed obvious they had wanted to be noticed. That meant their goal was to warn me off. They weren’t interested in surveillance, which meant they already knew everything they wanted to know about me. Which was a lot more than I knew about them, thanks to my lack of self-control. I shook my head. Where was my discipline? Gone, apparently. Dead and in the ground with Haley.

Six or seven blocks south of Laguna’s Main Beach was the Country Garden, the shop where Simon ordered flowers for the main house. Or where he used to order flowers. That was Haley’s thing: flowers in every room. I had no idea whether Simon was still buying them.

I parallel-parked at the first spot I saw, paid the meter, and walked back to the shop. Ten minutes later I was outside again, strolling toward the Bentley with a dozen violet-colored roses in my left hand. Haley’s favorite flower.

Across the street I saw Castro. He was sitting behind the wheel of a Ford Focus, one of those nondescript little cars they rent you at the airport. He had it idling in the driveway of a sandwich shop facing out toward the PCH. It was a pretty good position strategically, since he could turn either way from there.

Again the anger came. It seemed as though the whole world wanted to tail me, when all I wanted was a little time alone with Haley. But I told myself the thing to do was continue on and ignore him. I walked back to the Bentley, got in, put the roses on the passenger seat, and pulled away from the curb. As soon as there was a break in the oncoming traffic, I turned left and drove the short block uphill to Glenneyre, then left, and then left again around the block and back downhill to get on the PCH again, heading north. When I passed the sandwich-shop driveway, Castro wasn’t there.

It was a typical January day in Southern California, which meant it was pretty much like every other day, except a little warmer. The marine layer had burned off, so there was sunshine, and plenty of it. The Pacific sparkled on the left, with Catalina Island floating out on the horizon.

I thought about the times when Haley and I had gone out on the Panache to pick up her mooring at Avalon. She would send her staff and the crew ashore for the evening, including me, telling everybody, “I vant to be alone; I just vant to be alone,” doing Garbo perfectly and playing it straight. After dark I would hop a shore boat at the pleasure pier, and they would drop me back out at the Panache. She and I would indeed be alone, except for the moon above the island, and the village lights twinkling in houses on the hillsides, and the night herons swooping through the masts around us, and Perry Como crooning on the stereo. We would make love under the stars up on the flybridge and drink champagne and make love again, and it would be magnificent.

But all of that was over and done with. So it was north through Corona del Mar again, the shops and restaurants on both sides, the traffic thickening and the birds-of-paradise along the median, and then a right on MacArthur Boulevard and up the hill with the Fashion Island office buildings on the left. Then there I was at Pacific View Memorial Park, where they had put Haley in the ground while I was screaming in the hospital.

I entered through the main gate and passed some flags and a sign that said “Court of Valor.” A few good men in the ground over there, I figured.

Following Simon’s handwritten directions, I went left at the fork, up the hill. Almost at the top, I parked between two mausoleums. There was another sign that told me the mausoleums were called “Lagunita Courts.” I turned off the engine and sat there looking down the hill toward a little reservoir, which was all the water I could see, and I wondered why they called the cemetery “Pacific View.” Not that there was anything wrong with the place. In fact, I liked it all right as far as cemeteries go. John Wayne was supposed to be down there somewhere, so Haley probably would have liked it too. I could almost hear her saying, “If it’s good enough for the Duke, it’s good enough for me.”

The graves were marked with bronze plaques on granite stones, flat at ground level. The hill was beautifully manicured, like a lawn falling away toward the reservoir below. There were a few live oaks, and flowers in bronze vases here and there. Some of the flowers were plastic, some real. I figured Simon, Teru, and Higgins must have picked the plot, because I was pretty sure Haley hadn’t been prepared for this.

I flinched at the tap on the Bentley’s side window. I looked, and there was Castro, pointing his Glock at me.