J is for Judgment (Kinsey Millhone 10)

The outside air had picked up a sting of moisture, wind tossing through the trees. The streetlights were almost entirely blocked by branches, shadows blowing across the street like a pile of leaves. I intended to bid the man a fare-thee-well, get in my car, and then play tag with him, following at a discreet distance until he led me to Brian. As soon as I got a fix on the kid’s location, I was calling the cops. I said good night and moved off in the opposite direction.

I’m not sure he even heard me.

Preoccupied, Wendell took out a set of car keys and crossed the grass to a little red Maserati sports car that was parked at the curb. Renata apparently had a fleet of expensive autos. He unlocked the car and let himself in, quickly sliding in under the steering wheel. He slammed the car door. I unlocked my VW and jammed my key in the ignition in concert with his. I could feel Renata’s gun pressing into the small of my back. I pulled it out of my waistband. I torqued myself around to the backseat, where I snagged my handbag and deposited the gun into the depths. I heard Wendell’s engine grind. I fired mine up and sat there with lights out, waiting for his front and rear lights to come on.

The grinding continued, but his engine didn’t turn over. The sound was high-pitched and unproductive. Moments later I saw him fling open his car door and emerge. Agitated, he checked under the hood. He did something to the wires, got back into the car, and started grinding again. The engine was losing hope, batteries surrendering any juice they had. I put the VW in gear and flipped my lights on, pulling forward slowly until I was next to him. I rolled my window down. He leaned over from the driver’s seat and rolled his down.

I said, “Hop in. I’ll take you to Renata’s. You can call a tow truck from her place.”

He debated for a moment, with a quick glance at Michael’s. He didn’t have much choice. The last thing in the world he wanted was to go back in with a chore as mundane as a call to triple A. He got out, locked his car, and came around the front, getting into mine. I turned right on Perdido Street and took a left before I reached the fairgrounds, thinking to hit the frontage road that ran along the beach. I could have hopped on the freeway. Traffic wasn’t heavy. The street leading to the Keys was just one ramp away, and just as easily reached by this route.

I turned left when I reached the beach. The wind had picked up considerably, and there were massive black clouds above the pitch black of the ocean. “I had a nice chat with Carl Monday night,” I said. “Have you talked to him?”

“I was supposed to meet with him later, but he had to go out of town,” Wendell said, distracted.

“Really. He thought he’d be too mad to talk to you.”

“We have business to settle. He has something of mine.”

“You mean the boat?”

“Well, that, too, but this is something else.”

The sky was charcoal gray, and I could see flashes out at sea, an electrical storm sitting maybe fifty miles out. The light flickered among the darkening cloud banks, creating the illusion of artillery too far away to hear. The air was filled with a restless energy. I glanced over at Wendell. “Aren’t you even curious how we picked up your trail? I’m surprised you haven’t asked.”

His attention was fixed on the horizon, which was illuminated intermittently as the storm progressed. “It doesn’t matter. It was bound to happen sometime.”

“You mind telling me where you’ve been all these years?”

He stared out the side window, his face averted. “Not far. You’d be surprised how few places I’ve been.”

“You gave up a lot to get there.”

Pain flickered across his face like lightning. “Yes.”

“Have you been with Renata the whole time?”

“Oh, yes,” he said with just a hint of bitterness. A small silence fell, and then he stirred uneasily. “Do you think I’m wrong to come back like this?”

“Depends on what you were hoping to accomplish.”

“I’d like to help them.”

“Help them do what? Brian’s already on his path, and so is Michael. Dana coped as well as she could, and the money’s been spent. You can’t just step back into the life you left and make all the stories come out differently. They’re working out the consequences of your decision. You’ll have to do that, too.”

“I guess I can’t expect to mend all my fences in the course of a few days.”

“I’m not sure you can do it at all,” I said. “In the meantime, I’m not going to let you out of my sight. I lost you once. I don’t intend to lose you again.”