U Is for Undertow (Kinsey Millhone 21)

Jon took an off-ramp and Walker raised an eyelid long enough to see that they were on Little Pony Road. Moments later Walker felt the car slow, turn left, and stop. Jon got out of the car, leaving the engine running. Walker roused himself from his reverie and looked out. He knew the place well, a pocket park once known as Passion Peak. Jon removed a chain stretched between two posts, barring vehicles. He returned to the car and took the road up and around two big bends until he reached the parking lot, where he pulled in, nose against the retaining wall. He shut down the engine. The two got out and began climbing the hill. They were well above the town, and once they reached the crest, the town would lie beneath them like a jewel. Walker carried his paper bag as they ascended from the parking lot to the small grassy meadow at the top, where six picnic tables were laid out.

Jon sat on a bench. Walker perched on the table, his legs dangling. A mist hovered at ground level, airy drifts of white. Trees sheltered the spot on three sides and the fourth was open to the view. The blackened remains of the bandstand hunkered in the dark behind them. In high school, this was the spot where the two of them had brought girls, more times than he cared to remember. He usually got the pretty one while Jon got stuck with the homely best friend. Walker opened his bag and removed the four candy bars. He offered Jon a Three Musketeers bar and kept the other three for himself.

Jon said, “I didn’t know you had a sweet tooth.”

“It’s weird. Now that I’m off alcohol, I crave sugar.”

Jon pulled the paper off his candy bar and bit in. “So what’s the big emergency?”

“I saw Michael Sutton this afternoon and he saw me. I came out of an AA meeting and he was there in the parking lot, picking up a girl. When Brent drove me back to the office, he followed.”

“So?”

“So why’s he tailing me? What if he goes to the police?”

“And says what? Two decades ago, we dug a hole. Big deal.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Oh, for god’s sake. You haul me out in the dead of night for this? You could have told me on the phone. The kid’s a punk. Nobody’s going to take him seriously. Besides, I can get to him anytime I want. He’s not a problem.”

“Get to him? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know where he lives. I’ve kept an eye on him for years, following his illustrious career path. He’s not a threat. He’s a loser and a wimp. He’s what we call ‘malleable.’ You can talk him into or out of anything. Everyone knows that.”

“There’s something else,” Walker said. He was silent for a moment. “I think I might turn myself in.”

The sentence hung in the air between them.

Walker couldn’t believe he’d said it, but once the words were out of his mouth, he knew the idea had been hovering at the back of his mind for weeks.

Jon’s expression was neutral. “What brought this on?”

Walker shook his head. “I’ve been having panic attacks and they’re wearing me down. I’m tired of feeling tired. The damn anxiety’s tearing me apart. It didn’t bother me so much when I was drinking, but now . . .”

“So talk to your doctor about a sedative. Better living through chemistry.”

“Wouldn’t help. I mean, look at me. My life’s in the toilet. Carolyn’s kicked me out. I hardly see my kids. I killed a girl, for Christ’s sake. I can’t live this way.”

Bemused, Jon said, “Which step is this?”

“What?”

“AA’s famous twelve steps. Which one is this? Your ‘fearless moral inventory,’ am I right?”

“You know what, Jon? I don’t need your snide fucking comments. I’m serious about this.”

“I have no doubt. And what do you propose?”

“I don’t know yet. You should have seen me today, skulking around on side streets so Michael Sutton wouldn’t spot me and figure out where I work. It’s all catching up with us. And here’s the irony: for years, I drank to wipe out the guilt and all I managed to do was turn around and kill someone else.”

Jon shook his head. “Jesus, Walker. You’re deluding yourself. You don’t drink because you feel guilty. You drink because you’re a drunk. Get a clue. Confessing won’t change anything.”

“You’re wrong. I know I’m a drunk and I’ll deal with it. This is something else. I want to be square with life. I want to make amends. You’ve found a way to live with what we did. I can’t. I want it off my chest.”