Riptide (Sam McRae Mystery 3)

JUNE 2006

CHAPTER FORTY

In the cozy condo by the sea, silence fell as I digested Jamila’s story. She stared out the glass doors.

I cleared my throat. “The knife?”

Jamila flinched. She nodded once.

I took a steadying breath. Rising, I moved toward her. I crept, as if approaching a feral animal.

The sun had set and the room was cast in shadow. The dock lights glimmered. Jamila’s face shone with tears.

I eased beside her and lowered myself onto the sofa.

“If I hadn’t dropped the knife,” she said. “Bobby would still be alive.”

Jamila’s voice sounded choked, barely recognizable. I threw my arms around her and hugged her tight.

“No,” I said. “You don’t know that.”

“I shouldn’t have cut the tire. I shouldn’t have done anything …”

“How could you have known?” I hugged her harder. “You were very brave. You tried to save your brother.”

“But look how it turned out. I screwed up. And how could I just run like that? I left him alone. I should have stayed and done something. Protected him.”

“You did what you could. You couldn’t have fought those men.”

“Face it. I screwed up. I’ve tried so hard to forget. I thought I’d put this all behind me. But it seems like it’ll never go away. How have I lived with myself?”

“You have to accept it. You have to forgive yourself.”

Jamila turned from the doors toward me. “Have you ever done anything you were so ashamed of you couldn’t tell anyone?”

I opened my mouth, but stopped short of telling her. What would Jamila think if she knew about me and Ray? How would my married friend feel about that?

“We’ve all done things we’re ashamed of,” I said, avoiding the specifics. “We all have to forgive ourselves. We’re only human, after all.”

I fixed some herbal tea for Jamila and brewed a small pot of coffee for myself. After we’d settled in with our drinks and Jamila had composed herself, every muscle in her body seemed to release at once. Her shoulders slumped as she leaned forward with forearms planted on her thighs and elbows jutted out.

“The local press found out about what happened,” Jamila continued. “After that, Bobby’s death became a brief local news sensation. Or so I’ve been told. Fortunately, my parents decided to relocate quickly, so I wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout. That’s when we moved to the D.C. area and my dad used his connections to get a job with his firm downtown.”

Jamila paused, swallowing hard. “They were never able to catch his killers, you know.” She shook her head and blinked back more tears. “I couldn’t identify any of the hooded people and n

either could the neighbor down the street. No one had information or offered to be a witness. The car was stolen from an innocent person. At least, the police found no link between its owner and the people who broke into the house. Mrs. Murphy couldn’t recall anything useful. Bobby was restless and couldn’t sleep, so she was going to warm up some milk for him. But, first, she decided to go next door and get her knitting or something. Just pop over for a couple of minutes. No time at all. They must have ambushed her. Maybe they would have broken in. Who knows?

“I’m sorry about not telling you. I’ve been wound tight as a string since this started. When Mulrooney alluded to what happened back then, I realized people can have long memories. They might assume wrongly that what happened gave me an ax to grind. That just made my guilt over the whole thing even worse. Plus the evidence, the whole business with the panel, and now the hearing being moved up.”

“Yeah. Listen. About that. I think I’m onto something. Something that could provide a lead on the real killer. Depending on how things pan out.”

Jamila looked at me sidewise. “How’s that?”

“I’ll let you know for sure after I talk to Reed Duvall tomorrow. But I get the funny feeling that there’s something fishy about that witness who pegged you in the lineup.”

“Why would he pick me if he didn’t recognize me?”

I gave Jamila a hard look. “Think. What talks? Everywhere.”