J is for Judgment (Kinsey Millhone 10)

I could feel indignation rising up like acid indigestion. “Of course they’d swoop down. That’s the money you cheated them out of.”

The look he gave was pure cynicism. “You know why they invested in CSL? They wanted something for nothing. They expected to make a killing and got killed instead. Come on, use your head. Most of ‘em knew it was a crooked deal from the get-go, including Harris. He was just hoping to collect his share before the whole scheme collapsed.”

“I can see we’re not talking the same language here. Let’s skip past the rationale and get down to the facts. You kept three million in cash on the Lord?”

“You don’t have to take that tone with me.”

“Excuse me, right. Let me try it again.” I adjusted my tone, gearing down from judgmental to neutral. “You kept three million dollars in cash hidden on the Lord.”

“Right. Wendell and I were the only ones who knew about it. Now you,” he said.

“And that’s what he came back for?”

“Of course. After five years on the road, he was flat broke,” Carl said. “He not only came back for it, that’s what he sailed away with when he stole that boat. Half of that belonged to me, which he bloody well knew.”

“Oh, wow, babe. I got news for you. You got hosed.”

“You’re telling me? I can’t believe he’d do such a thing to me.”

“Well, he did it to everyone about equally,” I said. “What about his kids? Did they figure into this, or was it just the money he came back for?”

“I’m sure he was concerned about his sons,” Carl said. “He was a very good father.”

“The kind of parent every kid needs,” I said. “I’ll pass that on to them. It’ll help with their therapy. What are you going to do now?” I got up from the chair.

His smile was bitter. “Get down on my knees and pray the Coast Guard catches up with him.”

From the doorway, I turned. “One more thing. There was talk about Wendell turning himself in to the cops. Do you think he meant that?”

“It’s hard to say. I think he was hoping to join his family again. I’m just not sure there was any room for him.”

I finally crawled into bed at 2:15, brain buzzing with information. I thought what Eckert said was probably true, that there was no longer room for Wendell in the family he’d left. In some curious way we were in the same position, Wendell Jaffe and me: trying to understand what our lives might have been if we could have enjoyed the benefits of family life, looking at the mislaid years and wondering how much we’d missed. At least, I assumed that was some of what was running through his mind. There were obvious differences. He had voluntarily surrendered his family, while I’d never known mine existed. More telling was the fact that he wanted his family back and I wasn’t sure I did. I couldn’t understand why my aunt had never told me. Maybe she’d tried to spare me the pain of Grand’s rejection, but all she’d really done was postpone the revelation. Here I was, ten years after her death, having to sort it all out for myself. Ah, well. She wasn’t very good at that stuff, anyway. I drifted in and out of sleep.

My alarm went off at 6:00, but I didn’t have the heart to get up and jog three miles. I turned off the buzzer and squirmed down in the sheets, sinking back into sleep. I was awakened by a phone call at 9:22. I reached for the receiver, brushing hair from my eyes. “What.”

“This is Mac. Sorry if I woke you. I know it’s Saturday, but I thought this was important.”

His voice sounded odd, and I could feel caution flashing in me like a yellow traffic light. I pulled the sheet around me and sat up in bed. “Don’t worry about it. That’s okay. I was up till all hours and decided to sleep in. What’s happening?”

“The Lord was found this morning about six miles offshore,” he said. “It looks like Wendell pulled off another disappearing act. Gordon and I are down here at the office. He’d like to have you come in as soon as possible.”

24

I parked in the lot behind the office and went up the back stairs to the second floor. Most of the businesses in the building were shut down, which gave the premises a curious air of abandonment. I’d brought along my steno book, hoping to impress Gordon Titus with my professionalism. The notebook was empty except for an entry that read “Find Wendell.” Back to that again. I couldn’t believe it. We were so close to reeling him in. What was gnawing at me was the fact that I’d seen him with his grandson. I’d heard him talk to Michael, ostensibly making amends. As big a shit as he was, I had a hard time believing it was all a front. I was willing to imagine him changing his mind about surrendering to the cops. I could picture him stealing the Lord so he could sail down the coast and rescue Brian from a jail sentence. What I couldn’t accept was the idea that he’d betray his family all over again. Even Wendell, God bless him, wasn’t that mean-spirited.