hadnât been for Andrea, her alcoholism, her poisonous vindictiveness, he might have had outings like this with his own son while Joshua was growing up. Carnivals, ball games, barbecues, all the father-son closeness that sheâd denied him ⦠no, denied them both. Instead he and Joshua stood on opposite sides of the unbridgeable gap sheâd created, strangers, the son hating the father because that was what heâd been taught to do. Andrea had died thinking sheâd won, but there were no winners here. Only losers.
Bobby, tired out, napped in the backseat on the drive home. Bryn sat quietly against the passenger door, saying little. The fits of deep depression were a thing of the past, or so she claimed, but she could still be moody on occasion. Easy enough to figure why tonight: the boardwalk crowds, the few rudely staring and smirking faces, an awareness of handicap-induced alienation from normal activities such as swimming and sunbathing. At down times like this, when she was still living alone, she would have turned to Runyon for support, or responded to his offer of it, and theyâd have talked her through it. Now, even though he tried, she said only, âI donât want to discuss it, Jake,â and lapsed back into a melancholy silence.
She didnât invite him in when they got back to her brown-shingled house in the Outer Sunset. âIâm tired, Bobbyâs tired,â she said. âA good day, but a long one. You donât mind?â
âNo,â he said, âI donât mind.â
Bobbyâs hug was longer, more affectionate than Brynâs, his parting smile brighter. Quick brush of her lips over his, and she and the boy went inside arm in arm. Bobby looked back and waved before the door closed. Bryn didnât.
Winding down, all right. Like the summer. He felt it even more strongly as he drove home. From now on theyâd be friends, because of the closeness theyâd shared and because Bobby was his friend, but that was all theyâd be. It made him a little sad, but not too much. Never any real doubt that the affairâs end would come sooner or later, even though thereâd been a time when he tried to convince himself otherwiseâhe saw that clearly now. In the long run Bryn, the handicapped Bryn, was better off alone. And so was he.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
There were no messages on his answering machine. And heâd had no calls on his cell all day. He sat up until eleven-thirty, half watching a movie and then the news. Neither phone rang during that time, either.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Monday was another Verity Danielsâfree day. Until 8:15 that night, when the damn case went crazy on him.
He spent the day wrapping up an insurance fraud investigation, then consulting with an attorney representing the wife of a deadbeat dad whoâd skipped town owing five figures in child support. Dinner at another Chinese restaurant, not so much because he liked Mandarin and Hunan food as because it had been Colleenâs favorite and eating it always brought back some of the pleasant memories of their twenty years together. Home to finish out the rest of his evening routine: blanking out in front of the TV until it was time for bed. Or so he thought until his cell vibrated.
As soon as he opened the line, before he had a chance to say anything, she made a half-grunting, half-crying sound, loud in his ear, and followed it with a rush of strung-together words. âGod Jake oh God he was here he had a knife I thought he was going to kill me!â
âSlow down, youâre not making sense.â
Drawn breath like a steam hiss. Then, more coherently, âIt was him  ⦠the blackmailer. Here. Right here .â
âIn your studio?â
âNot at first, no, in the hallway. He ⦠the things he said ⦠and that knife against my throatâ¦â
âAre you hurt?â
âNo. But he scared me