[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
I got. I was seeing things.
Actually, I was seeing things. There was the stuff in the air, of course, and now
it had traces of color throbbing on and off, in complex crystalline patterns,
deep within its depths. Yet it was so faint, I could not be absolutely sure I
wasn't imagining it. But even that concern made me crack a bitter smile. A
ghost worried that she was imagining things.
It was funny in a sick sort of way.
Everybody got up to leave. Garrett called downstairs and learned that Beth's
parents had arrived. He told them, and Beth, that he was placing the condo off-
limits for the night while he evaluated the situation. Officer Fort came on the
line and expressed the belief that Garrett was putting Beth's family through
unnecessary hardship. Garrett didn't seem to care. In some ways he appeared
a hard man.
He must have had a soft side, though. Jimmy and Amanda were the last two to
leave, and when my brother stopped to speak to the lieutenant near the door,
Garrett didn't brush him off.
"My sister didn't kill herself," Jimmy said.
"You two were close?" Garrett asked.
"Yes. She wouldn't have killed herself. It's not possible."
Garrett was listening. "Did she have any enemies among those present
tonight?"
Jimmy glanced at Amanda, pained. "I don't think so."
"There was no reason anyone here would have wanted to kill Shari," Amanda
said.
"Was there enough reason for her to kill herself?" Garrett asked Amanda.
"Excellent question," I observed.
Amanda took Jimmy's arm. "No," she said.
Garrett nodded and put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder.
"Try to get some rest, son. The truth has a habit of emerging in time. I'll do
what I can from my side."
Amanda and Jimmy left. I hoped she was driving him home. I didn't consider
following them. I wanted to see exactly what Garrett had cooking on his side.
The first thing Garrett did when he was alone was take down a bottle of scotch
from the liquor cabinet.
"Come on, Garrett!" I shouted at him as he plopped down on his chair in the
living room and poured a stiff one into a dirty glass he'd swiped from the coffee
table. "Gimme a break. You're on duty."
Garrett didn't give a damn. He finished his drink in three burning swallows and
poured another. This one he nursed. I doubt he would have enjoyed it nearly so
much had he been able to see me pacing back and forth across the floor in
front of him. Actually, he probably wouldn't have seen me had he been able to
see me. His eyes had settled on the red wax stain on the floor. At least, that
was what I thought he was staring at. But then he suddenly set his glass and
bottle aside and got down on his hands and knees near the couch. I knelt
beside him.
"What is it?" I asked.
There was a dust of fine orange chalk on the carpet.
Garrett touched the stuff and then held it up to his eyes, rubbing it between
his fingers, feeling its consistency. I thought maybe he was on to something
and started to get excited, but then he rubbed the chalk off on his pants leg
and reached for his glass again.
He didn't get back in gear for another half-hour. By then the bottle was half-
empty, and he had definitely slowed down. He began to stroll around the
condo, wandering from one room to the next, seemingly in a random fashion.
He ended up on the balcony, hanging over the rail. He had to be drunk by now,
I figured, and I was concerned he was going to fall and kill himself. Then again,
if he did, I could have told him to his face what I thought of his investigative
preparations.
He did look around a bit while he was out there, and then he stumbled back
inside and plopped down on the floor beside his bottle. Now he'd finish it, I
thought to myself. But he didn't touch the scotch. He pulled out his notepad
instead and began to draw a diagram. I stood behind him as he worked. He
could have been an architect; he was good at proportions. Yet when he was
done, I failed to see the point of it all. He had not put down everybody's
position at the moment I had supposedly jumped. He had just marked my
place. And I didn't understand the dotted lines that he had sketched in,
crisscrossing behind me on the balcony.
Garrett decided to call it a night. The clock in the living room read four in the
morning. I followed him out and into the elevator down to the ground floor. He
looked pretty fried; I was worried about him driving home in his truck. My
concern was not purely altruistic. I figured if he was all I had, then he'd better
stay alive.
He did not, however, head straight to his truck once we were outside. He [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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I got. I was seeing things.
Actually, I was seeing things. There was the stuff in the air, of course, and now
it had traces of color throbbing on and off, in complex crystalline patterns,
deep within its depths. Yet it was so faint, I could not be absolutely sure I
wasn't imagining it. But even that concern made me crack a bitter smile. A
ghost worried that she was imagining things.
It was funny in a sick sort of way.
Everybody got up to leave. Garrett called downstairs and learned that Beth's
parents had arrived. He told them, and Beth, that he was placing the condo off-
limits for the night while he evaluated the situation. Officer Fort came on the
line and expressed the belief that Garrett was putting Beth's family through
unnecessary hardship. Garrett didn't seem to care. In some ways he appeared
a hard man.
He must have had a soft side, though. Jimmy and Amanda were the last two to
leave, and when my brother stopped to speak to the lieutenant near the door,
Garrett didn't brush him off.
"My sister didn't kill herself," Jimmy said.
"You two were close?" Garrett asked.
"Yes. She wouldn't have killed herself. It's not possible."
Garrett was listening. "Did she have any enemies among those present
tonight?"
Jimmy glanced at Amanda, pained. "I don't think so."
"There was no reason anyone here would have wanted to kill Shari," Amanda
said.
"Was there enough reason for her to kill herself?" Garrett asked Amanda.
"Excellent question," I observed.
Amanda took Jimmy's arm. "No," she said.
Garrett nodded and put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder.
"Try to get some rest, son. The truth has a habit of emerging in time. I'll do
what I can from my side."
Amanda and Jimmy left. I hoped she was driving him home. I didn't consider
following them. I wanted to see exactly what Garrett had cooking on his side.
The first thing Garrett did when he was alone was take down a bottle of scotch
from the liquor cabinet.
"Come on, Garrett!" I shouted at him as he plopped down on his chair in the
living room and poured a stiff one into a dirty glass he'd swiped from the coffee
table. "Gimme a break. You're on duty."
Garrett didn't give a damn. He finished his drink in three burning swallows and
poured another. This one he nursed. I doubt he would have enjoyed it nearly so
much had he been able to see me pacing back and forth across the floor in
front of him. Actually, he probably wouldn't have seen me had he been able to
see me. His eyes had settled on the red wax stain on the floor. At least, that
was what I thought he was staring at. But then he suddenly set his glass and
bottle aside and got down on his hands and knees near the couch. I knelt
beside him.
"What is it?" I asked.
There was a dust of fine orange chalk on the carpet.
Garrett touched the stuff and then held it up to his eyes, rubbing it between
his fingers, feeling its consistency. I thought maybe he was on to something
and started to get excited, but then he rubbed the chalk off on his pants leg
and reached for his glass again.
He didn't get back in gear for another half-hour. By then the bottle was half-
empty, and he had definitely slowed down. He began to stroll around the
condo, wandering from one room to the next, seemingly in a random fashion.
He ended up on the balcony, hanging over the rail. He had to be drunk by now,
I figured, and I was concerned he was going to fall and kill himself. Then again,
if he did, I could have told him to his face what I thought of his investigative
preparations.
He did look around a bit while he was out there, and then he stumbled back
inside and plopped down on the floor beside his bottle. Now he'd finish it, I
thought to myself. But he didn't touch the scotch. He pulled out his notepad
instead and began to draw a diagram. I stood behind him as he worked. He
could have been an architect; he was good at proportions. Yet when he was
done, I failed to see the point of it all. He had not put down everybody's
position at the moment I had supposedly jumped. He had just marked my
place. And I didn't understand the dotted lines that he had sketched in,
crisscrossing behind me on the balcony.
Garrett decided to call it a night. The clock in the living room read four in the
morning. I followed him out and into the elevator down to the ground floor. He
looked pretty fried; I was worried about him driving home in his truck. My
concern was not purely altruistic. I figured if he was all I had, then he'd better
stay alive.
He did not, however, head straight to his truck once we were outside. He [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]