Karen couldn’t guess how long she was in the bathroom, but it was obvious that Sam had taken a quickie in the outside shower and washed his hair. She was shocked when she saw him because she had never seen his hair any other way than pulled back tightly into a ponytail. He must have blow-dried it because it fanned out over his shoulders. She liked the ponytail better. When he saw her, he pulled it back and flipped a rubber tie around it.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Much. A cup of that coffee I smell would make me almost perfect.”
Her head was still hurting. All the thinking she had done while the water beat down on her, soothing the pain in her muscles, left her with no alternative other than risking trust with Sam Larkin and making every effort to reduce that to a calculated risk.
“Sam, could I make a phone call?” she asked. “My father always calls on Sunday morning, and he panics if I’m not home and haven’t called to let him know I survived another week.” It was a lie she’d deal with later if she had to.
“Use the phone in the bedroom; it’ll give you more privacy,” he answered.
She had to let Dougherty know about the accident, how she was, and what she was going to do. If he said ‘no’ firmly enough, she might respect his advice. She used her credit card, so Sam would not get a strange number on his phone bill, as well as to protect Neil. It was Sunday; he would be at home.
“Blue?” she asked when he answered. “Did I wake you? I know it’s the middle of the night, but I’ve got to talk to you. You don’t sound sleepy.”
“No you didn’t, and I’m not. What’s up?”
She told him about the drive out to Sam’s house—as much as she could remember—her purpose in going, the accident, her fear that she might be injured more severely than it appeared, the headache, possible concussion, and that she didn’t want an outsider sent in. When she was finished, he sighed, which was not a good sign.
“I think I’m going to come in out of the cold with Sam Larkin.”
“I can’t approve that, Karen, and you’re too professional to think I would. I’m considering bringing you in anyway.” She was stunned.
“Why?”
“What do you have? Even a hint that our information is correct? That anything at all is going on down there? We can’t afford wasting an officer sitting down there waiting to catch a high school kid selling a nickel bag on the corner, and I believe you’ve lost your objectivity.”
“No, I haven’t. Believe me, Blue, there’s something here. I know it, and I think Sam Larkin can help me find out what it is. I need a local friend, a conduit to tell me where to look. Turner Lockett had to be watching Sam’s house. But why? And how could someone like that die in a boating accident? Give me some time.”
“I’ll see. In the meantime, ‘no’ to Larkin.”
“You never reported anything on your check on Clay.” There was a brief pause.
“Nothing yet. We’re still working on it.” Taking this much time was not Neil Dougherty’s operational procedure, and the hesitant answer was unusual. She didn’t want to think what she was thinking.
“Okay. I’ll check in later, Blue, but if you undermine me on this—”
“Keep me apprised as to your condition. And ‘no’ to Larkin; I’m not playing games.”
“I know you’re not. Bad idea. See ya, Blue.”
Her head still hurt, and the hurt must have shown because when she went back into the kitchen, Sam had a concerned look on his face.
“What?” she asked.
“You okay? I mean really okay?”
“I think so. Why?”
“You look like you’re in pain.”
“Thanks for the compliment. Actually my head does hurt. I took some more aspirin, but it hasn’t kicked in.”
“Do we need to go to the hospital?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. I looked at the cut when I showered; it doesn’t need stitches. Let’s give the aspirin time to work,” she said, sitting at the counter.
“You took quite a blow. Still no idea what happened?” He put a cup in front of her and filled it. She caught him looking at the dark nipples that showed through the thin, cotton fabric of the tee-shirt and smiled.
“Not really. It was raining; I couldn’t see. Then I guess I hydroplaned or something. Next thing I knew I was lying on my back, looking up into the trees. By then the car wasn’t moving; whatever happened was over. I remember blood, but that’s all. No, that’s not all. This is interesting now that I think about it: I wasn’t afraid. I felt comfortable, and then calmly passed out, but there wasn’t any fear.”
“I’m sure you were in shock. You were out cold when I got there.”
“I have no recollection,” she said, sipping her coffee.
“That might be good,” he said.
“What?”
“No recollection.”
“Why is that?”
“Memory of fearful things can cause fear to live with you, become a part of your life. That’s not a good thing.”
“I can’t imagine you ever being afraid of anything, Sam.”
“You have no idea,” he said and got up from the bar stool. “I’m going out on the deck for a cigarette.”
She took her coffee and followed him. The water lay still and the marsh grasses were quiet. They sat on the deck, taking it all in, not speaking, becoming absorbed in the comfort of the stillness. It was a time of silence.
“It’s something isn’t it?” Karen said. He didn’t need to ask what she was referring to; one could not be present in the moment and not know.
“Yes, it is.”
“I think you’re a good man,” she said.
“I thank you for that, though I have no idea where that came from, and I’m not sure how you came to that conclusion. There’s some that don’t feel that way, as they say.”
“I think that you’re a good man because I trust my instincts, and I’m going to have to put a great deal of faith in you. If that’s not a good idea, I’d like for you to let me know now. I’d feel better than if you told me later.”
She didn’t look at him as the words came out.
“I’m not sure how to answer that, Karen. I can be trusted; that’s not a question in my mind. What concerns me is why you need that. I’m happy here. I’m uninvolved. It’s why I came, why I don’t seek out friends. Running? Maybe, but I want peace. Other people don’t respect that; they feel some kind of compulsion to impose themselves on you, save you from yourself. Most people can’t accept that others don’t need them. There’s an old song that says, ‘Everybody needs somebody.’ I don’t.”
“Wow. That’s the most personal thing I’ve ever heard you say.” There was a hint of smile on her lips. “I don’t want you to marry me, Sam; I just need to know I can trust you. That and honesty.”
“Why don’t we start with the first and see how it goes?”
“You’re a tough negotiator. Do you always require a tilted field?”
“Absolutely.” He smiled.
Sorry, Neil, I have to do this, she thought. “I have a confession to make,” she began. “I am not what you think.” She waited for a response and watched Sam as he thought about what she had said.
“You really don’t know what I think, but I never, for a moment, supposed you were just a wildlife enforcement officer. I don’t know exactly what you are, but, pardon my grammar, that ain’t it, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know any more than that.”
“Score one for you,” she said. “The problem is that in my capacity as what I am—Is that right?—I can’t trust anyone I don’t know everything about, and I need at least one person I can rely on.”
“And you picked me.” He shook his head.
“I didn’t pick you; you evolved. When I met you, I didn’t know what to think. I—”
“Could we cut to the chase?” he asked, lifting his eyes to hers.
“I don’t know enough about you to trust you. It’s as simple as that. There are a lot of dark corners in you, Sam,”
“Is that why we went to bed? So you could get to know me better? See what’s in the dark corners?” Her eyes shot up to meet his.
“That’s not a reliable way to get to know someone, but if you think that, then fuck you. You disappoint me. Think about it.” She got up and went into the house to refill her cup.
Sam stared out at the marsh. Embarrassed. What he said wasn’t him. He didn’t know where it came from, since that idea had never crossed his mind before. It wasn’t justified. He knew it was designed to hurt, to push her away. ‘Good offense, Larkin,’ he said to himself as she came back through the door.
“I apologize,” he said. “There was no excuse for that.”
“You’re damned right there wasn’t.” While she was in the house, she had put on one of his blue denim, work shirts over the tee-shirt. “Sam, I’m offering you something that I guard very closely because it could cost me my life. That may sound dramatic to you, but it’s a fact, and you’re not helping me. You give off this confident, secure, sometimes even superior aura, but I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anything inside to back it up. You won’t let anyone in. I don’t need anyone like that as a friend or anything else.”
“How much do you know about me? I’m sure it’s more than I’ve told you. I know you were asking questions at Harry Tom’s.”
“Not a lot; nobody knows much to tell. You’re damned good at not blowing your cover. It’s probably what made me think I could open up to you and ask for your help if I needed it.”
“Tell me,” he said.
“I can’t tell you without exposing myself, Sam, something I’ve been ordered not to do. You might as well know, I’m stepping on thin ice here.” He didn’t speak, which didn’t bolster her confidence. “I guess it’s too late to stop now, in any case. I am part of the DEA Special Operations Unit, working undercover. At least I was undercover.” She waited for a reaction, but Sam just smiled and shook his head.
“A hired gun of the highest degree. Impressive. I won’t ask what you’re working on because I know you can’t tell me, and, truthfully, I don’t want to know. So what has your investigation about me revealed?”
“I’ll tell you, and then if you want to take me home, you’ll not hear from me again. If that’s the case, I can only ask that you keep this conversation as closely guarded as you do everything else.”
“You can trust me.”
“I hope so.” She eyed him warily. “I know you’re from Louisiana. I know you worked with the Louisiana Environmental Service, left without any reason we could find, and began teaching in Covington six years later. Based on local records, you were here a couple of years before you started working. And I know you’ve been married once. Beyond that, nothing else.” She didn’t like lying, but showing your whole hand at once wasn’t ever smart.
“Pretty impressive,” he said. “You know more than anyone, and I can’t imagine anything else you’d want to know. Neat little invasion of privacy.” She could see the discomfort in Sam’s face and hear the anger in his voice.
“It was done with the best motives in mind,” she said without apology.
“By whose standards”
“Mine, Sam. I had to know, but there are four years missing. Kind of unusual for a man in his prime.” He looked at her.
“I’m not sure I want to share that, Karen. Like it or not, I’m going to have to think about that.” He stood up. “I’m going to take a run. I’ll be back in about forty minutes.”
“In the dark? You’ll kill yourself out here.”
“I’ve done it many times,” he said and went inside to change.
Sam Larkin left her with a decision to make. She thought about that as she watched him go down the steps, stretch out his legs against the Rover’s bumper, and begin his slow warm-up pace up the drive toward Osprey Landing Road. Just beyond the arc of brightness cast by the deck lights, he disappeared into the darkness.
His mind was asunder, a mixture of anger, hostility, affection and admiration for Karen Chaney’s honesty and trust, embarrassment at his paranoia, insecurity and, most of all, fear. Fear of the return of the dreams, the days and nights, all he had worked so hard to assuage from his memory. A living fear. The spotlights. That’s what he remembered most vividly. Blinding. Lighting the entire slough where a boat was moored to a cypress stump. Lighting it so brightly that it seemed the moon had exploded. Sam Larkin was bent over, in the process of opening a hatch when the lights hit him. Two fast boats, hydroplaning sideways in a turn, broke the entrance of the slough, making it impossible for anyone—even someone with his knowledge, expertise and familiarity—to escape. There were shouts, warnings, a few moments of confusion, and one of the intruding boats sidled up to the one in which Sam was standing, his hand still holding the half-raised hatch on the untended craft.
He wasn’t wearing his uniform and didn’t have his badge, though, as things turned out, he was sure it would have made no difference. The federal agents were primed for a bust and nothing would deter them. From the moment he saw the lights, he knew that was the way it would be. He was arrested and charged with the importation and possession of an illegal substance for distribution, a half-ton of hashish. The fact that he was a law enforcement officer with the Fish and Game Department, that he was aware of the operation and had reported it to the county officials, who told him to ‘keep an eye out’, held no weight with the arresting officers or the subsequent judge.
Judge Thornton Hunnycut looked down on the innocent he knew stood before him. There was no pity, no compassion and, above all, no suggestion of guilt or embarrassment on the judge’s face. His voice held the emotion of a jackhammer pounding away at a mountain of solid granite when he spoke.
“Mr. Larkin, I won’t dignify you with the title of officer because you broke the trust that allowed you to wear that title and that uniform, flaunted authority and hurt your fellow officers. You, Sir, are to be scorned. I cannot do that verbally any more than I have already done in this court today, but I can, and I do sentence you to fifteen years to be served at the state penitentiary at Angola.” Without moving his eyes from the laser thread he had built between his own and Larkin’s, he said, “Bailiff, remand the prisoner into custody.” Judge Hunnycut punctuated his sentence with a firm stroke of his gavel.
Larkin returned the stare of the man sitting above him with steel-cold eyes, knowing a crime, far greater than that of which he was convicted, had just taken place. He had always looked up to federal officers as being at the peak of their profession. Now he knew better. His respect for them was gone with the knowledge that they operated within their own club without rules or any regard for the truth or the law. His thoughts were spinning out of control as he was led out of the courtroom. Fifteen years of his life was something beyond comprehension, regardless of where it would be spent, and that those in charge had chosen to prosecute on a state level rather than federal in order to send him to a hard-time prison was unforgivable. It was an easy way to hide their mistake. It was doubtful he would ever get out.
Larkin served four years during which time he filed numerous appeals, irrefutable evidence of his innocence provided by an unknown benefactor. A wrongful imprisonment suit then moved through the courts unusually fast. Finally he received a substantial cash settlement from the government. Only then was the matter resolved. No resolution, however, could return what he lost, and that thought never left him.
When he returned from his run, Sam showered in the outside shower, wrapped a towel around his middle and went upstairs. Karen Chaney was curled up under the sheet on the bed, sleeping soundly. He slipped in beside her and was soon asleep himself.