Ten

‘I have another possibility for you to consider,’ Wyatt said, not taking his eyes off the menu.

‘And that is?’

He moved the menu away to look at her.

‘He’s not really with the LA Times.’

‘You think he might be another test of sorts?’

‘Could be.’

‘Why would they do that? That’s too easy to find out,’ she said.

‘So, we assume just that and we don’t try to find out whether it’s true. People always distrust the obvious, always think there has to be more. It’s too simple.’

She felt herself blanch. ‘People always assume. What are you, the master guru?’

He just stared, without any show of emotion. Maybe he really is an extraterrestrial, she thought and sighed. ‘OK. I don’t want to be considered “most people,” so go ahead. Find out.’

He pulled out his pocket computer and began the search. The waiter returned and took their dinner orders. They ordered another round of martinis as well. While he read the small computer screen, she studied him. For a moment he looked like a young boy to her, a teenager perhaps, fascinated by his electronic game. He was obviously very intelligent, self-confident and even seasoned in some ways, but there was also something new and untried about him, despite his obvious knowledge and superior training. A more confusing man she had not met. He was a walking contradiction.

He turned the computer so she could look at the screen.

Ted Carter did work for the LA Times. His picture was there as well. It was the same man.

‘I still don’t understand,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘How could any reporter get all this information so quickly?’

The waiter brought their new martinis.

‘Even if Snyder’s boyfriend leaked his death and our investigating that death, how would that lead to PJs?’ she continued.

‘You heard Davis. Even though, according to the regulations for the limousine company, the drivers are not to reveal whom their passengers are, it was clear that Snyder had told him whom he was driving, and one thing led to another. This Carter is just a good investigative reporter.’

‘But how would he know that the people killed were related specifically to the Halogen jury?’

‘That was just a matter of tracking back to the pick-up of Harris. I’ll admit though that the second jury member tracked to the case is a bit much.’

‘Exactly. How could he do that? He’s getting inside help.’

‘Could be.’

‘Could be?’

Wyatt nodded, but didn’t appear to be nearly as concerned as she was.

‘Could be? That’s it?’

‘Let’s not panic about it. I’ll make a report and we’ll get further instructions.’

‘Yes, that would be a good idea,’ she said, containing her sarcasm. ‘You find you’re being tracked and now this. Go make a report.’

‘We’ll deal with it,’ he said coolly.

She shook her head. Maybe his attitude was better. Calmness always led to the best choices and prevented mistakes. She didn’t need him to recite it out of some manual.

He sipped his martini and smiled. ‘You know, I never drank a vodka martini before, never even tasted one.’

‘Never?’

‘It’s not my drink, but for some reason, after you mentioned it, I decided to try it and I like it. It sort of sneaks up on you and I like that feeling.’

‘I’m happy for you, Wyatt,’ she said, but he didn’t catch or care about her sarcasm. ‘I’m happy that in the middle of all this, you can appreciate a martini.’

‘You know who really are the happiest people, Holland?’ he continued, leaning toward her as if he were about to give her a state secret.

‘No, but I think I’m about to learn.’

‘People who wake up every day as if they’ve just been born. People who find something new and interesting every day. It makes it all seem…fresh. Yeah, that’s it, fresh. People who plod on through their dull existence never seeking anything different or taking a chance, even a chance as small and as insignificant as drinking something you’ve never drunk before, are nowhere near as happy.’

‘So you’re a philosopher, too?’

He smiled and shrugged. ‘Just thought I’d share some of my brilliance.’

She had to laugh. Those green eyes of his, she thought, they never look tired or dull. The best word to describe him was electric. She expected a shock every time they brushed against each other or touched and that suddenly seemed very sexy to her.

‘So I see you really can relax,’ she added. ‘I’m surprised.’

‘Credit the martini,’ he said, raising the glass.

‘To the martini then,’ she said and touched his glass with hers. They both laughed.

The waiter brought their salads and while they ate, their conversation mostly centered on her. Most people like to be the center of attention, but to Holland it seemed that Wyatt wanted to talk about her more, to keep from talking about himself. Whenever he asked a question about her and she turned it on him, he found a way to turn it back on her. Romantic involvements were no exception.

‘You’re not engaged or anything?’ he asked.

‘No, how about you?’

‘I just find myself so busy and so involved with our work. It makes it difficult to develop a relationship. Is that true for you as well?’

‘Yes,’ she said. It wasn’t her sole reason. She was very particular about her men, always had been, even as far back as crushes in junior high.

‘You’ve never had a serious romantic relationship?’ he pursued.

‘Not really.’

‘Expectations too high or…’

‘Or what?’

He shook his head.

‘I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re implying.’

He looked surprised at the possibility.

‘It does happen, Wyatt, and you can’t always tell by looking at someone. Nowadays, that’s a total misconception. Stereotypes just don’t fly.’

‘I know,’ he said, with such confidence that for a moment she considered that he might be. Reviewing the time they had spent together so far, she couldn’t recall a moment when she thought he was looking at her more as he would look at a woman and less as he would look at a law enforcement agent and partner. He didn’t even seem that turned on when he confronted her just out of the shower, wrapped only in a towel.

Why does it always get down to this? she wondered. No matter how well she began with a male partner or how well she had done with a male instructor, there was always that flow of sexual energy loitering behind a smile, a touch, a sentence spoken. Would she rather that men looked at her without any possible attraction or interest? Would she rather she were unattractive? She knew women who deliberately made themselves that way in order to function more comfortably in a man’s environment. They surrendered that part of themselves—but relinquishing her femininity for the good of the agency was something she was not willing to do. She would rather contend with the physical and sexual tension.

That wasn’t happening here, she realized, at least not yet. She wondered if her wondering about it told her she wanted it more than he did. Ironically, she was bothered by this man’s lack of interest, whereas she was normally annoyed by too much.

‘I guess your father’s proud of your being in law enforcement,’ he said. He said it as someone would who was fishing for information.

‘He is, yes.’

‘And your mother? How did she feel about it?’

‘She was never happy about it, frankly.’

‘Oh?’

‘She wanted me to have less exposure to danger, to settle down and have a family.’

‘You don’t want a family?’

‘I didn’t say that. I’m…not ready. What about you?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t think I’d be a good father.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m not sure.’ He smiled. ‘Just a gut feeling. Maybe we have more in common than you think,’ he added, softening his smile.

So that’s what he was after, she thought. He’s just being more clever in his pursuit.

‘At the moment, Wyatt, I think the only thing we have in common is a martini.’

He didn’t look taken aback. He held his smile. ‘It’s a start,’ he said.

Afterward, she realized just how tired she was. The drinks, the good food and the relaxed moments had permitted the fatigue to take hold. He, on the contrary, looked refreshed and ready to go back out in the field.

As they were leaving the restaurant, she saw him slip another two pills into his mouth. This time she decided she wouldn’t pretend she didn’t see.

‘What are you taking?’

‘Just finishing an antibiotic I was given for a slight middle ear infection.’

‘On top of alcohol?’ she asked.

‘The doctor didn’t think it would hurt the pill’s potency.’

‘What kind of a doctor do you see?’ she continued, as they went to the elevator.

‘Oh, I’ve been using him for years, a friend of the family.’

The elevator door opened.

‘What family? I thought you had no family,’ she said as they stepped into the elevator. She said it too quickly, sounding harsh in fact, and regretted it immediately.

‘My adoptive father’s doctor, actually,’ he said, either not picking up on her tone or not caring. ‘I’ll speak with Landry about the reporter and all. Then, first thing tomorrow, we’ll pay the defendant’s brother a visit and get a sense of him.’

‘You’re the lead investigator,’ she said as the door opened on their floor.

‘You don’t agree?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘Look, I don’t mean to sound contrary. I’m just running on fumes.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I’m tired, out of it, Wyatt. I need some sleep.’ She started for her door and stopped. ‘You oughta get your hands on a book of American idioms. I’m beginning to wonder if you just got off the boat.’ She turned and stopped again. ‘For your information, Wyatt, that means just arrived in America.’

He laughed, watched her go into her room, and then went into his own.

As soon as he closed his door, the smile slipped off his face as if it were made of thin ice. He knew what ‘running on fumes’ meant. Why did he act like he didn’t?

Yet for a moment, he hadn’t known. That was why. Was it just a matter of forgetting? He went into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. Lately, he had been doing this more and more, looking at his face and slowly going over it like someone studying a pattern woven in cloth. What was he looking for? What drew him to do this?

He touched his cheek as if he wanted reassurance that indeed the reflected visage in the mirror was his and that he wasn’t looking through a window at someone else.

There was a strange question worming its way through the tiny channels and highways in his brain. From time to time, it was blocked and had to find alternative routes, but it was determined; it was persistent. Eventually, it reached that place where it could be transformed into the spoken word and he heard himself ask himself again, ‘Who am I?’

Hearing the question from the face in the mirror frightened him and he stepped back defensively.

‘What’s wrong?’ the face in the mirror asked.

‘It’s a stupid question.’

‘Is it?’

He was talking to himself again. This is madness, he thought. He shook his head, nearly rattling it like a can of pennies.

Why a can of pennies? He once had a can of pennies. When? Where? Was it his can? Had he accumulated the pennies or had someone given him the pennies?

I waited too long to take my pills, he thought. The confusion and the myriad of bewildering images are all my own fault. I got caught up in that woman, talking to her, drinking the martinis. She was wondering too much about me and I was asking too many questions about her, thinking too much about her. That’s not my purpose here.

He fixated. Closing his eyes, he conjured the light and concentrated as he was taught to do. Once again, it worked, and the confusion crumbled and fell away. He was back to being himself.

The phone rang. He recognized the voice the moment he heard it.

‘Doctor Landeau.’

‘How are you doing, Wyatt?’

‘Fine.’

‘Yes, you are. You discovered you were being electronically followed?’

‘Yes, a tracking device.’

‘How did you do it?’

‘The watch I was given. It picks up signals.’

‘That’s right. That’s good.’

‘I don’t know who put it there. Landry Connors knew nothing about it. He’s very concerned.’

‘Interesting. You were impressive. It’s good that you were on the ball. You’re taking your medication when you should?’

He blinked. He could never lie to Doctor Landeau. Something prevented it.

‘I missed, forgot, but took it just before.’

‘Can’t do that, Wyatt. You can’t afford to miss or forget. I explained all that.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘What about that word, Wyatt?’

‘Sorry isn’t in our vocabulary,’ Wyatt recited.

‘Exactly. Apologies excuse mistakes, defer responsibility.’

‘I know.’

‘OK. Otherwise, you’re doing fine. How’s the female agent? She’s your first. Getting along?’

‘I think so.’

‘Be careful, Wyatt. We know only what we were told about her and the people telling have a built-in tendency to withhold essential information. Paranoia is part of their job description.’

Wyatt laughed.

‘I know,’ he said.

‘I’m sure you do. We’re proud of you, Wyatt. You’re making history.’

‘Thank you, Doctor.’

‘Have a good night. A little paranoia is all right. It’s even essential. We’ll talk again tomorrow. If you’re still alive,’ he joked. At least, Wyatt hoped he was joking.

‘I will be,’ Wyatt promised, but the doctor had already hung up.

Wyatt cradled the phone. He stood there for a moment.

‘A little paranoia is all right. It’s even essential,’ he recited and then he called Landry.

‘There was a reporter asking questions, Ted Carter, LA Times. He knew there have been two jurors murdered, two involved with the Halogen case.’

‘How did you handle it?’

‘Denied knowing anything. We haven’t made any mistakes. He’s getting information from some other source. He must be involved with whoever placed the tracking device in my shoe. He knew where we are staying. I think you had better consider the possibility of a mole on the inside.’

‘I’ll check on it. For now, concentrate solely on the case, but remain diligent. Don’t let Holland too far out of sight.’

‘I understand. She’s pretty good, sir.’

‘Remember my words of advice, Wyatt. Depend on no one but yourself.’

‘I remember.’

‘Good. Go forward as planned,’ Landry said.

‘Right.’

He hung up and then he went out, down to the lobby, and out to the parking lot to check on their automobile. He was sure he had seen shadowy figures moving through the lighted areas, but nothing had been done to the car. His watch revealed that there was no tracking device on it.

He walked about for a while until he felt tired and then he went back up to his floor, but he hesitated at his door and went to Holland’s instead. Using his metamorphosis key, he opened her door and stepped into her room. She had the curtains drawn to keep out the morning light so it was pitch dark, but he was able to make her out clearly, asleep in her bed.

Moving so softly it was as if he walked on air, he approached the bed and stood there looking down at her. He had no idea what had drawn him to do this, but he needed to do it. He needed to look at the sleeping woman. In a way he could not understand, it gave him reassurance.

He was like a child being reassured by the presence of his mother.

That word actually passed over his lips. He heard himself whisper, ‘Mother.’

Images, like static electricity, shattered the darkness and for a moment, lit the room in a white glow. He put his hand over his eyes and waited. The images fell back into the darkness and were gone.

After another moment he turned and quietly walked out of Holland’s room.

Holland opened her eyes, but she didn’t move. She was frozen in place, her hand still grasping the pistol under the blanket.

What in hell, she wondered, was that all about?