I CANED ALONG with Elk on our walk to his car. The sun had burned through the marine layer and haloed my vision even through my sunglasses.
“Did you have to buy them lunch?” I asked.
“No. They took their pound of flesh in a cash settlement.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred dollars.” He chuckled. “I got them to agree on video on my phone that the husband, Phil Humphrey, sustained no injuries when you accidently grazed him with your chair.”
“I owe you.” I’d have to, considering my financial situation.
“No, you don’t. You were in the restaurant on business and you gave me some important information.” A pause, then his voice regressed to the teenage kid. “But you could explain to me what happened back there. I came out of the bathroom after listening to my ex harangue me for five minutes and saw you ready to attack an old man.”
I hadn’t told Elk about the Invisible Man. Yet. I hadn’t sensed his presence for a week. Moira had half convinced me that he was a character from my imagination and the confrontation with the man in La Sala gave her judgement even more credence. I just needed one more nudge to abandon the theory myself. But Elk deserved an explanation. Especially since he’d just saved me from possible litigation.
I told him about the footsteps and Dove deodorant scent on Prospect Street the morning Moira and I met with Turk the first time. Then the two encounters that night. The last night of Shay’s life. Three encounters with the man on the day before Shay was murdered, then no more. Until today.
“Did Moira see this person?”
“No.”
“Dove deodorant is a pretty common product. A lot of men use it.”
“I know what you’re intimating, but it’s not just the scent of the deodorant.” My cadence quickened. Like Elk wasn’t the only person I was trying to convince. “It’s that smell mixed with individual human musk. It’s a unique smell. The same scent I smelled three times the day before Shay was murdered. There’s your alternative suspect.”
“That elderly gentleman? He had the same musk smell of the man who tailed you on Prospect Street three times in one day a week ago?” He kept his voice modulated so the question didn’t imply that I was out of my mind. But the point was taken. Again.
Did I just smell Dove deodorant today or was the same musky scent I’d smelled multiple times the day before Shay was murdered also mixed in? The scent I thought I smelled. It had been a week. Could I really be sure the scent I smelled today was the same one I smelled on Prospect Street?
“I’m pretty sure it was the same.” Wishful speaking.
“I really have a hard time believing that the little old man whose wife did all the talking for him had the physical capabilities and stamina to follow someone around all day.”
“People can surprise you. Somebody followed us that day. I smelled him.” I realized how ridiculous I sounded too late to stop my mouth.
“You didn’t see him.” Of course, I couldn’t. Cruel? Probably not, but an exclamation point on the discussion. Elk won.
I shut up for the rest of the walk to his car. He punched the ignition and the $70,000 car hummed to life.
“Can you go over to Fay Ave. and head toward La Jolla High?” I asked.
“Sure? What’s at the high school?”
“Nothing. I want to go by a house on the 7300 block of Fay.”
“Do you have the address?”
“I think it’s 7330. A green California Craftsman cottage.”
“Who lives there?”
“Moira.”
Elk didn’t ask why I wanted to see Moira. Maybe he was just happy to get rid of me after the mess in La Sala. Neither of us spoke again until he made a couple turns and finally pulled to a stop.
“7330 Fay. Green Craftsman cottage.”
I looked out the window and saw a mass of rectangle boxes lined up along the street.
“Is there a white Honda Accord parked somewhere near the house?”
Moira’s lot was so small that not only did it not have a garage, it didn’t even have a driveway. Like me, her business mailing address was a P.O. box in La Jolla. She had an office in her house for paperwork and computer searches. She used a friendly lawyer’s office when she met clients face-to-face. I doubted she’d taken on a new case yet. Shay Sommers’ death had shaken her. She’d probably armadilloed and was holed up in her home.
“Yes. A couple cars down.”
“Thanks for the ride.” I opened the door, but stayed seated in the car. “What’s next?”
“The hearing on Tuesday, if you can make it. I’d love to have you backing me up again when I get in front or the press.”
The symbol. The role I’d been made for since Santa Barbara.
“But what can I do between now and then? I don’t want to just sit on the sidelines.”
I stared at the outline of his face, willing myself to see his expression. Did I have a purpose beyond the symbolic? All I saw was gray.
“I already have Dan Coyote working the case, as you know.” His head turned toward the windshield. He didn’t trust his expression even when he knew I couldn’t see it. “I am paying you an hourly for the appearances and the meeting we just had. I value your input.”
But not enough to give me any real responsibilities.
“You don’t have to pay me for supporting Turk.” Although, I did need the money. “I’ll dig around in Blank Slate Capital and Keenan Powell and see if there’s anything hinky there.”
“I insist on paying you for your appearances, but, ah …” A pause. “If you look into Blank Slate Capital and this Keen an Powell fellow, it would be best not to associate yourself with Turk’s defense. At this time.”
My confrontation with the poor old guy in La Sala hadn’t raised Elk’s opinion of me as an investigator.
“Roger.” I got out of the car and shut the door. Hard. Just shy of a slam.
Elk pulled away and I tapped my cane along the cement walkway that split the front lawn in front of Moira’s house. I maneuvered up the two steps onto the porch where Moira and I had gasped for air three years ago after her house was teargassed. On a case she’d helped me with. I missed us working as a team.
I missed Moira, period. I didn’t know when I’d see Leah again. Or what would become of us. I’d been a lone wolf most of my adult life. Mostly by choice. Today, I suddenly missed the pack.
It looked like the drapes on the windows were closed. I could feel the winter sun on my back. Moira didn’t want any part of it.
I knocked on the front door.
No sound from inside the house. I knocked again and rang the bell.
“Go away.” Moira’s voice through the door.
“Just give me a minute,” I said to the closed door. “I need you to look at something, then I’ll leave.”
A swish of air and the rectangle of the door changed to a darker gray. With a small human outline in the middle of it.
“It’s always just a minute, or an hour, or a day.” Each word a jab that landed. “For what you need. Pulling me into your distorted sense of justice. Tangling me up in your illegal schemes. All in the scarred quest of Rick Cahill’s truth. Did you know that I still have nightmares about the man I killed to save your life?”
“No.” But it made sense. I had nightmares after the first one, too. Not anymore. “I’m sorry.”
“You forced me to be a conquering avenger just like you.” She hadn’t wanted an answer. She was on a six-year roll. “And you made me an accessory after the fact to some of the truly evil things you’ve done. Rick Cahill, above the law for the greater good. But that’s bullshit. You’re just a common narcissist. Except you’re more dangerous. People die while you’re chasing the greater good.”
Moira’s outline disappeared and the door slammed in my face. The foundation of the porch shook and the boom rang in my ears.
The pack didn’t want anything to do with me.