Marcia Muller - Burn Out

“And Smith-what was he doing till the sheriff’s people got there?”

“Still scrubbing. Lark said he’d damn near worn a hole in the rug.”

“And then?”

“He went quietly. Looked puzzled when the paramedics lifted him up, then dropped his rag and… just went.”

“It could’ve been an act, you know. He could be building an insanity defense.”

“God, you’ve gotten cynical! It wasn’t an act; I saw his eyes.”

“So what tipped him over the edge? Did he come back to destroy the evidence?”

“Probably. But I think there was a more important reason: it was the only home he’s ever cared about.”

“Why do you suppose he went off and left the evidence in the first place?”

“After he killed Bud and disposed of his body, he had to get back to New York to try to hold his business together-time for the conglomerate’s annual stockholders’ meeting. But the board of directors scheduled a closed meeting and excluded him on a technicality.

“So then, I guess, to keep his mind off what was happening in New York, he flew his jet back to the ranch and stashed it in the hangar. He must’ve come in late Thursday night or early Friday morning, because Amos Hinsdale says he was at home asleep then and didn’t hear the plane. On Friday at around noon Hanover called New York and was told his board had given him a vote of no confidence and ousted him. Then… I don’t know. He must’ve just disintegrated.”

“And now?”

I bit into the little cheese-filled tart. It was delicious.

“Mono County will file homicide charges-they have enough evidence for that-but the case’ll never come to trial. Trevor Hanover and Davey Smith have ceased to exist. An empty shell will inhabit a facility for the criminally insane until it dries up and dies.”

Rae once again looked skeptical. “These rich guys… I don’t know.”

“You’re married to one.”

“He’s different. He has me to keep him honest.”

I looked across the room. Adah and Craig had just arrived. “Excuse me,” I said. “I need a few minutes alone with Adah.”

Rae nodded and headed for the buffet.

Adah smiled at me as I approached, gave me a hug. When we separated, Craig had disappeared in Rae’s wake.

“He’s starving,” she said. “As always.” Then her expression sobered. “I guess you want my answer to your proposition.”

“If you’ve decided.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s a done deal.”

“Great!”

“An administrative position with your firm is perfect for me. No more getting called out in the middle of the night to look at decomposing bodies. No more SFPD politics. And best of all, I don’t have to leave the city and move to Denver. My mom and dad, they’re getting up there. Still feisty as hell, but…”

“Besides, this is home.”

“Sure is. Born and raised on Red Hill.” By Red Hill, she meant Bernal Heights, which used to be a hotbed of self-styled communists, socialists, and the occasional anarchist. Her Jewish mother and black father had been socialists with Marxist leanings, and now called themselves “wild-eyed liberals.”

It was the perfect solution for me: I wouldn’t have to sell the agency; it was a vital entity, the culmination of everything I’d hoped to accomplish in life-and then some. But I did want to cut out the administrative work and take on only cases that truly interested me, and Adah was the chief component in my scheme. Now that she’d accepted the position I’d offered her almost two weeks ago, I could move forward. And move forward without worrying about the rent increase from the Port Commission; Glenn Solomon’s influence had staved that off for at least a year.

We shook on our deal, and she said, “Shouldn’t we tell Patrick that I’ll be usurping some of his duties?”

“I don’t think he’ll mind.” I looked around the room, spotted Patrick, and motioned him over.

When he joined us, I told him I’d hired Adah as the agency’s new executive administrator, meaning she’d handle approving reports and expenditures, plus interview new clients and assign them to the proper operatives. Patrick would continue to coordinate all investigations. Both would report directly to me. I would attend some staff meetings and, when I didn’t, they would cochair them.

“Shar, that’s good news!” he exclaimed. “I hate all the paperwork, and the staff meetings-I’m just not cut out for them. If you wouldn’t mind”-he looked at Adah-“I’d prefer you chair them in Shar’s absence.”

“I can do that.” She smiled at him. They’d work together just fine.

“So Adah’s coming on board two weeks from Monday,” I said to Ted as we were relaxing on the deck after the crowd had begun to thin.

“It’s a damn good thing. We’re swamped. Are you coming back in the meantime?”

“Monday. Hy and I are flying to the ranch tomorrow. We’re having a delayed Thanksgiving with Sara, Ramon, and Amy tomorrow night. They’re all pulling together, doing better, but today’s got to be gloomy for them, and they’ll need cheering up. And Saturday afternoon we have to greet the next member of our family. We’re having a palomino delivered. To keep my horse, King, company.”

“ Your horse? You hate horses!”

“Let’s say I hate horses as a breed, but love them on an individual basis.”

“I don’t believe this: you’re backing off on the business, and you’re in love with a horse?”

My cell rang. I checked to see who the caller was. Kristen Lark. I excused myself and went inside. There were still enough people there to make talking impossible, so I went down the hall to where the glass-block elevator-a classic from the thirties-stood, its doors open. Inside I sat down on the floor before I called Lark back.

“It’s Sharon,” I said.

“Happy Turkey Day.”

“Thanks. Same to you. What’s happening?”

“Nothing bad. Our perp is comfortably residing in the psych ward.”

“The case will never to go trial.”

“No. Save the county a lot of money. Philadelphia-where Davey Smith went to Wharton for his BA in finance-is looking at him concerning a series of rapes in the area when he was a student, and New York State is also interested. Recidivism of sex offenders…”

“Yeah. And how’re you doing?”

“… Better.”

“Meaning?”

“All that drinking-which I’m sure you noticed? It was partly because of the pressure of the case, but mostly because the Rabbitt was being strange and distant, so I figured he was having an affair.”

“And?”

“He wasn’t. He’d been brooding and trying to decide how to tell me he wants to leave the department and go to law school.”

“How d’you feel about that?”

“Happy. He’s got the GPA to get him into a lot of good schools on at least a partial scholarship. And I can get a job I’ll enjoy almost anywhere.”

“So this is a happy Thanksgiving for both of you.”

“The best yet.”

We chatted for a moment or two about her turkey that had turned out well and her pumpkin pie that had burned. Then we promised to keep in touch and broke the connection.

I sat there for a while, savoring the peace and happiness of one perfect holiday. The elevator doors closed, and the car began its slow downward descent. When they opened Hank Zahn, Anne-Marie Altman, and their daughter, Habiba Hamid, stepped in. They hadn’t been able to make dinner because of a previous family obligation, but had promised to stop by later.

I looked at them and smiled. They were the perfect blended family: Hank, wire-haired and Jewish; Anne-Marie, blonde and WASPish; Habiba, with the beautiful dark-skinned features of her Arab forebears.