Jeff Shelby - Killer Swell

“Ken is her father. He’s always going to place the blame elsewhere.”

“How do you explain Randall then? Why tell me it was his if it wasn’t?”

Liz’s look was skeptical. “I don’t know why he’d say it, but what does that really give us? Even if that’s true, how does that give him motive to kill her? Jesus, if anything, Randall probably is living with the guilt complex to end all guilt complexes. Maybe telling you all this is a way for him to try and absolve himself.”

“What if Randall was afraid she’d turn on him? Recant her story and tell everyone the drugs were his,” I suggested. “Maybe going undercover and working with Costilla were harder than she imagined, and Randall saw that and started worrying that Kate couldn’t hold up her end of the deal.”

Liz leaned forward, tapping her fingers on her knees. “I know you’re having trouble with this, Noah.”

“This?” I said, annoyed that she wasn’t buying into my logic.

“Yeah, this,” she said, widening her eyes. “Kate was different. It wasn’t the same Kate. You can’t seem to grasp that, which I understand. I do. But, Noah, clean or not, she was different. You didn’t know her anymore. You had no idea about her drug problem or what was going on with her marriage. And, somehow, you’ve got it screwed into your head that you could’ve saved her.”

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, nodding her head. “You think that if you’d stayed in her life, everything would have been different. And maybe it would have, but the chances that you could’ve prevented her from experimenting with heroin, marrying an asshole, and digging a legal hole for herself are slim. Slimmer than slim.” She paused, fixing her eyes on me. “And you need to deal with that.” She cleared her throat, and her look softened. “I’m sorry she’s dead, but Randall didn’t do it. I’m pretty confident on that.”

I stood up and walked over to the patio door, mulling over what she’d said. Outside, the gray sky put a silver tint in the water and there was a noticeable lack of runners and skaters, thanks to the cloudy weather. I wasn’t sure if Liz’s thinking was colored by the guilt she felt at letting Kate slip through her protection. I knew she wanted to nail Costilla. She had a lot more invested in him than I did.

But she had a point. It wasn’t so much that I thought I could’ve really saved Kate. My reasons for wanting to figure out Kate’s death were more selfish than that. I wanted to save the memories I had of her before all of this occurred. For so long, she had been the only good thing in my life. I never knew my father and my mother was a relentless drunk, incapable of providing me with the one thing that I didn’t know my life was missing until Kate had given it to me.

Love.

I had always associated that emotion with Kate, as she was the person who showed me how it felt to be cared about and to be loved for the first time. I didn’t want that memory ripped out of my life by the things that happened when we went our separate ways.

But maybe I didn’t have a choice.

“So if it’s Costilla,” I said, turning around to Liz, “there’s really nothing to be done. Right?”

She shrugged. “Not at the moment, no. It’s a matter of putting a case together against him. Her murder will be one more thing added to the potential list.”

“Can you add her murder if you don’t have direct evidence, though?”

She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No. We’ll need something.”

“Which you don’t have right now.”

“No.”

It was an ugly circle to think about.

Liz and I decided to head over to Roberto’s to grab some lunch. We sat down with my rolled tacos and her enchilada at a stone table facing the street.

“How’s Carter?” she asked.

“Better,” I told her. “Saw him yesterday. He’s getting antsy.”

She stabbed the enchilada with her plastic fork. “Big surprise there.”

“He’ll probably be out in another day or two.”

She set her fork down and wiped her mouth with the paper napkin. “You tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“That Elvis lives.” She rolled her eyes. “About you and me.”

I laughed. “Oh. I didn’t know there was a you and me. Yet.”

“I don’t either. Yet. Just wondering if you opened your big mouth.”

I finished off the first of the tacos. “He sorta guessed.”

“You guys are like a couple of sorority girls,” she said, shaking her head.

“A little, yeah.” I bit into another of the tacos. “So, is there a you and me?”

A Harley went ripping down Mission, the engine tearing into the air. We watched it zip past us.

“Last time didn’t go so well,” Liz said.

“Nope.”

“I’m not looking for that to happen again.”

“Me either.”

She finished off the enchilada and pushed the paper boat away from her. “I can’t guarantee that it won’t.”

“Me either.”

She leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “You were the last person I expected to see show up at my house the other night. In fact, if you’d asked to come over, I probably would’ve told you no.” She touched her index finger to her lips for a moment, a gesture that I knew meant she was measuring her words. “But I’m not disappointed that you came over, I’m not disappointed that you spent the night, and I’m not disappointed that we’re sitting here.”

“I hate to disappoint.”

“Could be complicated,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “My job, your job. We’ve each wanted to tear the other’s head off just in the last week.”

“I never wanted to tear your head off,” I said. “Maybe kick it once or twice.”

“Exactly. Could be complicated.”

“Is this your way of not giving me an answer?”

She smiled and tilted her head. “I’m a bitch. No doubt about it. You said so yourself. I’m not gonna change.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I said.

“Plus, I hate Carter.”

I grinned. “You say you hate Carter, but you really don’t.”

“Most of the time, I’m pretty sure I do.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

She pointed at me. “If there is a me and you, that is your first official lie during the new me-and-you era.”

I waved a hand in the air. “Most people have trouble with Carter. I’m better than most.”

That earned an outright laugh. “If you do say so yourself.”

“And I do.”

We sat there looking at each other, the remnants of lunch dirtying the table between us. She may have been a pain in the ass, she may have been unreasonable, and she may have been hardheaded. She probably thought I was all those things, too. But I enjoyed being with Liz. She knew me differently than other people did, and I liked the intimacy of that. I struggled to feel comfortable with many people in the world, but with her, it happened easily. And to top it all off, she had never been unattractive. I was a sucker for blue eyes and black hair, and her blue eyes and black hair were better than most.

“Okay,” she said finally.

“Okay?”

“We’ll try the me and you thing.” She aimed a finger in my direction. “Try not to screw it up.”

“Same to you,” I said.

After lunch, Liz headed back to her office. She said she would check on Charlotte Truman and see if anything popped up. I didn’t think that it would, but I felt better that the investigation would be thorough.

I decided to drive up to La Jolla to the Criers’ home. When I arrived, Ken and Marilyn were sitting on the stone steps that led to their front door. Ken wore his usual sharply creased khakis with a bright-red golf shirt. Marilyn was wearing yellow walking shorts and a white tank top.