T. Parker: Black Water

How did you find him?" asked Gary Brice. "I mean, before he jumped."

"He informed us of his whereabouts."

"Why wasn't a negotiator brought in, or a rescue team assembled?" asked Michelle Howland.

"We had no indication of his purpose. There was no time."

"How long did you talk to him?" asked KTLA.

"Less than a minute."

"What, exactly, were his last words?" asked Brice.

"Thank you."

"For what? What had you done?"

"Nothing. I think that, by then, he was… completely disoriented."

"Were you close enough to physically restrain him?"

"My attempt failed."

"There was contact, then, a scuffle?"

"Yes."

"How would you describe his expression when he jumped?"

"It can't be described."

"How was he dressed?"

"In his summer-weight uniform."

"Was he armed?"

"His sidearm was holstered."

Abelera had instructed her to leave the Russians out of all this for now while the lab corroborated Wildcraft's confession with evidence.

"This press conference is over," she said. "But you can stay and ask all the questions you want."

She turned off the mike and walked out the back door with Zamorra.

For a long while she sat in her office cubicle, staring at the phone, her picture of Tim, the calendar. She had a small stack of mail but no heart to open it or even look through it. Zamorra left the homicide pen without a goodbye.

Around three, a couple of uniformed deputies stopped by to tell her they were sorry about Wildcraft, but wanted to thank her for taking Archie's side. They knew all along he hadn't killed Gwen, but it was good of her to believe in him even when the evidence was against him. She asked them to sit a minute, but they excused themselves with a nervy curtness that she respected.

By four o'clock she'd received two calls-both from deputies she knew were hostile to her-telling her they were pleasantly surprised/proud to see the way she stuck by her department as far as Wildcraft was concerned, and pleased/honored that she'd accepted the nomination for the Deputy Association. She would have their votes. Merci felt Mike's unsubtle hand in this but the calls helped slow the thick ice she felt closing in around her heart.

Dobbs came by to ask if there was anything he could do. "You half cracked this case, Deputy," Merci said. "Thank you."

"Last time I'll turn a crime scene into a parking lot."

"Dobbs, you're going to be just fine."

"Thank you, Sergeant. I'm headed here, you know. Homicide. That's my goal. That's what I want."

"Careful what you wish for."

"I will be."

Gilliam called.

Her father called.

Ryan Dawes called to tell her she had good instincts about this case and had been right to follow them. He sounded like a movie critic praising a trashy blockbuster, so she hung up on him.

Al Madden called and said he was sorry about Archie, but gratified that the deputy had been innocent all along. He wondered if his investigation had helped drive Wildcraft to suicide and she didn't think so. Madden apologized for having to get involved and remarked that her fieldwork was, in his opinion, flawless.

Neighbor William Jones called to find out if the press conference account of Archie's suicide was accurate, if there was anything else she could tell him. She told him that Archie believed he was joining Gwen. Jones said if he was Archie he'd go and join her, too. Merci excused herself and rang off.

George Wildcraft called to ask about his son. He wanted how he'd looked, what his state of mind had been before he did it.

She told him what she'd told Jones. She told him she tried her best to take him down, get him off that mountain alive. Her throat went hard and her eyes hurt and she could barely get the words out.

He thanked her and said he was impressed by her and always believed she had had justice and his son's best interest at heart. He apologized for Natalie "throwing herself around." His voice was soft and Merci figured he was sneaking the call on her.

"He was a good man, Detective. Such a good man."

"Yes, I know he was."

Abelera stopped by and told her to take a few days off. She agreed.

Zamorra appeared at five-thirty. "I went to the market. I'd like to make dinner for you and Tim and Clark."

She looked at him, a little surprised. "Great. Tell Kirsten to come."

"Okay. Let Frank know, too."

She wondered why her old affection for Zamorra hadn't drawn him closer but her recent affection for Wildcraft apparently had. Or was it simple sympathy? Either way, it wasn't the kind of question that really riveted you after watching a fellow deputy fall five thousand feet because he had a bullet in his brain and missed his wife. Or talked to a guy just blinded by road flares.

Mike came quietly into the homicide pen, like a man unwelcome. He shook Zamorra's hand and then offered it to Merci. She shook it while she looked into Mike's clear blue eyes and saw the gears of his heart grinding away behind them.

"I was hoping to drop by this evening with Danny," he said. "Bring some meal worms for the alligator lizard."

"Okay," she said.

"We've got plenty of food," said Zamorra. "Bring some wine if you'd like, stay for dinner."

Mike released her hand and nodded at Zamorra like the boy he was, competent in the male world but largely ignorant of the female. He looked at her with an inquisitive expression.

"Fine with me," she said. "Lynda's welcome, if you want."

"No."

When they had gone, Merci picked up her mail, crammed it into her purse and walked out.

Home at six-ten on a warm August evening, Merci slinging her purse onto the little breakfast table while Tim clunked across the floor meet her: red shorts, black cowboy boots, skinned knees showing between them, a plastic gladiator's vest and an Angels baseball cap.

Her heart lightened when she saw him. Purity. Innocence. The Man. No amount of violence could smother the love; it was always; there, like a sweet bolt of lightning crackling through the dark.

Clark hugged her, regarding Zamorra and his groceries for an extra second before nodding. "The Weber's on the patio."

Tim stared frankly at dark Zamorra.

"Good to see you again, Tim. Nice vest."

The boy nodded. Paul gravely shook his hand then headed for the barbecue.

Merci swung her son up onto her shoulder and mouthed the word

Wildcraft to her father, a big silent question mark at the end.

"No, I figured that was for you." He turned to watch Mike's pick come up the drive. "Oh, I see you invited Mike too."

"More or less."

"You okay, honey?"

"I'm okay, Dad."

"I'll run these guys off if you just want to be with us tonight."

"I'm okay."

He looked at her with his bottomless calm. His glasses caught the light and magnified his eyes into faux astonishment. She leaned in her father and hugged him with her available arm. He smiled, then ambled to the front door.

"And how about you, little man?" she asked. "How are you today'

"Good," said Tim. "I'm fine. Is Awchie in the heckilopter?"

"He's done with the helicopter."

"And the flowers?"

"And the flowers."

"Because he loves his wife."

"Yes, he… does."

"Danny's here!"

He struggled off her shoulder and she set him to the floor with a thud of boot heels. He ran to Danny and Mike as they came through the door. Danny dropped the tub of meal worms and the top popped off, leaving a pile of meal and worms on the floor.

"I'll get that," said Mike. "Here."

The boys bolted off for the backyard, Clark behind them. Mike set down a heavy plastic grocery bag and knelt, using the lid to sweep the worms back into the container. "Thanks for the invite," he said.

"You're welcome."

"Three or four of these a day," he said.