David Dun - The Black Silent

"Why is Ben working on all these topics at once?" she asked. "That's the key question for me. I mean, he seems to give them all equal space and emphasis. This is not all about youth retention."

"You're absolutely right," Sam said, "and there's a reason why we can't put it together.

We don't understand his motive."

"Let's get rowing," she said.

Frick drove to Sheriff's Boat 1 in Friday Harbor with Rafe Black. It was dark and swathed in winter quiet, the streets relatively deserted. A few residents scurried into the waterfront pub. There was no one in the marina parking lot, no one coming or going from the public showers at the head of the dock. They were headed to Fisherman's Bay at Lopez Island, and from there they would drive to Ben Anderson's beach house. After walking in silence down the wide main dock to the boat, they climbed in as the deputies cast off.

The big diesels purred, a marvel of mechanical achievement taken for granted like gravity.

They had Sarah James at Ben Anderson's Lopez place. Things were getting organized and starting to work at last.

Frick had a large leather bag in his lap containing his drugs and instruments: tools of his trade. Rafe Black drove.

"We were lucky to catch her so fast," Rafe said.

Frick didn't reply. He was debating how exactly he should squeeze her. He planned to use drugs, which he did not like because she would go off into a sort of stupor. Thinking about having her under his control was like the excitement that a hunter feels when he's very near his quarry, combined with another kind of feeling like a boy on his first date.

"I'd like to be there when you question her," Rafe said.

"Like the last time, when you lost Haley Walther? You and the others will remain outside the house while I question her. I'm in a hurry and I don't have time for games. So shut the hell up about turning this into entertainment. We've got to find Ben Anderson and get out of here before we end up on death row. You got that?"

Rafe sat surly and silent.

Speed in getting the information was everything. Frick ordered them to sail at maximum speed. He was in a hurry to get started on Sarah James.

Sam picked up the boat, which was stout and heavy, and he turned it upside down to put it on his back. When he looked like he would founder because of the bad leg, she got under and helped lift. Haley was strong for a slight woman.

It required great strength to move it to the water and it meant getting cold again. His limp was terrible and so was the pain, but with her help he managed to get it launched.

Sam rowed with a steady rhythm, and the pull on his arms and the flex of his muscle was familiar and good. His bad legs only interfered slightly with the movements, and even in his terrible weariness he found the exercise oddly comforting.

As they rowed past the silent yacht he'd spotted before, he listened for the sound of the generator and heard none, which was a clear indication on a yacht this size that there was no one aboard.

He had set into a regular rhythm and knew that his mind could separate from the physical task at hand. He looked at Haley, wondering about her thoughts.

"Nervous stomach, before the battle?" he asked, remembering his own encounters with what amounted to war.

"Uh-huh," she said. There was an understanding between them. They had shared battle.

"A sip of Dewar's about now would really hit the spot," Sam said.

"You don't need Dewar's," she snapped.

The emotional intensity came out of nowhere. He thought about it in the ensuing silence.

"I'm sorry I went off like a cannon," she said.

"Nobody much needs a Dewar's," Sam said.

"Now you're trying to be polite."

"People fly off the handle. Usually a reason."

"My mother drank Dewar's."

"I see."

"Maybe this is just an excuse to talk about it. I don't know."

"I'm officially asking-if that helps."

"Just before she gave me to Ben and Helen, her sister was coming over. Really, it was an inspection. Mother was completely drunk after two o'clock every day at that stage.

Gertrude, her sister, wanted to take me. She had boys. No girls. So I try to keep Mom sober, so Gertrude won't go to court. It was a struggle. I clean. I straighten the house out.

I do all the old dirty dishes, throw out all the old garbage, haul a ton of bottles out back.

I work very hard to make it look normal."

"I think I got the picture. You always were type A."

"She's coming at six. At five forty-five Mom gets the shakes really bad and throws up all over the living-room floor and all over herself. I stick her in the shower and go after the floor.

"At about five fifty-five my mother screams at me. I go in the bathroom. She wants her Dewar's. I went and got it, brought it in the bathroom, and at age nine I defy her and pour it down the toilet. She freaks and stumbles out of the shower. She runs through the house naked and gets another bottle, which she has hid, and starts chugging. About then, Gertrude shows up and she's got my cousin with her. He has a really big mouth. Next day it was all over school. My mother was standing naked in the living room, in the middle of a bunch of vomit, drinking. Everybody looked at me."

Even with the moon, the oars disappeared into water that looked like black silk. On Iceberg Point, the flashing red beacon offended the soft hues of the night while giving Sam a clear bearing by which to row. The water boiled around the boat and the silence made even the oar drips a noticeable part of the water symphony. On the hard pulls the bow dipped slightly, making its own regular swish.

"How did your mother get you to Ben?" Sam asked after a moment of peaceful silence.

"The next day I told my mother what happened. Told her the rumors that Aunt Gertrude was going to get a court order. She took me over to Ben and Helen's. She begged them.

Helen had already taken care of me, and I think even then she loved me. Ben's love came later, but when it came, it was a torrent. My mother managed to stay sober just long enough for the court proceeding. I said I wanted to be with Ben and Helen and the judge agreed."

Sam let a minute pass.

"So I guess we could say that despite the alcoholism, at the moment you needed it most, your mother overcame the disease and was your champion to give you a good life."

"Funny I never looked at it that way."

"Might try it out for size."

They drove toward the south end of Lopez Island in borrowed automobiles that were being used to supplement the five squad cars in normal use. Frick and Rafe rode in a Yukon lent to the police by a resident anxious to help with the manhunt for the cop killer. Behind them in a borrowed Ford Taurus, which was actually a retired sheriff's vehicle loaned by one of the Lopez officers for this particular occasion, rode four of the Las Vegas men. These were the roughest of the rough.

Frick again looked through his leather satchel containing his tools and his drugs. He was figuring which drugs and how to administer them, hoping that just with the beginnings of physical torture, she would spill her guts and give him what he needed.

Then perhaps he could trade her for Ben or his secrets or just go get what he needed.

Time was wasting.

His cell phone rang. Irritated and in a hurry, he answered it. It was Nash. The surprise of the call immediately got his attention. This was not like Nash.

"We need to talk."

"Well, I am terribly occupied at the moment trying to solve your problem."

"I need you to go to a public phone and call me now."

"This is interfering with my job."

"I've got to insist unless you are at this moment rescuing Ben Anderson."

"All right." He hung up, seething. "Divert back to the nearest public telephone." He still might need Sanker's money.