Robert Crais - The Last Detective

Lucy and Ben had given up their apartment in Beverly Hills. Lucy had left her job. They were moving back to Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Ben was already there with his grandparents. I understood; really, I did. These things don't happen to normal people, and shouldn't.

They weren't going back for Richard.

Lucy said, "After all that happened to him, Ben needs to be with familiar people and places. He needs to feel safe and secure. I've got a house in our old neighborhood. He'll have his old friends."

We stood on the deck, side by side at the rail. We had spoken often these past sixteen days. We had talked over what she would do, and why, but she was still uneasy and awkward. Here we were, saying good-bye. Here she was, leaving. She would be seeing me soon enough. Richard had been indicted.

The two of us didn't say very much that afternoon, but most of it had already been said. Being with her still felt good to me. We had been way too good and way too special to end it on awkward moments or bad feelings. I didn't want that.

I gave her my best smile, the Studly Do-Right Eye-Wiggle Special, and bumped her hip. Mr. Playful. Mr. Brave.

"Luce, you've only said that eight hundred times. You don't have to say it again. I understand. I think it's right for Ben."

She nodded, but still looked awkward. Maybe it had to be awkward.

I said, "I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss Ben. I miss you guys already."

Lucy blinked hard and stared at the canyon, She leaned far out on the rail, maybe hoping that I wouldn't notice, or maybe trying to see something that she hadn't yet seen.

She said, "God, I hate this part."

"You're doing this for Ben and for you. It's right for you. I'm good with that."

She pushed in from the rail and came close to me. It was all I could do not to cry.

My voice was a whisper.

"Don't say it. Please don't say it."

"So long as you know."

Lucy Chenier turned and ran into my house. The front door shut. Her car started, then pulled away.

I said, "Good-bye."

My phone rang two days after Lucy left. It was Starkey.

She said, "You gotta be the luckiest asshole I know."

"Who is this?"

"Very funny. Ha ha."

"What's up?"

Joe Pike and I were painting my deck. After the deck, we were going to paint my house. I might even wash my car.

I said, "No offense, but I'm expecting my lawyer to call. We have this little matter of felony burglary."

Pike looked over from the end of the deck. His hands and arms were gray from sanding dried filler and spackle. The postal service that we destroyed was owned by a man named Fadhim Gerella. We had repaid Mr. Gerella for the damage we had done to his business, as well as additional money for lost business during the time he was closed. Mr. Gerella was happy with that, and had refused to press charges, though the San Gabriel District Attorney was being tough about it.

Starkey said, "Your lawyer's going to call, all right, but I'm going to tell you first."

"Tell me what?"

Pike glanced over.

"I just got off the phone with my guy down at Parker about that. You're in the clear, Cole. You and Mr. Sunglasses. The governments of Sierra Leone, Angola, and El Salvador – three fucking governments, Cole – interceded in your behalf. You bozos aced three turds up for genocide, dude. They'll probably give you a fuckin' medal."

I sat on the deck.

"I don't hear anything, Cole. You still with me?"

"Hang on."

I cupped the phone and told Pike. He never looked up from the sanding.

Starkey said, "Does this call for a celebration or what? How about I buy you some sushi and eight or ten drinks? Better yet, how about you pay? I'm a cheap date – I don't drink."

"You want to take us out?"

"Not Pike, moron. Just you."

"Starkey, are you asking me out?"

"Don't be so full of yourself."

I wiped the sweat and the dust from my eyes, and stared out over the canyon.

"Cole? Did you faint from the excitement?"

"Don't take this wrong, Starkey. I like it that you asked, but this isn't a good time for me."

"Okay. I get that."

"It's been kinda hard."

"I understand, Cole. Forget it. Listen, I'll call you another time."

Starkey hung up. I put down my phone, and stared at the canyon. A dark speck floated over the ridge. Soon, it was joined by another. I went to the rail and watched them. I smiled. The hawks were back.

Pike said, "Call her."

I took the phone inside, and, after a while, I did.

I have the dream often now, almost every night, some nights more than once: The sky darkens; the tortured oaks sway heavy with moss; the night's soft breeze stirs with anger and fear. I am once more m that nameless place of graves and monuments. I stare down at the hard black rectangle, burning to know who lies within the earth, but no name marks this resting place. I have spent my whole life searching for the secrets I do not know.

The earth calls my name.

I stoop. I place my palms on the marble, and gasp at the cold. Ice crawls up my arms like ants beneath my skin. I lurch to my feet and try to run, but my legs will not answer. The wind rises, bending the trees. Shadows flicker at the edge of light, and voices whisper.

My mother appears in the mist. She is young, the way she was, and fragile as a baby's breath.

"Mama! Mama, help me!"

She floats against the wind like a spirit.

"Please, you have to help me!"

I reach for her, praying she will take my hand, but she hovers without response as if she does not see. I want her to save me from the secrets here. I want her to protect me from the truth.

"I'm scared. I don't want to be here, but I don't know how to leave. I don't know what to do."

I hunger for her warmth. I need the safety of her arms. I try to go to her, but my feet are rooted deeply.

"I can't move. Help me, Mama."

She sees me. I know she sees me because her eyes fill with sorrow. I reach for her until my shoulders scream but she is too far away. I am furious. I hate her and love her in the same awful moment.

"Goddamnit, I don't want to be alone anymore. I never wanted to be alone."

The winds rise to a howl; a bit of her blows away like smoke.

"Mama, please! Don't leave me again!"

Cracks scribe over her as if she were a puzzle. A piece of her blows away. Then another.

"Mama!"

The pieces that were my mother blow away. Not even a shadow remains. Not even a shadow.

She is gone. She has left me.

I stare at the grave with a broken heart. In the strange way of this life, a shovel appears in my hands. If I dig, I will find; if I find, I will know.

The black earth opens.

The casket is revealed.

A voice that is not my own pleads for me to stop, to look away, to save myself from what lies here, but I no longer care. I am alone. I want the truth, I push my hands into the cold earth and pry my fingers beneath the lid. Splinters pierce my flesh. The casket opens with a scream.

I stare at the small body, and I am looking at myself.

The child is me.

He opens his eyes. He sobs with joy as I lift him from the crypt, and throws his arms around me. We hold each other tight.

"It's all right," I say. "I found you, and I will never leave."

The wind rages. Leaves tumble across the tombs and the damp mist cuts through my clothes, but all that matters is that I have found him.