T. Parker - Cold Pursuit

"Then where are they?" asked Hector. "Pete came to your firm six times at the end of last year, trying to find those things."

Grothke smiled at Hector, then McMichael. He dabbed at his forehead with the handkerchief. "I assume full responsibility for them. They are in my possession."

"Would you mind if we just looked at them, sir?" asked McMichael. "Pete was murdered last week, as I'm sure you know."

Grothke's face went blank and his pale blue eyes seemed to freeze. "He sold me a Country Squire station wagon in nineteen sixty-two. Red. A material that suggested wood on each side. Very convincing."

"What did you do with the letters, sir?" asked McMichael. "The ones pertaining to a change in the weather."

The rain roared against the roof of the van. Through the side window McMichael could see the driver smoking a cigarette under the awning of the Bay Towers entrance, irate workers crowded under with him, waiting for taxis and buses or for a good time to run to the next overhang.

Grothke was staring straight ahead now, his eyes seemingly focused on something close but puzzling. He breathed deeply in and deeply out. "Sometimes, I stand on the edge of a memory and look in. I see nothing clearly. It's like water in a pool after a rock is thrown in. Then, if I look long enough, the water gets smoother and smoother and the ripples vanish and I can see again."

"That's beautiful, Mr. Grothke," said Hector. "It really is."

McMichael heard no sarcasm in Hector's voice.

Grothke looked at Hector, then to McMichael. "I'm not sure where I put them," he said. "But I will correctly handle the matter, as I have for the last fifty years. And I promise you now, on my good name, that I will locate and deliver to you these missing letters."

"Did you shred them?" asked McMichael.

Grothke eyed him suspiciously. "I don't think so."

"Put them in your briefcase?" asked Hector.

"It has been searched."

"Take them home?" asked Hector.

"I looked there. We all did."

Another downpour bellowed against the top of the van.

"They had to do with weather like this," said Grothke, looking up at the roof somewhat dreamily. "I remember. A change."

"You mean rain?" asked Hector.

"Yes."

"Rainwater?" asked McMichael.

" Yes! Rainwater. It's a name."

"What about her?" asked McMichael, looking not at Grothke but at Hector.

"Pete wanted his will changed for Rainwater."

"I told him not to," said Sally Rainwater. "He said he was going to do it anyway. Pure Pete. I assumed he was kidding me because he kidded me about a lot of things."

"Apparently not this."

"What did he want to do, exactly?"

"Nobody can find the letters."

It was eight that night and the rain had stopped. McMichael and Sally walked south down the shoreline of Imperial Beach. The sand was cold and the stars bright and the pier lights made pools of silver on the rough black sea.

"You should have told me," said McMichael.

"It seemed insane," she said. "And totally for show, so I didn't tell you. He was going to change his will for me . It's got an ugly ring to it and it implies ugly things about me. If I had known that he had done it- I would have told you. I apologize if I screwed up your investigation, but I don't think like a cop."

"You still should have told me."

"You should have asked."

"I need to know everything."

"Then that's going to be an awful long talk," said Sally. "I worked for him for eight months. Forty hours a week is one hell of a lot of time. Ask me anything and I'll tell you, but I can't read your mind. Come on."

They walked down the pier, past the place where Hector had parked just a week ago to watch the monstrous waves roll past.

"I don't see how a law firm can just lose letters," she said. "What's going on there?"

"The old man is forgetful and confused. But I think it's more than that. His son says the letters were about the Church. Not you."

Sally laughed quietly and shook her head. "Pete was pissed at the Catholics, I know that. I think he wanted a new church named after himself."

"So says Grothke Junior."

"Will you hold my hand, or am I a suspect again?"

"No. Sorry."

Taking her hand McMichael felt angry and stupid and he knew he could either kick Sally Rainwater or himself or just let it go. It was not in his nature to let things go.

"Cheer up," she said. "You need wine and dinner."

They got a booth in a little steakhouse near the pier. There was a good fire in the fireplace and hardly any customers. McMichael drank a glass of red wine, felt better. He looked at Sally and was glad to be here with her, anger and stupidity aside. She wore light makeup and she'd brushed her straw-colored hair out long and loose. A black turtleneck sweater and jeans and the same kind of low-heeled boots she'd worn at Pete's that night. Pearls in her ears. In the warm orange light of the table candle she seemed singular and exotic.

She told him a story about Pete and her trying to hook up a new VCR, how Pete got so mad he ended up throwing it out a window, then tried to return it to the store and told them it was like that when he took it out of the box. She told him about cruising Point Loma for hours some nights, her driving and Pete yapping about the old days and the Portuguese, about the uncle who drowned when a line caught around his foot and a big fish pulled him overboard and swam down with him, the cousin who lost her hand at the Westgate Cannery, Mary's triplets and Frank's polio and Crazy Eva who had her heart broken and shot the guy twice but didn't kill him and when he got out of the hospital she ran over him with a car, which did. Sally said whenever they'd cruise Point Loma they'd stop at St. Agnes's and say prayers and sometimes Pete would leave the place with tears on his cheeks and sometimes he'd have that twinkle in his eye and she figured he'd prayed for God to fix his enemies. And the nights with Victor- lots of nights just hanging around with Victor- hit a restaurant or burger place then the Waterfront while father and son talked and argued and remembered the old days.

"I'm trying to tell you everything," she said. "How do I know what's important and what's not?"

"Keep going. I'm interested in enemies."

"He had a lot of them. He thought people were after him, after his things. He didn't trust most people. Didn't even trust his granddaughter, Patricia."

McMichael looked at her over his menu. "Tell me about that."

"He said if she ever asked me for a house key the answer was no. I asked him why and Pete said it was none of my business. Then that Pete smile- the one where you couldn't tell if he was wicked or just amused. I dropped it, because I figured it really wasn't any of my business, but I think she'd disappointed or hurt him in some way. Could have been years ago, for all I know."

The waitress took their orders and brought more wine.

"So," said McMichael. "Did Patricia ever ask you for a key?"

"No. Never."

McMichael leaned back and let the warmth from the fireplace seep into him. He watched Sally Rainwater stare into the flames.

"Pete talked a lot about Anna," said Sally. "She's only been gone three years. They got married when they were seventeen. Pete quit school at fourteen to fish. He got his first boat at fifteen, to work the market trade. But he said the Italians had the markets cornered and the fish were getting thin, so he needed a bigger boat for longer runs. Anna's family didn't have much money, but Pete convinced them to loan him six hundred dollars for a bigger boat. He paid them back in two years. Ten years later he bought them a two-story house off of Rosecrans."

"Sounds like Pete talked more about Pete," said McMichael.