T. Parker: Cold Pursuit

The bedroom door swung open and the woman came into the dim hallway, pointing toward McMichael something long and round with a hollow end.

He cleared holster and jacket in a short arc. Hector bounded forward with his gun in both hands, exhaling in a loud hiss.

"Drop it! Drop it goddamnitrightnow!" yelled McMichael, staring at her over the front sight, his heart pounding hard and a metallic ringing in his ears.

She froze, dropped the thing and raised her hands.

He glanced at the wood floor and saw what looked like a tube of rolled-up white paper. He upped the barrel of his Smith & Wesson toward the ceiling.

"I dropped it!"

"But what the hell else you got?" Hector barreled past, kicking the tube and with his left hand turning Sally Rainwater to the wall. "Hands up and against the wall. Hands up and against the wall, lady."

Hector patted her quickly: hands, coat collar, armpits, back, outside hip and thigh, behind the knees, then moved her around to face him.

"Keep your hands up," he said.

Her voice was not much more than a whisper. "They're up! They're up!"

Hector felt around her middle- no higher or lower, McMichael was certain of that- then hips again, then ran his hand over her calves and ankles.

"Okay, I think she's clean."

"Jesus Christ, you guys." Her voice was so faint McMichael could barely make out her words. "Jesus."

"Step back, Heck," he heard himself saying. He thought of the bullet holes in her neck and he saw the cold hard fear in her face. He felt the jittery spike of adrenaline shooting through him and his heart was still banging against his ribs. "It's okay, Ms. Rainwater. Now just come back into the living room here. Move slowly, please, just come back in here and sit on the couch. Okay? Everybody's okay. Everybody's okay."

Hector eased away, gun aimed up, snatching the roll of paper from the floor. He backed past McMichael into the living room.

But Sally Rainwater didn't move. Even in the bad light he saw that her face had gone white. She opened her mouth and her jaws moved just a little but no words came out.

McMichael heard a faint tapping sound on the wood and saw the puddle between her slippers. Her legs were shaking.

He stepped closer and like a waiter motioned her to her own bathroom. "Clean up. It's okay."

But she still didn't move from the wall. McMichael watched her dark wide eyes find his own. He offered her his hand, palm up. She got his wrist. He had to pull her, gently, to get her moving toward the bathroom. Her hand was cold and electric and strong. She tried to cover her wet pajamas with the other as she walked in and shut the door.

He heard the roar of the shower.

Hector was sitting at the kitchen table, reading. McMichael looked over his shoulder. The sheets were still curved at the tops and bottoms where Rainwater had formed them into a loose cylinder. A rubber band lay beside the blue-and-gold Chinese vase.

To Whom It May Concern,

I gave a painting to Sally Rainwater on December 4 of this year. It's a genuine Albert Pinkham Ryder but he didn't sign it so it's not ever been proven or authenticated but that's not why I bought it in the first place. It's a beauty, about a foot square and it shows a little boat with no sails or crew pretty much getting the shit kicked out of it by Mother Nature. It's in a black frame. It's Sally's painting now and she can do what she wants with it.

Truly,

Peter Augustino Braga

McMichael read Pete Braga's signature, then the notary stamp and date: San Diego, roughly a month ago. Witnessed by one Charles Hyams, notary public. The body of the letter was typed in an ordinary font style and size.

"Hmph," said Hector. "You can fake these."

"Easy enough to find out."

"I'm not good with what just happened, Tom. But, man, something about her coming out from the room. Dark hallway. And when I saw you reach…"

"Me too. It's just what happens. Better safe."

"Hope she sees it that way."

"We had a right to protect ourselves."

Sheet number two was dated November 11 of last year and stated that Pete had given Sally Rainwater a baseball glove signed by Babe Ruth. "I saw him play once at Yankee Stadium. Second best day of my life, right behind marrying Anna. The ink is kind of faded out but you can still read his name under the pocket." Signed by Pete and witnessed by the same notary.

Sheet three listed four more autographed baseball gloves given to Rainwater: Williams, Mantle, McGwire and Gwynn. "The McGwire and Gwynn ones are personalized to me, Pete," he wrote. "But they're property of Sally Jane Rainwater now, just like the rest." Signed and witnessed October 7.

The next four pages accounted for four more paintings, one pearl necklace, one pair of pearl and sapphire earrings, one handmade and hand-painted Chinese vase, four books autographed by Joseph Conrad and one mounted calico bass.

"This now worthless fish weighed six pounds two ounces when I caught it on two-pound test and an anchovy off Pt. Loma about a thousand years ago. It now belongs to Sally Rainwater, freely given to her by me with a clear mind, a mostly shot liver and a full heart."

All signed by Braga and witnessed by Hyams.

McMichael noted that the fish was the first thing he'd given away to his newfound friend- August 19 of last year, a month after she'd come to work for him.

"I almost believe these," said Hector.

"You should," she said quietly, sitting on the couch and staring straight ahead. Her hair was slicked back, her face still white, her eyes dark and distant. She had a faded pink robe pulled up tight to her chin, jeans underneath and fluffy pink slippers.

"Pete had a hummingbird made out of jewels. He'd bought it for his wife. Did he give that to you?" asked McMichael.

"No. He showed it to me once."

"What did you think?" asked Hector.

"It was the most beautiful man-made thing I've ever seen."

"Where did he keep it?" asked Hector.

"I have no idea."

McMichael followed her gaze through the front window to the pier and the heaving gray-black sea. "We found five wall spaces at Pete's house, where paintings used to hang," he said. "Do you know if your paintings are the ones that used to be there?"

"Yes, they are. He was going to put up more, but never got around to it."

"Who'd you call last night from Ye Olde Plank?" asked Hector.

She looked long and hard at him, but McMichael thought he saw the fight going out of her. "Robin, a friend from school."

"How come?" asked Hector.

"You give CPR to a dead man some night, see if you don't feel like talking to someone about it. You can arrest me now or go. I need to start looking for another job."

"We'd like to take these documents with us," said McMichael.

She looked over at McMichael, then to Paz. "Try not to lose them."

Hector stood awkwardly and looked at her. "I apologize for what happened. I was wrong. But don't ever point something like that at a cop."

Hector threw open the door and headed for the car. McMichael hesitated, then pulled the door shut against the weather. "What did you pay for that firewood at Ralph's last night?"

"Four ninety-nine a bundle. Got two."

"Box boy help you out with them?"

"I carried them myself."

"Remember the checker?"

"A handsome Mexican man. Fifty."

"There's no Ralph's Market on Rosecrans in Point Loma."

She nodded but didn't look at him. "Yeah, well- Ralph's, Von's, Albertson's- something like that. I don't pay much attention to the names of markets."

"What was the cross street?"

"Talbot or Canon. Half a mile from Mr. Braga's house, maybe. It's not my neighborhood."