A Date You Can't Refuse (20 page)

“Who is he?” Felix asked finally.

“He looks a child,” Zeffie said. “No older than Parashie.”

Bronwen stowed her phone in her pocket and said, “Is he local? From this town?”

“He could be anyone,” Kimberly said. “Hikers from all over L.A. use these trails.”

“What happened to his face?” Zbiggo asked.

“He was stabbed,” Zeffie said. She spoke with authority, and if anyone found it odd that a politician's wife knew from stab wounds, they didn't comment on it.

Yuri said, “Kimberly? Did you reach someone?”

“The sheriff's station. They patched me through to the park ranger. They're coming.”

Yuri released Parashie, but kept an arm around her. “Does anyone know who he is?”

I opened my mouth to say yes, I know exactly who he is, but my hand crept upward and clamped itself around my mouth. I waited for someone else to speak up, then remembered that Crispin had been jilted by Chai. I didn't know when the breakup had happened, but it was possible Chai never introduced him around the compound. Was I really the only person who knew him?

You don't know him either
, the voice said.

This time I actually looked around, as if someone had spoken aloud.

I've never been possessed by spirits, but I had an impression of a woman considerably bigger than me, a disembodied something-or-other, saying,
Keep your knowledge to yourself. Silence is not lying. Silence protects you
.

I stayed silent. Whoever she was, this specter I'd summoned, the tough cookie, she sounded sure of herself. That was enough for me.

Yuri caught my eye.

“Wollie?” he asked. “Do you know him?”

My head, of its own volition, did a quick shake.

And that was that. I kept silent, and kept watch, right up to the moment the park ranger showed up.

T
he ranger drove a truck. We saw it coming a mile away, appearing and disappearing from view as it made its way along the winding mountain roads. I put my arms around my shoulders, hugging myself as if to keep the truth from spilling out. I would be of no use to anyone, least of all Crispin, if I didn't keep it together. Well, presumably Crispin didn't care whether I kept it together or not. Unless his soul was hovering around. Fredreeq believes that souls hover, on their way to the Other Side. I looked up. A huge brown hawk flew overhead, so large that, just for an instant, it blocked out the sun. Maybe that was Crispin. It did have an omen-ish quality. But would Crispin be a hawk? A pigeon would be more like him. A duck. A sitting duck.

The ranger arrived in a cloud of dust, bringing his sports utility vehicle to a stop close to us. He hopped out.

He hitched up his pants repeatedly as he approached the body. I had a moment of relief, embuing this man with all the powers of law and order, Man's dominance over Nature, sanity, authority, and the State of California. But he got to the body and said nothing, just kept hitching up his pants over and over. It occurred me that (a) he needed a belt and (b) he would know all about mountain lions and snakebites and the importance of staying hydrated while hiking, but was perhaps of no use
when it came to dead bodies. Humans, anyway. Probably he was at home with animal carcasses.

Yuri greeted the ranger with a handshake and shoulder clasp. “Jeff, how are you?”

Ranger Jeff grunted, then squatted, gesturing toward Crispin. “Better than him. What's the story? How'd this happen?”

“I don't know,” Yuri said. “He's not one of ours.”

“You found him here? On the trail?”

“Down the hillside, fifty yards. My dog discovered him.”

Ranger Jeff squinted up at Yuri. “Dogs aren't allowed in the state park, you know.”

“Write me a ticket. Olive Oyl saved you a search-and-rescue operation, I think.”

“No question there. Where is the dog?”

I looked around and realized that not only was Olive Oyl nowhere in sight, but the rest of the team, with the exception of Kimberly had disappeared too.

“Just around the bend, in the shade,” Yuri said. “With my daughter.”

“The heat is getting to them,” Kimberly added. “And the stress.”

“You three moved the body up to the trail yourselves?” The ranger looked at Kimberly, then at me, raising an eyebrow.

I was about to speak, but Yuri jumped in. “He wasn't heavy,” he said. “I have a few clients here too, but I'm keeping them out of the sun. They're not conditioned yet, and some are jet-lagged, just in from Europe.”

I stared at Yuri. Lying to a park ranger—a government official!—and so casually, was shocking to me.

“This a new bunch?” Ranger Jeff said, standing.

“Yes,” Kimberly chimed in. “You may have heard of them. Nadja Lubashenko, Zbigniew Shpek—”

“The heavyweight?”

“That's the one,” Yuri said. “Jeff, you have my phone number and address. If the police have any questions …”

The ranger gestured to Crispin. “Why'd you move the body?”

“I'm happy to talk to you at length,” Yuri said, “but may I send my team home?”

“What happened to his face?” Ranger Jeff asked. “One hell of a mess, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Yuri said. “Look, my daughter is very upset. I'll have a case of heat exhaustion on my hands if I don't get her out of here.”

Ranger Jeff hitched up his pants some more. “I don't know that anyone should leave, seeing how this is a crime scene.”

“Crime scene?” The words popped out of me. “Was he—killed? The dead man? Are you sure? I mean, of course he was killed, he's dead, but was he … you know, murdered?” My voice sounded loud and unnatural.

Ranger Jeff looked at me, then squatted again, peering at Crispin's face. “Never saw an animal do this kind of thing. Wonder how long he's been dead?”

“I'd say a day or so,” Yuri said. “Overnight, maybe.”

Ranger Jeff looked up. “How would you know something like that?”

“The war,” Yuri said.

What war? I wondered.

“Infantry?” the ranger asked.

“Medic,” Yuri said.

“Well, you've seen your share of dead. Yeah, send your people home. Except your girl. She's the one who found him?”

“It's my girl I'm worried about. She will talk to the police later today, anytime they like, and meanwhile, I will stay. I can show you where we found the body. You can see the path we took.” Yuri pointed to where the earth had been matted and trampled.

“Yeah, you shouldn't have moved the body,” Ranger Jeff said. “How come you did that, by the way?”

“I was acting on instinct, wanting to get him up to the road, away from the wild. I wasn't thinking in terms of foul play”

Why was Yuri claiming he'd done this? Did he really need to protect everyone? Foreigners, after all, could hardly be expected to know local crime scene laws. Unless they watched a lot of American TV.

Ranger Jeff stood. “I tell you what, I don't know that the sheriff's going to like that much. I don't know that I should be releasing witnesses either.”

“We're not witnesses,” Yuri said, “to anything but our dog discovering
this poor man. Let my team go and I promise, they'll all be available for questioning, if it's found to be necessary. The sheriff's department knows where I live. Carol and Lee Baca have been to my house for dinner. I am happy to put in a call to Lee, if you like.”

I wasn't sure who Carol and Lee Baca were, or if in fact they'd been over for dinner, but this carried some weight with Ranger Jeff. Within minutes, all of us but Yuri were going down the mountainside, heading for home.

Kimberly kept us going at a good pace. Fortunately, it was downhill, so Bronwen and I were able to keep up, planted in the middle of the bunch, which was now in a much tighter hiking formation. Conversation was sporadic and mostly in Russian. Kimberly didn't complain, so I assumed that discovering Crispin's corpse had bonded us sufficiently for the English-only rule to be suspended.

I walked alongside Bronwen until we reached a narrow stretch and then I moved ahead. At one point I stumbled, crashing to one knee before my hands reached out to break my fall. Bronwen, behind me, called out, and Stasik, ahead, was suddenly at my side, hauling me to my feet with surprising gentleness.

“I'm okay,” I said, touched by the communal concern, and continued on the path. Moments later I looked down to see blood soaking through my camouflage pants and staining the sock peeking out of my hiking boot. I started to cry. I didn't know why; I wasn't in pain. I tried to suppress my tears, but that made it worse, like trying not to laugh at a funeral, but eventually I got myself under control, relieved that no one had noticed, as we were now starting to spread out. It was a stoic group, except for Parashie, and I was determined to suck it up and fit in. I reached in my pocket for a Kleenex and found, instead, my cell phone.

I turned it on and it sprang to life, pulsing with messages. The first was from my brother. “Wollie,” P.B. said. “I need you to buy me
Super-strings and the Search for the Theory of Everything
. And where are you? When are you coming? These people here are bugging me. Mrs. Winterbottom is a witch. Not the good kind.”

I considered calling him, longing for familial contact. P.B. wasn't known for his sensitivity, but he could be helpful in times of stress. But while my brother was a man of few words, Mrs. Winterbottom was a woman of hundreds, even thousands of words, and none of them were the sort I'd want to hear right now, and chances were, she'd answer.

The next message was from Uncle Theo, wanting to know when we'd be visiting P.B.

The next message was from Simon.

“I'm frustrated,” he said, “about the accessibility issue, the lack of immediate feedback, and the manner in which we concluded our last call. For a variety of reasons, but most are summarized on invoice 27WSGN388. Call me.”

There was now a new lump in my throat. Other couples have pet names; Simon and I had invoice 27WSGN388. The numbers meant nothing. The letters stood for “We Should Get Naked.”

It took a lot not to call Simon, if only to listen to his outgoing message. But if I heard it I'd be weeping all over the trail, and I couldn't tell him even a fraction of what was going on anyway. I hit “save” and went on to message number four.

“Wollie,” Joey said. “I've been talking to Fredreeq about that model who's gone to that great catwalk in the sky. We have an idea about that. I also found out stuff about your new colleagues. And your middle-of-the-night Romeo. Call me.”

Could I? Bronwen was far enough behind to be out of earshot, but Felix was in front of me, Stasik having jumped ahead of him. He was holding up well, especially for a self-described Formerly Fat Person. There was a spring in his step. I'd have thought that someone so religious might be more subdued in the face of death, but maybe the opposite was true. Maybe Felix was happy that Crispin was now with Jesus. I would ask him, when the moment was right, how that all worked. Maybe I could pray my way out of the guilt I felt.

I slowed my pace, putting distance between Felix and me, and hit the “return this call” key. Joey answered.

“Joey,” I whispered, “the middle-of-the-night Romeo is lying dead on the trail in the Santa Monica Mountains.”

“No!” she yelled.

“Yes!” I hissed.

“What happened?”

“I don't know. The dog found him. No one but me seems to know who he is and I feel so responsible for his death and when the cops show up and start questioning us—”

“Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Say nothing. Tell no one.”

I glanced behind me. Bronwen was on her own phone, oblivious to me. “But that's withholding evidence, isn't it? And also, I'd feel better if—I feel so guilty that—”

“Wollie,” Joey said. “You're undercover. You don't have the luxury of confession. Five'll get you ten that the cops don't know about the FBI investigation, and you shouldn't be the one to break it to them.”

“But what am I supposed to—”

“Take off if you see them. Is there a back way out of this commune you're living in?”

“Not really. It's a gated community. I suppose I could escape on foot and just hide out here. In the canyon. With, you know, the mountain lions.”

“Better them than the cops. Until you talk to your fed.”

“Simon?”

“No, your other fed. The one I'm not supposed to know about.”

“You're not supposed to know about Simon either,” I whispered. “Joey, I don't want to do this anymore. I'm scared.”

“Of course you are; you'd be nuts if you weren't. But your best bet is to stay on the job and keep quiet. If you leave MediasRex or come clean with the cops, either one, you might need the witness protection program.”

“What?!” I squeaked. Felix, ahead of me on the path, turned. I shook my head at him, giving an “oh, never mind me” wave, until he resumed walking.

“I'm only saying,” Joey said, “that you can't just quit. You're a spy. You have to come in from the cold. That's a different thing.”

Her words shocked me. If she was right, I was trapped. “How do I do that?” I asked.

“Talk to your handler. Meanwhile, there are three basic skills in intelligence work: improvise, adapt, and overcome. You can do the first two easily. The last one—well, in a pinch, walk with your right hand in your purse. People will think you have a gun.”

“Really? I'd never think that.”

“Not you. Gun people.”

“What if I don't have a purse with me?”

“Always carry a purse. A pocket works too, but it's more subtle. Remember: improvise, adapt, overcome. Hand in purse, team player, contact your handler. And keep inhabiting that character you've constructed. Better give her some superpowers.”

I hung up and dialed the number I knew by heart, the number for Yogi Yogurt. I gave my name and asked for a quart of Very Vanilla. The voice on the other end told me to drop by at ten o'clock that night to pick it up. “Can you wait that long?” he asked.

Seven hours. “If I must,” I said.

Anyone could keep it together for seven hours, right?

I
had no appetite for dinner that night, even though others, notably Zbiggo, packed away food like a bear going into hibernation. Grusha grunted approval at him as she cleared plates between courses. At me, she merely grunted.