Authors: Michael Robotham
Valdez parks outside the Texas Children’s Hospital and flashes his badge at the medical receptionist, asking to see Bernadette Palmer. Fingers tap on computer keys. Phone calls are made. Valdez gazes across the main foyer and remembers how many times he and Sandy walked through this place. They spent seven years trying to have a baby, visiting the Family Fertility Centre, going through the regimen of injections, egg harvesting and conception in a test tube. He grew to hate hospitals. He grew to hate other people’s children. He grew to hate the monthly cry of anguish he heard when Sandy’s period came in.
The receptionist hands him a visitor’s badge and directs him upstairs. She tells him to have a nice day, as though he might otherwise have forgotten.
Bernadette Palmer is on a break. Valdez finds her in the hospital’s deli café on the sixteenth floor of the west tower. She doesn’t look like her brother. She’s tall and big-boned with a round face and strands of grey hair pulling out of her bun.
‘Do you know why I’m here?’ he asks.
‘I already talked to the police.’
‘Has your brother been in touch with you?’
Her eyes play hooky, going everywhere except his face.
‘You know it’s a criminal offence to help a fugitive?’ he says.
‘Audie served his time.’
‘He escaped from custody.’
‘By one lousy day – can’t you just leave him alone?’
Valdez pulls up a chair and takes a moment to admire the view. It’s not particularly beautiful, but he doesn’t often get to see the city from this angle. From high up it looks less haphazard and he can see the general design – the small streets feeding into larger ones and the landscape divided into neat blocks. It’s a shame that we can’t see everything in life from above, to get our bearings and put things into perspective.
‘How many brothers do you have?’ he asks.
‘You know how many.’
‘One is a cop killer and the other a regular killer – must make you proud.’
Bernadette pauses and puts down her sandwich, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. Folding it carefully.
‘Audie isn’t like Carl.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘You can eat from the same pot of chilli and still be different.’
‘When did you last hear from Audie?’
‘I can’t remember.’
He gives her a long-lipped Coyote smile. ‘That’s strange. I showed your supervisor a photograph. She said somebody who looked just like your brother came to see you this morning.’
Bernadette doesn’t reply.
‘What did he want?’
‘Money.’
‘Did you give him any?’
‘I don’t have any.’
‘Where is he staying?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘I could arrest you.’
‘Go ahead, Sheriff.’ She holds out her hands. ‘Better cuff me. I might be dangerous. Oh, no, that’s right – you prefer to shoot people.’
Valdez doesn’t rise to the bait but would love to wipe that smile off her face with the back of his hand.
Bernadette folds the wax paper around her sandwich and dumps it into the trash. ‘I’m going back to my ward. Sick kids need looking after.’
Valdez’s phone is ringing. He looks at the lit screen.
‘Sheriff?’
‘Yeah.’
‘This is the Houston Dispatch Centre. You wanted to know if Audie Palmer’s name came up. An hour ago one of our operators took a call from a woman who wanted to know if a reward had been posted on Palmer. She didn’t give her name.’
‘Where was she calling from?’
‘She didn’t say.’
‘What about a number?’
‘She used a cell phone. We triangulated the signal and traced it to a motel on Airline Drive, just off the North Freeway. I was going to call the FBI.’
‘I’ll do it,’ says Valdez.
The girls are watching music videos and dancing on the beds. Once lithe and bold, Cassie now has the making of a muffin top above the waistband of her jeans, but she knows how to move, holding her arms in the air and bumping hips with Scarlett.
‘Have I missed the party?’ asks Audie.
‘Show us what you got,’ replies Cassie.
Audie puts on his best moves, singing along to Justin Timberlake, but it’s been so long since he danced that he comes across as gangly and uncoordinated. Both girls finish up collapsing with laughter.
Audie stops.
‘Don’t get self-conscious, keep going,’ says Cassie.
‘Yeah,’ says Scarlett, who is mimicking his dance moves.
‘I’m glad I could keep you entertained,’ says Audie, falling backwards onto the bed. Scarlett jumps on top of him. He tickles her until she snorts. Then she shows him her latest drawings, propping her scrawny knees on the mattress beside him, rolling a putty-coloured ball of gum around her mouth.
‘Let me guess … that’s a princess.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘And that’s a horse?’
‘No, it’th a unicorn.’
‘Of course it is. And who’s that?’
‘You.’
‘Really? What am I?’
‘You’re the printh.’
Audie grins and sneaks a look at Cassie, who is pretending not to be listening. Scarlett’s inner world seems to be populated by princesses, princes, castles and happy-ever-after endings. It’s as though she’s trying to wish another life into being.
Cassie is standing with her back against the closed curtains and her arms folded. Audie looks up at her. ‘I didn’t think you’d still be here.’
‘We’re leaving tomorrow.’
There is a long pause. ‘Maybe you should think about going home.’
Cassie lowers her gaze. ‘We’re not welcome.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Daddy told me so.’
‘And when was that?’
‘Six years ago.’
‘Man can change his mind a dozen times in six years. Does he have a temper?’
She nods.
‘Has he ever hit you?’
Her eyes flash. ‘He wouldn’t dare.’
‘Has he ever met Scarlett?’
‘He came to the hospital but I wouldn’t let him see her – not after the way he talked to me.’
‘You sound a bit like him.’
A muscle twitches down the side of her jaw. ‘I’m
nothing
like him.’
‘You’re quick to anger, obdurate, argumentative, intransigent.’
‘I don’t know what half them words mean.’
‘You don’t back down.’
She shrugs.
‘Why not call him? Take the high ground. See what happens.’
‘Maybe you should mind your own business.’
Audie leans across the bed and picks up Cassie’s cell phone. She tries to snatch it back.
‘I’ll call him.’
‘No!’
‘I’ll tell him you and Scarlett are okay.’ He’s holding the phone out of her reach. ‘One phone call – what’s the harm in that?’
She looks frightened, desperate. ‘What if he hangs up?’
‘It’ll be his loss, not yours.’
Cassie sits on the edge of the bed, hands squeezed between her knees, skin pale. Sensing something important is happening, Scarlett crawls up next to her, resting her head on her shoulder.
Audie makes the call. The man on the end of the line answers gruffly, as though dragged away from his favourite TV show.
‘Is that Mr Brennan?’
‘Who’s this?’
‘A friend of Cassie’s … Cassandra.’
There is a hesitation. Audie can hear Mr Brennan breathing. He glances at Cassie, whose eyes have filled with a fragile kind of hope.
‘Is she all right?’
asks the voice.
‘She’s fine.’
‘Scarlett?’
‘They’re both OK.’
‘Where?’
‘Houston.’
‘My other daughter said Cassie had gone to Florida.’
‘She didn’t make it, Mr Brennan.’
There is another long pause but Audie doesn’t let it drag out. ‘You don’t know me, sir, and you have no reason to listen to me, but I believe you’re a good man who has always tried to do his best by his family.’
‘I’m a Christian.’
‘They say time heals all wounds – even the deepest ones. Maybe you remember why you and Cassie fought. I know how disagreements can escalate. I know how frustrating it can be when you think a person is losing her way and you want to stop her making a mistake. But you and I both know that some things can’t be told or taught. Folks have to find out for themselves.’
‘What’s your name, son?’
‘Audie.’
‘Why are calling me?’
’Your daughter and granddaughter need you.’
‘She wants money.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Why hasn’t she called me, herself?’
‘She’s got a stubborn streak … in a good way. Maybe she gets that from you. She’s proud. She’s a good mother. She’s been doing this on her own.’
Mr Brennan wants to hear more. His voice has grown thick and laced with remorse. Audie continues talking and answering his questions, hearing about arguments that seem less well defined after so much time has passed. His wife had died. He worked two jobs. He didn’t give Cassie as much time as she deserved.
‘She’s here now,’ says Audie. ‘Would you like to talk to her?’
‘Yes, I would.’
‘Hold on.’
Audie looks at Cassie. Throughout the conversation she has looked hopeful, angry, scared, embarrassed, stubborn and ready to cry. Now she takes the phone, holding it in both hands as though fearful it might drop and shatter. ‘Daddy?’
A tear rolls down her cheek and hangs on the corner of her mouth. Audie takes Scarlett by the hand.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Out.’
He laces up her sneakers and leaves the room, walking down the stairs and past the swimming pool, which has tunnels of smoky blue light beneath the surface. They walk between the rows of parked cars and the palm trees, along the main road to the gas station, where he buys her a popsicle and watches her eat it from the bottom up.
‘Why’th my mom alwayth crying?’ she asks.
‘She laughs too.’
‘Not tho much.’
‘Sometimes it’s not easy being who we’re meant to be.’
‘Don’t it jutht happen?’
‘If you’re lucky.’
‘I don’t underthtand.’
‘One day you might.’
At some hour after midnight, Audie feels Cassie slip beneath the covers and press her nakedness against his. Sliding one leg across his body, she gets to her knees and straddles him, letting his whiskery chin rub against her cheek and her lips brush against his.
‘We have to be quiet.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asks.
She searches his eyes. ‘We’re going home tomorrow.’
‘I’m glad.’
Letting out a whistling breath, she lowers herself onto him, squeezing her pelvic floor muscles and making him groan.
Eleven years without a woman, but the muscle memory is there. Perhaps that’s what people mean by animals behaving instinctively, knowing what to do without ever being shown. Touching. Kissing. Moving. Sighing.
And after it’s over, she slips away, returning to the other bed. Audie sleeps and wakes, wondering if it could have been a dream.
The first time Audie made love to Belita they were in her room at Urban’s house in the mountains. Urban had gone to San Francisco on ‘family business’, which Audie thought could be a euphemism for something else. Urban said San Francisco was full of ‘fags and bumboys’, but he could be equally insulting about Democrats, academics, environmentalists, TV evangelists, vegetarians, umpires, wops, chinks, Serbs and Jews.
For two months Audie had been taking Belita on Urban’s money runs, picking up and dropping off cash. Her job was to make a note of the amount, write a receipt and take the money to the bank. Some days they had time to picnic at La Jolla Cove or Pacific Beach, drinking lemonade and eating sandwiches Belita made in the morning. Afterwards they would walk along the boardwalk past the souvenir kiosks, bars and restaurants, mingling with other pedestrians, cyclists and rollerbladers. Audie offered up information about himself, hoping she might do the same, but Belita rarely mentioned her past. Lying on a picnic blanket above La Jolla, he pushed his fingers into the air, making shadows that played across her eyelids. Then he picked wild daisies and threaded them together to form a crown that he placed upon her head.
‘Now you’re a princess.’
‘With weeds on my head?’
‘Flowers, not weeds.’
She laughed. ‘From now on they’re my favourite flower.’
Each afternoon he would drop her home, opening the car door and watching her walk up the path. She didn’t turn or wave or invite him inside. In the hours that followed he would try to remember every detail of her face, her hands, her fingers, her chipped nails and the way her earlobes seemed to beckon his lips. But he kept changing small things depending upon how he felt that day. He could make her a virgin or a princess or a mother or a whore, not hallucinations but different lovers in the same woman.
Faint-hearted as usual, Audie didn’t say anything. Afterwards, alone, he would speak his mind, eloquently, passionately, making his arguments. Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow would be the day.
Finally, one afternoon, he opened her door and before Belita could slip away, he grabbed her wrist and drew his body against hers, crushing her lips with an awkward kiss.
‘Enough!’ she said, pushing him away.
‘I love you.’
‘Don’t talk such nonsense.’
‘You’re beautiful.’
‘You’re lonely.’
‘Can I kiss you again?’
‘No.’
‘I want to be with you.’
‘You don’t know me.’
He put his arms around her. He kissed her hard and held her tight and tried to open her lips but they were pinched closed. He refused to let go and slowly he felt her body surrender and her teeth part and her head tilt back and her arms circled his neck.
‘If I let you sleep with me, will you leave me alone?’ she asked, as though terrified of what might happen if she ceded even that much territory.
‘No,’ he replied, picking her up and carrying her into the house. Stumbling into her bedroom they undressed urgently, clumsily, unbuttoning, unhooking, shaking, pulling, kicking, dancing on single feet, unwilling to let go of each other for even a moment. He bit her lip. She pulled his hair. He grabbed her wrists and held them above her head, kissing her like he wanted to steal her breath away.