The Plot (14 page)

"I don't know. I think someone must've hired ‘im to do it,” Philip answered, sounding miserable. “But whatever the reason, he's lookin’ for me by now."

"Who was it they found dead in your car?"

"I don't know for sure. Do you remember Rei Takazawa, my friend from high school? I brought ‘im over with me a couple of times when Pop wanted me to help out around here."

Cassie nodded, remembering the name, not the face.

"He's the one who introduced me to Ernie. He'd gotten into drugs pretty heavy after graduation. Anyhow, he called me the night after Mr. Hart died and said he was bringing my car back to me, ‘cause Ernie was done with it and wanted it outta his yard. Pop had asked me to go fishin’ with him. He was pretty upset about your dad's death, ya know, and just wanted to get away for a couple o’ days to kinda sort things out. Well, anyhow, I told Rei to drive the car up to the lake. Then, your friend showed up at the cabin and told Pop they'd found my car in the water with a dead oriental guy in it. Pop didn't let on that I was in the next room."

"What are you doing
here
?"

He turned to face her, leaning forward a little. “
Mama-san
said it was the only place I'd be safe."

"Who in God's name is
'mama-san'
?” She almost spat the word back at him. “Your mother's been dead for two years, in case you've forgotten."

He jerked backward like she'd slapped him. “No, Miss Cassie,” he responded at last. He sounded solemn. “I haven't forgotten. But I have another mother, you know. I was adopted. Remember?"

"You still haven't answered my question."

"You didn't know that May Lee is my birth mother?"

Cassie's mind reeled. May Lee had always treated Philip like a naughty child. “No. I didn't."

"She told me after Mom died. She said she couldn't stand by and watch me grieve like I was and thought it would help if I knew I still had a mother to turn to."

So that's why May Lee fainted yesterday. And that's what she was telling Max.
“And she wants me to take care of you?"

"Yes. She said that no one would look for me
here
, and what with her working here and all, she would be in a position to help me ...
if
you'd agree."

The sound of traffic passing in the distance mingled with the rattle of locusts and the stirring of the leaves on the rose bushes against the porch. The same sounds, the same sights that had always been there seemed to mock her now, and Cassie wished she could just crawl into bed and cover her face with a blanket until all the monsters disappeared.

At last, she spoke and heard him catch his breath at her words. “Would you be willing to tell this story to the police?"

"They think I killed your father."

"It's the only way you can convince
me
that you
didn't
,” Cassie responded, not warmly.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, turning his face toward the roof overhead. It was the same gesture he'd used as a boy when he had to choose between doing what was right and doing what was easy. More often than not, he did what was easy.

"Philip?"

He lowered his head and began rocking slowly back and forth. The rocker made a hollow thump-thump, thump-thump sound against the wooden planks. It reminded Cassie of a heartbeat, and she shivered.

"Okay,” he whispered.

"Okay? You'll tell the police about Ernie?"

The heartbeat quieted as Philip stopped rocking and looked straight at her.

"Yes. I'll tell them. If that's what it'll take to convince
you
, I'll ... Oh, my God—"

He froze in mid-sentence, and Cassie spun around to see a pickup truck speeding up the driveway, trapping them in the glare of the oncoming headlights.

Max slammed on the brakes, threw the gearshift into park, and grabbed his pistol as he jumped out, leaving the headlights shining on the pair seated on the porch.

"Police! Hold it!” he ordered, aiming at the motionless man beside Cassie. “Put your hands on top of your head where I can see them!"

"Max, wait!” Cassie cried as Philip obeyed. “It's okay.
I'm
okay."

"Mr. Sinclair, stand up and move away from Miss Hart
slowly
. Keep your hands on your head.” He wasn't quite shouting, but his voice seemed to thunder in the silence around him. He kept his sights trained on the young man, who trembled violently as he descended the steps.

"Lie face down,” he ordered. “
Now.
"

With Philip on the grass in front of the pickup truck, hands flat against the back of his head, Max made his way toward him, put his knee against the young man's back, and handcuffed first his right hand, then his left. Patting him down, he pulled a slim knife from its hiding place in Philip's sock, then stood and pulled him to his feet. Only then did Max acknowledge Cassie.

"Cassie? Are you okay?” he asked, stepping away from Philip and glancing toward her. She stood wide-eyed at the edge of the porch.

"Oh, Max! I'm fine. Philip hasn't threatened me. For God's sake. Take those handcuffs off him,” she begged, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Max looked at the knife he'd taken from Philip and shook his head. “Not in
this
life, Cassie. I'm sorry. This man is dangerous. We have a rap sheet on him as long as your arm."

"For what?” Philip finally found his voice. “Misdemeanor possession of drugs and drug paraphernalia? Passing worthless checks? Man, I'm about as dangerous as a mouse."

"That's not what
I
read,” Max answered, pulling a computer print-out from his pocket. “My information is that Phillip J. Sinclair has done time for armed robbery, attempted rape, possession of a firearm..."

"Well, Phillip
J
. Sinclair may have done all those things,” Cassie said, striding to where Max stood between herself and the smaller man. Grabbing the print-out, she read it closely. “For your information, Max Henshaw,
this
is Philip
B.
Sinclair. Philip with
one
‘l,’ by the way.” She glared at him as she thrust the paper back into his hand. “Now, for heaven's sake, take those handcuffs off him."

Max looked at the driver's license inside the wallet he took from Philip's pocket. Cassie was right, but he was still unconvinced. Philip's car had become a murder weapon, had been ditched, and a man was found shot to death inside it. Plus, he was carrying a more-than-unpleasant looking knife. “You may be right, Cassie, but there's still the small matter of killing your father. Not to mention carrying a concealed weapon.” He looked at her sternly.

"Oh, Max. Dammit,” she retorted as Philip sank to the ground and began sobbing so hard his shoulders quaked. “Philip didn't do it. If he had killed Daddy, do you honestly think he'd come
here
of all places?"

"Maybe. Any port in a storm,” he replied, watching her bend over and try to comfort the crying man.

Cassie looked up at him, modulating her voice as she spoke. “He didn't threaten me. He simply came here because he wanted my help. And he has agreed to tell you the whole story. Max,
please
. I've known Philip since he was a little boy. Please. Calm down and at least let him talk."

Max pursed his lips and thought a minute. He was still upset at the sight of Cassie and Sinclair on the porch. So many thoughts had raced through his mind. But, if he was wrong, well, it couldn't hurt to listen. Even if he did end up taking him to the precinct ... and jail. “Okay, I'll listen. But don't try to con me, Sinclair."

Cassie helped Philip to his feet, but Max edged her out of the way and pushed him up the stairs onto the porch. She followed and stood beside Philip as he told his story a second time.

Max studied the young man closely during his explanation. His voice didn't waver, except when he spoke of the threat against his father and his friend's death. He looked straight into Max's eyes, glancing away only once-when he talked about Max's visit to the fish camp. That was the one part that didn't sit right.

"If you're innocent, why did you run? Why didn't you just come out of the bedroom and face me instead of forcing your father to cover up for you?"

"I thought you might be one of Ernie's buddies. Then, when I heard you say that I was under suspicion for killing Mr. Hart, well, I panicked."

"Why were you carrying a knife?"

"Officer, those guys have
guns
, ya know? They killed Rei. I've gotta try an’ protect myself
somehow
. It isn't much, but it's better than nothin'."

Max looked at Cassie then back at Philip. During his ten years in law enforcement, he'd seen a whole lot of ugly and, unlike Cassie, he had trouble believing what he'd just heard. Yet, Cassie knew the man. “Do you believe him? I mean,
really
believe him?” he asked her.

"I didn't at first. I must admit, I figured he was just looking for a way out.
Any
way out,” she replied, looking at Philip apologetically. “But he kept his promise and told you the whole story."

"But would he have told me if I hadn't shown up when I did? Tell you what, Cassie,” he said, unlocking the handcuff on the man's left wrist to handcuff his hands in front instead of behind him. “I've had a long drive, and you look like you just got home, too.” He gestured toward her dress and high-heeled shoes. “Let's go in, put on a pot of coffee, and see if we can sort this whole thing out. And turn those headlights off for me, will you?” Without waiting for her answer, he took Philip by the arm and guided him into the house.

Max sat across from Philip at the kitchen table, observing him as closely as a cat watching its prey. He looked just like the photograph Jonathon had reluctantly given him-small, no more than five-and-a-half feet tall, with delicate bones, narrow shoulders, and a scar on his chin. His dark, almond-shaped eyes were red and swollen from crying-and lack of sleep, he guessed. Grass stains smudged the front of his white T-Shirt. With his hands shackled and his shoulders hunched inward upon themselves, he looked even smaller than he normally would have, and Max felt a brief pang of guilt.
This guy really does look about as threatening as a mouse. But, then, most of them do once they're caught
.

As Cassie poured coffee into each of their cups, Max obliged Philip's request for cream and sugar, stirring it into the coffee himself, then leaned back against the chair and took a sip from his own mug.

"Can't you take those handcuffs off him? He's not going to hurt anyone or try to run away,” she said when Philip tried awkwardly to raise the cup to his mouth.

Max frowned as he considered what she said, then pulled the keys from his pocket, dangling them in the air. “Is she right, Sinclair? You here to stay? Gonna behave like a good little boy?"

Philip nodded, spilling a little of the coffee when he set the cup down and held his hands out. “Yes, sir. I don't have anywhere to go, and Miss Cassie is like my own sister."

Max undid the clasps. “We'll see, won't we?” he said, looking hard at his prisoner. “Now, tell me who ‘Ernie’ is, where he hangs out, what he looks like."

"Well,” Philip responded, looking away toward Cassie. “He's a dealer-sells it all, coke, ecstasy, acid-anything you want, he's got. I think he must have a regular job, though, because he's kinda hard to find. I always met ‘im near the Vietnam War Memorial."

"White, black, what?"

"White. Dark hair. He's a big guy, more than six feet tall, I'd guess about two hundred, forty pounds, give or take a little. Has a skull-and-crossbones tattooed on his left upper arm.” Philip turned to face him, an earnest look in his eyes. “He's dangerous. Has a bad temper. Saw him beat up a hooker once, just for approaching one of his customers during a deal. Left her in pretty bad shape."

Max looked across at Cassie, who hadn't touched her coffee, then back at Philip. “What did you do when that happened?"

He looked down, embarrassed. “Nothin'. What could I do? He's a lot bigger than me. I just left. Decided I didn't need to get stoned
that
bad."

"You said that May Lee told you to come here tonight. When did you see her?"

"I called her from the marina right after you and Pop drove away. I couldn't go to her house, ‘cause her husband doesn't know about me."

"There's no car out front. Your father's truck was still at the cabin when we got back. How did you get here? Walk?” Sarcasm joined the suspicion in his tone.

"Hitchhiked. Got lucky. Curley was just closing up and drove me as far as the main highway. Trucker brought me almost all the way here."

"Cassie, call May Lee."

She walked to the counter and dialed the number, carrying the phone back with her to the table. “Mr. Chang? This is Cassandra Hart. I wonder if May Lee is available?” She looked first at Philip then at Max while she waited. “May Lee? Hi. I'm sorry to disturb you, but something has come up. Remember Investigator Henshaw? Well, he needs to talk to you. Hold on."

Max took the telephone from her and, with his eyes focused firmly on Philip's face, spoke into the receiver. “May Lee?” He paused, listening. “Yes, fine thank you. I need to ask you some questions.” He waited for her response, then went on. “I have Philip here with me. Can you tell me the last time you spoke to him? I see. Can you tell me what he said?” He listened in silence to her reply. “Well, this is important, May Lee. Maybe you could go into the other room to talk. Yes, I'll hold on.” He heard her tell her husband that Cassie was calling about some private family business. Her husband's voice faded in the background as he said something angrily in Chinese.

"Yes, May Lee, I'm here. Sorry if your husband is irritated. Yes, well I'm sure he'll get over it. We always do, ya know.” Max smiled a little at the image of the family tiff he'd caused. “So, please tell me what Philip said when he called you ... Where did he say he was calling from? Mm, hmm. And what did you tell him? Okay. Yes. No. Don't worry. We'll be back in touch.” Max handed the telephone back to Cassie and turned to Philip. “She corroborated your story. So, we know that, at least,
part
of what you say is true."