Gray Area (20 page)

Diamond nodded.  “And then some.  Why didn’t you tell me about
her?”

She shrugged.  “Why should I have?”

Diamond frowned.  More game playing.  More lawyering. 

“She doesn’t live with me,” Linda offered, as if sensing his irritation
and impatience.  “I keep her with people that can give her what I can’t.”

“And what’s that?”

“Friends.  Family.  Happiness,” she said.  “Time.”

“She could have all this, too, if her mother wanted it badly enough,”
Diamond said.

“This from the perfect father,” Linda said neutrally.

Diamond winced at this.  The lady knew how to hurt, this much was
sure as shiny silver.

“Time … is what I don’t have enough of at the moment,” Linda said
quickly.  She sipped her coffee again and Diamond suspected this was
offered as a gesture that indicated little interest in being
argumentative.  Diamond wasn’t taking the bait.

“Don Simpson is dead,” Diamond said flatly.

Linda looked at him with an expression of complete stoniness.  “What
happened?”

Not surprised, but at least curious.  Maybe she didn’t do it after
all.  But she knew who did. 

Diamond pushed on.  “They say he killed himself last night. 
Robert August is dead.  They say he was involved with drug dealers. 
And my brother has taken me off the case.  Officially my investigation is
finished.”

Linda watched him, sipping her coffee.

“So,” she said at last.  “That’s that.”

“Why did you want me to talk to Robert August?  What could he have
told me?” Diamond pressured.

Linda sighed and put her coffee cup on the table.  She closed her
eyes and tilted her face up to the sun.  “It doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to me,” Diamond said, not losing a beat.

Linda opened her eyes and gazed at him frankly—or as frankly as Linda
Baylor could gaze at anyone, he suspected.

“There are some things in life, Lou, that we have no control over. 
They say you can’t pick family but you can pick your friends.  The same
can be said for enemies.”

Where was she going with this, Diamond wondered.

“Sometimes, your enemies … well, they pick you.  And because of
that, we sometimes do things, or become part of things, that we would never in
a million years have thought of doing or becoming.”

“There is always the wonderful constant called choice,” Diamond pointed
out.

“Choice!” Linda laughed suddenly, and the laugh bothered Diamond, even
more than the fencing he was just now getting accustomed to.  “Sometimes
the choices we make are made to survive or protect those we love. 
Remember the language of the law?  That wonderful phrase we use to
describe ambiguity?”

Nothing leapt to mind for him.  “Tell me, Linda.  What is that
wonderful phrase that I should be familiar with?”

“It’s called the gray area,” she said.  “You, me, Marshall. 
Your case.  A lot of gray, all of it.  Walk away now, Lou.  And
it will always stay gray.”

Diamond smiled in spite of himself.  “That sounds like the long
version of my looks-like-shit philosophy.”

Linda didn’t return the smile.  Her expression was clearly one of
sadness and again, Diamond felt the hair on his neck prickle.  The sky was
sunny but it felt more gray than ever before.  And cold.

“Hate to take back an invite, but we’ll have to do the boat another
time,” she said softly.

Diamond leaned in to her, seeing that she was about to stand.  “Was
it my brother, Linda?”

Linda reclined easily back in her chair.  He moved closer to
her.  “Was it?”

She suddenly kissed him.  Once.  Then again, the last time
luxuriously.  Diamond knew he could get lost in that mouth, and pulled
away.  “Tell me the truth, Linda.  For once.”

There were tears in her eyes.  Real tears.  “It’s over,
Lou.  Let it die.”

He kissed her this time, deeply.  When he spoke, it was with genuine
sadness.  He knew somehow, and he suspected so did Linda, that this was
not going to end well.  No, not at all.

“Let it die,” he repeated through a whistle.  “I wish I could.”

His cell phone began to ring and he snapped it out of his jacket.

“Diamond,” he said, glaring at Linda.  She wiped a tear from her eye
and reached for her coffee.

“Lou, it’s me,” Turner said, urgency in his voice.  “Where are you?”

“Never mind,” Diamond said.  “What’s up?”
   “Hold on to your short hairs, good buddy. I’ve just dug up some
golden shitballs for you and they stink of Arc-Link Industries.”

“Go on,” Diamond said, his anger dissipating.

“No fucking wonder Arc-Link is unlisted.  It’s a weapons contracting
company linked to the DOD.  That’s Department of Defense to you and
me.  A classified installation in the biggest friggin’ sense of the word.”

Patsy was waving at him again and Diamond managed to give a half-hearted
response, which was enough to make the little girl laugh.

“How did you get this info, Turner?” he asked.

“That Seal buddy down in Coronado,” Turner said.  “He works out of
the Special Warfare Center.  Did some digging for me.  Guess who
Arc-Link’s legal reps are?”

“No idea,” Diamond smiled wearily.

“Yeah, eat me.  Not only that, take a breath.  You’re going to
hate this next part,” Turner said evenly.

Diamond listened, staring at Linda. 

He turned away from her, away from the sun.

He listened.  And winced at what he heard.

“My buddy down in Coronado had some great advice for you,” Turner
finished up slowly.

“What was that?” Diamond asked, the energy and life drained out of his
voice.

“Run, don’t walk away from this one.  Now.  Your brother’s law
firm is neck-deep in shit you don’t even want to know about.  I’ve got a
file with me as long as my dick.”

Diamond nodded.  “Turner,” he said softly.

But Turner was way ahead of him.  “Yeah, I know.  I’ve already
pulled our favorite gag.  Just in case.  Either way, you get this file.”

“Thanks,” Diamond said.

“Any way I can talk you out of going forward on this?” Turner asked
hopefully.

“Too late for that, pal,” Diamond said.  “Meet me at the Denny’s on
PCH in an hour.”

There was a moment of silence on the phone before Turner sighed audibly
through the earpiece.  “Watch your ass, Lou.  This could turn
butt-ugly.”

“Yeah,” Diamond smiled without amusement.  “And it will.  Take
care.”

He hung up the phone and stared out at the Pacific Ocean, eternally blue,
the horizon of white and gray meeting the edge of the world. 

“What is it?” he heard Linda from someplace far away.  He turned to
look at her, the new information burning into his mind and heart like a dull
knife slowly twisting.

“Everything,” he said without inflection.  “I’ve got to go.”

She reached for his hand, a gesture that surprised him.  It was a
gentle squeeze she gave him, yet the expression on her face did not match her
grip.  For the first time since he had met her, Diamond recognized fear in
her eyes.

“Promise me something,” she said softly.

He wanted to say something cruel, to castigate her for her involvement
with his brother, the firm, everything.  But those words did not come
forth.  He surprised himself when he reached out and touched her
face.  Gently, wiping away a tear that seemed to have materialized as if
by magic.

“If I can,” he said.

“If—if anything ever happened to me,” she said carefully,
deliberately.  “Promise me you’d look out for Patsy.”

“Linda—”

“I know it’s a helluva thing to ask,” she said, nodding, recognizing the
enormity of the request.  “I know it’s silly.  I don’t even know why
I asked it.  Just say yes.”

He hesitated.

“Humor me,” she urged.  Another squeeze, another tear. 

He relented.  “Sure.” 

It seemed to mollify her and her mood changed instantly.  Her eyes
flashed with something of the same old mischievousness he’d come to know and
endure so well.  “I know you wanted to spend time with your daughter
today, but I’ve got a great idea.”

“What is that?” Diamond asked.  He looked at his watch, realizing
that time was slipping away from him.

“Bring your little girl here.  I’ll make dinner.  We could play
family.  Imagine.”

Diamond almost smiled at that.  He looked out to the beach and
watched as Patsy continued to play Dodge and Splash with the agreeable surf
licking lazily at her heels.

“I’ll call you,” he said.  “Let you know later.”

He squeezed her hand and then turned to leave.

“Is it over, Lou?” she asked, and Diamond knew what she meant.

“Almost, Linda,” he said.  “Believe me.”

Her eyes told him that she did.  Sadly.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Giles reached for his ringing cell phone, his attention immersed in Lou
Diamond’s file.  It had been a good read and he hoped that when the final
showdown transpired he could at least tell the man how much he admired him …
before, of course, he killed him.

“Yes, Charles,” Giles said, glancing at the caller ID.

“The problems continue to compound vis-à-vis your first target, Preston,”
LeMay jumped to the chase.

“How so?”

“A friend of his has done some snooping.  Our network has
assimilated the necessary information.  This is escalating.  You must
understand the need for all of this to disappear, and quickly.”

“I understand,” Giles said.

“The target is a fellow called Turner Sage.  He and Diamond must
depart for friendlier climes, and soon.  We believe that once these two
items have been liquidated, all will again be right with the world,” LeMay
said, sounding just a bit weary.

“There’s a significant dollar amount attached to this extra bit of
helping out,” Giles said.  “I didn’t mind August, that was a family favor,
but—”

“We quite understand,” LeMay said.  “The additional million has
already been deposited, in anticipation of your need for an extra bit of
Christmas cheer.”

“How very accommodating,” Giles said.  “May I have the details on
this latest development?”

“Of course.  By the way, have you figured out how to deal with
Diamond—and when?”

“I’m cogitating on that very matter even as we speak,” Giles said. 
“Now.  That information, please?”

LeMay sighed.  Then proceeded to fill him in on one Turner Sage.

Turner felt twitchy, nervous, on edge.  Not for himself, but for
Diamond.  The information his friend, Tom Nabors, down at SWC in San Diego
was frightening in the extreme.  The murders of Robert August, Jason
Randall, that woman lawyer—all were connected to Arc-Link, and Arc-Link was
connected to the Department of Defense and foreign arms contractors.  It
all spelled trouble.  And Diamond was splat-assed in the middle of it.

Goddamn the man, Turner thought, fury and genuine affection mixing
together.

Turner’s ‘72 Ford pickup was in need of an oil change, new brakes and, by
God, a plain old carwash wouldn’t hurt either, but today was not the day to
worry about such sundries.  Today was a day to get Lou Diamond what he
needed in a hurry, so he could come to his senses and walk away from this case,
pronto.

Turner was still muttering to himself as he negotiated his car out of the
driveway and onto the main street near his house.  He didn’t notice the
huge truck that veered around the corner and took up position just fifty yards
behind him. 

Music, I need music, Turner’s mind urged.  As bad luck would have
it, however, when he flipped on the radio, a news broadcast was capping the top
of the hour.

“Representatives for the law firm of Berenson & Marelli have
confirmed the apparent suicide by Don Simpson, husband to Marianne
Simpson.  Ms. Simpson was a high profile attorney whose body was found
alongside her colleague, Jason Randall, several nights ago in that firm’s
prestigious offices.  Mr. Simpson had been taken into custody and was
recuperating from wounds suffered in a gun-battle with police outside of home
the morning after his wife’s body was—”

“All bullshit,” Turner muttered to himself.  “Cover up, grade A
bullshit.”

He punched the accelerator.

The impact of metal on metal caused Turner’s pickup to lurch
forward.  He turned his head around to see the offending truck speed up and
prepare to ram him again.

“You cocksucker!” he yelled.  “What the hell do you think you’re—”

He then saw the two occupants of the truck.  Both wore suits. 
Both were clearly not truckers.

“Oh, shit,” Turner said.

He continued to depress the accelerator.  “Come on, damn you, move!”
he coaxed his Ford.  “Move!”

The truck slammed into his tailgate again.  Turner fought to keep
his pickup from fishtailing, but it was a futile attempt given the force of the
impact. 

The highway turned to water as Turner’s eyes widened in fury.  He
was suddenly staring at sky and then the sheer cliff of the ravine off the side
of the road.  He took his hands off the wheel, an instinctive gesture, as
the ground raced toward him. 

Preston Giles stepped out from behind the driver’s seat of the
truck.  He walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. 

Oopsy daisy
, he thought. 
That’s what happens when you
stick your nose where it shouldn’t be stuck
.

He did not dwell on his handiwork for more than a second.  He got
back behind the wheel and angled the vehicle back onto the road, driving off
into the horizon.

When Turner opened his eyes, he was no longer in his truck.  The sky
seemed to spin above him.  He knew he was dying even before he felt the
pain, which was oddly minimal.

A man can feel when death is near
.  The words came to him
from something he had read a long time ago in a book or short story.  He
couldn’t recall where or when, not that it mattered.  His breathing was
short, labored.  Sounds were distorted.  He saw Lou Diamond move down
the hill, tripping, falling once.  Behind him were paramedics, police
officers, ambulance personnel.  No doubt, all coming to see him.