Mr. Kiss and Tell (21 page)

Tahoma National Cemetery was a lush green expanse about thirty miles south of Seattle. In the distance, Mt. Rainier loomed like the ghost of a mountain, pale and wreathed in wisps of cloud.

Veronica’s taxi pulled into the parking lot twenty minutes before the service was scheduled to begin. She’d gotten the earliest flight she could out of Neptune but takeoff had been delayed, leaving her fidgety and irate during the three-hour trip.
I stayed behind on a fool’s errand,
she’d thought, staring bleakly out the window.
Why did I think I could convince Lamb to do something even remotely helpful? Why didn’t I just go with Logan? He needed me and, like always, I chose the job. I chose wrong.
At SeaTac International she’d changed in the bathroom, the black silk dress slightly wrinkled from her bag.

Now she stopped in the information center at the cemetery to get directions to the committal site, and took off walking as quickly as she could across the sprawling grounds. A harried flutter filled her chest. She’d never liked funerals. Not that any one does, of course, except maybe the mesh-and-lace-clad Oneiroi fans of the world. But even the
function
of a funeral—the “closure,” the chance to mourn—didn’t appeal to her. Perhaps it was because most of the people she’d lost had been taken from her, violently. Her strategy for honoring the dead had always been to take action—solve the mystery, punish the criminal. But what did you do when there was no one to punish? When there were no answers to find? How did you assimilate that kind of loss without losing your mind?

It took her ten minutes to find the right spot. Rows of white folding chairs were set up on a large stone patio. About a hundred people hovered around the area, many in Full Dress Blues—most of them officers, but a few enlisted seamen with their white Dixie-cup hats.

An enlarged photo of Bilbo rested on an easel. It depicted a boyish-looking Filipino man, his eyes lit by a smile. An American flag stood behind him—it was supposed to look formal, official, but Bilbo looked a split second away from laughing out loud.

Seated in front of the easel was a woman who had to be Bilbo’s wife. Veronica couldn’t see her face from where she sat, but a little boy, maybe two years old, stood in her lap, looking back at the gathered crowd with large, curious eyes. The woman’s shoulders were stiff, her head facing forward. She didn’t seem to notice anything going on around her, not even the people who leaned in to talk to her directly.

Veronica found an empty seat in the back row. Logan was a pallbearer, so she wouldn’t see him until after the service.

“How did you know Vincent?”

Veronica glanced at the woman next to her. She was in her mid-twenties, snub-nosed and pale, with a swipe of coral lipstick across a wide but thin mouth. She was fanning herself surreptitiously with her program.

“Oh, I didn’t. My boyfriend served with him on the
Truman
.”

The woman smiled. A dimple popped out in her left cheek. “Nice to meet a fellow military girlfriend. Well, I’m a military
wife
now. I’m Cathy.”

“Veronica.” They shook hands. Cathy gave a soft sigh.

“It’s just so sad, isn’t it? I only met Vince once but I’ve gotten to be real close with Allison. My husband’s currently deployed too. He’s an operations officer on the USS
Henry Pritchett
.”

They were barred from further conversation by the sound of choral music. The crowd got to its feet as the music began, turning to face the paved pathway behind them. A long white hearse had pulled up flush to the curb; behind it, six pallbearers in Full Dress Whites were silently sliding the flag-covered coffin out of the back. Veronica saw Logan among them, his face tight with emotion.

A senior officer stood beside the hearse, his spine ramrod straight. “Honor guard, ten-hut.” His voice was deep and percussive. “Present arms.”

Everyone in uniform saluted. Veronica’s eyes darted around to the civilians in the crowd, trying to get a clue to what she should be doing. Most of them had their hands on their hearts, so she followed suit.

As the pallbearers began to carry their burden forward, Veronica couldn’t help but wonder what was inside. What had been retrieved of Lieutenant Malubay after his plane had crumpled on the flight deck? Had his widow been given one last look? Had she been allowed to sit by his body, to touch his hand, his face? Or had there been nothing left to mourn?

Logan passed by so close she could have touched him. She’d never wanted to more in her life, but she kept her hand on her heart. She tried hard not to imagine an alternate universe in which it was Logan in that box.

Then the music was over, and the pallbearers placed the coffin on a long, low stand next to the smiling picture. The honor guard retreated to stand at the back as a black-robed chaplain took the podium. She closed her eyes as Logan passed her one more time. She was almost sure she caught a whiff of his aftershave, sandalwood and citrus.

“Today we gather to mourn the passing of Lieutenant Vincent Michael Malubay.” The chaplain’s voice was soft and gentle despite the powerful amplification. “A young man whose courage and conviction inspired those of us who were privileged to know him.”

Next to her, Cathy rummaged in her purse for Kleenex, her mascara already running down her face. Intermittent, breathy sobs went up from all around the crowd. At the front, Allison remained motionless.

The chaplain’s eulogy was short but eloquent and sincere. He listed Bilbo’s achievements—his medals, his commendations, his outstanding flight record. Bilbo had hoped, one day, to join the Blue Angels.

“He wanted little Anthony to see him fly,” said the chaplain, looking down at the boy in his mother’s arms.

And then they were all standing again, this time for the three-volley salute. The riflemen moved in perfect synchronicity, their shots echoing across the cemetery. Logan and one of the other pallbearers returned to the casket. They picked up the flag at either end and began to fold it as a lone bugler began to play taps.

Veronica clutched her skirt in her fists. She watched Logan’s hands moving with deliberate and solemn economy. She suddenly felt that she was seeing him more clearly than ever before, yet also at a thousand-mile remove. He knelt in front of Allison, taking her hand in his for a split second before giving her the folded flag.

Someone touched her arm. She looked up to see Cathy pointing up, and realized that everyone else was watching the sky. Four jets were moving across the clear-blue expanse, arranged in an uneven V. They flew for a minute in perfect formation, an unwavering constellation. Then, without warning, one cut sharply away from the group. The other three held their course. The fourth arced up and away, heading alone toward some other horizon.

That was the moment Allison Malubay started to wail. She threw back her head, still holding the flag, still clutching her son, and she screamed at the sky, her voice swallowed in the roar of the jets.

Afterward, Veronica stood awkwardly at the back of the crowd as the mourners quietly mingled. Logan had gone with the hearse to the gravesite. His eyes hadn’t even flitted toward her as he stood at attention, waiting for the order to march behind the hearse. It was almost surreal to see him so formal. A part of her wanted to laugh. This was, after all, the guy who’d slouched his way in and out of detentions for four years.

But a part of her felt uneasy, watching him walk stiffly and in perfect unison with the other pallbearers.

Admit it, Veronica—it freaks you out to see him take this so seriously. Freaks you out because you convinced yourself this military thing was some fanciful rich-boy goof. But it’s not. Not even close.

She spied Cathy standing with four other women. One of them had a young girl, about six, hugging her waist, and another had a baby slung across her chest in a pouch. They all carried oversized purses and wore low, sensible heels. Cathy suddenly caught sight of her and waved. Veronica approached them, feeling almost shy.

“Wasn’t that the most beautiful ceremony?” Cathy asked. “His parents wanted to do a Mass, but Allison insisted on an outdoor service. She wanted to make sure he got his flyover.” She turned to the group. “This is Veronica. Veronica, that’s April, Lucia, Anne, and Jasmine.”

They all nodded and murmured their greetings.

“I guess Allison will probably live up here full-time now, don’t you think?” Anne said.

“Well, her parents are here. They’ll be able to help her take care of Anthony.” Cathy glanced at Veronica. “Vince was stationed out of San Diego, but after Anthony was born, Allison came home to Seattle to be near her family while he was deployed. It’s hard to be on your own when you’ve got a little one.”

“Tell me about it,” said Jasmine, the woman with the baby. She bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, rocking her daughter in her arms. “My husband left just before this one was born.”

Veronica looked around the little group. All five wore similar expressions—friendly, sad, resigned. “Are you all Navy spouses?” she asked. They all nodded.

“So…how do you guys do it?” she blurted. “I mean, I barely lasted our first six months apart. How do you do this for years?”

They exchanged glances, and she suddenly felt childish. Here she was, complaining about six months apart, when a woman had just lost her husband. But she had to know: How did they deal with the fear, the visions of planes falling out of the sky, the constant dread of casualty reports? How did they say good-bye again and again?

Cathy put a hand on Veronica’s arm. “It’s not easy. There’s a lot of waiting. You have to put so much off. And not just the long-term stuff. Every day I think of a hundred things I want to say to Nate. I’ve started carrying a notebook to jot it all down in it, because I kept getting on the phone with him and forgetting everything.”

The other women laughed. Veronica felt like crying.

Cathy seemed to notice. She glanced at her friends, then back to Veronica. “We look out for each other while our men are gone. That’s a big part of it. Having the support of your sisters, finding people who know what you’re going through. Well, you’ll see.”

Veronica saw Logan then, coming back up the walkway. He was alone, his spine erect, his shoulders square. Their eyes met. He didn’t smile, but something in his face softened. Veronica gave an apologetic smile as she backed away from the women. “Excuse me. I have to go. Thank you. I…” She gave up, and turned away.

They met a few yards away from the crowd. She was afraid to touch him, not knowing if it would violate some kind of protocol. For a moment they just stood there, looking at each other in silence.

Her eyes fell to his service ribbons, a complicated, multicolored blur just above his heart. He’d explained once what each of them meant, but she couldn’t remember any of that now.
His life is still a mystery to me in so many ways
. Bars of red and blue and green melted together as tears sprang to her eyes. Then she put her arms around him, protocol be damned. She pressed her face to his chest and closed her eyes.

She already knew that he’d decided to leave—knew before he opened his mouth to speak. But for one last minute, she could pretend that he was hers to keep. For one last minute, she held him, and let him hold her.

“You know, I always thought you couldn’t argue with results, but that seems to be just what my opponent is trying to do.” Sheriff Dan Lamb looked out over the crowd, his eyes round with mock incredulity. Imbecilic guffaws and
woo!
s rose from the crowd.

Standing in the back of the auditorium, Veronica typed furiously into her phone:
Somehow his face looks even more punchable than usual today.

It was the first Tuesday in September, and the Neptune League of Women Voters was sponsoring a debate between the incumbent sheriff and his challenger. Usually the only people who came out to observe local politics were the retired and the self-interested, but this evening, a healthy cross section of Neptune had come to hear what the candidates had to say. Petra Landros was there, along with an entourage of business owners representing the Chamber of Commerce. Inga Olofson, who’d been the office manager at the Sheriff’s Department when Veronica was still a kid, sat in the front row next to her husband. There were a half-dozen off-duty deputies, including Norris. Keith and Cliff sat together in the first row, right in front of Lamb’s podium.

What began as a solo cakewalk for Lamb now was one of the most heated local elections in years. “Citizens for Dan Lamb” had bought up significant airtime. The latest ad opened with an old Super 8 clip of Marcia Langdon as a young soldier on an off-duty motorcycle cruise with several other muscular, short-haired Army women—one of whom sat behind Langdon, arms around her waist. The ad then cut to a screen grab from the home movie in which a heavily tattooed Weevil Navarro was Photoshopped onto the back of Langdon’s bike in place of the mannish soldier. Dan Lamb himself supplied the closing line in voice-over: “My opponent likes to end her speeches by asking Neptune voters to ‘Roll With Me.’ Well, before we take her up on that, maybe we should ask ourselves:
Are we really her type?
”

Langdon had only her dignified bearing and speech to counter this slime barrage; her campaign war chest was half the size of Lamb’s. But she had been doing a steady stream of interviews, and she showed up at town hall meetings all over the city—including, Veronica had noticed, the poorer neighborhoods. Three trade unions had endorsed her, and hordes of young and idealistic-looking people wearing her campaign T-shirt stood outside the supermarket, handing out voter-registration applications, making sure everyone who
would
vote for her
could
.

On the right side of the stage, Langdon stood behind her own podium, listening to Lamb with ill-concealed contempt.

“Since I’ve taken office,” Lamb continued, “this department has successfully increased its arrest numbers by thirty percent. We’ve taken criminals off the streets and put them in jail where they belong. Street crime is lower than it’s been in a decade. My opponent wants you to believe that’s somehow a bad thing.”

“General?” The moderator turned back to Langdon.

Instead of the military dress used in her PR photos, Langdon wore a cobalt blue suit. Somehow she looked like even more of a hard-ass than she did in uniform. She leaned into the mic. “Sheriff Lamb was caught on tape claiming he’d arrest and prosecute Logan Echolls for murdering Bonnie DeVille whether he was guilty or not, stating that the public perception of Echolls’s guilt was enough for him. I’m afraid in his zeal to ‘get results,’ the incumbent has made a habit of taking shortcuts. Shortcuts that not only run the risk of putting innocent people in jail, but which severely compromise the public’s trust in our law enforcement. I can’t think of a more devastating way to undermine a department’s effectiveness.”

Veronica’s phone vibrated in her hand. She looked down to see a reply from Leo:
Oh, snap.
She hid a grin. Leo was watching the debate as it live streamed, and the two of them had been texting back and forth throughout.

Lamb scowled. “Those quotes were taken out of context, as I’ve already explained. Our department has done more to clean up this town—”

“Clean it up for whom, Sheriff?” Langdon interrupted. “For the nearly forty people who claim your officers have planted evidence on them in the past three years? For the countless citizens I’ve spoken with who claim that officer response times exceed an
hour
in neighborhoods without a certain zip code? For the fifteen percent of Neptune residents who live under the poverty line, and who make up nearly eighty-five percent of your arrests?”

Applause broke out around the auditorium. Veronica saw Brittany Gandin, the deputy from the front desk, joining in. A few rows away, Petra Landros watched coolly, her face impossible to read. Lamb’s eyes darted over the audience, his brow creased.

Her phone vibrated with another text message.
I don’t know if you can see his face from where you’re standing,
said Leo
, but I’ve got a good close-up. I think we just witnessed the moment Lamb realized he might actually lose.

In addition to texting about the sheriff’s race, Veronica had been keeping Leo updated on the Manning case, not that there was much to tell. She still hadn’t heard back from any of the girls she’d e-mailed. She was starting to face the reality that the case might actually be over. That there might be no way to prove Bellamy had raped Grace Manning. The possibility kept her at the office till all hours of the night, most recently diving into the files “one last time” and combing through his credit card activity.

It also kept her from pursuing the pawnshop-wars case. She’d procrastinated so long the client had fired Mars Investigations, meaning they’d forfeited a two-grand base fee. Keith, fed up with the shop owner’s incessant calls to the office, had kindly—and perhaps even sincerely—thanked Veronica. But she knew what she’d done: She’d let her obsession with her own pet case get in the way of supporting her partner.

Veronica knew as well that she ought to be spending more time at home before Logan deployed. But he’d been busy too, visiting doctors and dentists, lawyers and accountants. “It’s hard to do any financial planning when you’re in the middle of the ocean,” he’d said. “Plus, I need a filling, and Navy dentists operate from the
Little Shop of Horrors
school of patient care.” Now he was on some kind of bromantic surf vacation with Dick Casablancas, leaving her surrounded by his half-packed boxes, trying to comfort a confused and agitated Pony, who seemed to have picked up on the tension hanging over the apartment.

Her overstressed, wandering mind clicked back into the moment as the debate grew even more intense. At the podium, Lamb was trying desperately to reassert control of the crowd. “Look, I’ve been in Neptune most of my life. I know the people here, and I know what makes them tick.” He pounded a fist on the podium. “My brother died in service to this town.”

The room went quiet again. Regardless of how you felt about Lamb, nobody was about to disrespect a fallen officer. Veronica had heard that Dan Lamb had campaigned on his dead brother’s back four years earlier, invoking his name as if they were Kennedys.

“I ran for office in part to honor his memory. And if I didn’t think I’d succeeded, I wouldn’t be standing up here again asking for your vote. I’ve made this city a safer place to live. I’ve been in the trenches. And I’ve done it for Donny.”

The moderator turned to Langdon. “General, do you have a response?”

The slight twist in Langdon’s lips straightened out to a long, thin line. She looked down at her notes and then up into the crowd.

“Any loss to our law enforcement community is a great tragedy. I never knew Sheriff Don Lamb, but I have no doubt he was a capable, valiant officer.”

It seemed a bit too crass to text Leo an all-caps
LOL
in response to this. Don Lamb had been a malignant jackass, but he
had
died in the line of duty. Besides, Leo would be thinking the same thing she was. He’d actually
worked
for the guy.

“Yet it would be a discredit to the memory of all the men and women who have given their lives for this town if we allow this department to be seen as a mercenary and corrupt organization. If I am elected, I’ll make ethics and accountability my top priorities as we move forward. I’ll make sure that justice is available to everyone in Neptune, no matter what they’ve got in their bank account. Thank you very much.”

DROP THE MIC,
Veronica typed into her phone.
LANGDON OUT
.

Twenty minutes later, as the auditorium cleared, Veronica met up with Keith and Cliff in the beige linoleum hallway outside. She grinned.

“You’d think I’d be tired of seeing that man publicly humiliated. But it just keeps getting sweeter and sweeter.”

Cliff didn’t smile. He rubbed his jaw, an uneasy look on his face. “Let’s not gloat
too
much.”

“Come on, Cliff, you know what they say—if you’re tired of schadenfreude, you’re tired of life.” Veronica punched him lightly on the shoulder.

Cliff shook his head. “He looked scared. And a scared Lamb is a dangerous Lamb.”

A door opened down the hallway. Marcia Langdon emerged, trailed by a small entourage, on her way to a meet-and-greet on the green outside the rec center.

She was shorter than Veronica had thought, maybe five-foot-seven or -eight, and her movements were brisk and economical.

“Keith! I’m glad you could make it.” It was the first time Veronica had seen her smile. She shook Keith’s hand, then glanced at a young man taking notes in her entourage. Marcia turned to look at Veronica. Her eyes were piercing, measuring, and Veronica found herself straightening a bit under her gaze.

“And this must be the storied Veronica.” Her palm was cool and dry in Veronica’s. “I’ve been following your career with great interest.”

“Believe me. The feeling is mutual,” Veronica said.

“General?” One of her advisors glanced at his watch. She nodded.

“You’ll have to excuse me, but I hope we meet again soon.”

“Can’t we just vote now?” Veronica said as the front door shut behind Langdon. “I mean, who says we have to keep Lamb around for the next two months?”

“The town charter, I think,” Keith said. “Something about ‘term lengths’ and ‘election laws.’ ”

“C’mon, I’m sure that was meant as a
suggestion
more than a hard-and-fast
rule
,” she persisted.

“Look at that law degree at work!” Cliff said. He opened his mouth to say more when the auditorium door swung open again. Dan Lamb pushed through, glowering heavily. Petra Landros was at his side.

An ugly flush crept across his face. “Mars. McCormack.” He gave them a humorless smile.

“Sheriff,” Cliff acknowledged.

Lamb’s smile broadened. It didn’t touch his eyes. “I hear I have you to thank for Navarro’s publicity stunt.”

“That’s probably your best bit of detective work all year. Score one for your
results
column.” Veronica made an exaggerated
check
motion in the air.

“Enjoy the moment,” Lamb advised, running a hand over his slicked-back hair. “You’ll never win.”

“Oh, maybe not,” Keith said, a bit of lightness still in his voice. “But when we’re all in court next month, when you’re getting your butt pounded by the lawyers, when you’re sitting there in mute awe as you see all the evidence stacking up against you…” He paused, his eyes not moving from Lamb’s. When he spoke again, his voice was as cool and hard as Langdon’s. “Just remember: That’s all for Jerry Sacks.”

Lamb’s flush deepened. He opened his mouth to respond, but Petra steered him deftly through the door before he could.

Cliff and Keith were still looking at him when Veronica’s phone vibrated.
Probably Leo, wanting to know if he missed anything good after the live feed ended.
She glanced down at the screen.

It wasn’t a text message, though; it was an e-mail alert.

RE: FORMER CLIENT, POSSIBLY VIOLENT

It was a reply to the e-mail she’d sent to the escorts.

hi miss mars—I received your message a few weeks ago and have been going back and forth on whether or not I should reply. discretion and confidentiality are very important in my field as you must know and I have built a career on keeping my clients’ secrets. but I can’t in good conscience keep my silence when it seems like this behavior is escalating.

I do remember this client. I remember because I had to cancel all my clients for a week and a half after so the bruises would fade. no I don’t know his real name but he said his name was bobby, and he had a room at the san jose hilton. he told me on the phone he wanted me to act like a concubine, very submissive and demure. I arrived at the hotel and at first it was fine. we had sex once, which was what he’d paid for. because there were still a few minutes on the clock he asked if we could go again. I told him it would cost an extra $200. that was when he lost it. he grabbed me by the neck and pushed me against the wall. I struggled as hard as I could but he’s a big guy. at some point I lost consciousness. when I came to he was having sex with me. I didn’t fight back anymore as I was afraid for my life. when he was finished, he left me on the floor and went to take a shower. I got up and left.

I would prefer not to deal with cops if at all possible or to go public with this information, because my livelihood is at stake. but if there’s any other way I can help you, I will. good luck. sincerely, bethany rose