“What did he do?” the woman asked as Donnally rose to his feet.
“He murdered somebody.”
She gasped and covered her mouth with the towel. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
Donnally glanced at Brown lying mute on the wet walkway, then looked back at her.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”
He turned toward the security guard.
“I appreciate your help, but don’t go kicking people. Nobody appointed you judge and jury.”
A flash of lighting and a crack of thunder gave Donnally an excuse to haul Brown away before the two had a chance to ask enough questions to figure out that he’d already appointed himself.
Chapter 28
“I t’s called kidnapping,” Janie said, standing at the foot of the stairs in the basement, her eyes locked on Brown. He sat handcuffed and chained to a metal workbench that was anchored to the concrete floor. She’d just returned home from a late group counseling session in the psych ward at Fort Miley VA hospital a few blocks away.
“He said he came here voluntarily,” Donnally answered, pointing at the tape recorder lying on the chair next to where he sat.
Janie glared at Donnally.
“Voluntarily? Like the way a cornered criminal surrenders voluntarily?”
“You could say that.”
“You’ve gone overboard on this.” She glanced back and forth between him and Brown. “I’m not sure which of you is more crazy.”
“I’m not crathy,” Brown said, rotating his head toward her. “It wath a lie. I’ve never been crathy.”
Donnally grinned at Janie. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to use the word ‘crazy.’ ”
“It’s not a diagnosis. It’s what we call otherwise sane people who go out of their minds just long enough to destroy their lives.” Her face flushed and she jabbed her fingers against her chest. “And take other people down with them.”
Donnally flicked on the tape recorder and held it out toward Brown. “You don’t blame Janie for anything that’s happened today, do you, Charles?”
Brown stared at her for a moment, then at Donnally, and shook his head.
“The tape recorder can’t see you. You’ve got to say it aloud.”
“No, I don’t blame Janie.”
Donnally switched it off.
“See?” Donnally said. “If he’s competent enough to enter a plea in the case, then he’s competent enough to let you off the hook.”
“What about the handcuffs?” Janie asked.
Donnally looked down at the tape recorder. “I don’t see any handcuffs.”
J anie was sitting at the kitchen table when Donnally returned from serving Brown his dinner. She had a half-finished glass of wine in her hand and an unopened box of Chinese takeout in front of her.
Donnally had the feeling he was about to lose his appetite, too. He set Brown’s plate in the sink, then sat down across from her.
“I shouldn’t have brought him here,” Donnally said. “I’m sorry. This is your house.”
“Until now, I liked having it as our house, whatever ‘our’ means.”
“Look, I’ll testify that you had nothing to do with it.”
“You won’t have to. It’s not like he’s going to run to the police, and even if he did, nobody would pay attention.”
They sat in silence for a moment, then she took a sip of wine and said, “I think it’s time for me to move out and move on. I’ve just been in orbit. Circling the same spot in the universe and not really bumping into anything.”
Donnally felt gravity give way. “But we’re-”
“What? We’re what? People who occupy the same space every few months, or like now when you happened by on a mission that you don’t even understand.”
“I understand it perfectly. The truth has got to come out.”
“If you’re worried about the truth, you should’ve started a little closer to home, like with your father. It’s the blood on his hands, not on Charles Brown’s, that drives you.” She smirked as if she didn’t care whether their relationship ended that second. “Or is that just a little too much truth for you?”
“He’s got nothing to do with this.”
“He’s got everything do to with it. Every murderer you ever hunted down was a surrogate for your father.”
Donnally leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I didn’t realize that you’ve been psychoanalyzing me.”
“I should’ve started a helluva lot sooner. I’m not sure why I gave you a pass all these years.”
“Maybe because then you’d have to figure out what, exactly, you’ve been up to. After all, it’s the Vietnamese that he always portrays as either monsters or cannon fodder, or as prostitutes.”
I t was like every other argument they’d ever had, Donnally thought as he kicked at the Ocean Beach sand. Start someplace real, spin onto a tangent, recreate the past for whatever was the current need, and then he or she would say something meant to hurt worse than heartache. Somehow the real point, the real source of the pain, would get lost.
Donnally stopped a few feet from where the high tide died. It was only then, within the sound of the breaking waves and against the cold wind off the water, that he grasped why Brown’s no-contest plea had torn into him. It was as if no one had snuck into Anna Keenan’s bedroom, no one had climbed on top of her, no one had put his hands around her throat, no one had restrained her desperate thrashing, no one had muffled her screams, no one had felt her body go limp, no one had climbed out of her window-
Donnally felt his line of thought get hijacked and yanked off course.
Climbed out of her window?
He closed his eyes and locked his hands on top of his head.
Why would Brown climb out of her window?
Was it panic?
Was it guilt?
Did people like Charles Brown even feel guilt?
Donnally tried to visualize the police diagram he’d copied from the court file.
Why didn’t Brown just walk to the kitchen and out of the back door, or even out of the front door, like nothing happened?
But neighbors said they’d spotted Brown climbing the back fence and running away.
Donnally lowered his hands and opened his eyes.
Maybe it really was just a manslaughter. A premeditating murderer would’ve concealed both his approach and his escape in the normalcy of everyday life, not drawn attention to the crime or to himself by climbing over fences and running through yards.
Even so, Donnally swore as he turned back toward the city. I want to hear him say it. No contest isn’t good enough.
Chapter 29
D onnally slipped through the kitchen door into the house. He wanted to force the words out of Brown, then drive him to Golden Gate Park and point him toward the bushes.
And he didn’t want to risk another argument with Janie.
The house was quiet, not even the sound of Janie’s bedroom television.
The basement stairs creaked as Donnally walked down. He wished he’d fixed them last year when she’d complained. The sound foreclosed the surprise he wanted. Without it, Brown would tense. Lock himself up. Bury his face in his hands and pretend the world away.
Donnally imagined Brown looking over at the stairs, watching his feet come into view where the overhead fluorescent fixture cast light on the steps, then his legs, and his torso and the semiautomatic holstered on his belt. Fear building in Brown’s mind. Maybe he’d even panic at the delusion that Donnally was coming down to kill him, cut up his body with the power saw on the shelf, and bury the pieces in the backyard.
Why not march down the stairs, Donnally asked himself, pound his heels into the wood, match crazy with crazy?
But he didn’t want Brown just to say the words, he wanted Brown to mean them.
He slowed his pace and lightened his steps. Just a friend coming to visit.