The gas station was at the north end of Miami. Karen was filling the tank while Lockwood stood at the pay phone near the corner, gripping the receiver too tightly. He had tried to call Tashay Roberts but had gotten her answering machine. Then he dialed Children's Hospital in California.
Heather's voice sounded frail and uncertain, coming across three thousand miles of telephone cable. "I'm okay," she said bravely. "When will you come home, Daddy? I'm worried for you."
"I promise nothing will happen to me, but I have to finish this… It's very important. I'll be careful. Don't worry about me."
There was a long, awkward silence on the phone and then, "Daddy… I want us to live on a farm, like you said. I've been thinking about that. I want to leave Los Angeles. Can we really do that?"
"It's a promise."
"A promise on a promise?" she said, her voice small.
"A promise on a promise."
"I love you, Daddy. I've asked God to look after you. Mommy's with Him, and they're both looking down. I'll pray to them not to let anything bad happen."
"I'll pray too."
"Here's Grandad," she said. "Bye."
Then Rocky was on the line.
"She sounds better," Lockwood said.
"Think?" the voice was gruff and distant. "She cries in her sleep and don't talk much… lookin' out the window most'a the time… If that's better, then she's better."
Lockwood winced at the remark but kept going.
"When will she be getting out of the hospital?"
"Couple a'days. Then we're gonna take her back to Minnesota, whether you agree or not."
"Maybe that's best. It's familiar surroundings. I can meet you there when this is over."
"I'm sure you'll do whatever it is you want," his father-in-law said without emotion. "But this little girl can't take no more, John."
And then, without saying good-bye, Rocky hung up and left Lockwood with the phone pressed hard against his ear. He replaced the receiver and looked over to Karen, who had finished gassing the car and was wiping the windshield. He moved to her slowly.
"How is she?" Karen asked.
"She's…" He stopped, not sure how to put it. "Hurting," he finally finished, deciding to leave it at that.
He got into the passenger seat, and Karen pulled out of the gas station. The silence in the car was nerve-racking. Lockwood looked over at Karen; her brow was furrowed and she was deep in thought.
"You're worried about Malavida?" Lockwood said, and she looked over. "I'm sorry about not going down there, it's just I know what would happen."
"It's okay," she said. "It just seemed like we owed him some support. Not that he'd even know we were there."
The silence brimmed around them. Lockwood speared it again.
"What happened between you two while I was gone?" he finally asked, and she turned her gaze quickly out the front window in a reflex action that Lockwood didn't need twenty years in police work to read. She focused her gaze on the flying night bugs lit by their headlights: specks of light that vectored and occasionally wiped out on the windshield.
"Whatta you mean, what happened?" she said, so softly he had to strain to hear it.
"Y'know, Karen, it's not a good idea to get romantically involved with people you're working a case with. Especially people like Malavida, who see life from a completely different angle."
"Why are we having this conversation?" she finally asked, still not looking at him.
"I have a distinct feeling that something changed while I was gone. I'm just telling you that we're up against a monster here. We can't have our personal feelings changing the perspective on our judgment."
"It sounded for a minute like you had something else you were trying to say." She now turned and looked at him.
He felt his heart beating in his throat; he shifted in his seat under her gaze. His face reddened slightly. "Whatta you mean?" he finally asked lamely.
"It sounded like you were staking out some sort of claim yourself, to use at a more convenient time."
Again they fell into an awkward silence. Lockwood felt himself choosing his words carefully. "I like you, Karen. I didn't think that was going to be the case when we first met in Washington, but you turned out to be a very pleasant surprise." He stopped because he was sure he was moving in the wrong direction. He didn't want to declare any intentions… He was too mixed up.
"But…" she prodded.
"But, my life is in turmoil. Claire is dead. And I'm responsible. I'm not dealing with that well. I have Heather to think about… and I want to catch this son of a bitch who killed her, or I won't be able to sleep."
"You're not saying anything that I don't already know."
"Malavida's not for you," he blurted. "I know guys like this, he's on the con. He sees people as targets, he'll work you like a mark to get what he wants."
"I see. And what do you want…?"
Lockwood fell silent. Finally, he looked over at her… "I'm not sure how good a friend I can be to you or anybody right now. I know I want to be, but-"
"You're right, John. Something happened between us, and I'm not sure right now how I feel about it. But Malavida is in the hospital, he may be dying. If he lives, he may never be the same, and I'm worried about him. I think you should be too. It bothers me that you aren't." Lockwood looked over at her; she was very beautiful in the reflected dash lights. He hated hearing her admit that she had started something up with Malavida. Was she right? Was he staking out some claim to pursue when the timing was more acceptable? He had come to the point where he didn't trust his ability to evaluate himself anymore. He had been doing things for all the wrong reasons lately.
"I can't trust Malavida because I know how he thinks," he started by saying. "I'm sorry we got him hurt, but I'll never be able to trust him. I know you probably think that's cold, but he and I come from the same place. He and I were both disenfranchised by the system and then incarcerated by it. I've been behind bars. I know how that changes you. He sees everything and everybody as a player. He calculates everything by how it affects him, or how he can use it. I know because it's still how I think. I'm not sure you should take a chance with either of us."
"You know what I like best about you?" she finally said. "You never try and lie to yourself or about yourself. You wound yourself with honesty. It's noble, but hard to witness."
Lockwood knew she was close. He had come to believe that in most people, their strongest link was directly hooked to their weakest link. He thought his strongest link had always been his ability to level frank appraisals. He cut himself no slack. It was also this quality that was now destroying him. "Why don't we get something to eat?" he finally said, desperate to change their conversation.
They stopped at an all-night fish house called The Blue Fin, at Miami Beach Marina. They got a table out on a deck that overlooked the water. A fleet of commercial and private fishing boats was slipped there. A light breeze swayed the boats' outriggers. Water lapped up against the concrete pilings under the deck. The waitress had a name tag that said she was Claudine. She wiped a shiny varnished table next to the rail before they sat down.
"Cocktail?" she asked.
"What's it gonna be, Lockwood?" Karen said. "Another Scotch with a beer back?"
"That was Washington. Up there in the spring I drink Scotch to forget my sinuses. I'm allergic to something blooming in that damn swamp. Down here I'll just have a Heineken in a bottle."