“Right. You chose this question for our time together?”
“No.” He sighed. “I just have to ask these. But I want to do more. The rogue environmentalist angle, it has a lot going for it.”
Rothschild mumbled.
“Katharine Hepburn.”
“What’s that?”
“Katharine Hepburn,” he said again. “She’s my choice.”
“Why is she your choice?”
“Because of her humor. Also-don’t print this-my managers have told me she consistently wins polls at community movie nights.”
“Have you seen her movies?”
“I don’t have time for things like that. Just like I don’t have time to develop on desert islands.”
Jake looked at the next question. The steak bled on his plate. He didn’t know if he’d feel worse about eating the steak or asking Gillian Handle’s next question.
“OK. What’s your middle name and the street you grew up on?”
“What?”
“Your middle name and the street you grew up on.”
“What is this for?”
Jake rubbed his temples. He should have eaten the steak.
“It’s a question to figure out…your porn star name.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he said and paused. “I guess I’m Harold Longwood.”
They were both silent. Rothschild ate more steak. Jake’s leaked. Harold Longwood.
“Have the environmentalists ever threatened you?”
“I can’t talk about it extensively.” He didn’t miss a beat. “The police won’t let me. But let’s suffice it to say that they are dangerous people.”
“How dangerous?”
Rothschild dropped his knife on the plate.
“Very dangerous.”
“I see. Did you press charges against the group for what happened at the banquet?”
“I can’t say.”
“I understand. On a related note,” Jake started, “I have another question.”
It was next on the list. He just had to get through a few more.
“Let’s hear it.” Rothschild wiped the corners of his mouth with a napkin, raised his chin, and stared at Jake without blinking. His eyes were black as stones. Jake sighed.
“Simeon, are you a player?”
“What?”
“A player. You know, someone promiscuous.”
“I know you aren’t this type of reporter. I know you do real work. You are playing games with me.”
“I have to.”
They got through the rest of the questions. The favorite foods and colors, vacation homes, and first loves. Rothschild complied. When it was over, Jake merely nodded and left. His plate of steak was still sitting on the desk, uneaten in a pool of blood.
He made the long drive home. Pulled up a chair and sat at the desk. He wrote up his notes and went through the old ones. He wished he’d paid more attention to Charlotte. What should he have asked her? How could he have helped? He thought of her voice shaking while she talked. Confused. Frightened. She had reason to be both. Then he noticed a name in his old notes.
The Saving Tomorrow Initiative. The environmentalists were part of that group. The bearded man with blood on his hands. The shouting woman. They were all involved. And, somehow, they tied back to Charlotte and Sheryl Goldfein. He looked back through everything he’d transcribed.
Charlotte started investigating the group after Sheryl kicked her out of bridge. For Charlotte, it was just revenge on a personal grudge. But all their charitable money went to the Saving Tomorrow Initiative. Sheryl knew that Charlotte Ward was conducting her own investigation. And from the sound of it, Abram Samuels knew about it too.
He tried not to think about the connection during the car ride to Sunset Cove that night. He let his brain line up with the hum of the car. Blank out. But he couldn’t stop wondering. As he looked along the side of the highway, he thought about the bearded man clapping his hands. Red. All red. What had Charlotte found about the Saving Tomorrow Initiative? And who wanted to stop her from getting further? The man had red hands. Like the brim of Abram’s hat.
At Sunset Cove, he parked in the back of the large lot. As he shut the car door, he heard it echo in the empty night. 8:00 PM. He was early for his meeting. He’d thought about bringing something with him-a witness or a camera. He locked the door. He’d come with his notebook and nothing else. If Abram Samuels was going to do anything, or say anything, he’d have to do it with Jake’s knowledge.
The palm trees barely moved. Their trunks seemed too firm to sway, and the leaves sank in the dark. Lights flickered on and off in the residences of Sunset Cove. TV screens clapped on and clapped off. Jake heard his footsteps pad on the path. It was empty when he reached the beach.
The concession building where they found her was just a slab of shadow. A man was standing at the edge of the beach, hunched over. He looked like he was wearing a long coat. And, as usual, he was wearing a hat. Jake let his shoes sink into the sand. The white sea-foam blurred on the dark waves. He approached the hulking body on the beach. It didn’t turn.
Jake walked closer and started to slow down. His steps were silent in the damp sand. The form ahead of him seemed surprisingly large. It was a big trench coat, as still as a scarecrow stuffed with straw. But he could eventually see it breathing, then turning left and right. The collar was starched up. It covered everything. All Jake could see was the black water in the distance and the person ahead of him. He hadn’t realized Abram was so tall.
He stopped and looked at his hands, shaking. He cursed himself. Be aggressive. What could Abram Samuels do? He might be smart. And angry. But there was nothing Abram could do to him. If Abram had something to hide, he’d already gone too far. Now he’d have to show his cards or hold back again. Jake guessed it was too late to hide again.
He got closer and started to get confused. The body was still too big. And then he saw the hat. It was a dark brown hat, with a thick band of leather circling around the base. No red brim. He decided to stop sneaking up. And his breathing seemed to be getting heavier.
“Hey,” Jake said. “I’m here.”
He saw the left shoulder twitch. Then the right curved around in a blur, big and loose. He saw the elbow of the trench coat, right before it hit him in the jaw. Then it hit. Everything became brighter. Then the other side was smacked by something solid. Jake heard a crack and started to stumble. He had to catch himself with his hands as sand and gravel dug beneath his fingernails. He felt like he was breathing it.
Next a black stamp. Kicked in the face, faster than he could see. He felt the sand flow in his ear. He was an hourglass, passing time too quickly. He could barely speak when he was kicked again.
“Abram, stop.” He wheezed. “It’s me, Jake.”
His head was flat on the beach. It sounded like he was pressing his ear against a seashell. Or was inside of one. Then he saw the trench coat rise and flap in the wind as the man sprinted in the other direction. Jake’s head lay sideways on the ground and he watched the man run away, each crash of the waves making his body tremble. Then he looked out at the water, his eyeballs rolling back into his head. He stared at the white scrapes on the waves. The water and his eyelids were the same color.
Black.
CHAPTER 26
“Can you hear me? Hello? Are you awake?”
The voice echoed in his ears. Everything was still black. Then he tasted salt at the corners of his lips, seeping in. Each second he felt a little more of the world, that painless place outside his head. There was cold on his face and salty liquid seeping in his eyes. Was it blood? He hoped it wasn’t-there was too much of it. He felt his jaw and opened it. Slowly. Then he let his head roll to the right and looked down at the beach. Abram Samuels was cupping his hands and running back to Jake. He got a foot away and Jake realized he could talk.
“Abram,” he whispered, “I’m awake.”