“Then Valjean sure does figure to be the shooter, doesn’t he.”
“I checked the local directory — he doesn’t live up here anymore. Any idea where he’s living now?”
“Seems to me I heard he got married and moved away,” Hickox said. “Offhand I don’t recall where, but I know somebody who can probably tell me. Friend he used to go hunting with, lives here in Mammoth Lakes.”
Runyon watched the deputy make a call, listened to his side of a three-minute conversation. When the call ended, Hickox said, “They’re still in touch. Valjean lives down your way, all right. Vallejo. And he’s had a load of hard luck lately — IRS troubles, lost his business, wife left him. Enough right there to shove a man like him to the edge.”
“And Colton turning up pushed him over.”
“Yeah. Who’s handling the homicide investigation at SFPD?”
“Lieutenant Jack Logan’s the man to talk to. Friend of one of my bosses. He knows by now that the John Doe was Colton.”
“I’ll give him a ring, fill him in about the birthmark and the rest of what we’ve discussed. You want to talk to him?”
“No need. My job’s finished — we’re out of it now.”
“Good job, too. Heading home then, get back in time for Christmas?”
Home. Christmas. Just words.
“Yes,” Runyon said. “Heading back to San Francisco.”
22
Tamara
Monday night:
Pop said, “Sweetness, why didn’t you let us know you and Horace are back together?”
“We’re not back together. I was gonna call you—”
“You’re sharing the apartment again. What’s that if not back together?”
“Temporary arrangement. For the holidays.”
“Claudia said—”
“You believe everything she says? Big sister knows all, tells all, can’t do no wrong?”
“Now where’s this anger coming from? You think we favor Claudia?”
“Well, don’t you?”
“Of course not. If that’s why you resent her—”
“Only times I resent her is when she tries to run my life.”
“She helped you make peace with Horace, didn’t she?”
“What I mean, Pop, what I mean! All she did was make things harder on me.”
“I don’t understand that.”
“Looking to make my decisions, thinks she knows what’s best for me. Ever since we were kids.”
“And you’re saying she’s never been right?”
“Sure she has, but that’s not the point.”
“What is the point? You haven’t always made the right decisions on your own, you know.”
“You gonna start in on all the crap I put you and Ma through when I was a teenager? My rebellious years?”
“No. Ancient history.”
“Uh-huh. Claudia doesn’t think so. Still harps on it sometimes.”
“Well, she’s not perfect either. Nobody is.”
“Close to it, though, huh? No rebel in that child.”
“Didn’t think there was any left in you. Was I wrong?”
“I’m my own woman, Pop. That’s what I’m trying to get across.”
“I know it. Don’t you think we want you to be independent?”
“Sure, when you approve of what I’m being independent about.”
One of the famous Corbin sighs. “Let’s not go any more rounds tonight, Tamara. I’m tired, you’re tired, we’ll just end up saying things we’ll both regret. It’s almost Christmas, let’s have some peace in the family. You are coming down on Christmas Eve?”
“Tradition. You know I wouldn’t miss it.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Horace, too?”
“Both of us. We already talked about it.”
“Okay, good. Just tell me how you want us to handle the situation.”
“What situation?”
“You and Horace. As a couple? Friends? What?”
“Well, we’re still sleeping in the same bed for now.”
“For now. What about next month?”
“He’s leaving for Philly on the fourth.”
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
“I can’t answer it. Not yet.”
“... All right. Promise me one thing?”
“What’s that?”
“Good behavior on Christmas Eve. No arguments, no hassles.”
“Me spoil the party? Hey, Pop, don’t worry. I’ll be your sweetness, a perfect little lady. Just like Claudia.”
Monday night.
Claudia said, “Well, what was I supposed to tell Pop? You did move back in with Horace. That’s getting back together in my book.”
“Not mine. Just means we’re fucking again.”
“For God’s sake. I hope you didn’t use that language with Pop.”
“He knows what the word means.”
“Why do you have to be so vulgar?”
“Why do you have to be so tight-assed?”
“You’re twenty-five, an adult — act like it.”
“Yes, Ma. Okay, Ma.”
“Sometimes... I think you actually hate me.”
“Wrong. No hate for anybody in this girl.”
“Resent me, then.”
“That’s what Pop thinks. Told him only when you try to boss my life.”
“I’ve never tried to boss your life.”
“And when you pretend you don’t and never did.”
A Claudia sigh. Little softer, little more drawn out than one of Pop’s. Two of them ought to do a duet, get Horace to play accompaniment on his cello. “Sonata of Sighs in D Flat,” something like that.
“Tammie, you know I care about you—”
“Don’t call me Tammie. I hate that fool name, knamean?”
“Knamean. That’s another thing. Street slang, ebonies... half the time you talk like somebody from the projects.”
“That what you think I am? Ghetto stereotype?”
“I know you’re not. I just wish—”
“What, sistah? That I’d talk white folks’ talk like you?”
“I don’t ‘talk white folks’ talk,’ I speak correct English. There’s a big difference.”
“Is there? Yeah, well, it’s whitey’s world and you just trying to get along.”
“That’s right,” Claudia said, “it is still whitey’s world. But it’s changing, and I’m trying to do what I can to help. By working within the system.”
Lawyer talk now. “And I’m not, that what you’re saying?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I respect you, the way you’ve turned your life around. I just want you to fit in—”
“Turned my life around. Fit in. Whoa, girl. Way over rap. Off da hook!”
Sigh. “Are you going to act like this on Christmas Eve? Spoil the holidays for the rest of us?”
“Just like Pop. Same worry out your mouth.”
“What answer did you give him?”
“Gonna be a perfect little lady, just like you.”
“I hope you mean that. Are you bringing Horace?”
“Are you bringing the oreo?”
“Brian is not an oreo! Stop calling him that. He’s a good man, a brilliant attorney, and you’d better get used to him. You’re going to be seeing the two of us together for a long time.”
“Don’t tell me that silky dude proposed to you?”
“Not yet, but he will. Soon.”
“Thinking on a big wedding, huh? The whole nine yards?”
“I’d like a formal wedding, yes.”
“Whoo. You in a white dress, Brian in a tux — be just like watching a glass of milk and a big old cookie exchanging vows.”
“... God, Tamara, you can be a bitch sometimes!”
“Guess who I learned it from, big sister.”
Monday night.
Horace said, “Why do you act like that with your family?”
“What, you eavesdropping on me now?”
“You were talking loud enough for the neighbors to hear.”