Then it hit me. Of course.
"Nothing about the recordings," said Winters.
"Nothing about the writing on the walls," said Schultz.
"And nothing about you guys finding the same things at the Ellison and Fernandez places," I said. "What have you done?"
"We'll expect you to omit that question in the Journal.” said Karen. "Or we'll omit you from everything that happen: this county from now until the day you die."
“Why?"
Winters locked eyes with me. "We made a judgment call and it turned out to be the wrong one. It was a mistake, hoped we could get him before he did this again. It's that simple Russell. We're giving you this story. Don't burn us. Help us. don't forget that splashing blood all over page one never saved anybody's life. Not in my opinion, anyway."span›
In the ensuing silence, Parish glared at me; Karen Schultz looked at the floor and bit her lip;, Winters sighed and stared stubbornly ahead through space.
I was almost too stunned to think. The only thing I could come up with was to pursue my temporary advantage through this silence.
"Let me hear the other tapes," I said. "Let me see the photos of the walls."
"No deal," said Karen. "Never."
"Fine," said Winters. "Okay."
"Monroe is a reporter, sir," said Karen.
"That's why he'll sell us his conscience for a story," said Winters, a true master of the art of accommodation. "Right, Russ?"
No reporter on earth would have said anything but yes. If I didn't, I could burn them big-time-once. But the same pages on which I flushed away my access to the Sheriff's Department and prosecutors for the rest of my life would be used two days later to soak up pee in a thousand litter boxes throughout I county. And I'd be out in the cold. And whatever damage Winters's silence had done was certainly, clearly, done forever. I was a little surprised at how Winters had changed since I'd worked for him. He was a harried political animal now, thinking ahead, watching out for himself, but not taking care of business. He'd made a terrible call, a call he wouldn't have made five years ago, and he knew it. He also knew he could hide it. Karen and I would do it for him.
"I’ll rent it out for a while," I said.
"And I'll get you a front-row seat when we send this guy to the gas," said Winters. "Until then, you owe us."
He turned and walked out.
I stood in the laundry room again, leaning against the washer and looking out the open door to the eucalyptus tree in the yard.
That was when I first heard the faint, shallow breathing very close to me.
It took me a second to realize what it was. I didn't move. I figured a dog sleeping behind the hamper, maybe, or a cat up on the shelf. For some reason, it scared me. I didn't blink. It was coming from just below me, just in front of me, still barely audible.
It stopped, then it started again.
Very slowly, I reached out to the dryer and pulled the door toward me. Gad, please, I thought… The light inside went on and two eyes came into view. I knelt and held out my hands, palms up.
"It's over," I said. "I won't hurt you. You can come out now, Kim."
She climbed out and into my arms. I guessed she was four or five. She began whimpering and her breathing deepened. I walked us out into the sunshine. She dug her face into the crook of my neck. "Mommy screamed and I heard a bang. Mommy screamed and then she didn't scream."
"Did you see him, Kim?"
I felt her forehead nodding yes against my neck.
"He was big and hairy and had a red bat."
"Like a baseball bat?"
"When he came out of Mommy's and Daddy's. I want Mommy and Daddy now."
I rocked her and patted her back and let the sun hit her hair. It was matted with the vomit she'd given up in terror. "Did you see his face?"
"He was a hairy giant and had a green robe. I want Mommy and Daddy now."
I carried her back into the house, down the hallway, and into her living room. Martin and Karen were still there, standing by the stereo.
"Oh My," said Karen. She walked toward us with a: officious stride that dissolved about halfway across the room when she broke into a run. She unwrapped Kim from my shoulders, hefted the girl onto her own, and carried her toward the front door.
Martin and I stood alone. The piercing flatness of his eye unsettled me.
"Was there a tape at Amber's?" I asked.
He nodded. And his expression softened.
"You listen to it?"
"Once. Same garbled shit as this one. Same voice."
"Were there beach sounds, cars in the background?"
"Yeah. Same shit. He left it rewound and ready in he tape player. I found it because the power light was on and that seemed strange."
I considered. "Did the Eye do Amber, Marty?"
"Someone wanted us to think so."
"The Eye doesn't cart his victims off in plastic bags."
"The Eye doesn't make beds and cover stains, either, I'd imagine."
"Then what the hell is going on?"
The smile that Marty offered next was positively bizarre. "It's not that complicated, Russ."
I let the statement go because I didn't quite understand it yet; I hadn't looked at me from Martin Parish's point of view. Now I began to, and a little spasm of fear fluttered in my heart. "Where is it now-the tape from Amber's?"
"The second night, when I found you there, it was gone. Just like Amber was."
Then it hit me, clearly and suddenly as a fist in the stomach. Marty was prepared to believe I'd killed Amber. I could see the conviction in his eyes, unalterable as faith.
"Grace told me she wasn't there that night," I said.
"Then one of us is a liar."
"Maybe a killer, too, Marty?"
Marty was actually smiling again when he said, "I confess, Monroe. I did them all. I can't stop because it feels so good. Excuse me now while I go find some evidence so I can arrest myself."
CHAPTER NINE
When I returned home, Grace and Isabella were sitting on the porch-Izzy in her wheelchair and Grace on the step. My heart made a minor leap at the sight of them together, apparently peace. For a brief moment, visions of the Wynns receded and all that mattered was on my porch. We were a family.
Hugging Izzy, I noted her smart outfit-a gewgaw-spangled T-shirt with matching hat and earrings, outrageous surfer pants with an explosive red-black-orange pattern, and her usual tennis shoes with the glitter ties. She was freshly made up and smelled wonderfully of perfume.
Grace allowed me to hug her, too.
"You look beautiful today," I said to Isabella.
"G-G-Grace helped me. She has better taste than y-y-you."
"And probably more patience, too," I said.
"She's got totally great clothes," said Grace.
Grace regarded me with unspoken pride. How she had found her way into Izzy's heart in so short a time, I could not immediately understand, but I sensed that some workable truce had been struck between them. After that, the exigencies of appearance and fashion had obviously taken over.
Isabella looked up at me with her great dark eyes. "I don't want to be l-l-late."
"I promise we won't be late," I said. "But I need one hour to write an article. Can you two behave yourselves for that long?"
"We definitely cannot," said Grace.
Isabella nodded.
One hour later, I was driving Isabella up to the UC Irvine Medical Center for the reading of her second PET scan. Her doctors were afraid the tumor was growing. We were terrified the tumor was growing. The scan results would help us know whether it was, and, if so, how fast and in what direction. I had written and faxed my first article on the Midnight Eye to Carla Dance at the Journal, and a courtesy copy to Karen Schultz. I used his self-given name. Death seemed everywhere, common as air.