Max glared at him.
“Come on, Max,” I said. “You can at least tell us whose secrets you’re talking about.”
Max took a breath. “Aleda and Marc.”
“This is news? For the last two days, I’ve been hearing that something was going on between Marc and Aleda,” I said. “So what. Name two people in the group who weren’t getting laid on a regular basis.”
Max sighed. “Me and Rod.”
I looked askance at him. “Remember the long walks we all used to take up Cyclotron Road? Everyone talking and getting stoned?”
“Sure.”
“One afternoon,” I said, I think it was after Thanksgiving dinner, we set off on the usual hike, the usual people, the usual arguments. I got really bored. No one was paying the right kind of attention to me. Celeste was teasing me. When I saw you head for home, I followed you. I saw Aleda go into the house. I saw you go into the house. I went up to her room to talk to her, but she wasn’t there.”
“So?” Max said.
“So, your bedroom door was locked.”
“You always were a snoop.”
“Marc was in Vietnam,” I said. “Tell me about Marc and Aleda.”
The tape of the November demonstration was still running in the VCR. Now and then I caught something out of the side of my eye more speeches, some singing. The sound was low, but I could hear what was happening.
The only response Max had given me was to pour me another cup of coffee.
“Max?” I said. “Tell me about Aleda.”
“I’m a lawyer. I deal in facts and evidence.”
“And?”
“I only know what Aleda told me. She thought she was pregnant.”
“Yours?” I asked.
“Don’t I wish.” Max started to say something more, but a whummp from the television made us all turn.
The speakers on the flatbed truck, Emily and Jaime, Lucas and Aleda, et al., stood frozen.
Mike picked up the remote and rewound the tape.
When he hit play again, some man I didn’t recognize was standing next to Lucas and pontificating about the genocide rained on the unsuspecting Vietnamese by chemicals and weapons developed in university laboratories. He wasn’t a very good speaker, rather nasal and whiney. He was tremendously intense. Just as he arrived at his climax about children being incinerated by the liquid fire of napalm falling from American military helicopters, we heard it again: whummp!
“What happened?” I asked.
Max had blanched. “Lab explosion. If I’m right, what you heard was young Tom Potts shaking hands with his maker.”
“Damn,” Mike sighed. He reached for my hand across the table. I went over and sat beside him.
We watched at least a full minute of confusion. No one seemed to know either what had happened or what to do next. Even the leaders on the flatbed scurried around, impotently searching for an answer. There was some panic among the crowd. Someone knocked against the cameraman and we were treated to a dizzying panoramic sweep of the sky until he righted himself and his equipment. In the background, we heard approaching sirens, many of them.
The tape was twenty-two years old, but it still had the power to evoke vivid memories, painful emotions intact. I was thinking, as I watched the screen, that after Tom Potts was burned, both he and Marc had another whole month to live. Tom had spent that month in unspeakable pain, dying a little every day. Marc had had a full share of robust health and a quick, relatively painless death. Or, at least, that was the official version. I wished I knew how Marc had spent the last of his share. What really hurt was not having him around to ask.
I glanced over at Max. “What do you remember about Tom Potts?”
“I never met him. I understand he was a grind, like me. Max thought for a moment. “I did some work for Em and Jaime on the civil suit the Potts family filed against them. It was the summer I crammed for the California bar exam.”
This was a new bit. “Why did the Pottses sue Jaime and Emily?”
“For depriving Tom of his civil rights. His parents filed against everyone who spoke at the demonstration, the city of Berkeley for issuing a parade permit, the regents of the university, Tom’s research director for keeping him tied to his lab. None of it came to anything. There was no way to know who had set the fire. Nothing came of it: the Potts family didn’t have the where-withal to pursue the suit.”
I was watching the people on the truck, Emily, Jaime, Lucas, Aleda, the speaker I didn’t recognize, and, at the rear, Rod Peebles. Rod was very quiet, considering the level of turmoil around him. Finally, Celeste appeared and climbed up onto the truck bed with the others.
“So where did Celeste go?” I asked. “From the time we heard the explosion, do you think she had time to run from the labs on North Campus to the demonstration on Telegraph?”
Mike squeezed my hand. “Unless the arsonist was suicidal, he would have used a timer device on a charge of that magnitude. Could have been any of them. Or none of them.”
“Enough,” I said. I went over and turned off the VCR and the television.
Mike looked at his watch. I hate to walk out on you, but I have to go to work.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Almost nine. I’m only two hours late.” He stood up and stretched. “I’ll call you later, Maggie. Where will you be?”
“I don’t know. Max?”
“What?” he said. “I only came over here looking for my car.”
I had a sudden sinking feeling; for a moment I couldn’t remember where I had left his Beemer. The expression on my face must have cued Mike.
“We left the car up at the Police Academy last night. Come with me, counselor. I’ll drop you.”
Max turned a dark glare on me. “You left my car where?”
“What could be safer?” I said. “Who would break into a car at the Police Academy?”
“How many love-besotted drunks rolled out of that lot past my car last night? Maggie, I swear, if anything has happened to my car…”
“Max,” I said, “get a grip on yourself. It is only a fucking car.”
“The things that come out of your mouth.” Mike laughed. He kissed me. “I’ll call you. Counselor? Are you coming?”
Max sighed heavily. “Maggot, this is L.A. Without a car, how will you get around town?”
“Emily’s Volvo.”
“That heap is a menace.”
“So if it will make you feel better, I’ll hang on to your Beemer. But I need a gas company card. The tank is empty, and I’m broke.”
“Shit,” he grumped, reaching for his wallet. “You damn kids always wrapped me around your fingers.”
I took the Arco card he held out, and the five twenties. I love you, Uncle Max.”
“You hear that, Detective? I’m doomed.” Max grabbed me and held me in a bear hug. “You will call me before you leave town, won’t you, Maggie? Let me know where to send the wreckers for my car?”
“Count on it. Hang on for a minute, will you? I want to talk to you. Let me walk Mike out.”
I helped Mike push the dresser back into Em’s dressing room. Then I walked with him to the stairs.
Mike put his arms around my waist and pulled me against him. “Last night was incredible.”
I wanted to keep things light, at least until I got them sorted through. “You’re sweet,” I said.
“Sweet? I can put a choke hold on a man until he’s dancing like Howdy Doody, and you call me sweet?”
I didn’t have anything to say, so I just kissed him. His mouth was warm from the coffee, all the way down as far as my tongue could reach. Mike knew how to kiss. I could have stripped right there and taken him on the stairs.
He drew back and pulled in a deep breath. “That’s no way to say good-bye.”
I laughed. “I like to leave them with their eyes rolled back in their heads.”
“God, I guess you do. Call me.”
“Yes.”
I waited on the landing until I heard the front door close behind him. I think my own eyes were still rolled back in my head when I went back inside. At least, Max gave me a very long look.