Killer Swell

55

After lunch, Liz headed back to her office. She said she would check on Charlotte Truman and see if anything popped up. I didn’t think that it would, but I felt better that the investigation would be thorough.

I decided to drive up to La Jolla to the Criers’ home. When I arrived, Ken and Marilyn were sitting on the stone steps that led to their front door. Ken wore his usual sharply creased khakis with a bright-red golf shirt. Marilyn was wearing yellow walking shorts and a white tank top.

Ken waved at me as I got out of the Blazer. “Noah.”

Marilyn folded her hands in her lap and said nothing.

I waved back. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Ken shook his head. “Just getting some air.”

Marilyn looked at me, hopeful but skeptical.

“I thought I’d fill you in on something,” I said, leaning against one of the pillars that bordered the steps. “And tell you what the police are telling me.”

They exchanged anxious glances with one another and then looked back to me.

I told them about my encounter with Randall and my conversation with Charlotte Truman. I left out the part about Kate using again and softened Randall’s blackmail into simply pleading with his wife to cover for him. I didn’t see how either of those two facts would help them anyway, and I didn’t see the point in upsetting them further. I finished by telling them what Liz’s thoughts were.

Ken leaned back on his hands. “So basically they are going to wait out Costilla?”

I nodded reluctantly. “Most likely. They will do some more checking based on what I learned, but there’s really nothing else to go on. And, I’ve got to admit, Costilla’s a good fit. Motive. History.”

Ken shook his head and let out a long sigh. Marilyn put a hand on his arm, glancing at him. He tried to smile, but only got halfway there.

Marilyn looked at me. “What is your honest opinion, Noah?”

I shrugged. “I think that what the police are saying makes sense. I haven’t found a whole lot to contradict their idea.”

Her jaw tightened, and she shook her head. “What is your opinion? Are they right?”

“I’m not sure what I think,” I said. “On one hand, like I said, Costilla is the best suspect. There is no reason to believe that he didn’t do it, particularly with what we know about what he knew.”

“But you’re not sure,” Marilyn said.

I didn’t want to get caught up in a discussion about what my thoughts were. Their daughter had been murdered, and I didn’t want to give them false hope. The facts were the most important thing. Maybe not the easiest to live with, but the facts were where the answers would be found.

“I’m not sure,” I said carefully. “But the only reason I say that is because I’ve tried to keep an open mind. Anybody and everybody’s a suspect, you know? The police hypothesis is better than anything I’ve come up with.”

Ken leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, a look of angst and exhaustion on his face. “Is there anything else to look at?”

“Do either of you know anything about a key that Kate had with her?”

They both looked at one another, then back at me, shaking their heads.

“Emily gave me a key that Kate left at her place,” I told them. “She didn’t know what it was for. I have someone working on that now. But it may be nothing.” I paused. “I’m also going to try and locate this other woman that Randall may have been involved with. Honestly, though, I don’t expect her to be involved. Randall’s pretty much been cleared.”

Ken nodded sadly, and Marilyn lowered her eyes. It was clear to me that their daughter’s death would gnaw at them for years. Their body language and facial expressions indicated a unique pain known only to families of murder victims.

Marilyn sat up suddenly and stared at her husband. “Why did you do it?”

Ken looked startled. “What?”

She stood, and I could see that the rims of her eyes were red.

“You arranged this whole goddamn thing,” she said, waving her arms wildly. “With the police and the government! I said I didn’t like it. It was too dangerous for her!”

Ken’s face fell a little. “She was going to go to jail, Marilyn.”

“At least she would’ve been alive,” Marilyn said, crying now. “At least I could’ve gone and seen her!” A loud, violent sob forced its way out of her mouth, and she ran into the house.

Ken ran a hand over his face, his eyes glassing over. He stood and looked at me. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” I said, feeling awkward. “It’s hard. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to give you any real answers.”

He nodded, the tears in the corners of his eyes clearly visible now. “Let us know what you find.” He turned and walked into the house.

I left the Criers’ home with the same hollow feeling I’d been carrying around since seeing Kate’s lifeless face in the trunk of that car. I despised that feeling. I refused to let that be the only way I remembered Kate.

Whoever had taken the old Kate away from me was going to pay.