Silent Joe

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Where is she?”

Alex Blazak laughed. It sounded to me like he was in a vehicle. The reception was full of static and background noise.

“You didn’t really think I’d hurt her, did you?”

“You never know what crazy people will do.”

“That’s me. Certifiable. She’s waiting for you at the Bay Breeze Motel. If you’re still on K Street, fucking around with my boat, the motel’s about two miles away. Room fourteen, Trona. Hey, nice doing business with you. Chrissa says you’re a real cool guy.”

He gave me the motel address and hung up. I told Redd, and she told Marchant, and we rolled.

Five minutes later we approached the Bay Breeze Motel. It was on the beach side of Coast Highway. Two sheriff’s cruisers were already parked in the motel lot. Two NBPD radio cars were double parked along PCH. I could see two helos descending from opposite ends of the sky.

“I’ll go first, Joe. If I need help with the door, you’re the man. We’ll get the uniforms to cover the rear and sides.”

Room fourteen was up a flight of cement stairs, then left. I could see that a light was on. Collier and I took one side of the door and Redd the other.

She knocked twice.

“Yes?”

“Savannah Blazak?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Sergeant Cheryl Redd, Orange County Sheriff’s. Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

“Open the door, please.”

I heard the lock being turned, then the chain sliding back. The door swung inward and Savannah Blazak stood in the weak light. Her hair was cropped short. Jeans and a halter top. Barefoot. She looked pale and dirty.

“Hello, Joe. Hello, Deputies. I’m all right. And I’m very sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”

“You’re going to be okay,” I said. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Is Alex all right?”

“So far as we know.”

“It was my fault. It was all my fault.”

“Let’s get you out of here. We can talk later.”

“I will not go home. I will not.”

“We’re taking you into protective custody at Hillview Home for Children,” I said. “It’s a safe place. I was there a while.”

She sighed and looked down. “Okay. May I please get my things?”

“We’ve got Savannah,” said Redd, into her phone mike. “She’s all right by the looks of her.”

Savannah rode in the back of my car, with Collier beside her. Redd sat up front with me.

Redd told Savannah her rights under Miranda, and asked if she’d like to talk to us without a lawyer.

“Sure.”

“Tell us what happened, Savannah.”

“I was playing Savannah the Spy, where I take my video camera and spy on people. It’s a game. And I took this tape that showed my dad doing something bad. I was scared. When he loses his temper he goes psycho. He hit me once and broke my eardrum but made me tell the doctor it was Alex. So I didn’t know what to do with my spy tape. So I ran away to my brother’s and told him everything. And he said not to worry about any of it. He said we could live together and be safe and forget about what Dad had done. But we needed lots of money. And the tape was worth money to my dad. So Alex called him and said he had it and that he wanted money for it. Dad said he’d kill Alex if he showed anybody the tape. Then Will found us at the Ritz and said he’d help. Then he got killed. Then Dad went on TV and called Alex a kidnapper and the FBI started chasing us all over the place. Then we thought maybe Joe could help us without getting Alex killed and it worked. Here’s the tape. You can have it.”

I turned to see her digging into her Pocahontas backpack.

“Thank you,” said Collier.

Savannah sighed and started sobbing.

“Hey,” said Collier, gently. “Hey, you’re okay, young lady. You’ve done the right thing. You’re safe. You’re sitting in a car with three cops. Cheer up.”

But Savannah kept sobbing. “Joe — I never got to say it, but thanks for throwing me over that wall.”

“You’re welcome. Where did you go?”

“To the corner of Lincoln and Beach. That was our place to meet, if anything went wrong.”

“Alex picked you up.”

“Yes.”

I listened to her sobs. “Savannah, I never got to thank you for what you did that night we met at Lind Street.”

“What did I do?”

“You looked me in the face and said how do you do.”

“I like your face. It’s unconventional.”

“I like you. Hang in there. We’ll be at Hillview in just a few minutes.”

Strange, to walk back into Hillview. I’d been back before, dozens of times, working as a peer counselor, attending some of the social functions, helping out as best I could. I believed in Hillview.

But to go through those doors again always took me back to the years I’d spent there, to the changing faces, the routine, the loneliness, the anxiety, the sadness and the doubt. As we sat in the intake room, I looked out at the library, where I’d first seen Will and Mary Ann; to the gym where I’d played endless half-court games with kids bigger and stronger than me; to the cottages for the teenaged mothers and their tiny infants; to the barbecue patio and the playground. I looked out at the neat walkways that I always secretly told myself would lead me out of this place and away to something else, something better and more real and more permanent, a home that I couldn’t be taken away from, ever, and could never be taken away from me.

Savannah caught me looking out the window, so she looked out it, too.

A doctor examined Savannah and pronounced her unharmed and healthy. Trauma counseling would follow, but for now, Savannah was fit for admission.

The intake procedure at Hillview took less than an hour. The Hillview director and an intake counselor filled out the forms and officially accepted Savannah Blazak into protective custody. Within seventy-two hours, the state would have to convince a judge that Savannah needed to be kept there for her own protection, or her parents would get her back.

That was going to be difficult, given the status of Jack and Lorna. But the reason for it was safe in Collier’s purse, and I was burning to leave Hillview and slide that videotape into a player back at headquarters.

I shook Savannah’s hand, then went to one knee and hugged her lightly. My heart raced like a stick in a fast river, because I’d never even imagined saying good-bye to someone and leaving them at Hillview, my old Palace of Good-byes. For one of the few times in my life I believed I knew how another person felt. Really knew.

“I’ll be back, Savannah. And you won’t be here forever.” I looked at the director and the intake counselor. “These are good people.”

“Joe ought to know,” said the director, “he’s one of our most famous graduates!”

I was just opening the doors of my car when my department-issue cell phone rang. It was Marchant.

“We took Alex Blazak into custody about five minutes ago. No shots fired.”

On our way over to department headquarters I called Lorna Blazak. I had just started to tell her where her daughter was when I heard Jack tell her to beat it and give him the phone.

“You got her?”

“She’s in protective custody.”

“Where?”

“I can’t tell you right now. You’ll be informed of visitation rights in a timely fashion.”

“I’m her father! What the fuck are you doing with her?”

“She’s being protected. Your two million dollars made her safe, sir. I’d be happy about that if I were you.”

“I’m happy,” he said. His voice was so tight it sounded like he was swallowing glass. “I’m very pleased. And the other?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Then meet me at Diver’s Cove immediately. I’ll take what’s mine and give you what we agreed on.”

“No, sir. I’m going to look at it first.”

“That is private property and you do not have my permission to handle it.”

“It’s evidence collected in a police investigation, sir. Your permission isn’t necessary or relevant.”

“I own the best lawyers in the country.”

“Congratulations.”

“I’ll pay a million for it back. Before you or anyone sees it. And I’ve told you what’s on it. You’ve got to understand what an embarrassment it would be to my wife and myself.”

“I understand embarrassment, sir.”

“Then give me the tape! Two million, Joe. Last offer. That’s private property.”

“By the way, Savannah is doing very well. A little tired, but otherwise well. Be sure to tell your wife.”

“I’m going to sue you out of that department if I don’t get my tape back.”

“And your son — that would be Alex — has been arrested.”

“I’ll go three million for the tape. All yours. Three million dollars, Joe.”

“Go fish, sir.”

I hung up.

Twenty minutes later, just before one A.M., we were sitting in one of the Bureau conference rooms: Marchant, Birch and Ouderkirk, Redd and Collier. Marchant hit the play button on the VCR, then sat down next to Birch.

First was black and white snow, but a date and time at the top. May 12, 2:35 P.M.

Then the sound of a girl, giggling. The beach. Crystal Cove, between Newport and Laguna. Lorna Blazak walking along, in shorts and a pink sweatshirt. A Jack Russell terrier racing back and forth in front of her, chasing the water out, retreating when it came back in.

“This is Savannah the Spy, getting Mom. This is Crystal Cove. Mom can get a ticket because Abner is not on a leash. Spies notice these kinds of things. I’ll see the cop first and warn them. Mom. Mom! Mom... smile!”

Lorna smiled and her hair blew across her face. The camera zoomed in close. Barking, the dog retreated from a rush of whitewater.

“I’ll be taking Abner on our next dangerous mission, somewhere in either Africa or New York. He’s getting in shape for it. Abner! Abner! Smile at the camera, Abs!”

Then the picture cut to a room like something from a decorating magazine: ocean through the windows, a big golden vase on the floor, Egyptian style, handles sculpted to look like cobras with their hoods flared. The date was now May 18, the time was 11:58 A.M.

Jack Blazak stood by the window, wearing a singlet and a pair of loose satin trunks. He was on the phone, but breathing hard, arm muscles taut, a white towel over his shoulders.

“Savannah the Spy gets Dad doing business after his boxing workout. Did you hit hard, Dad?”

Blazak looked blankly at the camera, then pushed one of the phone buttons. He made a muscle. He smiled. “I’m no Muhammad, but it feels good!”

“Who’s going to win the next big one?”

“Me! It’s gotta be me! ”

“Spies don’t like blood, Dad.”

“I’ll knock him out in the first — not a drop spilled!”

“You’re the champ.”

“I’m pretty! I’m scientific! I’ll beat the gorilla in the thrilla in Manila!”

“Dad, that’s racist.”

“So? Hey, I can make about four MILLION dollars in thirty seconds, if you’ll let me finish this call!”

Blazak smiled again, took a deep breath, and punched another button on the phone.

“Sorry, Carl. Savannah’s spying on me again. Savannah, Carl says hello.”

“Hi, Carl. I drove the Volkswagen go-cart you gave me this morning. It was my favorite present. ”

“Carl says you’re welcome. Now beat it, honey — Dad’s back on the chain gang.”

“All you do is work and—”

“NOW! GO! I’m working, goddamnit!”

The image jiggled and jumped into nonsense as Savannah ran from the room. A moment later, a long hallway came into focus, and a high ceiling with recessed skylights, and French doors open to a small vineyard. I recognized them from my visit to the Blazak home.

“All Dad does is work and box. He bought us another home last week, in Florence. I’ll be spying there this summer! ”

“How many homes do they have?” asked Redd.

“Four,” said Birch. “Newport Beach, Aspen, Key West and Florence. Blazak hit number forty-one on the richest men list last year.”

“Kind of a short temper with his daughter,” said Ouderkirk. “But I’d go three rounds with him any day.”

Collier asked about the room with the cobra vase.

“It’s their Newport place,” I said. “I was there three weeks ago.”

The next scene was the living room where I’d sat with the Blazaks and Bo Warren. It was May 21, 10:20 A.M. Savannah was apparently hidden behind one of the sofas that faced the windows. A short, dark-haired woman was dusting the fireplace mantel, lifting pictures to wipe underneath. Abner, the terrier, sat looking up at her with intent interest. The day was bright and clear and beyond her you could see Catalina Island crisp against the blue sky and blue Pacific. The woman finished the mantel, then turned toward the camera. Savannah must have shrunk behind the couch, because all you saw for a moment was carpet and wall. The camera jiggled and refocused on the cleaning woman, who was now in a corner of the room, working the high ceiling with a long pole that had a bright pink dust attachment at the end. She was humming quietly.

Marcie, I thought: the Blazak domestic.

Suddenly she turned. Savannah giggled.

“I thought I felt eyes on me! I catch you!”

“Savannah the Spy, caught by Marcie! Caught red-handed.”

Laughter, and a fade-out.

Then the image cut to a night scene. The date was May 29, the time was 10:40 P.M. It was hard to make out at first, but I finally realized that the camera was up close on the ocotillo that grew along the south wall of the house. The ground lights threw shadows against the wall and when the camera pulled back, the thin, twisted stalks of the plant came into focus.

Savannah’s voice was a whisper:

“Savannah the Spy on the family estate of international financier Simon Carny, whose wealth can be measured in the billions of trillions. A handsome man, a man of mystery and tons of secrets.”

She panned the camera to take in the dark vineyard, the huge swimming pool surrounded by stout Canary Island palms, the guest house beyond the pool. The guest house was a smaller version of the main house, a cross between a Grecian temple and a Roman estate — pillars and columns, a large portico that looked like marble, the same heavy rectangular shape, the same flat roof.

“Due to extraordinary viewing conditions at the present time, Savannah is on an especially dangerous mission. Her mother is away for the week. Her nanny is watching TV, and Savannah was put to bed almost two hours ago. But she has... slipped silently out of her window and... stealthily detected that the trillionaire strongman Simon Carny is holed up in his Roman office which sits between his lavish pool and his vineyard of the finest Bordeaux grapes in all of Tuscany.”

Savannah entered the vineyard. The vines were leafy and you could see the small clusters of grapes. Slowly, the guest house came into focus. Savannah got down on her stomach and inched along.

“Savannah the Spy takes no chances that the recluse Carny will spot her. Even the great spy dog Abner has been locked away so as not to blow Savannah’s cover. The greatest virtue of the spy is silence. Boy, this is hard crawling on your stomach over dirt. Better watch out for anacondas.”

The vines slowly passed by the camera and the guest house got closer. There were lights on inside.

“Three more rows, then Savannah the Spy will have to sneak very quietly to the window, hoping for just a peek of the trillionaire power broker Simon Carny.”

The guest house grew larger as Savannah carried the camera close. There was a recessed window with vertical wrought iron bars over it. The window was half open and a gauzy white fabric lilted in and out. There were sconces brimming with red geraniums on either side. On the ground was a curved concrete bench. You could hear a man’s voice as she got closer. And another sound, too, high-pitched and intermittent: someone crying or laughing. Savannah approached the bench, then got up onto it.

Through the bars and the swaying curtain you could see the living area, the kitchen, and a doorway that led to the back part of the guest house.

The Man’s Voice: “Here, this’ll fix it.”

Then a flat whump, like a feather pillow being smacked.

The high-pitched sound wasn’t laughter at all, but a woman gagging, fighting for breath.

Whump!

“You think you can pull that shit on a man like me?”

The woman gagging, but no words.

Whump!

“So you’re going to take care of it, right, bitch?”

Gagging, then: “Yes. Yes!”

“Goddamnit right the answer is yes. You’ll take what I give you and get the rest of those stupid ideas out of your rotten little brain. Right?”

Whump!

“Yes. Yes.”

Then a big intake of breath as the woman was allowed to breathe. Giant gulps choked by sobs and unintelligible syllables. Like somebody who’s been held under by waves.

“Get your fuckin’ clothes on. You’re outta here forever, bitch. Hey, here’s a reminder of what you’re going to do.”

Whump!

“Shuttup. Shuttup. There, breathe all you want. I’m a nice guy once you get to know me.”

Jack Blazak stormed into the living room wearing nothing but shorts. He pulled a polo shirt over his head and jammed his arms through. Then he stormed back out of the picture.

“No! No!”

Whump.

“Get your clothes on, you scrawny bitch. I can’t stand the sight of you.”

Blazak came back out, balancing on one foot, the other raised as he worked it into a boat shoe.

Sobbing from the back of the house.

“Stupidest goddamned woman on earth, and that’s saying something. ”

He put on the other shoe.

He sat at the small kitchen bar and looked at a Forbes magazine. He touched the back of his neck and looked at his fingers. He glanced toward the woman, then went back to the magazine.

A few minutes later she staggered out. Short black dress, black heels, a small cashmere sweater with mother-of-pearl and sequins woven into it. She was hunched over, wobbling on the shoes. In one hand she clutched a thick wad of money. She pulled the sweater against her shoulders like she was freezing. Her arms were thin and brown. Her long black hair was tangled and covered her face. She reached up and took a handful of her hair and threw it back, revealing her terrified and beautiful face.

Birch froze the frame.

“Luria Bias,” I said. “Eighteen years old and pregnant by then. Severely beaten a few hours before she died. It looks to me like she just gave Blazak the news.”

“The woman who got run over?” asked Collier.

“It sounds like she was shaking him down for money,” said Ouderkirk.

“Shit, Harmon,” said Redd. “If she’s eighteen, unmarried and pregnant by number forty-one on the richest assholes in America list, maybe she was just asking for some help.”

“Sorry, that’s what I meant.”

“Jesus, Harmon, he was beating the fetus.”

“I know! I give! I was trying to establish motive for the beating. Blazak was trying to get her to have an abortion. She was threatening to keep the baby and file a paternity suit.”

A moment of silence then, while the ugliness of what we’d just watched settled in.

Birch hit play again. Luria wobbled over to the bar and collected a small black purse. She stuffed the money inside and tried to work a zipper but the bills were in the way. Black hair falling around her face. The smudge of an old bruise still showing under one eye. Dark legs trembling.

Blazak watched her like she was a waitress doing a lousy job. He fingered the back of his neck again.

“You scratched me.”

“Sorry.”

“Get out.”

“I’m go.”

“That’ll cover everything. And more. Use it to go back where you came from.”

“I’m go home.”

Luria moved toward the door and the camera. The picture jostled wildly, then went black.

“The lab has a skin sample taken from under Luria’s fingernail,” I said. “Maybe that scratch is what we’ll use to convict him.”

“And this tape,” Birch said. “And Savannah Blazak’s testimony.”

Again, a moment of silence, as the pieces continued to fall into place. Marchant stood. “Rick, do what you need to do. We’re here to help.”

“Look, Blazak paid three million dollars to get his daughter and this tape,” said Birch. “He needs Savannah silent. He needs this tape destroyed. Now he’s got neither. Cheryl, get two more uniforms over to Hillview.”

“Will do.”

“Harmon, dupe this tape, then dupe it again.”

“Got it.”

“Collier, get to McCallum when he opens the lab. Explain our situation and tell him I’ll have a comparison sample by noon. We’ll see if Blazak left his skin under Luria Bias’s fingernail.”

“I’ll be waiting for him,” said Collier.

“Joe, it’s two in the morning. Go home and get some rest. And congratulations. You just saved a girl from a crazy brother and a father who beats women with his fists. Hillview is where she belongs right now. And be careful. That mutt Jack might want a piece of you.”

Birch offered his hand and I shook it. Then the rest of them offered theirs. Even Marchant. Ouderkirk slapped my back.

It was the third proudest moment of my life, after the day that Will and Mary Ann walked into Hillview to see me and the first time June Dauer and I made love. I smiled and turned the bad side of my face away and walked out.

When I got to my car I called June. She answered on the third ring, in a voice that sounded unsurprised and lucid.

“It’s over,” I said. “She’s okay. She’s safe. Nobody got shot. I was wondering if I could come over.”

“You better come over.”

A little before three A.M. I was standing on June Dauer’s patio overlooking Newport Harbor. The lights twinkled on the water and the air smelled of salt and barnacles and nightshade. I knocked and waited. She answered the door in the dark and whispered for me to come in.

We started making love at 3:08, 5:22 and 7:12. We ate cereal with whole milk and honey on it at 4:15, and I fried up some eggs, bacon, sausage, and potatoes at 6:30, which I served with waffles, melon and orange juice.

June left for work around nine and told me to sleep as long as I wanted.

I woke up at noon. I walked around her apartment with a cup of coffee. The morning haze was burning off and the water of the bay was glassy gray. It felt like another world to me, another universe entirely. No bars. No uniforms. No guns. No creeps.

June Dauer was everywhere I looked: sitting on the sofa, standing in the kitchen, looking out the window, sitting on the patio. I could see her dark curls, the beautiful straight lines of her face, her strong tan legs. I could hear the clear, soft whisper of her voice.

I wondered what it would be like to inhabit this place. If it could accommodate a big man, a scar, a gun. It was funny, though, because when I imagined myself here I didn’t feel like I was those things. I felt different. I felt smaller, lighter, softer. No scar. No gun. I felt like a smile with legs, and a body in between that only wanted to be close to hers. To be home. As if her flesh was a house and I could move in.