What I'm getting at is I was pretty much hosed the minute I accepted the captain's invitation to hit the road for a few days -- at the suggestion of the missus, of all people.
"Have you spent any time in Baja?" he asked, slamming shut the solid-sounding trunk of a government-issued, navy blue Lincoln. Hers, I'd have bet."Nope," I lied. Not unless he meant did Rita and I used to go down to Tijuana every weekend to smuggle back prescription diet pills. "What about you?"
"Not really." Not unless I meant had he and his wife honeymooned there back when they were still in love -- and later bought a timeshare to retreat to in grief after the senseless, random killing of their young son.
"Why are the cops all over Rita's place when we already got the guy?" I asked. "You seriously know the President?"
"Can you remember the last time you actually saw Rita?"
"Unless they think there really is more to that freak's story. Oh my God, do they?"
"Answer the question."
"You first."
Fine, I've met a few Presidents. They kept introducing themselves after the first Gulf War. Something about me being a pretty decent shot." Rolling my eyes, I crossed my legs toward him, nice and slow, placing my hand on my chin. "Alright!" he said. Guys are so easy.
"Oh my God, he killed her at home? Our home?" When the captain told me Hollister admitted to having stalked Rita home from work for some time, I was seized by a horrific realization. "I was working the night before they found her. Jesus Christ, he would have killed me, too." He reached out and patted my knee, third time now, not that I was counting. "There might be a couple of things that aren't quite adding up," he said. "Guess there's no such thing as a slam dunk."
"You think?" I couldn't help noting, considering we were skipping the country and all. We passed a trio of local children walking home the family burro, as the raging sun gave way to a muted pink horizon kissing the foamy Pacific. "So what are we doing here, Chuck?"
"Haven't decided yet."
"You've probably guessed it's complicated."
"You've probably guessed I'm not interested. Were you a secret assassin in the war? Are you still one now?
"You have a very vivid imagination."
"You have no idea."He finally removed his hand from my knee, where, oh yes, it had innocently remained during this entire exchange. "I'm supposed to be acting as your victim's advocate," he sighed. "Let's talk about survivor's guilt."
"What would you know about that?
"You have no idea," he said, concluding that round.
"What if Hollister isn't the one who killed her?" I added, after a thoughtful pause. "What if he really is innocent?"
