Many other uses, huh?
I went back to my Word document and typed, “What about killer ray guns?”
Then I checked my email and found a note from Terry telling me that he hadn’t uncovered anything more about the grant Cassandra was working on or DARPA’s contract with Drake Enterprises.
Angela Knight had also emailed to let me know that the cybercrime division hadn’t been able to get a GPS location on the caller who referred to himself as Shade. I wasn’t surprised. I had a feeling Shade was no amateur.
Finally, I made a list of three goals for the day: (1) talk with Dr.
Rigel Osbourne; (2) find out what really went on in Building B-14; (3) follow up with Aina about the radioactive isotopes found at Austin’s apartment.
Honestly, I didn’t feel like an investigator who’d just hours ago helped save a woman’s life and apprehend a suspect. Despite our progress on this case, despite the apparent closure, I felt more like a rat in a maze in which someone was opening and closing portions of the wall. Leading me steadily into a corner.
And I had a feeling I knew who it was.
Shade.
I entered one last question: “Who is Shade?”
I was poring over the notes on my computer, thinking about how much the gulls were really starting to annoy me, when Ralph showed up wearing the same set of clothes he’d had on yesterday.
“No suitcases, huh?”
He plopped down beside me. “On their way to Miami. Can you believe it? Miami!” Then he let out a deep sigh and provided me with a colorful description of what the airline baggage handlers ought to do to themselves with his retractable-handle fold-over garment bag. I wasn’t sure it was anatomically possible to do what he recommended, but it certainly brought an interesting picture to mind. “Plus,” he added, “I tried making coffee in my room this morning. I’m telling you, Pat, avoid anything with ‘o-matic’ in the title. I don’t care if it’s a toaster-o-matic, a pizza-o-matic, a jambalaya-o-matic, or a urinal-o-matic. Doesn’t matter. If they couldn’t come up with a better name than that, their product stinks.
You can be sure of that.”
I wasn’t really in the mood to talk about urinal-o-matics. “Well, here.” I offered him a cup of Peruvian coffee. “This is pretty good, except I think they might have used a roaster-o-matic.” After he’d swallowed a Ralph-sized gulp, I asked him if he’d heard how Cassandra was doing.
“Talked to the docs. She’s stable, but they told me one-third of the people who survive a near-drowning like that end up with nervous system problems, or lung and heart complications, so they want to keep her at the hospital today. Monitor her progress.”
“Maybe I’ll head over there before she leaves,” I said. “See if she can help untangle some of my questions about this case.”
“Better hurry. Docs say she’s not too excited about being there.” Ralph took another draught of coffee, finishing off the cup. “A couple more tests scheduled for this morning, then she’ll probably take off.”
The way he phrased that, “probably take off,” reminded me of our theory that she and Austin might have been trying to get out of town quickly yesterday morning. “Ralph, do you know if anyone has told her about Austin’s death yet?”
“I asked the hospital the same thing, but since Austin didn’t have any ID on him last night, they said they’re waiting until his body can be positively identified before telling her. It’s just a formality, but it’s enough to hold things up-and after what Cassandra went through yesterday, they don’t really want to make her do it. I think they’re trying to contact a family member somewhere in Arkansas.
Hey, did you eat already?”
“Just some oatmeal.”
“I need some flapjacks.”
And before I knew it, I was in line behind Ralph to get a second breakfast.
Ralph’s mention of the search for Austin’s family member brought to mind a question I’d wanted to ask him, but I waited until we had our plates stacked high with pancakes smothered in maple syrup and were on our way back to the veranda. Then I said, “Ralph, you’ve been a parent almost ten years longer than I have.
How do you know how much freedom to give Tony?”
“Oh. So Tessa did something stupid.”
“Snuck off to get a tattoo. Does that count?” We found our seats.
“I just don’t think I can trust her to be here in San Diego without supervision. She’s at a tough age. She asks for more freedom, and I want to give it to her, but when I do, more often than not, she acts irresponsibly.”
Ralph attacked his pancakes with gusto. “Sounds pretty normal for a teen.” “I know she wants to stay in San Diego, but I don’t want to reward her for doing things behind my back. So I decided earlier this morning to send her back to Denver and have her stay with my parents for a day or two until I can close up some things here and get back home.”
“The freedom thing, Pat, no one knows the answer to that.”
Ralph didn’t let having food in his mouth stop him from passing along his parenting advice. “It’s always a balancing act between trusting ‘em and setting ‘em up for failure. They’ll push the limits, you’ll end up stepping on their toes. You’re both gonna make mistakes, I guarantee you that. You just need to keep loving her and be patient. That’s about all I know. Where’s the butter?”
I handed him some mini butter tubs. “One more thing.”
He stuck his fork into his pancakes. “What’s that?”
I wasn’t quite sure how to phrase this. “Ralph, something happened to Lien-hua. Something in her past. A couple times she’s hinted to me about it, but when I follow up and ask her about it, she backs off. Do you know what it is?”
The edge of his jaw twitched. “No. It was something before I met her. I wondered for a while, and then one day I just decided to let it go and let her have her secrets. You better believe I’ve got mine.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We all do.”
He swallowed a forkful of pancakes and then draped a giant paw across my shoulder. “Pat, I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Investigate her. Just let it be. You push her, you might hurt her.
I know her heart’s been broken before. Don’t pry. She deserves better than that.”
“Ralph, you know I don’t want to hurt her. That’s the last thing I want-”
“Good morning, boys.” Lien-hua appeared beside me and set down a plateful of fruit and a bowl of yogurt sprinkled with granola.
“What were you saying, Pat? What’s the last thing you want?”
“To eat yogurt,” I said, staring at her plate. “If I ever tell you I want some yogurt, hospitalize me. That and quiche. I’m obviously not in my right mind.”
“Yogurt-a-matic,” mumbled Ralph.
“Health benefits,” she said coyly. “Gotta stay fit.”
I passed her a cup of coffee and noticed that she’d tied her hair back into a thick, rich ponytail, and had placed a wide plastic-strip bandage across the wound on her neck. I nodded toward her neck.
“How is that this morning?”
She pulled out a chair. “Doesn’t really hurt.” She was wearing a lightweight, body-hugging turtleneck and tan shorts. Not what she might wear to the office in Quantico, but pretty typical for San Diego.
When she sat down, her shorts rode up just enough for me to see the deep, purplish bruise on her right thigh. My eyes wanted to loiter on her leg, or on her turtleneck, but I made them stare at the yogurt.
She grimaced a bit as she situated herself in her chair, and Ralph’s look of concern told me that he’d noticed. “Bruised my leg last night,” she explained. Then, she extended her lean leg in our direction. “I mean, would you look at that thing?”