J is for Judgement

the Fugitive's a coastal cruiser. The Lord's a blue water boat, better suited to his purpose."
    "Which is what?"
    "Getting as far away from here as possible."
    "Why come to me?"
    "I thought you'd know where the Lord was slipped. You said you talked to Carl Eckert on the boat. I didn't want to waste a lot of time at the harbormaster's office trying to track him down."
    "Wendell told me Carl Eckert was out of town last night."
    "Of course he's gone. That's the point. He won't even miss the boat until he gets back." She checked her watch. "Wendell must have left Perdido about ten this morning."
    "How'd he manage that? Did he get the car fixed?"
    "He took the Jeep I keep parked on the street. Even if it took him forty minutes to get up here, the Coast Guard still has a chance to head him off."
    "Where would he go?"
    "Back to Mexico, I'd guess. He knows the waters around the Baja, and he's got a counterfeit passport that identifies him as a Mexican citizen."
    "I'll get my car," I said.
    "We can take mine."
    We clattered down the steps together, me in front, Renata bringing up the rear. "You should notify the police about the Jeep."
    "Good point. I'm hoping he left it somewhere in the marina parking lot."
    "Where'd he go last night, did he say? I lost track of him around ten. If he got home at midnight, what'd he do for two hours? It doesn't take that long to walk a mile and a half."
    "I'm not sure. After you called, I got in my car and went looking for him. I scoured every street between t my place and the beach, and there was no sign of him. From what he said later, I got the impression somebody , came and got him, but he wouldn't say who. Maybe one of his boys."
    "I don't think so," I said. "I talked to Michael a little while ago. He says Brian called this morning. Wendell was supposed to be there last night, but he never showed."
    "Wendell's never been good at promises."
    "Do you know where Brian is?"
    "I have no idea. Wendell made sure I knew as little as possible. That way if I was ever questioned by the police, I could claim ignorance."
    This was apparently Wendell's standard operating procedure, but I wondered if this time keeping everybody ignorant was going to work against him.
    We'd reached the street by then. Renata had defied all the parking gods and snagged a place right in front where the curb was painted red. And did she have a ticket? Of course not. She unlocked the Jag, and I let myself into the passenger seat. Renata took off with a little chirp of her tires. I found myself holding on to the chicken stick. "Wendell might have gone to the cops," I said.
    "From what he told Michael, he intended to turn himself in. With somebody shooting at him, he might have felt safer in the slammer."
    She made a little snort of contempt, flashing me a cynical look. "He had no intention of turning himself in. That was bullshit. He mentioned he was going to see Dana, but that might have been bullshit, too."
    "He went to Dana's last night? What was that about?"
    "I don't know that he went, but he said he wanted to talk to her before he left. He felt guilty about her. He hoped to get things squared away before he took off. He probably wanted to have his conscience clear."
    "You think he left without you?"
    "I certainly think he has it in him. Spineless bastard. He never faced the consequences of his own behavior. Never. At this point, I don't care if he ends up in jail." She seemed to be catching every traffic light. If there was no cross traffic visible, she would sail through red, skipping four-way stops altogether in her haste to reach the marina. Maybe she thought traffic laws were meant only as suggestions, or maybe the traffic laws simply didn't apply to her that day.
    I studied her profile, wondering how much information I could pump her for. "Do you mind if I ask about the logistics of Wendell's disappearance?"
    "Like what?"
    I shrugged, not quite sure where to start. "What arrangements did he make? I don't see how he could have managed it alone." I could see her hesitate, so I tried a gentle coaxing, hoping she would open up. "I'm not just being nosy. I'm thinking whatever he did then, he might try again."
    I didn't think she'd answer, but she finally slid a look in my direction. "You're right. He couldn't pull it off without help," she said. "I single-handed my ketch down along the coast of Baja and picked him up in the dinghy after he abandoned the Lord."
    "That was risky, wasn't it? What if you'd missed him? The