River’s End

moment he’d decided to write about all the ripples on the river of murder.
    Fiction would have been fine, Noah knew. Entertaining. But digging and exposing the realities, stripping down killers, victims, survivals for public consumption. That’s what his father disliked—and couldn’t understand.
    And just now, because he didn’t know how to explain it, Noah’s mood teetered on the edge of vile.
    Spotting Caryn’s car parked in front of his house tripped it over the rest of the way. He found her sitting on his back deck, her long, smooth legs clad in tiny pink shorts, a wide-brimmed straw hat protecting her face from the sun. When he opened the glass door, she looked up, her eyes brimming behind the amber lenses of her designer sunglasses. Her lips trembled.
    “Oh, Noah. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
    He cocked his head. It would’ve been fascinating if it hadn’t been so tedious. It was a pattern he recognized from their weeks together. Fight, curse, accuse, throw things, slam out. Then come back with tearful eyes and apologize. Now, unless she’d decided to deviate from form, she would slither around him and offer sex.
    When she rose, smiling tremulously as she crossed to him and slid her arms around him, he decided she just didn’t have the imagination to improvise.
    “I’ve been so unhappy without you these last few days.” She lifted her mouth to his.
    “Let’s go inside so I can show you how much I’ve missed you.”
    It worried him a little that he wasn’t tempted, not in the least.
    “Caryn. It’s not going to work. Why don’t we just say it was fun while it lasted?”
    “You don’t mean it.”
    “Yes.” He had to nudge her back so she’d stop rubbing against him. “I do.”
    “There’s someone else, isn’t there? All the time we were living together, you were cheating on me.”
    “No, there’s no one else. And we weren’t living together. You just started staying here.”
    “You bastard. You’ve already had another woman in our bed.” She rushed past him, into the house.
    “It’s not our bed. It’s my bed. Goddamn it.” He was more weary than angry, until he walked into the bedroom and saw she was already ripping at his sheets. “Hey! Cut it out.”
    He made a grab for her, but she rolled onto the bed, leaped off the other side. Before he could stop her, she’d grabbed the bedside lamp and heaved it at him. The best he could do was block it so the base didn’t rap him between the eyes. The sound of the glass crashing on the floor snapped the already unsteady hold on his temper.
    “Okay, that’s it. Get out. Get the hell out of my house and stay away from me.”
    “You never cared. You never thought about my feelings.”
    “You’re right, absolutely.” He went for her as she made a beeline for his prized basketball trophy. “I didn’t give a damn about you.” He panted it out as he struggled to get her out without losing any of his own skin to her long, lethal nails. “I’m a pig, a creep, a son of a bitch.”
    “I hate you!” She shrieked it, slapping and kicking as he dragged her to the front door. “I wish you were dead!”
    “Just pretend I am. And I’ll do the same for you.” He shoved her outside, shut the door, then leaned back against it.
    He let out a long breath, rolled his shoulders. Then because he hadn’t heard her car start, glanced out the window. Just in time to see her rake her keys over the glossy finish of his BMW.
    He roared like a wounded lion. By the time he had flung open the door and burst out, she was leaping into her own car, squealing away.
    Hands clenched, he looked at the damage. Deep, nasty scratches formed letters on the hood. PI. At least she hadn’t had the satisfaction of finishing the thought, he decided.
    Okay, fine. He’d have the car repaired while he was out of town. It seemed like a very good time to head north to San Quentin.

Twelve
    Noah’s first distant glimpse of San Quentin made him think of an old fortress now serving as some sort of thematic resort complex. Disneyland for cons. The building was the color of sand and stretched out over San Francisco Bay with its multilevel and towers and turrets with a faintly exotic air. It didn’t smack of prison unless you thought of the armed guards in those towers, the spread of security lights that would turn the air around it orange and eerie at night. And all the steel cages it held inside.
    He’d opted to take the ferry from San