River’s End

disconnected. “You keep any cash in the house?”
    “Yeah, some.” He stepped through the debris and into the office, kicking papers out of the way. He found his desk drawer in the corner, with a fifty-dollar bill under it. “I probably had a couple of hundred,” he said, holding up the bill. “I’d guess the rest is buried under here somewhere. Everything’s still here, Dad. It’s just trashed.”
    “Yeah, I think we can rule out burglary.” He studied the monitor, felt a twinge of his own. He remembered when Noah had won that MVP trophy, the pride and excitement they’d shared. “Got a beer?”
    “I did, before I left this morning.”
    “Let’s see if you still do. And we’ll go sit out on the deck.”
    “It’ll take me weeks to replace some of this data,” Noah said as he rose. “Some I’ll never be able to replace. I can buy a goddamn new computer, but not what was in it.”
    “I know. I’m sorry, Noah. Let’s go outside and sit down until the uniforms get here.”
    “Sure, what the hell.” More sick than angry now, Noah found two beers in the refrigerator, popped tops on both and sat with Frank on the back deck.
    “You got any idea who or why on this?”
    Noah let out a short laugh, then tipped back the beer to drink deeply. “Just a little bunny boiler I know.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Caryn.” Noah dragged a hand through his hair, then sprang up to pace. “A little clip from Fatal Attraction. She didn’t take it well when I stopped seeing her. She’s been calling, leaving crazy messages. And the other day she was out here when I got home, all dewy-eyed and apologetic. When I didn’t bite, she got nasty. Keyed my car on the way out.”
    “You still have any of her messages on your machine?”
    “No. My strategy was to ignore her so she’d go away.” He looked in through the deck door and the light of battle came back into his eyes. “Didn’t work. She’s going to pay for this.”
    “You know what she drives?”
    “Sure.”
    “We’ll check with the neighbors, see if anyone saw her or her car in the area today. You give the cops her address and let them go have a talk with her.”
    “Talk’s not what I have in mind.”
    “The best thing for you to do is stay clear. I know you’re pissed, Noah,” he continued when Noah whirled around. “And we can have her charged with breaking and entering, destruction of property, malicious mischief, and all manner of things if we can prove she did this.”
    “Prove it, my ass. Who else? I knew she did it the minute I walked in.”
    “Knowing and proving are different things. Could be she’ll admit to it under a little pressure. But for now, you let the cops take the report, do their job, and you steer clear. Don’t talk to her.” Worry clouded Frank’s eyes at the battle light gleaming in his son’s. “Has she ever gotten physically violent with you?”
    “Jesus, I outweigh her by sixty pounds.” He sat again, then looked up quickly. “I never touched her that way. The last time she was here, she went at me and I hauled her out the door.”
    Frank worked up a smile. “You sure can pick ‘em.”
    “I’m giving celibacy a try for a while.” With a sigh, Noah picked up his beer again. “
    Women are too much trouble. A couple of hours ago I got hit on by a TV star old enough to be my mother, and for a minute, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.”
    “Your appointment in Burbank,” Frank said, primarily to keep Noah’s mind off his problem for a little while.
    “Yeah, Lydia Loring, she looks damn good.” He rubbed the bottle of beer between both hands. “I’m interviewing people connected to Sam Tanner and Julie MacBride. I’ve been to San Quentin. I’ve talked to Tanner twice.”
    Frank puffed out his cheeks. “What do you want me to say?”
    “Nothing.” Disappointment was just one more weight in his gut. “But I’m hoping you’ll cooperate, talk to me about the case, your investigation. I can’t write the whole story, do justice to it, without your end. Sam Tanner has brain cancer. He has less than a year to live.”
    Frank lowered his eyes to his beer. “Some things come around,” he murmured. “
    They take their own sweet time, but they come around.”
    “Don’t you want to know?” Noah waited until Frank looked up again. “You never forgot this case, never really let go of it, or the people in it. He confessed, he recanted, then he shut up for twenty years. Only three people know what