to the airport in quiet agitation, as if there were no more words left to speak. The gray sky hung low like damp sheets from a clothesline, and the tires pulsed at regular intervals across the uneven surface of the bridge. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.
Maybe sheâd never loved him at all.
Th-thump.
The possibility terrified him more than her silence.
Th-thump. Th-thump.
âI love you.â He blurted.
She smiled uneasily as they pulled up to the terminal.
Faster than God created the world, their love was over. And six months later, he was still wandering in the desert looking for answers.
âSorry about this morning,â he says now. âI had no idea what we were going to see out there.â
âNo, it was my fault. I shouldnât have gone.â
âThatâs not true.â
âReally, itâs no big deal. Iâm fine.â
Frank sits on her futon couch as she pulls up a desk chair. In the awkward silence, he tries to decide if he should say anything else about the morning, but she doesnât give him a chance.
âI made a few calls to social services and victimsâ advocacy groups, like you asked. Theyâve had no new hires or volunteers in the last three weeks. I want to try a few more places, and Iâm still waiting to hear from a friend at the San Francisco AIDS Foundation. I probably wonât know anything more till Monday.â
âAfter the car this morning, Iâm not too hopeful.â
âWell, Iâll keep trying. What did you find out?â
âUnfortunately, not much. The victim had no ID. No match on his fingerprints in any criminal or federal employee database.â He pulls out a file from his satchel. âLetâs see. The corporation sent a pathologist to help with the preliminary medical exam. It looks like the victim was killed by a knife wound to the neck. There were also rope burns at two different angles on his wrists and ankles, suggesting that he was tied up somewhere else before being moved to the car.â
âWhy do that?â
âTo make it more difficult to identify the body. To torture himâassuming he wasnât dead. To test out new shocks.â Frank laughs at his own sarcasm. âI donât know.â
She likes the sound of that laugh in her apartment but tries not to enjoy it.
âWell,â she adds, âdid you find anything else?â
âInside the car there were two sets of fingerprintsâCatherineâs and the victimâsâkeys in the ignition, an empty bag of pretzels, three cigarette butts in the ashtray, and a tape of classical music in the deck.â
âWhat tape?â
âYou always were a fan.â He looks down at his notes. âIt was a Glenn Gould recording of Bachâs Goldberg Variations. â
âWas it playing when they found the car?â
âI donât know. There wasnât any mention of it.â
âThe car was twenty feet from the water.â She leans forward with upturned palms. âWhy not dump it and get rid of the evidence altogether? Someone wanted the body and that tape to be found. Why?â
âAnd who? As far as the police are concerned, Catherine has moved from victim to prime suspect.â
âMaybe sheâs neither.â
They sit quietly for a moment, watching the light in the room change with the dying sun.
Frank sits up and moves to the edge of the couch. âIâve been thinking about something you said the other day. The person she had dinner with in Salt Lake. What if heâs the one who was under the car?â
âItâs possible. Do you think Catherine killed him?â
âCanât rule it out. Iâm going to get in touch with the police in Utah about any recent missing persons. Maybe someoneâs looking for him.â He stands and adjusts his jacket slightly. Samantha rises at the same time, then turns on the light. It feels too bright in the small
Hundreds of Years to Reform a Rake