Jumper: Griffin's Story (20 page)

"What?"

"Make a fist."

I did and she crashed hers into mine and said, "Boom."

"You're insane."

She nodded emphatically. "Yes."

Phuket has amazing water, stunning shades of blue and green both still and active. I did my first sketches on Ko Bon island, moving around from the leeward side to the more active waves. I worked in Prismatic colored pencils. I rarely used color but I couldn't stand the thought of trying that transition from deeper water to shallow sand bottom with graphite alone.

Next, I tried the
Thames
, but it's boring in the city–row after row of apartments with water views. I went back to
Oxford
and dodged tourists until I found a nice spot near
Magdalen
Bridge
where I sketched people punting through the round archways.

I thought of going back to
Oaxaca
but it was too painful so I spent some time at Children's
Pool
Beach
in
La Jolla
drawing sea lions coming onto the sand or the waves pounding against the other side of the sheltering breakwater.

It was a gray day, overcast, and the ocean was like that, too. Graphite pencil felt right for this water. Monochrome.

Just before I left, I went to a public phone and called the San Diego FBI Field Office.

"I'd like to speak with whoever is handling the March sixteenth murder of the six INS agents."

The woman who answered the phone said, "And your name?"

"
Griffin
O'Conner. I sent some information last week. By mail."

"Ah. One moment, please."

I got hold music for about twenty seconds. I was going to hang up when a man came on the line. The background noise was different. "Hello?
Griffin
O'Conner?"

"Yes."

"Ah, good. I'm Special Agent Proctor. Give me a moment–they patched you through to my cell phone and I don't want to crash."

The background noise lessened. "There, I'm on the shoulder. Where are you?"

"Surely your office already told you the phone number and location."

Proctor was silent for a few seconds and then he chuckled. "Well, yes, they did. I got your letter. Very interesting reading."

"Has it produced any results?"

"Maybe. A lot of questions, for one thing. What makes you think this Kemp character was involved in the murders at Sam Coulton's ranch?"

I thought about what to tell and what not to. The truth, I decided, or most of it. The only people the truth would hurt were already dead.

Or people I wished were dead.

"Kemp talked to me from there. By phone. He told me to come there or he'd kill Sam and Consuelo. I was afraid, so I called the INS and the sheriff. And yes," I added stridently, "I lied to the INS about there being a bunch of illegals there, but I thought the more people, the less chance of anyone getting–" I took a deep breath. "I lied."

"And this Kemp was there when your parents were killed?"

"Definitely."

"What's the common thread here,
Griffin
? What does Kemp want?"

"Me. I'm the common thread. Kemp wants me–he wants me dead."

"Why? He could've killed you at your parents', right?"

"He tried. I got away. I've got the scars."

"Again, why? What's the motive?"

I shook my head. I still didn't know–it had to have something to do with the jumping. "I don't really know why." A partial truth.

Proctor continued, "And where do Sam and Consuelo come in? Were they friends of your family? 'Cause I'm not finding any record of that."

"No. They found me in the desert after I got away. I was a mess and they took care of me until I was better. Later, I went and stayed with Consuelo's niece in
Mexico
, in the state of
Oaxaca
. Her house was blown up two weeks ago." I paused. "You knew that, right?"

Proctor exhaled. "Yeah. That I know. It was too close to the murders, the niece's home and all that. No bodies found."

"They missed. It was close."

"Were you there? There weren't any calls from
Mexico
that day, to the ranch."

"Ah, phone records. Mine would be the call from the pay phone in El Centra." I told him a half–truth. "Alejandra was almost killed in the explosion."

"That's the niece?"

"Yes. Alejandra Losada."

"Where is she now?"

"In hiding." I hoped. I frowned. "You haven't once asked me to come talk to you! You sent people, didn't you?"

Proctor paused, then said, "It's for your protec–"

I hung up. Out on

Coast Boulevard

, two black–and–white SDPD cars had stopped behind all the parked cars and four officers were getting out.

I went down the stairs past the seal observation deck, moving briskly, dodging the tourists, and headed out onto the breakwater. It was windy and cold and there were only a few people braving the sea spray that regularly shot through the railing.

The police followed slowly. It was a dead end, after all.

I reached the end, put one hand on the rail, and launched myself over. It was rocks and surf perhaps twelve feet below and I heard someone shout from behind, and then I was trembling in the Hole.

The Best Western Swiss Cottage was, oddly enough, by the Swiss Cottage Station on the Jubilee line, only a mile northwest of the zoo.

I caught E.V. in the half hour before her group was to go to dinner and a restaging of Candide. I called her from the house phone in the lobby.

"So, it's a pinky deal promise, right? Are we on?"

"
Griffin
? Ha! I told them we had a date and they said you were just putting me on. Did you keep your end of the deal?"

"You decide. I left you a packet at the front desk before I rang you up."

She gasped. "Are you here? At the hotel?"

"For a minute. I'm off to have Pakistani food in the
West End
. Ten o'clock all right?"

"Yes, but I've got to bring a chaperone." She said it like it was a mortal illness, like I've got leukemia.

Well, that's sensible. You can't expect them to let you go off with random strangers. I mean, what do they tell your parents? 'Let her go off with a strange boy and she didn't come back. Terribly sorry.'"

She laughed. "I could come down–we're on the third, no, second floor, right? Ground, first, second?"

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for dinner?"

"Well, wait for me. They made us all dress up and somebody should see it. It's very rare for me. My mom bought this dress specifically for the trip."

I smiled. "All right, then. I'll wait down here."

The entire group, all fifteen of them, spilled down the stairs and the lifts. E.V. was wearing her gigantic black coat but unbuttoned and she spread it wide to show me a black velvet square–necked gown that more or less molded itself to her. I had to listen to a bunch of introductions while trying very hard not to stare at E.V.'s body. She was more, uh, mature than I'd realized, under that black coat. She still wore her glasses but her short red hair had been moussed into spikes.

I was polite to the adults and complimented the women, young and old, on their dresses. At the last minute, E.V.'s teacher, Madame Breskin, said, "We have a dinner reservation for fifteen but I wouldn't be surprised at all if they could squeeze you in, too."

"That's very kind," I said, "but I'm not really dressed for it. Perhaps another time." I offered my hand to E.V. "Take a look at the sketches. I expect a scathing critique tomorrow. Ten o'clock, in the lobby?"

She smiled and I could see her about to say something, but then her eyes darted sideways at the girls around her, and she just nodded firmly.

It was still business hours in
San Diego
and I decided to give Proctor another try, this time from a bank of pay phones inside Horton Plaza Mall.

"Please give me Agent Proctor's mobile phone number," I said, when the receptionist answered the phone. The woman said, "He's in the office this morning, may I connect you?"

"All right."

Proctor answered on the third ring.

"Last time I answered your questions. Now it's your turn."

"
Griffin
? Are you all right? They swore you must've drowned!"

I ignored that. "Did you find any trace of Kemp?"

"Maybe." Proctor paused. "What if you're working with him?"

"Give me an effing break. Who gave you him in the first place?"

"We don't disclose the details of our investigations."

"Good–bye, then."

"No, wait!"

"Give me a reason."

"We can protect you."

"That scares me more than you can imagine. Give me a real reason. Has my sketch helped?"

"I told you–"

I hung up and walked away from the bank of phones, went over to the food court and bought a gyro sandwich, then jumped away from the antechamber outside the restrooms.

I did laundry, in anticipation, washed extra hard, thick coat of deodorant, and brushed my teeth thoroughly. Twice. She called it a date!

I took some deep breaths and told myself to calm down.
It's not as if you'll be alone.

And we started out with the entire group, walking to Regent's Park, but it turned out that the majority were going to the zoo and only Madame Breskin would be tagging along with us, "if you don't walk too fast. Two weeks of touring and my feet are swelling." She tapped a book under her opposite arm. "Sitting is my goal."

When we hit the park, the rest of the group went west on the

Outer Circle

, headed for the zoo. We meandered down through the middle and ended up on the edge of the lake, with early rowers and the ducks, a bench for Madame Breskin, and us on the green, closer to the water.

The critique was thorough but not scathing, with examples given on the spot, in pencil, using the boating lake and the reflections of the trees.

She liked my work, though. "Didn't expect you to work from memory so much. It's really cool that you've been all these places and you remember them so well."

What could I say? After an awkward pause I tapped the
Oxford
drawings. "I was drawing this in the flesh. No memory involved."

"Well, I really love these pencils you did of the
Bahamas
."

"Uh, no–that's
Thailand
, near Phuket. Guess they are a bit similar, but I've never been to the
Bahamas
. But in
Dr. No
and
Thunderball
I guess it's similar."

"Well, are you going to sketch me?"

"Yes." I moved around a bit, considering her against the available backgrounds. "Here." I settled down and took my sketchbook back. "With the gold dome of the mosque in the distance. Why don't you sit on your coat?"

The day had started out gray, with wet pavements, and I'd been afraid it would rain, but the sun and the Londoners now flooded the park. She shrugged the coat off her shoulders, revealing a tight green sweater with three–quarter sleeves and a plunging neckline. I felt my cheeks heat up.

And told myself not to stare. Well, not particularly.

"Comfortable?"

She folded her legs and leaned to the side, propped up by one elbow. "I'm set."

Madame Breskin checked on us once, saw that the work was still in progress, and went off to fetch hot chocolate from the concessionaires. The clouds were coming back again when E.V. said, "Now I'm getting cold. Since you're not drinking it, can I have some of your hot chocolate?"

I looked down, surprised. I hadn't touched it. I handed it to her. "I'm sorry, it's stone cold." I closed the sketchbook and started to stand, to help her rise, but my leg was asleep from the hip down and I fell over. As the blood started back in, I nearly screamed.

She appeared over me, alarmed. "You okay?"

"Leg's asleep," I said through clenched teeth. "Why don't you toddle off and suggest luncheon to
votre professeur, bien ? "

By the time she returned with Madame Breskin, I was on my feet, limping around in a circle.

The three of us went to a little Indian place in Maryle–bone, though I had to promise Madame Breskin that we'd return to the hotel via taxi. In a booth, she and E.V. made me show them the drawing. I winced inwardly and pushed it over, watching their heads bend together as they looked.

"Oh," said E.V. One hand reached to the neckline of her sweater and tugged it up higher. "You . .
.flatterer."

"My," said Madame Breskin. "I thought you were taking your time but you accomplished a
great deal
more than I expected."

Almost convulsively, E.V. said, "Look what he's done, though. I never looked like that. This girl is ... sensual." She covered her mouth and darted her eyes sideways at her teacher.