Water from Stone - a Novel (23 page)

“Right.”

“Jes’ sit there, she’ll be back.”

Sy sits there for another twenty minutes. Jethro finally brings him a drink, not the water he’d asked for, but some Southern Comfort and Mountain Dew combination that is more Comfort than Dew. Grateful, not even caring that he still has to find his way down the mountain in the dark, Sy gulps it down, tries to stay out of the way of Tennis Man.

Fifty

Sy.

The dogs put on a huge show and Sy guesses they hear a car coming up the mountain. He gets up and looks off the porch. Sure enough a SUV is pulling into the driveway. A small blonde woman carrying a bag under her arm gets out. Instead of going through the house, she goes around and climbs up the steps to where Sy waits.

“Hey there,” she says, “you must be Sy. I’m Elie.” She holds out her hand and smiles warmly, the light reaching up into her clear, blue eyes. He shakes her hand and finds himself smiling back.

“You want some coffee? I left some on. You must be getting cold out here.”

“Yeah, coffee’d be good,” he says. Even with the Comfort easing through his veins, he is beginning to freeze.

She eyes the glass Sy carries with him, “I see Beau Jon’s taken care of you.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Do you know where he’s off to?”

“Something about bees swarming.”

“Oh, hell, are they still out there?”

“That’s what he said.”

She hands him a mug. “I guess you didn’t come up here to learn about bees though, did you?”

Sy smiles and laughs a little. “So, uh, you’ve been hard to find,” he tells her.

“Yeah,” she acknowledges, shrugging. “It took me awhile to get my act together, to settle down. I guess my mom told you? She said she did.”

“Well, she told me you’d run away when you were seventeen or so. Traveled around a lot.”

She laughs, rueful. “It was hard, you know? We came from this small town in Ohio. Kids hanging out at the mall, looking forward to getting old enough to work in a factory. Getting pregnant, having kids of their own. I don’t know, as long as I can remember, I wanted more.” She looks around and laughs. 

“You know, it’s that old saying? Something about running away until you find yourself right back where you started from? So, here I am, in a smaller place than where I started. And, you know what? I love it. These people are great, this place is great. My husband’s from around here. His family’s been here forever. Beau Jon insisted that Shane – that’s my husband – get a good education. That’s pretty rare up here. So, Shane went off to college and then med school. We met right before I left New York. He had just finished his residency and wanted to come back here, wanted to make a difference. I came with him and finally realized that this is what’s important, making a difference. Alright, I’m babbling,” she catches herself. “What can I tell you?”

Sy hadn’t minded listening to her. It is obvious she is smart, has a good head on her shoulders. He’d expected dippy renegade tough girl runaway dropout. But, she isn’t. And her story explains why he hasn’t been able to find her, not working, married with a different name, not showing up on any government records.

“I’m looking for a woman who kidnapped a baby from a hospital about four years ago in New York,” he hands her the grainy photo. “A woman who works at the hospital said you were friends with the kidnapper. I’m hoping you know where she is.”

“Myrna. You’re talking about Myrna.” Elie looks off into the falling darkness, thinking. She shakes her head. “She was a real basket case.”

“Do you know where she is? Or anything that can help me find her?”

Elie shakes her head again. “No. I’m sorry. After I left New York, I never heard from her again. We weren’t really close. It was more that we were both lonely.”

“How’d you meet her?”

Elie thinks back. “I volunteered at the hospital. It wasn’t anything, really. I mean, it didn’t pay anything. They let you eat for free in the cafeteria, though. I’d had it with the whole runaway scene, the sleeping in the streets, the stealing. One day, I found myself in this church and they helped me out, gave me a place to stay, helped me find a job. Jobs were pretty hard to find when you didn’t have any skills, didn’t finish high school, you know? So, anyway, I volunteered at the hospital, kept the patients company, took them for their tests, delivered flowers and all that. It helped keep me off the streets, gave me some food, some dignity. Myrna was there, too. I think she started about the same time I did. Anyway, they had us doing a lot of the same things and we’d have our breaks at the same time, so a lot of the time we’d eat together. A couple of times, she came back to the dorm with me, hung out. At the end, I got a part-time job bussing tables and we went to a movie. I don’t remember what it was, though.” She looks off again, thinks about it. Realizes he probably doesn’t care about the name of the movie and looks back at him, waiting for his next question.

“You said her name was Myrna. Do you know her last name?”

“Cross. Myrna Cross. It was a really weird thing about her name. She didn’t want anyone to know it. She used this Oriental name, Sun-something-or-other. It was really strange because she wasn’t Oriental or anything. I didn’t really get it, but one day we were talking and she just popped out and said it. Said that her real name was Myrna Cross, but that no one could know. She said something about her father looking for her but that he was abusive? So she forged an I.D. and used a different name, something he’d never find? I think that was the story.”

“The I.D. was stolen,” Sy tells her.

“Oh. Well, everyone had a story. We were all running away from something, so you kind of learned not to get too much into the details. Your coffee’s getting cold. Do you want some more?”

Sy looks down at his cup and realizes he’s hardly touched it. His mind is on other things. He takes a sip. It is cold, but he doesn’t want to stop now that he is finally getting answers. “No, thanks. This is fine. So, what happened? Why do you think she told you her name?”

“Like I said, we were lonely. She once told me I was her only friend. I guess she wanted to tell me something personal about herself, let me know I was important to her.”

“What about her background? About her family? Or where she was from?”

“Look, I’m guessing here, but out west, I think. She talked about the Rockies, said she missed them. She really didn’t have an accent that I can remember, so it definitely wasn’t from around here! No, I remember her saying she’d like to get back to the mountains. I can’t say for sure, though.”

“No family? She never mentioned any family?”

“Other than her dad, not that I remember. And all she said about him was that he was abusive. No, wait, I think she said her Mom died when she was a baby. She told me once it was the worst kind of lonely there is, not having a mother.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Sy says.

“What? What’d I say?”

“Do you think that’s why she took the baby? Because the mother was dying? Can it be that simple?”

Elie is quiet for a moment, sorting it out in her head.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know much about the circumstances of the kidnapping. I hadn’t even heard about it until a year or so ago when I got back in touch with my mom. Wasn’t the mother still alive when the baby was taken?”

“She was dying. They worked on her for a long time, but there really wasn’t much of a chance she’d make it.”

“That just seems a little too easy, doesn’t it? Oh, here’s a baby whose mother is going to die, I’d better take it, be its mom?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sy agrees, dragging a hand across his scalp, thinking about it.

“It could’ve been the trigger, though. I mean, she was always talking about being a mother some day. I’m guessing here again, but I think her dad raped her. That kind of abusive. She told me she had an abortion once. I think it was her dad’s, more from things she didn’t say than from what she did. Whatever, I know that ate at her. She always talked about finding the right guy, having a baby, someone to love her.” She looks up at Sy. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe she just freaked, took the baby on the spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. She didn’t seem like someone who’d plan a thing like that. She didn’t seem evil. A little needy, maybe, but not evil or anything. You’d have to be evil to plan something like that. I’d kill anyone who tried to take Cody from me.”

He looks up at her. He isn’t fooled by the matter-of-fact tone of her voice. “OK, so you think she came from out west, maybe she’d go back there. Any idea where exactly?”

“Nope, none at all.”

“You weren’t in touch with her after you left New York?”

“No. I’d met Shane and he was leaving the city. I decided to go with him.”

“Just like that?”

“I wasn’t making the smartest decisions back then,” Elie admits. “If anyone told me they were taking off with a guy they’d only known a week, I’d say they were crazy, but it was like that. I just knew I had to go with him. We came back here, and I lived with him for a few years before the baby came and we decided to get married. Either way, it was the smartest thing I ever did.”

“You didn’t tell Myrna you were leaving?”

“No. It was like, at the end, she started to get real needy, real clingy. She was always asking me where I was going, what I was doing, who I was seeing, that kind of thing. I was probably just being a bitch, but I didn’t want to tell her I’d started dating this doctor. I didn’t want her to start ragging on Shane. Or on me for liking him. Anyway, like I said, it wasn’t for that long anyway.”

“And then you left.”

“And then I left.”

Elie glances up at the wall clock and Sy realizes it has gotten late. “Look, um, do you mind if I call you if I think of any other questions?”

“No, not at all. I want you to find that baby. I mean, her mother’s dead, but she should be with her father. It’s just awful, what happened.”

“Yes, it is,” agrees Sy. He stands and thanks her. “I think we might finally have a chance of finding Mia.”

“That’s her name? Mia? That’s pretty. Maybe if this one’s a girl, we’ll name her Mia.” She pats the slight bulge of her belly. “Then again, maybe that’s not such a lucky name.”

Sy smiles sadly. She has a point.

Fifty-One

Mar.

“How you doin’, girlfriend?” Shirley drops down onto a deck chair beside her.

Mar smiles at her and reaches out to squeeze her hand. “Good. Great even.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, I mean it.” She ups the wattage of her smile. “See?”

Shirley peers into Mar’s eyes and sighs. “OK,” she finally says. “If it makes you feel any better, she’s fat.”

Mar closes her eyes and leans her head back. “Thanks, Shirl.”

“No, I mean it. And she’s got that funny accent thing.”

“Irish. It’s Irish, and men go for that kind of thing.”

“Damn, that’s right.”

“How was he?” Mar finally ventures.

“Good. He asked about you.”

Mar’s eyes snap open. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“No, friend, I didn’t tell him that you really called to ask him to come home. I wanted to, though.”

“It wouldn’t have been right.”

“I know, honey. The thing is, though, from the look in his eyes when he asked about you, I think he still might have dropped the whole wedding thing and rushed back here.”

“Don’t say that, Shirl,” Mar whispers. “Please don’t tell me that. Ever.” There are tears in her eyes and she closes them again. “Just tell me he’s happy. Really, really happy, OK?”

Shirley twines her long fingers through Mar’s and squeezes. “He’s happy, baby. He asked about you, but he’s happy.”

“Thanks, Shirley.”

They sit in silence while Shirley watches the kids bumble around in their snow suits and Mar raises her face to the gentle March sun.

“I notice Lizzie doesn’t limp anymore,” Shirley finally says.

Mar smiles, “She’s strong and the bone healed well. It’s a good thing.”

Shirley smiles as Derek falls on his padded butt and Lizzie helps him right back up. “This is all good, Mar. I’m proud of you, baby, real proud of you.”

“Yeah,” Mar finally grins.

“Imagine.”

Mar laughs. “I do. All the time.”

Fifty-Two

Sy.

Sy returns on the noon flight and goes straight to the office, doesn’t even stop to change clothes. Dora is ready for him, stands up as soon as he walks in the door, a fistful of papers in her hand.

“You got it?” he says by way of greeting.

“Well, I’ve got something,” she replies, holding back a little, not ready to celebrate anything just yet.

He looks at her, gauging her response. Wonders if it is just herself holding herself back, or maybe a bit of coyness? Has she found the girl that easily? Just a few clicks of the mouse while he’d been in the air?

“Well, come on, then,” he says, heading for his office.

He opens the door, tosses his briefcase onto the desk and shrugs out of his jacket, the one arm floppy, tosses it on the back of the chair and sits. Dora comes up behind him and places the papers down on the desk. Sy goes through them quickly. And then again more slowly. Dora reads over his shoulder. When he sets them down again and swivels around in his chair to look out the window, she sits across from him.

“So, you think it’s this guy? The one in prison?”

“From what you told me, it fits. He has a daughter around Elie’s age, born in Colorado. Can’t get closer to the Rockies than that. Her name’s Myrna Cross, just like Elie said, mother died when she was a baby. Even the father matches up. He’s in prison for assaulting a little girl. It fits, Sy.”

He swivels back and forth a few minutes, closes his eyes and looks inside himself, checks his own instincts, double-checks to make sure they are good. They are. “It’s gotta be her,” he says, coming around to face Dora. “OK, so we’ve got the birth certificate, mother’s death certificate, father’s history. But we don’t have anything new on the girl?”

“No, not that I can find so far. Now that’s not saying much. You said not to contact the FBI. I’m sure they could open a few databases we don’t have access to, but so far, I don’t have anything new on her, no juvie records I can find. Unless you can think of somewhere else I haven’t looked?”

Sy picks up the papers again. “No, you done good, Dora. This is real good.” He smiles up at her, sees the color creep up into her face, plans to ask her to dinner as soon as this is settled.

“But, don’t you think we should call in the Feds?”

“No,” Sy barks. And then shakes his head. It had just come out that way. He hadn’t realized how angry it makes him. “No,” he says more softly. “They didn’t find crap four years ago. I’m not gonna hand this over to them now, let them bring Mia home. I owe that much to Lindsey, to bring her baby home myself.”

“Sy,” Dora insists.

“No, I can’t. They’d tell Jack, and what if it’s not her? What if this goes south? It’d open it all up for him again. I don’t want him to know until I know. You know?”

She knows. “OK, Sy. We’ll do it your way. You want me to book you a flight?”

“Yeah, do that. And, Dora? Thanks.”

She turns at the door and looks back at him. “You’re welcome. I just hope this time it works out.”

“Me, too, Dora. Me, too.”

Fifty-Three

Sy.

Lompoc Prison is located in Santa Barbara County in Central California. On the long flight west, and then on a regional hop into Sta. Barbara, Sy tries to sleep. His arm and shoulder are killing him, and the strain of the search is beginning to take its toll. On the other hand, he is once again medicated.

The car Sy rents comes with a built-in GPS. He tries several times to input his destination but, being technologically-challenged, can’t figure the damn thing out. Finally, he goes back into the rental agency and has someone come out and set it up for him.

“You really going out to the prison?” asks the clerk, punching in the address.

“Yeah,” Sy replies, meaning s
hut the fuck up, what business is it of yours?

“Cool. I’ve never been out that way. I do know of one kid that went there, though. Tommy Garcia? He was with the Bloods, you know? That gang down in L.A.? Yeah, he got sent up there. Killed his girlfriend in high school. She was a nice girl. Don’t know what she saw in him. But, anyway, he killed her. Shot her dead. I heard she tried to break up with him. Can you imagine that? The guy was seriously screwed up, if you ask me. Now, listen, if you screw up with these directions, she’ll tell you what to do to get back on course, you know? I say ‘she’, because it’s a woman’s voice. ‘Turn left at the next corner, thirty yards until you turn left’, something like that. Just listen to her. She’ll get you there OK. When you want to come back, you just punch in the rental agency’s address here at the airport. See? Just type that address in and punch the same button. But, it was really crazy how he just walked up to her and killed her right in front of her house. I mean, in broad daylight and everything, can you believe it? Jesus. Man, I hope you’re not going to see someone like Tommy up there? I mean, someone violent like that? That just freaks me out, man. I mean, like, hey, live and let live, you know what I mean?”

Sy thinks about not letting the kid live. Maybe getting himself a nice little cell up there with Tommy Garcia. Sleeping easier, knowing this total moron is finally quiet. No way in New York you’d get a car guy talking to you like this. It’s like ‘Fuck you’ is a complete conversation. But this kid, man, this kid could talk Gandhi into some violent acts of aggression.

“Do you ever shut up?” Sy asks.

“What? Me? Oh, am I talking too much again? Sorry. My mother always told me that, and my boss here keeps telling me, but it’s like, hey, it’s a free world, free speech, and all that? I mean, it’s not like I’m hurting anyone. Just trying to be, like, helpful, you know? And then, like, you mentioned the prison, and it’s like, a coincidence, because I know someone at the same prison. Well, I don’t really know him know him, you know what I mean? I mean, he went to my high school. Well, not really my high school cause, like, I only went there for one year and then my mom decided to get out of L.A. Man, that was the smartest move she ever made. Got herself a better job up here, the new school was so much better, not so much violence, you know? It’s been cool. It makes a difference, you know? Being happy where you are.”

While the kid is talking, he gets out of the car. Sy heaves himself in, reaches over with his right arm to close the door, but the damn kid is bending over, hanging on to it.

“So, like I was telling you, punch in your destination and then just push that red button there and she’ll change your course. It’s really cool, man, can’t understand how people used to use maps and all. That’s like, so archaic. You know what I mean?”

Sy heaves himself to the left, reaches over and grabs the door handle, pulls it out of the kid’s hands and slams it shut. It was that or maim him. As he shifts gears and screeches away, he can still hear the kid back there, yammering away. The guy has issues. Probably lucky for him he lives in the land of fruitcakes. He wouldn’t last a day in New York.

It is late afternoon when Sy follows the long, seemingly abandoned road that ends at the prison’s guard-towers. He pulls up to the gatehouse and says his name into the microphone. A guard waves him through, indicates where to park.

Once inside the prison, Sy goes through security screening and is made to empty his pockets, remove his shoes and go through a metal detector before being given a visitor’s pass and his x-rayed shoes back. Finally, he is told to follow a guard to the administrative wing, where he has an appointment with the Warden.

“I don’t have an appointment with the Warden,” Sy corrects him.  “I’m here to see a prisoner. Eddie Cross.”

“Sorry,” the guard responds, not slowing down, “I was told to take you to the Warden, and that’s where I’m gonna take you.”

Sy shrugs and continues walking. Besides the crisp staccato of their shoes on the concrete floor, he hears the muffled clanging of metal gates being opened and closed. The sound shrivels his balls.

“Here we are,” the guard says, opening a door, letting Sy enter first. “Nancy, this guy’s got an appointment with Warden,” he tells the receptionist, and then turns and leaves.

Sy stands there, feeling stupid. “Uh, hi. I’m Sy, Sy Colomanos. I, uh, think I’m in the wrong place. I was supposed to see a prisoner, but the guard back there brought me here instead.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Colomanos. The Warden’s expecting you. Why don’t you have a seat there and I’ll just let him know you’ve arrived?”

She indicates a hard bench pushed up against the wall. Sy sits. He wants to call Dora and find out what the fuck is going on. He doesn’t like surprises. Unfortunately, he also doesn’t like cell phones and so far has resisted getting one. Now he wishes he hadn’t been so stubborn.

Five minutes later, the receptionist ushers him into an office. It is a large and well-decorated space. Not comfortable, but very masculine. Obviously meant to intimidate, show who’s boss. A large gun cabinet fills the wall behind the warden’s desk.

Warden Sheffield stands as Sy enters. He is a large, robust man. There is no doubt that, in pure physicality, he can hold his own in a fight. “Mr. Colomanos, welcome to Lompoc,” he says. “I’m Warden Sheffield.”

“Sy Colomanos.”

The Warden waves to a seat. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, actually, I’m not sure. I’m here to meet a prisoner. Eddie Cross. My secretary set it up.”

“Yes, I heard about that.”

Sy has the feeling the man is not willingly going to give out any information. “Is there some problem? Isn’t the guy available?”

The Warden leans back in his chair, looks Sy over. “Just what is it you want with Cross, Mr. Colomanos?” he asks.

“He’s tied to a case I’m working on. I’m hoping he can help clear some things up.”

“A case? You’re no longer an officer of the law, though, are you? You’re a private investigator, if I’m not mistaken.” His tone says he is not mistaken.

Ah, shit,
Sy groans internally. This guy has a major bug up his ass, no respect for the private sector. “Yes, I am,” is all Sy gives him.

“Well, Mr. Colomanos, your secretary gave us a brief explanation of what you want from Cross, but I think you should refresh my memory some.”

“Is there some sort of problem here? I mean, I was under the impression I could see him.”

“Curiosity, Mr. Colomanos. Simple curiosity. I like to know what my prisoners are involved in, if you see what I mean.”

Aw, fuck.
Sy takes a deep breath, tries to let it out quietly.
Fucking control freak. Fine.
He gives him an overview.

The Warden stops rocking when Sy finishes speaking and looks at him. Hard. Finally, he says, “Well, I’m sorry you’ve come all this way for nothing, Mr. Colomanos. Cross is dead.”

“What!?” Sy launches upward. “Dead? What do you mean he’s dead? Why didn’t someone tell us? How’d he die?”

The Warden is unruffled. Probably a fucking hurricane couldn’t ruffle this ice cube. “He died in an outbreak attempt. Last week.”

“Ah, shit,” Sy slumps back into the chair. Another dead end.
Goddammit, when am I gonna catch a break?
he thinks.

The Warden watches Sy pull himself together. “I’ll tell you what, though,” he says eventually. “ Your secretary told a compelling story. You tell a compelling story. Normally, I’d call in the Feds. This sounds more like their business. But I don’t know for sure that you’re on the right trail. If you are, I think you’re going to follow it to the end. So, for whatever good it’ll do you, I can tell you that Cross came from Colorado. Around Fort Collins. He hadn’t been back there in years, but you might pick up something on the daughter there. And, I think that’s really who you’re looking for.”

Relief floods through Sy. The trail isn’t cold after all. “Thank you,” he says, “that helps a lot.” Realizing the interview is over, he stands and holds out his hand.

The Warden stands, shakes it. Nods at him curtly and then sits back down. Sy lets himself out.