don’t know a fucking thing about it. I got drunk pretty early that day.”
”Why?”
”Hey, Nick living out another birthday isn’t exactly a reason for me to celebrate, you know?”
I spoke slowly. ”But you told me out in the driveway that I should talk with you.”
”That was just a fucking line, boytoy. When did you fall off the turkey truck?”
”‘Turnip truck,”‘ I said before standing up and walking away.
From by the bed, Cassandra Helides asked, almost meekly, ‘You sure it’s not ‘turkey’?”
* * *
As I closed her door behind me, I registered a flash of movement in my peripheral vision. By the time I turned my head, I had only one frame of a man with shaggy hair in dark clothes disappearing around the corner to the stairway.
”Just a second,” I called out. When I didn’t hear any footfalls on the steps, I went over to them. Empty, and no other sounds I could hear.
At the bottom of the stairway, I got my bearings and walked through the living room toward the corridor leading to the den. From the door, I could see Justo, speaking into a telephone, the Skipper sitting in the same chair again, Duy Tranh standing at his side.
”Lieutenant Cuddy,” said Helides in his garbled voice. There was something in his eyes that told me he wasn’t completely in the present. Then I noticed his hands on the binder of a photo album in his lap.
”Colonel.”
”Come in, please. Duy and I were just looking at some old photos from our time over there.”
I approached them, Helides using the good hand to swing the album toward me on his bent knees.
He said, ”A shot of you and Lieutenant Vega.”
One look, and I remembered. It was during the Tet Offensive, probably somewhere into our twentieth hour on duty that night, some jerk from Stars and Stripes magazine snapping pictures of us coming in off Tu Do Street and appearing impossibly young. I had the blood of a private first class all over me, an MP whose name I never got because most of him had been blown away before I pulled him into relative safety of an alley mouth. Justo was forced to empty his forty-five into two of the ”enemy” rushing us with grenades, neither of the kids more than twelve years old. I could recall seeing the photographer, grinning from ear to ear as he got a shot he was sure would bring him some kind of prize. Or maybe just a ticket home.
If the Skipper hadn’t been there, I would have taken that jerk’s camera strap and—
”Lieutenant,” said Helides, ”I’m the one who’s supposed to be going senile.”
”Sorry, sir.”
A different expression came over the good side of his face, the black, bushy eyebrow arcing in concern. ”Are you all right?”
”Just kind of a flashback.”
The Skipper nodded once, chin almost touching his chest. ”We all have them. One way or another.” Then he straightened in the chair. ”Have you satisfied yourself that the killer had to be someone invited here?”
”Almost.”
”Meaning?”
”I was pretty much convinced until I just saw a man on the second floor that I couldn’t account for.”
Justo hung up the phone and joined us. ”A man?”
”Shaggy hair, dark clothes. He got a look at me, then—”
”David,” said the Skipper. ”My son’s painfully... shy. From his depressive condition.” Helides inclined his head toward Tranh. ”I’ve instructed Duy to have David’s doctor speak with you. Henry Forbes is from an old-line family down here, and he’s a third-generation psychiatrist himself-Once you’ve talked with Henry, you can approach David.’ Approach. ”If that’s what you think best, Colonel ”
”I believe it’s what Henry will. The business with the police investigators threw David into an episode. His behavior with you just now, for example.”
I caught myself stifling a yawn.
”Lieutenant, I must be slipping. We’re not the young soldiers we used to be, eh?” The Skipper looked to Justo. ”If you could take over, I think
”Why?”
”Hey, Nick living out another birthday isn’t exactly a reason for me to celebrate, you know?”
I spoke slowly. ”But you told me out in the driveway that I should talk with you.”
”That was just a fucking line, boytoy. When did you fall off the turkey truck?”
”‘Turnip truck,”‘ I said before standing up and walking away.
From by the bed, Cassandra Helides asked, almost meekly, ‘You sure it’s not ‘turkey’?”
* * *
As I closed her door behind me, I registered a flash of movement in my peripheral vision. By the time I turned my head, I had only one frame of a man with shaggy hair in dark clothes disappearing around the corner to the stairway.
”Just a second,” I called out. When I didn’t hear any footfalls on the steps, I went over to them. Empty, and no other sounds I could hear.
At the bottom of the stairway, I got my bearings and walked through the living room toward the corridor leading to the den. From the door, I could see Justo, speaking into a telephone, the Skipper sitting in the same chair again, Duy Tranh standing at his side.
”Lieutenant Cuddy,” said Helides in his garbled voice. There was something in his eyes that told me he wasn’t completely in the present. Then I noticed his hands on the binder of a photo album in his lap.
”Colonel.”
”Come in, please. Duy and I were just looking at some old photos from our time over there.”
I approached them, Helides using the good hand to swing the album toward me on his bent knees.
He said, ”A shot of you and Lieutenant Vega.”
One look, and I remembered. It was during the Tet Offensive, probably somewhere into our twentieth hour on duty that night, some jerk from Stars and Stripes magazine snapping pictures of us coming in off Tu Do Street and appearing impossibly young. I had the blood of a private first class all over me, an MP whose name I never got because most of him had been blown away before I pulled him into relative safety of an alley mouth. Justo was forced to empty his forty-five into two of the ”enemy” rushing us with grenades, neither of the kids more than twelve years old. I could recall seeing the photographer, grinning from ear to ear as he got a shot he was sure would bring him some kind of prize. Or maybe just a ticket home.
If the Skipper hadn’t been there, I would have taken that jerk’s camera strap and—
”Lieutenant,” said Helides, ”I’m the one who’s supposed to be going senile.”
”Sorry, sir.”
A different expression came over the good side of his face, the black, bushy eyebrow arcing in concern. ”Are you all right?”
”Just kind of a flashback.”
The Skipper nodded once, chin almost touching his chest. ”We all have them. One way or another.” Then he straightened in the chair. ”Have you satisfied yourself that the killer had to be someone invited here?”
”Almost.”
”Meaning?”
”I was pretty much convinced until I just saw a man on the second floor that I couldn’t account for.”
Justo hung up the phone and joined us. ”A man?”
”Shaggy hair, dark clothes. He got a look at me, then—”
”David,” said the Skipper. ”My son’s painfully... shy. From his depressive condition.” Helides inclined his head toward Tranh. ”I’ve instructed Duy to have David’s doctor speak with you. Henry Forbes is from an old-line family down here, and he’s a third-generation psychiatrist himself-Once you’ve talked with Henry, you can approach David.’ Approach. ”If that’s what you think best, Colonel ”
”I believe it’s what Henry will. The business with the police investigators threw David into an episode. His behavior with you just now, for example.”
I caught myself stifling a yawn.
”Lieutenant, I must be slipping. We’re not the young soldiers we used to be, eh?” The Skipper looked to Justo. ”If you could take over, I think
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