Read Online The Blue Hour by T. Jefferson Parker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T. Jefferson Parker
Ads: Link
quality skunk weed. One more puff on the pipe and I'll sign off.
'Til next time, thank you Lord for this embarrassment of riches I call my life.
I love it!
Hess closed
the book and tapped his thick fingers on the leather cover. His desire for a
cigarette was suddenly strong, but he'd had to stop them when they took out the upper two-thirds of his lung. The first
two weeks without the smokes had been almost intolerable but he'd been pretty
much alone so he hadn't taken it out on anyone. Every time he wanted a smoke he
touched the scar running from the back of his shoulder to the bottom of his
ribs. Fifty years of cigarettes were enough—Hess had started when he was
fifteen because his older brothers did. He knew that if he'd stopped thirty
years ago it might have saved him some considerable pain and maybe some years
of life, but there was no profit in this knowledge, no one to pass it along to.
Hess felt the scar through
his shirt and looked at Lael Jillson's picture in front of him. He saw her
hanging upside down from a rope slung over the branch of the Ortega oak. He saw
the slow twist of her body. At first her arms dangled down, then he saw them
tied up behind the small of her back. He saw the blood running from her neck
and pooling on the ground. Hess wondered if they had been chosen with their
hair up to save someone the trouble of doing it himself. No, he wanted these
particular women more than that He wanted them very badly. The hair up meant
something else. Hess saw a similar scene with Janet Kane. He saw the scenes
again.
Terrible sights. Hess had
learned to forgive himself for them. Sometimes it made him sad to know he was
like this. It was part of what made him good at what he did—the detective's
version of the athlete's positive imaging. But he never got to see home runs or
three-pointers. And he could never unimagine what he saw. The memory was part
of the price he paid for a skill he had purposefully worked to develop, a useful
part of his portfolio. In the larger sense Hess believed that most of life's
givens were just that—given. He had yet to meet a man who had created himself,
and this is why he thought he understood the nature of evil.
Robbie showed Hess into
his bedroom. It was half the upper floor, with magnificent views to the west
and south. The wall opposite the windows was mirrored glass, which offered the
same view, inverted. Hess saw Catalina Island far offshore caught on Robbie Jillson's
wall.
"You want to know
her, don't your asked Robbie. "But I can't contain her for you. I can't,
like, present her in a few words or with a few pictures and give you an idea of
what she is."
Is, thought Hess: her husband still hasn't accepted it.
Hess supposed that if he were in Robbie Jillson's position he wouldn't either.
He would love to be wrong about her and Janet Kane.
They stood outside on a
deck off the bedroom. Hess felt the afternoon breeze in his bones.
"I'm trying to see
how your wife's life might overlap with the Laguna woman. Janet Kane. Why they
were chosen."
"It's because
they're beautiful."
"How,
specifically?"
"Her face. Her
posture."
"What about insider?”
"Her happiness. She .
. . was a happy person, and it showed. She was a happy woman, Lieutenant. I
mean I was really lucky. She was like that when I met her. It's just the way she ... was. She loved her life, and if you
were around her it made you appreciate your life, too. She always knew it would
end, though. She wasn't shallow or stupid. But she wasn't morbid and she wasn't
cynical and she didn't look for the dark side of things. If there was something
good or joyful to be found, she'd find it."
Hess thought about this.
He watched Robbie looking out the window. Six months and the man still couldn't
decide whether to speak of his wife in the past or present tense. It was the
uncertainty that broke people down, he thought, and he'd seen it happen a lot.
When you had a body you had the end, and people could work with endings.
'Til next time, thank you Lord for this embarrassment of riches I call my life.
I love it!
Hess closed
the book and tapped his thick fingers on the leather cover. His desire for a
cigarette was suddenly strong, but he'd had to stop them when they took out the upper two-thirds of his lung. The first
two weeks without the smokes had been almost intolerable but he'd been pretty
much alone so he hadn't taken it out on anyone. Every time he wanted a smoke he
touched the scar running from the back of his shoulder to the bottom of his
ribs. Fifty years of cigarettes were enough—Hess had started when he was
fifteen because his older brothers did. He knew that if he'd stopped thirty
years ago it might have saved him some considerable pain and maybe some years
of life, but there was no profit in this knowledge, no one to pass it along to.
Hess felt the scar through
his shirt and looked at Lael Jillson's picture in front of him. He saw her
hanging upside down from a rope slung over the branch of the Ortega oak. He saw
the slow twist of her body. At first her arms dangled down, then he saw them
tied up behind the small of her back. He saw the blood running from her neck
and pooling on the ground. Hess wondered if they had been chosen with their
hair up to save someone the trouble of doing it himself. No, he wanted these
particular women more than that He wanted them very badly. The hair up meant
something else. Hess saw a similar scene with Janet Kane. He saw the scenes
again.
Terrible sights. Hess had
learned to forgive himself for them. Sometimes it made him sad to know he was
like this. It was part of what made him good at what he did—the detective's
version of the athlete's positive imaging. But he never got to see home runs or
three-pointers. And he could never unimagine what he saw. The memory was part
of the price he paid for a skill he had purposefully worked to develop, a useful
part of his portfolio. In the larger sense Hess believed that most of life's
givens were just that—given. He had yet to meet a man who had created himself,
and this is why he thought he understood the nature of evil.
Robbie showed Hess into
his bedroom. It was half the upper floor, with magnificent views to the west
and south. The wall opposite the windows was mirrored glass, which offered the
same view, inverted. Hess saw Catalina Island far offshore caught on Robbie Jillson's
wall.
"You want to know
her, don't your asked Robbie. "But I can't contain her for you. I can't,
like, present her in a few words or with a few pictures and give you an idea of
what she is."
Is, thought Hess: her husband still hasn't accepted it.
Hess supposed that if he were in Robbie Jillson's position he wouldn't either.
He would love to be wrong about her and Janet Kane.
They stood outside on a
deck off the bedroom. Hess felt the afternoon breeze in his bones.
"I'm trying to see
how your wife's life might overlap with the Laguna woman. Janet Kane. Why they
were chosen."
"It's because
they're beautiful."
"How,
specifically?"
"Her face. Her
posture."
"What about insider?”
"Her happiness. She .
. . was a happy person, and it showed. She was a happy woman, Lieutenant. I
mean I was really lucky. She was like that when I met her. It's just the way she ... was. She loved her life, and if you
were around her it made you appreciate your life, too. She always knew it would
end, though. She wasn't shallow or stupid. But she wasn't morbid and she wasn't
cynical and she didn't look for the dark side of things. If there was something
good or joyful to be found, she'd find it."
Hess thought about this.
He watched Robbie looking out the window. Six months and the man still couldn't
decide whether to speak of his wife in the past or present tense. It was the
uncertainty that broke people down, he thought, and he'd seen it happen a lot.
When you had a body you had the end, and people could work with endings.
Similar Books
