Free Nemesis by Bill Pronzini Page B

said.
    â€œYou positive about that? I mean, she’s told so many other lies, maybe she’s lying about the extortion, too.”
    â€œWhy would she do that? What would she have to gain?”
    â€œWho knows what goes on inside the head of somebody like her?” Tamara said. “But okay, give her the benefit of the doubt. She’s in trouble, but it doesn’t have to be our trouble anymore. Let her deal with it herself.”
    â€œNot a good idea. She talks a good fight, keeps saying over and over in a giggly little voice that she’s on her guard. But that doesn’t make her any less vulnerable.”
    â€œHire somebody else, then.”
    â€œAnd start over from scratch.”
    Bill said, “It’s your case, Jake. You want to stay on it?”
    The smart answer was probably no, but Runyon’s stubborn sense of commitment kept him from saying it. If he tried to put his feelings into words, Tamara might not understand but Bill would. They were alike in that respect. Seen too much human suffering to quit a case cold while the client was still in harm’s way.
    â€œYes,” he said. “At least until the perp makes his next move.”
    *   *   *
    Saturday passed without any more communication from Verity Daniels. On Sunday Runyon drove Bryn and Bobby down to the Beach Boardwalk in Santa Cruz, a trip that had been planned for a while but that he almost canceled. Personal and professional conflict: he ought to keep himself available in case the client needed him, yet he also had a right to some time off. He settled the matter by calling Ms. Daniels, telling her he would be out of town for the day and suggesting she turn off both her phones until late evening. If the perp called and left her a message, she could get in touch with him any time after eight that evening. She agreed, but he could tell from her voice that she was reluctant, even a little annoyed.
    The first half of the day was pretty good. Bobby was excited—he’d never been to Santa Cruz before—and he chattered all the way down. The boy had opened up considerably since moving back in with Bryn; before that, because of the wrenching divorce and the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his father’s live-in girlfriend, he’d been introverted, closed off. Good to see him happy, acting and interacting the way Runyon figured near ten-year-olds ought to. Bobby’s enthusiasm was infectious. Bryn was more animated than usual, spent almost as much time communicating with Runyon as with her son.
    The Boardwalk and beach were crowded and noisy. Warm day, plenty of sun, adults and kids trying to squeeze a little more merriment out of the fading summer. The three of them stayed off the beach—too jammed, for one thing, and Bryn was uncomfortable enough as it was wandering along the boardwalk. She wore a big, wide-brimmed straw hat pulled down low on the left side, so that it shaded the scarf-covered side of her face. But inevitably a few people stared at her anyway, openly wondering; a couple of callous teenagers smirked and pointed as they passed. Enough to dampen her spirits, focus most of her attention on Bobby.
    The kid had a good time. Hot dogs, sodas, ice cream. Designing a T-shirt for himself in a shop that specialized in that kind of thing. Rides through the Haunted Castle below the boardwalk, on a 1911 hand-carved Looff carousel, twice on the Giant Dipper roller coaster, the second time with Runyon for company—Bryn refused to go. She wouldn’t let Bobby go on something called the Double Shot, a 125-foot-high tower that shot riders up to the top and then back down again at the same speed so they could experience the weightlessness of negative-G forces. Too dangerous, she said. Scared her just watching the way it operated.
    Runyon enjoyed the time with Bobby in an avuncular kind of way, but it left him with a lingering wistfulness, a rekindled sense of loss. If it