An Absence of Light

Half an hour later Graver pulled up in front of his house. Looking at it through the windshield he thought the place looked particularly dreary in the darkness. He never left a light on for himself, even when he knew he was going to be working late, and he never had gotten one of those little timers at the hardware store even though he had been meaning to for months. He just didn’t think of it except at moments like this when he would like to have seen a light inside, even if it had to be one that he had turned on himself.

The headlights of his car panned across the lawn as he turned into the cinder drive that was two cars wide and extended all the way back to the garage and the brick courtyard at the rear of the house. The instant they squared on the garage’s closed doors, they also picked up the glint from the chrome bumper of a car that had pulled around back into the courtyard.

Graver cut his headlights and stopped. Neuman or Paula would have parked in front. Slowly he eased the car along the cinder drive until he was even with the side of the house. If anyone was inside and hadn’t already seen him, they wouldn’t see his car sitting in the drive if they looked out the front windows.

Cutting the motor, he opened the car door and stepped out onto the cinder drive and eased the door closed until the latch clicked softly. He took a deep breath of the darkness which was heavy with the combined fragrances of the blossoming mock oranges and the huisache that grew against the rock wall on the other side of the car. For some reason his mind recalled the image of the spent flowers, yellow and white, which would cover the drive in a few weeks as the last of the blossoms retreated in the face of the scorching July temperatures. He reached back for his Sig-Sauer in its holster at his waist It was something he hadn’t done in a dozen years except when he had to qualify at the firing range.

Holding the gun down at his side he eased along the cinder drive until he approached the back corner and the small Mercedes came into full view. He noted the license plate. He stood silently and scanned the night yard, hoping his eyes would quickly adjust to the varieties of darkness and shadows. The pool. The palmettos. The wrought-iron patio furniture. The bulky trunks of the oaks. He smelled cigarette smoke. Back to the pool.

Jesus.

His heart lurched at the realization that someone was sitting in one of the wrought-iron chairs on the patio at the near end of the pool. It was a man, staring straight across at him. Graver assumed the man had seen his car lights as he came into the drive, though he didn’t know whether he could yet see Graver at the corner of the house.

“Graver. Is that you over there? I saw your headlights.”

It was Victor Last. Graver was both relieved and furious. He always had kept his private life private, and especially from informants. It was bad business to let them know anything at all about your personal life. Maybe Graver had treated Last a little differently in this regard, but even so, showing up like this was clearly out of line. Or maybe Last himself saw it differently now that Graver was living alone.

He scanned the yard one more time, though feeling pessimistic about his chances of spotting anyone else who might have been there. He returned the Sig-Sauer to its holster and stepped out from around the corner and started across the courtyard to the pool.

“What the hell are you doing here, Last?” Graver asked, trying to control his voice.

“I heard from Carney within five minutes of your call,” Last said. “She said you’d be home in half an hour and that you wanted to see me as soon as possible. I thought I could save some time.”

Last said this in a most natural manner, as though he hadn’t the slightest idea that Graver might have objected to his showing up at his home.

Graver sat down in one of the wrought-iron chairs across the table from Last The night was not overcast so the city lights did not provide a reflective glow by which Graver could see Last’s face. He did not like this. Last was much better at masking his voice than his facial changes. As far as Graver could tell, he was dressed much as the night before. Graver put his forearms on the wrought-iron table. The water in the pool was still and silent, the surface occasionally catching a glint of light as though it were a tightly stretched sheet of clear cellophane.

“I want to hear more about what you alluded to the other night,” Graver said.

“Oh?” Last’s head was motionless, alert. “I see.”

“Don’t jump to any conclusions,” Graver said. “Did you expect me to let that go?”

“I hoped not,” Last said, a touch of a smirk in his voice.

“What is it you need, Victor?”

“I find myself a little short just now,” he said, resting an elbow on the edge of the table, the cigarette in the air. “I’d like to reestablish our former relationship.”

“Same as before?”

“Well… not quite. I’m very short, actually.”

“How much?”

“Double.”