Part 2 (1/2)

”Yeah, I bet. I'll talk to someone else.”

The officer escorted us across the road to the concrete esplanade. A sergeant, a formidable-looking African-American guy of about forty, met us. We showed our IDs again.

On the half circle of view area, near the steps that led down to the actual sand and water, two women had their arms around a third, who stood hunched over, sobbing, with her hands covering her face. Two men stood protectively on either side of a teenage boy, who was s.h.i.+vering despite the heavy blanket wrapped around him. His red hair hung in wet tendrils around his face. Everyone wore heavy jeans or slacks and sensible thick jackets.

”It doesn't look like anyone planned on going into the water for a swim,” I said.

”They didn't,” the sergeant said. ”A rogue wave.”

”What?” Ari said. ”It's high tide, but the sea looks calm enough.”

”Yeah. It's strange, all around. Here, I'll let you talk to the preacher.”

A youngish white man, wearing jeans and a parka, open at the throat to display a black s.h.i.+rt with a churchman's white collar, hurried over when the sergeant beckoned to him. He introduced himself as the Reverend Tom Wilson of a local Baptist church. He had a long narrow face and pale blue eyes that at the moment looked half full of tears.

”Can you stand to tell me what happened?” I said.

”The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away,” Wilson said, but his voice shook. ”Blessed be the name of the Lord! It's a terrible thing. I can't believe it happened, and here I saw it myself.”

I made a sympathetic noise.

”Our church also runs a Christian school,” Wilson went on. ”We brought a group of kids out here for a nature walk.”

”Those are the children waiting in the bus?” I said.

”Yes. The police agreed that they didn't need to stand out in the cold. Anyway, we kept everyone on the sand, no wading allowed, even.” He swallowed heavily. ”I've lived in the Bay Area all my life. I know what the riptides and such are like.”

”Very dangerous, yeah,” I said. ”Did the missing girl run into the water?”

”No, not at all. Brittany and Cody there-” He nodded in the direction of the s.h.i.+vering boy, ”-had gotten a few yards ahead of the rest of us, but only a few. The wave, well, it seemed to come out of nowhere, this great rush of water, like a green wall. Look, you can see the damp patch on the sand, over there to the south of us.”

I looked and noted the darker sand, a stretch maybe twenty feet long and a good ten feet beyond the soaked firm sand of the tide line. Ari pulled out his cell phone and walked a couple of yards away to snap photos of it.

”It pulled both children into the sea, I take it,” I said.

Wilson nodded. ”Cody managed to get out again. Brittany didn't.”

”I'm sorry to hear that.”

Wilson choked back a sob. ”The oddest thing, though.” He glanced at the huddled group behind him, as if rea.s.suring himself they were still safe. ”The wave, it was like it had tentacles or hands. It was reaching for our kids, I swear it, with strands of seawater. I could feel a malignancy in that wave. Satan, I suppose, bent on murder.” He gave me an odd twisted smile, all pain and black humor. ”The police think I'm crazy. Do you?”

”No,” I said. ”I don't think it was Satan, but if you say you felt something malignant, you could be right. I don't know yet, but I'm not dismissing what you say.”

”Thanks.” He gulped for breath, then turned away. ”It meant to take them. I swear it.”

I let him go back to his flock. Ari rejoined me.

”I've seen enough,” I said. ”Let's get out of everyone's way.”

We crossed the highway, but at the head of the path down, I glanced back at the ocean. I saw, just for a brief moment, the figure of an enormous woman standing on the sea. The fog wrapped her with gray mourning clothes, and a dead child lay across her outstretched arms. I knew then that the girl had drowned.

CHAPTER 2.

BY THE TIME WE RETURNED TO OUR PARKED CAR, I was so cold that just getting into the driver's seat felt like putting on a fur coat. I slid the keys into the ignition, then sat rubbing my icy hands to warm them up before I tried to drive.

”That wasn't a coincidence, was it?” Ari said.

”What wasn't?”

”Our happening on this accident.”

I contemplated the question while I buckled my seat belt. ”I'm not sure,” I said. ”It's just luck that we were so close when the chopper went over. But something's been prompting me to get down to the water all day.”

Ari stared out the winds.h.i.+eld for a moment. ”I see,” he said. ”You know, I've had quite enough of flat hunting.”

”So have I. Let's go over to Eileen's. She won't mind if we're early.”

”I need to go back to the apartment first and change.”

”Why? You're already wearing a suit. You look fine.”

”That's not it. I can't keep this jacket on all evening to hide the shoulder holster. I need to get a smaller weapon.”

Some men change their clothes to suit an occasion. Ari changes his gun.

While Ari rummaged through his half-unpacked luggage, I checked my messages on both my landline and my cell phone, and a good thing I did. My sister Kathleen had called to tell me that I could bring Ari to the party on Sunday, since he was back in town. Either Eileen had called her, or we'd mentally overlapped. My immediate reaction: Party? What party? A frantic search of my memory turned up the data that Kathleen had, a couple of weeks before, when I was enmeshed in the most dangerous case of my career, invited me to a pool party. Kathleen has never been known for her good timing.

I walked into the bedroom to see Ari putting his shoulder holster and semiautomatic pistol away in the bottom drawer of my dresser, where I kept my underwear.

”Symbolism?” I said.

He looked at me as if I'd spoken in Martian. ”What?” he said. ”This is the only drawer that locks.”

”Just a joke,” I said. ”Don't let it bother you.”

He had a tiny pistol that fit into a holster that slid under the waistband of his slacks. Before he stowed it, though, he held up the gun.

”This is a Sig Sauer P232.” Ari sounded like a parent introducing a child. ”It carries seven shots. Not many, but adequate in an emergency.”

”Gosh, that makes me feel so much safer.”

”No need for sarcasm! This holster's specially made for the Israeli army.” He stroked the nasty little thing. ”You should carry a weapon like this in your bag. I'll get one for you.”

”I will not carry a firearm. Sorry. No way.”

”I know you have another way to protect yourself, but-”