Spiral

easier for you if I came over here.”
    ‘You have any information on David Helides?”
    ”Died on the operating table.”
    No emotion in her voice, and none on her face.
    I looked down, read the printed pages. Duy Tranh getting full credit for a brave rescue, mostly in my words as dictated the night before. ”Close enough. You have a pen?”
    Pintana passed one over to me. After I was finished and extended the pen back to her, though, she folded her arms instead of taking it.
    I said, ”What, you want to check my spelling?”
    Pintana gave me the amber eyes full-bore. ”I think you need to realize that sometimes people who come to you are trying more to help than to hurt.”
    ”With me, it’s generally been the other way around.”
    ”Maybe you should work on that.” Lourdes Pintana plucked her pen from my fingers without touching them. ”Let me know, you ever decide to try.”

    ”Colonel.”
    Nicolas Helides limped with his brace into my room as Duy Tranh moved an armchair close to my bed for him, then backed discreetly toward the wall.
    After lowering himself into the chair, the Skipper said, ”Lieutenant, I wanted to apologize for what David did to you.”
    ”You had no way of knowing that he—”
    ”I’ve spoken briefly with Lieutenant Vega, and he told me about Malinda as well.” Helides shivered. ”To think that my own son...”
    ”He was a sick man, Colonel.”
    ”I know. But depression is one kind of illness, and depravity another.”
    I couldn’t think of anything to say that would make it better for him.
    The Skipper stared at me, across a gulf of years filled with things I’ve yet to learn. ”A great deal of my time has been spent trying to affect people’s behavior in a way I thought was improvement. Ultimately, those efforts resulted in my soul being covered by scars. And Lieutenant, I almost envy yours being mainly physical.”
    Now I didn’t want to say anything at all.
    Colonel Nicolas Helides reached his good left hand across the sheets and covered mine. ”Thank you, son. You’ve performed every mission I ever gave you, including this one.” He withdrew his hand and put it on the arm of the chair, but didn’t try to stand. ”Duy?”
    Tranh came to the Skipper, helping him get to his feet. More wobbly than he’d appeared entering my room, Colonel Nicolas Helides made his way to the door. As Duy Tranh closed it behind them, he gave me a tight-lipped smile.
    Of triumph, I thought.

    I spent the rest of my time in the hospital tying up loose ends. Visiting Justo, who was still a bit groggy from painkillers. Meeting his wife out in the sunroom, Alicia thanking me for shortening her husband’s horrors. I even shook hands and exchanged clipped, awkward sentences with their three little daughters.
    After being discharged, I gave an exclusive interview to Oline Christie of the Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel on the proviso that no picture of me or the Vega family would run in it. Duy Tranh took care of my medical bills and settled with the rental company’s insurance adjuster about the damage done to my Chevy Cavalier at Donna Moran’s trailer park. Sunday evening in my hotel room, I even watched part of the Super Bowl as I packed, putting the picture of Nancy and me in a protective envelope before sliding it into my suitcase.
    The flight back to Boston on Monday was a nonstop, the discomfort from the manchineel burns manageable, and no problems with baggage on arrival. There were even plenty of cabs outside the terminal at Logan.
    I told my driver to take me home rather than to the office.
    When we got to Beacon Street, I was amazed at the lack of snow and a temperature into the fifties during the last week of January. I walked around to the parking lot behind my brownstone. The Prelude still rested in its slot, and upstairs, my rented condo looked the same as when I’d left.
    And I felt just as empty.
    I walked over to the telephone tape machine. Its little window glowed a fluorescent ”9,” and I realized I’d better start getting back into the real world. Replaying the messages, I registered two above the others.
    Both were from Drew Lynch at Nancy’s three-decker in Southie, the second saying he really needed to hear from me by four p.m., Monday. Kicking myself now for not returning his earlier call after I picked it up from Fort Lauderdale, I checked my watch. An hour to spare.
    When I dialed the Lynches’ number, a familiar male voice answered.
    ”Drew, John