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‘Celine.’
It was almost as if she had been expecting him. This was no generalized fear – she knew who he was, and seeing him she nodded as if to herself, then whirled with her right hand in the air.
Hardy lunged for her wrist, caught it and closed his other hand around hers. God, he’d forgotten how strong she was! She pulled against him, kicking at his legs, his groin.
He held her, never relaxing his grip on her hands, forcing himself to kick back, catching her at the side of the knee, sending her twisting down, falling on top of her.
Still struggling, she bit into his arm near the shoulder. Spi
He rolled over onto her hand, holding it clenched tight beneath him, and began to pry at the fingers. With her other hand she reached up, digging her nails into his scalp. He felt the skin tear down into his neck.
She was getting weaker. The vise grip of her hand slowly opened enough for him to feel what she held there, to grab it and roll away.
He didn’t know if that would end it so he kept rolling until he got a little distance, maybe six feet, then came to his knees facing her, panting from the exertion. Celine still lay there in her tailored charcoal suit, now torn to rags.
Gasping for breath, he didn’t take his eyes from her. He looked down at the key in his hand – attached to a little ring and a small block of wood. He knew without being able to see it that the wood would have written on it, either burned or indelibly marked, the word ‘Eloise’.
Gradually he became aware of the lapping of the water against the beach. Celine turned onto her side and curled up in a fetal position. Her sobbing ignored him… it was totally private, and chilling. A keening for all she had lost, for all she never had.
Owen Nash gri
They had not talked much yet but he had always been able to control her, and now it was just a matter of waiting for the right moment.
The door to the cabin opened and she came out, wind whipping that fine wet hair. He had started telling her as they were going through the Gate, together fighting the current and the wind. Afterward – okay, it shook her when she saw he meant it – she said she needed to be alone. Even with the rough seas, she wanted to go below and do some aerobics, let it all settle. Get loose. She had apparently taken a shower, and stood now in the doorway to the cabin wrapped in a turkish robe.
Barefoot, she came up another step onto the deck. The robe swung open and he caught a glimpse of the front of her, breasts and belly, her shaved pubis. She did not pull the robe closed, but came toward him unsteadily in the rocking boat, her eyes glazed, he presumed, from the exertion.
Coming around the wheel, she pressed herself up against him, opening the robe. ‘Come below, Daddy.’
He had to fight for his breath, for the control he swore he would have. ‘Honey, I’ve told you…’
Her hand went down to him, caressing. ‘I know what you’ve said. I don’t care if you have her, but you’ve got to keep me. You’ve got to keep us.’
She found him under the green jogging pants, and against his will, he began to respond. As he always did. Suddenly the boat heeled and pushed him up against her, both of them against the wheel. ‘Come below,’ she whispered, holding him.
But this could not go on – he would never let it happen again – he had promised himself and he had promised May. He had found something real for the first time since his marriage to Eloise. It was his last chance, and his selfish, beautiful daughter was not going to take it from him, as she’d taken Eloise years before, because of his weakness for her flesh.
Hating himself, and hating her for what they’d both become, he pushed back against her. ‘No! No!’ He shoved her hard. ‘I said it’s over, Celine! Goddammit, over, leave me alone.’
She went down on the slippery deck, the robe spilling open around her. And then he saw it in her eyes: the hate he knew had to be there -you didn’t live this way without hate.
Glazed but dry-eyed, she stared at him as if he were an alien force, then she gathered herself up, wrapped the robe around her and went below without a word.
He had lost the wind, goddammit. His cigar was gone, too.
The drizzle increased – visibility was about a hundred yards. He squinted through the mist, checked his compass, making sure he was on a south or southwest heading. He didn’t want to beach her. He listened for the telltale sound of breakers.
She’d be all right, he thought again. It was the kind of thing that would take some time. He ought to have factored that in instead of just laying it on her. She’d get used to the idea eventually. He was sure.
She emerged again a couple of minutes later, still in the robe, but more under control now. There – see? – he was right.
She’d work it out. You couldn’t expect a woman not to try some histrionics.
He was surprised to see her wearing her lifting gloves – she must have wanted to work off some of it. He thought it was getting to be time to head the Eloise back in.
‘Daddy.’
He wasn’t cruel. He didn’t want to hurt her. If she were ready to talk again, he’d talk. Gently. He understood her. He came around the wheel and started walking toward her.
She took the gun from the pocket of the terry robe and leveled it at him. He stopped, tried to smile, as he might with an errant child, reaching out one hand. ‘Honey…’
She lowered her aim and fired. He felt a punch, then a pain deep in his groin. His legs went dead and he dropped to his knees, looking up at her with a surprised expression, at the tiny muzzle of May’s tiny gun. ‘My God, Celine, you’ve killed your father…’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet, Daddy.’ He saw the muzzle come up and settle on his heart.
64
FOWLER DIDN’T DO IT
Not-Guilty Verdict Returned in Nash Murder Trial
by Jeffrey Elliot
Chronicle Staff Writer
Former Superior Court Judge Andrew B. Fowler yesterday was found not guilty of the murder of financier Owen Nash. The jury deliberated less than two full days in returning the verdict in favor of the former judge, who had been a fixture on the San Francisco bench for over three decades.
The trial marked a personal victory both for Fowler and for his attorney, Dismas Hardy, an ex-prosecutor for whom this trial marked a defense debut. Hardy insisted that he had never doubted his client’s i
‘There was never any physical evidence tying the judge to the crime,’ Hardy said. ‘Of course that doesn’t mean the jury might not have found him guilty. But this verdict is a wonderful vindication of the system.’
‘We weren’t happy from the begi
This verdict marks the second defeat for the district attorney’s office surrounding the death of Owen Nash. Last summer the office charged Nash’s mistress, May Shi