The Stolen Hours

by Allen Eskens

  “Which ones?”

  “All of them!” She hung up the phone and pressed a finger against each temple, rubbing slowly. Lila wanted to say something but had no idea where to start. They sat there for minutes in silence until a knock announced Ryan’s arrival with his arms full of files.

  “Give those to…What’s your name again?”

  “Lila…Nash.”

  “Give those to Ms. Nash and then go see Frank Dovey. You’re apparently being reassigned.”

  Ryan looked at Lila and then back at Fitch, as though waiting for the catch. When neither said anything, he handed the stack to Lila and left.

  “The Gray case is your priority. I need a complaint done today. I want a draft on my desk in two hours.”

  “Gray…that’s the one at the convenience store—the guy that hit his wife?”

  Fitch looked mildly curious. “You know the case?”

  “Ryan told me about it this morning. Said he was adding a charge of false imprisonment. It might be finished already.”

  Fitch appraised Lila for several seconds before saying, “I see.” She leaned back in her chair. “I’ll take a look at it. As for the rest of those, I have notes inside each file. Focus on the cases that need to be charged out. I want you in my office first thing every morning, and I mean first thing, not after coffee, not after chitchat—eight o’clock, here, so I can give you your assignments. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, Ms. Fitch.”

  “You’re excused.”

  Lila stood, the stack of files reaching up to her elbows. When she got to the door, she had to lift a knee to hold the stack so that she could open it.

  “Wait,” Fitch said.

  Lila turned in the doorway.

  “I just want to be clear: If you’re not cut out for this job, it’s best to figure that out early. I will not abide subpar. If you want out now, I’ll be happy to recommend a transfer—maybe Juvenile Prosecution or Child Protection. But if you want to be an attorney in Adult Prosecutions, you will excel or you’ll be out.”

  Lila couldn’t take her eyes off Fitch. The woman scared the hell out of her, but at the same time, Andi had a presence unlike anything Lila had ever experienced. Her words moved through the room like music, the tone menacing and dangerous but utterly captivating. Lila remained in the doorway, not sure if Andi had finished. Then Andi said, “Shut the door!”

  Lila lifted a shaky knee again to support the stack as she pulled Andi’s door closed behind her.

  Chapter 6

  By midmorning, Gavin had reached the end of what he could accomplish on his computer and set out into the physical world for the next phase.

  He owned two vehicles: a new Lexus GS and his faithful old friend, a 1986 Ford Bronco. It was a hideous rust bucket that shook at speeds over fifty-five miles per hour. But the Bronco had no GPS to record locations of travel, so as far as the matrix of cell towers and satellites were concerned, it didn’t exist.

  First, he drove the Lexus between his house and Queen Bebe’s Salon, in search of a path devoid of surveillance cameras, altering his course whenever he saw a stoplight camera or ATM.

  Once he’d plotted his route, he drove to a distant thrift store, paying cash for a complete set of clothing: jeans, a hoodie, a T-shirt, sunglasses, shoes, and socks, all of which he would destroy within twenty-four hours. He went to a drugstore and bought latex gloves, hand wipes, and a package of ten condoms. At a nearby Walmart, he bought a burner phone, twenty yards of plastic sheathing, a computer privacy screen, and a large plastic storage bin.

  By eleven thirty, with his shopping complete, Gavin switched to the Bronco for reconnaissance.

  An empty parking lot across the street from Queen Bebe’s provided Gavin with a perfect view of his prey. With the ass end of the Bronco facing the salon, he climbed into the way-back, pulled a telephoto lens from his camera case, and settled in.

  Under the hot August sun, sweat trickled down his temples as he studied the layout of the shop, noting the absence of surveillance cameras. From his nest, he watched Sadie Vauk as she worked, talked, and more important, drank from a bottle of water she kept at her station. He would need to get her to turn her back so he could be alone with the water bottle. Maybe he could ask for something to drink or to see a style catalog. He’d only need a few seconds.

  Pleased with his effort, Gavin climbed back into the cab of the Bronco, started the engine, and turned on the air conditioner, aiming the vents at his face. He pulled a pair of latex gloves and the burner phone from the glove box. He had been practicing his conversation with Sadie Vauk, being careful to construct a script that would keep his speech impediment hidden. He went through the exchange in his head one more time, enjoying the slap of cool air on his hot skin. Then he dialed.

  “Queen Bebe’s.” It was Sadie.

  “Hi, I’m calling for an appointment to get a haircut.”

  “Oh, cool. I can get you in sometime next—”

  “I’ve got a problem, though. I have to fly to London in the morning and I need to get a trim before I go. Do you have an opening today?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m booked full.”

  “I’m in a real bind here. If there were any way…I’ll pay you double if you could add me on at the end of the day. My regular guy had a funeral, and I have to look good for my trip.”

  Gavin could hear Sadie wrestling with her decision. She was on the fence, so Gavin pushed on. “Triple. I’ll pay triple your normal rate, but I can’t go any higher. I’m begging.”

  “Okay, but you need to be here by six.”

  “Perfect.”

  Adrenaline coursed through Gavin’s body, the exhilaration making him want to scream and punch at the air. How could skydiving or bungee-jumping ever compete with the thrill of bending a woman to his will? Dancing on the edge of a verbal cliff while his speech impediment fought to break free? He’d done it. Round one, and Picture Boy had bested the princess.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  Gavin smiled to himself. “My name? Kevin.”

  * * *

  Gavin went home and finished his preparations, spreading the plastic sheathing in a basement bedroom just inside the garage, and a second sheet in the back of the Bronco. From his hiding place beneath the lazy Susan, he retrieved a small bottle of gamma-hydroxybutyric acid and carefully poured a measure of the clear liquid into a vial the size of a double-A battery. He put the vial in his pocket.

  The computer privacy screen wasn’t for his computer. He cut it in half, fitting a section over his front and back license plates. Privacy screens were designed to turn a screen black unless viewed head-on. Placed over his license plate, it would lessen the chance that a random surveillance camera might capture his plate number.

  Then he fired up the Bronco.

  As six o’clock neared, Gavin found himself back in the parking lot across the street, watching the final customers of the day leave the salon. He began to worry a bit as he waited for Bebe to leave. If she dragged out her departure, it would throw a wrench into the plan. But at six on the button, Bebe walked out, leaving Sadie alone.

  Gavin waited for Bebe to leave the parking lot before driving across the street and parking where Sadie wouldn’t see the Bronco. When he entered the shop, he took off his sunglasses and his hood. Would she recognize him? If she did, she might make a fuss, become suspicious. At the very least, she would be reluctant to leave him alone with her water bottle. Then what? If he aborted, she would tell Bebe about him and end the game.

  This was his only chance—the moment of truth. If she recognized him, he would walk away. But when she looked at him, her eyes held no sign of recognition.

  “Hi,” she said. “Are you Kevin?”

  “I am,” he said.

  Chapter 7

  Joe arrived home after Lila, his shoulders slouched like those of a man who had spent the day carrying stones. He’d been working double duty for the past month, picking up assignments for another reporter wh
o was out on maternity leave. He walked straight to the couch and plopped down, his head tipped back, his eyes closed, knees splayed open. Lila thought he looked like a man who could use a beer. But Lila couldn’t get him one, because they kept no alcohol in the apartment.

  She’d never asked Joe to give up alcohol, and he drank on those rare occasions when they ventured out to a restaurant, but as an act of unspoken solidarity, he never brought alcohol home. Lila was eight years sober now, her last drink the half bottle of vodka she’d downed just before swallowing a handful of her mother’s Ambien.

  It took almost dying, two weeks in a psych ward, and meeting Dr. Roberts to stop the slide she had been on. Her decision to quit found its roots the day Dr. Roberts showed her his twenty-year medallion.

  “How was your day?” she asked Joe.

  “Same as yesterday and probably won’t be any better than tomorrow. How ’bout yours?”

  Lila sat down on the couch, slung an arm around him, and tipped his head onto her shoulder. “My day was…Well, you remember back in law school, that case I did with Boady Sanden?”

  “The Pruitt case.”

  “Do you remember the name of the prosecutor?”

  “Dovey?”

  “Look at the whiz kid—two for two.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll blow it in Final Jeopardy. So, what about Dovey?”

  “He’s my boss now.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Beth Malone was in a car accident last night. She’ll be out for a while, and in the meantime, Dovey’s taking over Adult Prosecution.”

  Joe raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, he was something of a dick.”

  “Don’t sell him short—he’s a complete dick, a walking, talking asshat. And his first order of business was to call me into his office.”

  “Did he…I mean…”

  “Fire me? Frank doesn’t operate so bluntly. His game’s more subtle. I think I see his strategy, though. He’ll drum up some reason to fire me. Either that or he’ll force me out…lay stones on my chest until I can’t breathe anymore.”

  “So…what was the first stone?”

  “He reassigned me from Oscar to this woman named Andi Fitch.”

  “White Collar?”

  “No. Sex Crimes and Homicide.”

  “That’s good though, right? That’s where you want to be.”

  “Yeah, but this woman.” Lila rolled her eyes. “She’s demanding and gruff and—”

  “And she doesn’t know what she’s in for,” Joe said. “She hardly sounds up to taking on the likes of Lila Nash. Someone should warn her.”

  Lila cracked a smile in spite of herself. “It’s not funny. It’s just the first salvo. Who knows what he’ll do next.”

  “But he won’t just fire you, right?”

  “I don’t think so, not without a pretext. He’ll hold me under a magnifying glass for a while first. He’s such a—”

  “Asshat?”

  “Exactly.”

  Joe turned toward Lila, put his arm around her, and eased her back into his chest. “Then keep being flawless,” he said.

  Lila relaxed into Joe. “Maybe I should get my résumé back out there. Who knows, I might enjoy insurance defense.”

  “What would we do with all that money, though? It’d ruin us.”

  “I could buy you pretty things.”

  “It would be kind of nice to have my own toothbrush.”

  And like he always did, Joe made her laugh. “That is disgusting.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re pretty?”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re full of crap?”

  “Every day.” Joe gave her a squeeze. “It’ll be okay. You’re stronger than Frank Dovey, or this Fitch person. You’re like a…legal ninja Jedi. They want to crush you? They’re gonna need a lot bigger rocks than what they’ve got.”

  Sometimes Joe spoke with the bravado of a child; at least it seemed so to Lila, the way he jumped to her defense with both feet. He made her sound eight feet tall, but the woman Lila saw in the mirror could never measure up. But then again, how could he understand what had been carved out of her all those years ago?

  He didn’t see the remnants of those anxious nights in the hospital when sleep came in broken shards. He’d never heard her counting her steps. Joe saw what she wanted him to see—what she needed him to see—that version of herself that she wished were true. As much as she wanted to believe that summer was behind her, she knew it wasn’t. What happened to her would never be gone.

  She swallowed her doubt and smiled at Joe. “You’re right,” she said. “To hell with them. They don’t know who they’re messing with.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.

  “That’s my girl.”

  Anxious to change the subject, Lila said, “Tell me about your day.”

  “Oh, you’ve already won the contest. My day was nothing compared to yours—although, I may be heading out on assignment.”

  “Oh…? Where to?”

  “A tropical paradise they call North Dakota. There’s a protest over a pipeline they’re building on Native lands. Things are heating up.”

  “When?”

  “Allison hasn’t decided if I’m going for sure, but if it happens, it’ll be soon.”

  Lila turned to face Joe, the ache of his absence already creeping into her bones. She would hide that pain from him and watch him go if it came to that—one more secret to put with the rest. It was always harder when he was away.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his face to hers, and kissed him. It was what she needed more than anything else in that moment.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, in those dark hours when the rise of the sun remained nothing more than a promise, Lila awoke from a dream. Like most dreams, it was disjointed and random. She remembered being on her hands and knees amid a pile of files, the papers scattered around her like fallen leaves. Andi Fitch stood over her, arms folded in disgust. Lila was stacking the papers, but like the biblical fishes and loaves, they continued to multiply.

  Then she noticed that Andi’s shoes had become a pair of men’s shoes, and Lila looked up to see Frank Dovey, a vengeful grin wrinkling the corners of his eyes. That’s when Lila woke up.

  Joe lay with his back to her, his light snore drifting in the air. He was such a sound sleeper that he never noticed her nightmares. And while it had woken her up, the dream hadn’t been nearly as jarring as some she’d had. Her new boss held no candle to the faceless men who grabbed at her from the darkness.

  Those dreams sometimes affected her for days. She would see men looking at her in that certain way as she passed them on the street. The scrape of sand underfoot in a parking garage could make her heart stop. Such was the fallout that survivors like her had to endure.

  She curled an arm around Joe’s chest and listened to the sound of his exhales, felt the gentle rise and fall of his back against her cheek. How she loved the way his presence brought her peace. She pressed her face to his shoulder and whispered, “I need to tell you something.”

  She paused to be certain that she hadn’t woken him up before she continued. Then she said, “Sometimes, I’m afraid.”

  She tried to find more words to explain the labyrinth that lay between the woman Joe knew and the one who stared back at Lila from the mirror. How could she possibly explain it? She was too tired to form cogent thoughts. Her sentences broke apart in her head, the words becoming heavy and lost before she could speak them.

  “I just wanted you to know that,” she finally said.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the hum of the air conditioners in the courtyard below mixing with passing cars on the street and Joe’s breathing. As sleep came for her, she whispered to Joe, in a voice so soft as to be as much thought as it was breath, “I love you.”

  Chapter 8

  Gavin knew that his plan held risks, unavoidable gaps that could be minimized but never eliminated. Getting the women into the Bronco in public
was one of those gaps; and for Sadie Vauk, that part had gone without a hitch. The second unavoidable gap came when Gavin brought them out to the banks of the Mississippi River to say goodbye.

  Gavin put a great deal of thought into how best to part ways with them. Fantasizing the perfect adieu had lulled him to sleep on so many nights. The problem, as he saw it, was that if he left them dead along the side of the road, they would be found, and the foul play of his deed would flash as if in bright neon red. The game, as Sherlock Holmes might say, would be afoot. So why invite that kind of trouble?

  He considered hiding them, maybe digging a hole and burying them, but that brought with it a host of new problems, not the least of which was finding a suitable location, a place where he could spend time without being observed. He considered purchasing land out in the country, but then he would own the graves if they were ever discovered. That would not do. The best solution had to be one where no one would know what had happened to them.

  That’s when Gavin discovered Nicollet Island.

  Unlike those deserted islands of Huckleberry Finn, Nicollet Island was as much a part of Minneapolis as any other city block. It held houses, a school, a hotel, and on its lower tip, a pavilion for weddings.

  That’s how Gavin first discovered it. He had photographed a wedding there as one of his earliest gigs. When he’d stepped outside to get some fresh air, he’d strolled along the walking path that followed the river, and where others might have seen the peaceful beauty of one of the world’s most storied rivers, Gavin saw the answer to a problem.

  A couple hundred feet downstream from the pavilion lay the front edge of a hydroelectric dam built at the start of the twentieth century. The dam reached upstream in an upside-down V, water washing over a fourteen-foot spillway. But that was just the beginning of the ride. Below the dam churned St. Anthony Falls, a fifty-foot drop in the river where according to Dakota legend, an evil god named Oanktehi lived.

  For Gavin, the river seemed an answer to a prayer. The medical examiner would determine that death came from drowning, but what kind of drowning? Suicide? Accident? Foul play? If they couldn’t say for certain that it was a murder, would anyone ever look for him? As an added bonus, the brutality of the falls would pummel the body, threshing away any speck of evidence that Gavin may have missed. Although he never missed a thing.