“What; you’re serious.”
“Get out of your apartment now, Jane. I’m surprised these people haven’t been there already, but you can’t take any more chances.”
“They have been here.”
“What?”
I told him about my apartment being trashed. As far as I could tell, nothing had been taken, but whoever had been in my home had been destructive and violent. I tried to explain to Morgan that I hadn’t called him because I didn’t want police trooping through my apartment.
“Jane!” he said. “You should be smarter than that.”
“I don’t have anywhere to go,” I said. “If I stay with a friend, I put her life in danger. I can’t feel responsible for more deaths.”
“Okay, then check into a motel. Stay where I’m staying at the Baranov Inn. The FBI has six rooms reserved, and right now, two are vacant. I’ll call the front desk and tell them to give you the key to one of the rooms.”
“Okay.”
“Hurry, Jane. I sent a police officer to watch your apartment complex. I’ll have him follow you to the hotel.”
I hung up the phone. My hands were trembling, and my mind was filled with the desire to run. I forced myself to sit and think about what I needed to take with me. I took a small duffel bag from my bedroom closet and filled it with clothes and toiletry items. I took enough for two days, but I would have to come back here to pack for my field trip.
I grabbed my keys, locked the door, and sprinted for my Explorer, expecting to be attacked from behind at any moment. I started the engine, turned on the lights, jammed the gearshift into reverse, and backed out of the space. I took a deep breath and forced myself to relax, easing into forward and driving from the lot at a normal pace.
As soon as I left the lot, a police car pulled away from the curb and followed me. If Jack Justin’s murderers were watching, I didn’t see them. The streets of Kodiak were nearly deserted. Except for the police car, I saw only two other vehicles, and they were driving toward me, not following me.
I collected the room key from the desk clerk and then hauled my bag up the staircase to the second floor. I locked and bolted the door to my room, changed into an oversized T-shirt, and climbed beneath the covers. I didn’t think sleep would be possible, and I planned only to try to relax until Morgan returned to the hotel. I wanted to hear about the investigation, to know if the FBI had uncovered any leads to the identity of Justin’s murderer. I also didn’t think I would feel safe enough to sleep until Morgan was in the hotel.
I was wrong. I drifted to sleep soon after I closed my eyes, exhaustion forcing my mind to shut down. If Morgan tried to contact me after he returned to the hotel, I didn’t hear him. I didn’t hear anything until the front desk called me at 7:00 with my wake-up call.
I sat on the edge of the strange bed, groggy and disoriented. Bit by bit, I remembered the nightmare of the previous day and the reason I had slept in a hotel room. I stumbled to the shower and stood under the hot spray. My right thigh was bruised and my shoulder hurt from where I’d hit the ground when the young policeman tackled me. These were small inconveniences when compared with the fate of Barry Gant or Jack Justin.
I searched for the bravado and anger I had tapped into the previous evening, but fear was the emotion of choice this morning. I didn’t want to leave the safety of the locked hotel room. What if Jack’s killers were waiting for me?
I took my time dressing and applying makeup. The hotel room was dark and the building quiet. I considered turning on the television, but I didn’t want to see the news. I pulled back the heavy curtain and was delighted by the view of blue sky. The world seemed slightly friendlier.
Knuckles rapped against my door, and I instinctively pushed into the far corner of the room.
“Jane,” a familiar voice called.
I exhaled and walked to the door, checking through the peephole before I unlatched the bolt. I pulled the door open. Nick Morgan was freshly showered, shaved, and immaculately dressed in a dark suit, white shirt, and pinstriped tie. However, his grey face revealed that he had slept little, if at all, the previous night. In his right hand, he clutched my purse.
“Come in.” I pushed the door open.
He handed me my purse and then crossed the room and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
“Oh no. Just tired.” He rubbed his face with his right hand. “I think I’m getting too old for this job.”
“How did you find Jack Justin?”
“We didn’t. He washed up on the boat ramp at high tide. A fisherman called the police.”
“He’d been tortured?” I leaned against the desk. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer to my question.
Morgan braced his hands behind him on the bed and leaned back. “His wrists were tied behind his back, and his ankles were bound together. He had multiple abrasions across his face and chest. He’d been badly beaten.”
“Do you know yet who did it?”
Morgan sighed and looked at the ceiling. “I’m sure you know this is confidential, but under the circumstances, I feel you have a right to know.”
“I don’t plan to talk to reporters,” I said.
“Luckily, Kodiak is an island, and as you know, airplanes are the only way to quickly get back and forth to the mainland. Since only two airlines fly between Kodiak and Anchorage, it requires no great detective work to scan the passenger lists.”
“But people can use fake I.D.’s and travel under false identities,” I said.
“Yes, it’s not as easy as it used to be, but it can still be done, and with all the newspeople travelling to Kodiak, it makes our job more difficult, but we can still trace most of the passengers, and we came across a couple who have no business on the island. We haven’t located them yet, but I think they are the people we’re looking for.”
“So you’re searching for them?”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “And, we should be able to stop them from leaving the island.”
I wondered if I still would be alive when they tried to leave the island.
Morgan read my mind. “You will have your own personal guard until they are caught. I know I can’t keep you locked in a hotel room, but I insist that you accept protection.”
I nodded. He didn’t have to twist my arm.
“What are you planning to do today?” he asked.
“I’m getting ready to go to the marine center. We’re supposed to get our gear out of the labs and then have a meeting about what to do next. We have to find temporary office space somewhere.”
Morgan slowly pushed himself off the bed and stood. “If you’re ready to go, I’ll walk downstairs with you and introduce your guard.”
“Does he have to ride with me?” I wanted protection, but I needed my space.
Morgan smiled. “He’ll follow you in an unmarked car. You won’t even know he’s there.”
We walked down the stairs and across the lobby. The young man who had been assigned to watch me the previous day jumped up from the couch and stood as soon as he saw us. He was not wearing his police uniform today, but was dressed in black slacks and a dark green sweater.
We walked up to him, and in a low voice, Morgan made the introduction. “Jane, this is David Wesley.”
I held out my hand, and David shook it. “Dr. Marcus,” he said.
“I believe we met yesterday.” I smiled at the young man, and his face turned beet red.
“I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“I’m fine.” I glanced up at Morgan. “I’ll talk to you later, then.”
He nodded and then looked at Wesley. “If anything unusual happens, call me right away.”
“Yes sir,” Wesley said.
Morgan nodded and then strode toward the stairs. Wesley and I started out the door, but the cold morning air reminded me that I had forgotten my jacket.
“I have to run upstairs for a minute, I’ll be right back.”
“Yes ma�
��am,” Wesley said, looking back and forth from the street to the stairs.
“You can wait for me in your car; I’ll be back in a minute. I just need to grab a jacket.”
He thought about this for a moment and then nodded his head. “Okay.”
I hurried up the stairs and started down the long corridor toward my room. I saw a couple at the far end of the hall, locked in a passionate embrace. I could see the side of the man’s face and recognized him as David Sturman, the man who had eulogized Darren Myers at the memorial service. I couldn’t see the woman’s face, but I knew who she was from her bright red hair. I took several steps back and watched the couple from a distance as Sturman smoothly unlocked the door and they slid into his room. Had Darren Myers known that the superintendent of his cannery was having an affair with his estranged wife? If so, the working relationship between the two men must have been strained at the least. I would have to report this information to Morgan.
I continued to my room and unlocked the door. The phone was ringing when I pushed the door open, and I assumed that Morgan had seen me go one way and my guard the other and was calling me to scold me.
I grabbed my jacket and then snatched up the phone. “Hello.
I sat hard on the bed when I heard the caller’s voice. It was the same deep, accented voice I’d heard on my answering machine. “Dr. Marcus,” the man said. “We know where you are hiding. You can’t escape us. We are not playing a game. We want the briefcase.”
My heart pounded like a bass drum in my ears. The room appeared particulate and grainy, my head light. “I don’t have your briefcase.” I was surprised at how calm my voice sounded. “I’m not a fool, and I don’t have a death wish. I never had your briefcase, but if I did, I would have either given it to you or the FBI by now.”
I stopped talking, waiting for a reply, and thinking about what to say next. Instead, the phone went dead. I pulled the handset from my ear and stared at it, the plastic shaking in my trembling fingers. I dialed the front desk and asked to be connected to Morgan’s room. There was no answer.
I pulled on my jacket, grabbed my overnight bag, and sprinted down the stairs to the lobby, hoping to catch Morgan on his way out of the hotel. When I didn’t see him, I ran out the front door and to the driver’s window of the unmarked Ford parked on the street in front of the hotel.
Wesley rolled down the window. “You look upset, ma’am, is everything okay?” His eyes were wide.
“Did you see Agent Morgan leave the hotel?”
“Yes ma’am, he left a couple of minutes ago.”
“Dang it!”
“He’s probably on his way to the police station.”
I looked at my watch. I was already late. “Can you call him and tell him I just heard from the man he’s looking for? I don’t have any information, but I’ll be at the marine center, and he can call me on my cell if he wants to talk to me.”
“Yes ma’am,” Wesley said. “Were you threatened?”
“In a vague way,” I said. “I received a phone call in my room, and the caller wanted to let me know that he knew where I was staying.”
“He could be watching us, then.” Wesley scanned the street in both directions.
“I’m on my way to the marine center.”
“I’m right behind you, ma’am.”
I didn’t see anyone who looked out of place as I drove to the marine center, but then I hadn’t seen anyone follow me the previous night. Maybe my home phone was bugged. The person or people who trashed my apartment would have had plenty of opportunities to plant a listening device in my telephone. If they were listening to my phone calls, they would have heard Morgan tell me to go to the hotel. What would they do now? Had I finally convinced them that I didn’t have the briefcase?
The marine center was a depressing site. It had that eerie aura of death that hangs over disasters the morning after the storm. I showed my I.D. to a guard stationed at the entrance to the parking lot, and he waved us into the lot. I parked and walked slowly toward the front doors. Wesley followed several paces behind.
The bomb only had destroyed a small portion of the building. The section that housed the offices was sealed off, but the rest of the building appeared untouched by the blast. I hoped the structural damage was not as bad as Peter feared and that we could move back into part of the building while the rest was repaired.
Peter stood in front of the glass doors addressing a group of my colleagues who formed a semicircle in front of him. I hurried to join the group. Some turned toward me and nodded, dazed expressions on their faces. The rest concentrated on Peter’s depressing news. While I’m sure everyone knew that Dr. Gant had been killed and two others injured, most didn’t understand until now that they would have to move their laboratory gear out of the building or suspend their research until the building was declared safe to reenter.
“How will we teach our classes?” Diedre Spreate asked.
“I haven’t worked out everything yet, Dr. Spreate, but perhaps the community college will loan us some space. They don’t have much going on there during the summer session.”
Peter looked grey and was dressed in a sweatshirt and blue jeans, instead of his usual well-cut suit. If this didn’t give him wrinkles, nothing would.
“If possible, though,” Peter said, “I will ask you to call your students if you have their phone numbers, or perhaps meet them here outside the building during your assigned class time. They will not be allowed to enter the building, but if they have something in one of the labs that they need, they can tell you or another staff member, and we can get it for them. We have access to the labs until 3:00 this afternoon.”
“And then what?” Arnold Nelson, a small, grey-haired man with a pinched face asked. I didn’t know him well, but he had a reputation as a whiner.
Peter sighed. “Realistically, I don’t think we’ll be able to go into any part of the building for a week. If the engineers determine that the lobby and labs are structurally sound, then we should be able to move back into that portion of the building. Of course if they aren’t safe,” Peter shrugged, “I don’t know.”
“What about our offices?” Sam Norman asked. “I have papers in my office that I need.” Sam was a bright-eyed young researcher. I knew he wouldn’t be bothered by a change of office and laboratory space, as long as he could continue with his research. His office was several doors further down the corridor from mine, and I sincerely hoped his work was still there.
“I understand, Sam,” Peter said. “I’m working with the police on that. They absolutely refuse to let us go into that section of the building, but I think they might haul things out for us.”
Sam groaned. “No, Peter. I don’t want someone shoving my files of research into a box. They’ll lose half of it, and I’ll never be able to make sense of what they’ve done.”
Peter held up his hands. “That may be the best I can do. I think we should get everything out of there before a construction crew begins the repairs.”
“At least you have an office to clear out,” Jen Wang, a petite Chinese woman whose office had been next to mine, said. “I have nothing left to worry about: no computer, no files, no correspondence, no classroom materials. I have nothing.”
“Yes,” Peter said. “Next to Dr. Gant’s death and the injuries, that’s the worst of the news. Dr. Wang’s, Dr. Marcus’, Dr. Gant’s, and Dr. Taylor’s offices were destroyed.” Wang’s and Taylor’s offices were on either side of mine, and Gant’s was across the hall.
“Luckily,” Peter continued, “Wang, Marcus, and Taylor all kept copies of their research elsewhere, so it’s not a complete loss.” Peter looked around the crowd. “I hope this will convince the rest of you to back up your research and keep copies of it stored at your home or someplace safe. I know I tend to get sloppy about that myself, but I’ll be more diligent from now on.”
“What about the offices next to those, do you know how much damage was done there?” Arnold Nelson asked. His offic
e was on the other side of Wang’s.
“I don’t know, Arnold. The police are supposed to tell me the full extent of the damage this morning. I took a walk around the building yesterday, and your office is severely damaged, but I think you’ll be able to retrieve most of your files. I doubt you have a computer, though.”
“Oh no!” Nelson wailed, and the group turned in unison to glare at him. None of us believed he was foolish enough to store raw data on the hard drive of his computer. Even if he hadn’t made several copies, he should at least have one copy on a thumb drive at his office, and the thumb drive was probably okay.
Peter held up his hands. “This won’t be pleasant for any of us, Arnold, but we’ll have to do our best to get through it.”
“Why would anyone want to bomb a marine science center?” Diedre Spreate asked.
Betty, who was standing at the front of the group, turned and glared at me. I felt my face grow hot.
“I have no idea, Dr. Spreate. I hope the FBI and police figure it out soon.” Peter paused and looked around the semicircle, but the group was silent, too overwhelmed for more questions. He sighed again. “Get what you need out of the labs today. Fish and Game has offered us space to store our equipment, and I’ve rounded up a few vans to move things. After that, we’ll take off the rest of this week and Monday and Tuesday of next week. By Tuesday, I’ll get in touch with each of you and let you know the plan. Until then, if you want to meet with your students at your home or some other place, that’s up to you. Otherwise, give them a week off, too.”
Peter stopped speaking, but no one moved. “I have a van in the parking lot. We can begin loading gear any time,” Peter urged.
Sam Norman was the first to move, and after he entered through the lobby doors, a procession of researchers straggled after him.
I walked up to Betty. “How’s Glenda?” I asked.
“She has a broken arm and a concussion.” Her tone was sharp, and her assignment of blame crystal-clear.
Murder over Kodiak Page 18