“The cops look at the boyfriend or the husband first. Everyone knows that. I’m going to check out that angle. Ferris sounded genuinely surprised and concerned when I talked to him on the phone a few minutes ago, but I intend to confront him in person. It’s easier to get a read on someone that way.”
“Hold on. I don’t think you should meet him alone. I’ll come with you.”
“Thanks, but we’ll worry about that later. First I want to retrace Olivia’s steps last night. I checked her apartment this morning. It was obvious that she went back there and changed her clothes after she left the office yesterday. I know she requested a pickup from the ride-hailing service and then canceled a short time later. I need to find someone who might have seen her during that time period.”
“What about the police? Are you going to file a missing persons report?”
“Yes, but at this point I have no grounds for suspecting foul play. I want to see what I can find out on my own first.”
Daniel gave her a knowing look. “You think the cops will blow you off because of the Ingram case, don’t you?”
“Yep. There wasn’t an ounce of evidence to indicate that Ingram had been murdered, at least not the kind of hard evidence the police can use. All I could tell them was that I thought he had been killed, possibly with poison or some drug that stopped his heart. They found nothing to back up my theory.”
“It’s their job to find the hard evidence,” Daniel said. “They had no right to label you a fake psychic.”
“They didn’t actually say that I was a fake until Roger Gossard told them and that reporter Brenda Bryce that I was probably delusional.”
“Gossard was trying to cover his own ass.”
“At the expense of my ass,” Catalina said. “Get going on that computer search. Call me if you find anything.”
“I’m on it, Boss.”
Catalina went out into the hall and closed the door. She formed a strategy while she waited for the elevator. The first step was to go back to the apartment tower and try to retrace Olivia’s steps. Someone must have seen something. This was a city, after all. There were people on the streets and security cameras everywhere these days.
* * *
—
The only good news that morning was that the TV crew and the curiosity seekers were no longer hanging around in front of the apartment building. She went upstairs and made herself walk through Olivia’s apartment again, this time with her senses heightened. There was no trace of panic or fear in the atmosphere, nothing that indicated violence.
She took the elevator downstairs to the lobby and asked Robert to contact Andrea, the woman who had been at the concierge desk the previous evening. He made the call and handed the phone to Catalina.
“I spoke to Olivia when she left,” Andrea said. “I could tell she was really looking forward to the evening. She went outside to wait for her ride. Usually the cars pull up right out in front in the loading zone. But the driver must have sent a message telling her he was waiting on the side of the building. I saw her glance at her phone, and then she walked around the corner. I lost sight of her after that.”
“Thanks,” Catalina said.
She went outside and followed the route Olivia had evidently taken. It led to a quiet side street. Marge was in her office, the alcove of a service door. She sat on her bedroll. She wore the heavy down-filled coat Olivia and Catalina had given her several months earlier. There was a six-pack of sodas on the ground next to her. A battered shopping cart containing all her worldly possessions completed the furnishings.
No one knew Marge’s last name. No one knew her age, either, although Catalina and Olivia had concluded that she was probably in her forties. Life on the street aged a woman fast. She was not big on conversation, nor did she ask for money. Instead, she regarded most passersby with a suspicious glare. The majority of those who noticed her in the alcove kept their distance. The assumption was that she had some serious mental health issues. Catalina and Olivia were pretty sure they knew why Marge gazed at people the way she did. Marge perceived human auras.
Catalina approached her with some caution. You never knew what to expect.
“Hello, Marge,” Catalina said.
“Wondered when you’d show up. Took you long enough.”
Marge spoke in a rough voice that, at some point in the past, had been wrecked by cigarettes or, quite possibly, too much screaming. In a rare conversational moment, she had confided to Catalina that she had spent some time locked up in a secret research lab. She said she had screamed night and day until they finally let her go.
“I’m trying to find Olivia,” Catalina said.
“Gone,” Marge said. “I saw ’em take her away.”
Catalina fought back the panic. She warned herself that you couldn’t always take Marge too literally.
“Who took Olivia?” she asked.
“The clones from Riverview.”
This was getting worse by the second. But questioning Marge was a tricky business.
“Did Olivia know the Riverview clones?” Catalina asked, searching for a path through Marge’s worldview, which was organized according to an elaborate conspiracy theory involving evil human scientists who worked for the rulers of the planet Riverview. The Riverview folks planned to conquer Earth, but they were still in the exploration and discovery stage. Hence the occasional alien abduction.
“Olivia didn’t know who was in the car,” Marge said. “Soon as she realized there were clones inside, she tried to get out, but they wouldn’t let her.”
“What kind of car?”
“The wrong car,” Marge said. “That’s how they grabbed me, too. Tricked me into getting into the wrong car and then they took me away.”
Catalina tried again. “What color was the car that Olivia got into?”
“Black.”
“Can you describe it?”
“Big one. Sort of like a cross between a truck and a regular car.”
An SUV, Catalina decided. Unfortunately, that described a huge percentage of the vehicles on the road in the Pacific Northwest, including the one that she and Olivia had purchased together for their occasional trips to Fogg Lake. The mountain roads were not well maintained in the vicinity of the lake. Access to the town often required a rugged vehicle, not the nondescript little compacts they used in the city for errands and for occasional stakeouts.
Marge popped the top on a can of soda and waited.
“Can you describe the people who took Olivia?” Catalina said.
Marge frowned. “Bad energy.”
“What color was their hair?”
“Couldn’t tell. The windows of the car were dark. Just caught a glimpse of some of the energy around the driver and the guy in the back seat.”
“Did you notice the license plates?”
Catalina asked the question with no real hope of a helpful answer.
“No plates,” Marge said. “I looked.”
That came as startling news.
“You checked for license plates?” Catalina asked.
“I may be crazy but I’m not stupid. Knew you’d come around looking for Olivia.”
“Why didn’t you tell a cop what you saw?”
“Cops think I’m just a crazy old lady. If I told ’em what I saw they’d take me to some clinic where they would shoot me full of drugs and make me go numb again.”
“The cops think I’m a crazy lady, too,” Catalina said.
And maybe she would be in Marge’s place now, she thought, if her parents hadn’t raised her in Fogg Lake and instilled in her the importance of gaining control of her second sight so that she could pass for normal.
“Nah, the cops don’t think you’re crazy,” Marge said. She winked. “They just think you’re a fake psychic. Pretty good disguise, by the way. Wish I’d thought of it a fe
w years back. If I’d played my cards right, I coulda made some real money.”
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened to Olivia before now?” Catalina asked. “I’ve lost so much time.”
Marge chugged more soda and lowered the can. “I don’t know where you live.”
“What do you mean? I live in the apartment building right behind you. Surely you knew that?”
“Can’t go around the corner. That’s Riverview territory. Had to wait for you to come find me. Knew you would. What took you so long?”
Catalina reminded herself that Marge lived in a strange landscape that only she could see. There was no point berating the poor woman. She was doing her best to survive.
“Do you have any idea where the clones in the big black car took Olivia?” Catalina asked.
“Expect they took her to hell. That’s where they took me. I’ll bet they’ve got her locked up in hell right now. You’re gonna look for her, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Catalina said.
“That’s good. But you’re gonna need help. You can’t walk into hell unless you’ve got someone to watch your back.”
Catalina went very still.
“Who will help me, Marge?” she asked.
Marge concentrated hard for a moment and then gave a short, brusque nod.
“Someone who knows about the clones. They’re a tough crowd. You’re gonna need someone who can deal with that bunch.”
The disheartening news was that Marge was right. It would be infuriating to have to make the call to Victor Arganbright to ask for help, but given what she had just learned, she didn’t have much choice. She needed professional assistance from someone who would take her fears seriously, someone who wouldn’t make her waste time filling out forms.
Catalina rose to her feet. “You may be right, Marge. But shit.”
Marge started to raise the soda can but she paused and squinted up at Catalina.
“Watch out for the needle,” she said.
“What needle?”
“The clones slapped something over Olivia’s face and then they stuck a needle into her shoulder when she tried to get out of the car. Just like they did to me when they took me away.”
A hypodermic syringe, Catalina thought, the same type of weapon that had been used to murder a stranger fifteen years earlier in the Fogg Lake caves. It had to be a coincidence. Drugs were obviously an easy way to subdue a captive. There couldn’t possibly be a connection to the murder in the caves.
“Marge,” she whispered, bracing herself for the worst possible answer to her next question, “I know you can see auras. Do you think those people in the black car murdered Olivia?”
“I could see her energy through the car window when they drove off. She was still alive, but . . .”
“What, Marge?”
“It looked like she was going to sleep,” Marge said. “She’ll wake up in hell. Just like I did.”
CHAPTER 6
Catalina was halfway back to the office, walking fast, when her phone vibrated. She yanked it out of the pocket of her coat and glanced at the screen. Daniel.
“Please tell me you’ve got a lead on Olivia,” she said.
“Nothing yet, but you need to get back here now.”
“Almost there. Why? What happened?”
“There’s someone here to see you. Says it’s urgent. Says it’s about Olivia.”
“Put him on the phone,” Catalina said.
“Hang on,” Daniel said.
The voice that came on the line was masculine, eerily calm, cool and controlled. It was, she concluded, the kind of voice that could lead you out of a burning building. It was also a voice that, under the right circumstances, could scare the living daylights out of you.
“My name is Slater Arganbright,” he said.
“Oh, shit,” Catalina whispered.
“I realize you’ve got some history with my uncle. We can talk about that later. Right now we’ve got other priorities. I understand your business partner, Olivia LeClair, is missing.”
Okay, so she had been on the verge of calling Victor Arganbright. It was one thing to put in a call for help. It was something else entirely to discover that someone from the Foundation was already on the scene. That information left two gut-wrenching possibilities: either Victor Arganbright had known that Olivia was in danger and had failed to warn her in advance, or his so-called Foundation was behind the kidnapping.
“Did Victor Arganbright’s thugs take Olivia?” she said. It was all she could do not to scream into the phone. “Because I swear, if you harm her, I will find a way to destroy your Foundation, even if it takes me the rest of my life.”
“No, we didn’t take your friend,” Slater said. “And for the record, my uncle doesn’t employ thugs. Just people like me.”
It wasn’t the denial that brought her to a stunned halt in the middle of the sidewalk. She had been prepared for that. It was highly unlikely that anyone in his right mind would admit to a serious crime like kidnapping, especially not while he was speaking on the phone. For all Slater Arganbright knew, she was recording his words.
It was the incredibly unemotional way he spoke that stopped her cold. His voice sounded far too flat, unnaturally so. There should have been some heat in the denial; a hint of outrage, at the very least. After all, she had just pulled out a verbal jackknife by virtually accusing him, or at least his uncle, of a major federal crime.
“How did you know Olivia was kidnapped?” she said. She still sounded fierce and accusatory. She did not give a damn. She was dealing with an Arganbright.
Whose help she might need.
Damn, damn, damn. Shit.
That was the third time she had used the word shit in the past few minutes. Her language was deteriorating rapidly. That was probably not a good sign. Control, Catalina. You must exercise control.
“When I walked into your office a few minutes ago your receptionist said you were out looking for your friend,” Slater explained in his eerily uninflected voice. “I was told no one appears to have seen or heard from Ms. LeClair since late yesterday. Considering that I came to Seattle to ask you and Olivia for some professional assistance, it’s unlikely that her disappearance today is a coincidence.”
Still no emotion in the words. Just flat statements of facts. Or flat-out lies. There was no way to be sure. It was as if she was talking to a robot.
Two could play that game.
“What do you want, Arganbright?” she asked, trying to channel her inner Philip Marlowe. She was a private investigator, after all. She even had a trench coat, and she was wearing it today. It was a very stylish trench. Olivia had given it to her when they embarked on their new business venture.
“We can talk about why I’m here in Seattle when we meet,” Slater said. “We shouldn’t be having this conversation on the phone.”
With an effort of will, Catalina forged through the small trance she had plunged into when she heard the Arganbright name. She lurched forward, once again walking as swiftly as possible, almost trotting.
“I’m on my way back to my office,” she said. “Stay right where you are, Arganbright. Don’t make a move or I swear I’ll call the cops and tell them you’re responsible for the disappearance of my friend. I’m sure the Foundation has some good lawyers who will be able to keep you out of jail, but I’ll make damn certain that the Arganbright name is all over the media before Victor can make me shut up. And what’s more, I’ll mention that little private lab he’s operating there in Las Vegas.”
“It would be better if I come to you,” Slater said. “Is there a busy office building or a hotel near your present location where you can wait until I get there?”
So much for her puny threat. Evidently it hadn’t even ruffled his hair as it went past. The truth was, she wasn’t in a position to be anything more than a min
or inconvenience for Victor or his Las Vegas operation, and they both knew it. Informing the media that the Foundation Arganbright currently controlled was engaged in paranormal research wouldn’t do any real damage. Who cared if some eccentric gazillionaire had set up his own lab to run some crazy-ass experiments? Vegas had a history of eccentric characters. Think Howard Hughes.
“No,” she said, abandoning Philip Marlowe and settling for coldly polite, “there is no suitable location where I can hide out and wait for you. I’m only about three blocks away from my office. I will be there in a few minutes. Do. Not. Leave.”
There was a long pause at the other end of the connection. Maybe Robot Man was trying to figure out how to respond to her refusal to follow his orders. Evidently he was not programmed to handle rejection.
“All right,” Slater said finally. “But stay on the phone. Keep to the busiest streets. Make sure there are people around you at all times. Above all, don’t get into any cars. No taxis. No ride services.”
Catalina caught her breath. “My witness says that’s how they grabbed Olivia. How did you guess?”
“You’ve got a witness?”
There may have been a slight edge on Slater’s words now.
“Yes,” she said. She was not about to offer him any more information. Not yet, at any rate. “Now tell me how you knew that the kidnappers faked a ride service pickup.”
“I didn’t know about that angle,” Slater said. “I just went with the logical and most obvious assumption. Kidnapping usually requires a vehicle. Historically, unmarked vans have been popular for that purpose. But these days it’s obvious that a vehicle that looks like a car from a ride-hailing operation would be a smart option. No one takes any notice of a black car pulling over to the curb to pick up a passenger.”
“Oh, right.” She felt like an idiot. Of course there would have been a vehicle of some kind involved.
“Do me a favor,” Slater continued. “Make sure you use all your senses on the way back here.”
The edge on his voice got sharper. Her level of wariness and the anxiety that accompanied it shot up another notch. At this rate it wouldn’t be long before she was in a state of full-blown panic.
The Vanishing Page 6