Captured Lies

by Maggie Thom

"What have you got for me, Graham?" Guy shoved his hand through his hair, as he watched the sun wink at him over the top of the high rises. A cool wind whipped around him as he made his way around Churchill Square, careful that no one was in hearing distance of him.

  "Not as much as I'd like." There was the sound of clicking keys on a keyboard. "Donna Zajic married to Doug Zajic, disappeared June 30th, 1983. Never heard from or seen again. There was speculation that her husband killed her and did away with the body but it was never proven. There were some allegations of abuse but all charges were dropped. Another thought is that she had help to disappear. I talked with the police chief in charge back then but he said that he's sure she had someone who hid her and then set her up with a new life. Of course he could never prove it but he'd had a gut feeling. Said that Doug Zajic was a politician through and through. He was as plastic and authentic as a Ken doll."

  Guy chuckled. "Police Chief - good guy?"

  "Yeah. Dedicated and a straight shooter. Liked him. Retired now. Enjoying the simple life. At least so he said but he sure was willing to do some leg work for me if I needed it. He was mad as hell that it had never been solved. He was sure Zajic was dirty but could never make anything stick. He's says it's not too late to take him down. I didn't have the heart to tell him Doug Zajic died several years ago in a hit and run."

  "So we've got birth dates that match. First names that match. There's a good chance our Donna Saunders was Donna Zajic. And it looks like Mr. Lund, an esteemed lawyer with some very dark secrets, might have been behind her disappearing or at least keeping her hidden."

  "Yeah. I went through some of his files." He whistled, long and low. "Looks like he was blackmailing a good number of people. He was blackmailing Doug Zajic and maybe Donna as well. I haven't gotten through them all. I'll let you know what I find."

  Guy shook his head as he listened.

  "The guy is as dishonest as if he was the devil's disciple. Oh crap! Guy, that Mr. Lund is in the hospital."

  "Did someone he screwed over find him and put him there?"

  "No, it sounds like natural causes - heart attack. I was just googling his name to see what I could find and here is an article written? just a sec? Sunday, April 26th."

  "That's the same day that Bailey was there. Shit."

  "Are you saying she might have had something to do with it?"

  "You do the math. He goes into cardiac arrest some time after she's been there and she just happens to have some confidential information that I'm sure he wouldn't have shared with the devil." He placed his left hand over his stomach as acid poured into his gut. He sat down on the cement bleachers and hung his head. "Now what?"

  "Don't know, man. Buddy, this is the biggest doo-doo you've ever landed in, eh? 'Ol boy, you sure know how to pick em," Graham said, in his charming but off, old-boy English accent.

  Guy smiled. "Thanks, man. Can always count on you to find the good in it. How about my sketch guy? Any leads? I'm getting nervous."

  "Check your email. Stanson sent you three revised sketches. I've already got them running through the police files of known criminals. I think we'll get a hit. Detective Bean was more than happy to take this on. He feels we owe him. He's still miffed at us for his nickname. You'd think ten years would have weakened his attitude. But no. Anyway, he was more than happy to look into this. He wants that mug shot as soon as we get it done."

  "You want to know who it was before you hand it over to him. Right?"

  "Of course. Bean wouldn't have any problem using you as bait to catch this guy. And we'll assume he's not a very nice man, so I'd rather you knew who was chasing you before I give Bean the opportunity to nail him."

  Several people were walking through and around the Square. Most seemed to be cutting across the cement park, while others had come to loiter. Some seemed a little too interested in what he was doing. "Gotta go, Graham. Keep me in the loop."

  "You keep your neck out of the loop."

  "Gotcha." Guy strode off down the street, less than a block from the hotel the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood up. He thrust his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and hunched his shoulders, while he casually looked around. The streets were busier, which let him know it was the end of the work day. He'd spent longer than he'd planned. Walking past the Westin Hotel, he headed west along Jasper Avenue. There didn't seem to be anyone following him but he couldn't shake that sense of unease.

  Turning down 101st, he followed it to 102 Ave. When he got to 100th Street he raced across the middle of the road, ignoring the honking and tires screeching. When he reached the other sidewalk, he turned quickly and saw someone jump back into the shadows of the other building. It couldn't have been a coincidence. Not waiting to see who it was, he raced down the street, turning before the hotel and coming in from the other side. As he entered the lobby he headed for the escalator, taking it up one flight. Then he climbed the stairs another two flights. Once he was on the fourth floor he took the elevator to the 22nd. He knocked gently before putting his card in and opened it.

  "Bailey, it's me."

  Silence. Nothing. And no one. The table was covered with the morning paper he'd been reading. The hot tub was drained. He walked over to the bathroom and peeked in. Her dirty clothes still scattered on the floor were the only sign of her. His gut tightened. He turned and checked out the room more closely to see if she'd left him a note. Or a clue as to where she'd gone. On the pillow of his unmade bed, as they'd asked for no housekeeping, there was a folded piece of paper which blended with the white pillowcase.

  Opening it he read, 'Some things I have to figure out on my own. Bailey'.

  Swearing, he crumpled the paper in his hand and threw it. It landed gently against the other bed right beside Miss Piggy. Reaching down, he picked up the ugly toy. Her hair was tangled and twisted so bad, she looked more like she had a nest on her head. He touched the deformed nose that resembled a bird's beak. Smiling, he clutched it between his hands. He pressed more firmly. There was something inside her. She was lumpy and misshapen but when he pressed hard enough, he could feel a long, hard object. Flipping her over, he dug his fingers into the seam in the back of her head and pulled. The old tattered material ripped but not nice and neatly along the seam as he'd hoped but right across the back. He reached in and after rooting around for a few seconds was able to grab something. It took a moment to identify it, even before he saw it. The hum of excitement started to course through him.

  His eyes widened as they lit upon what was in his hands - a cassette. If it had survived the intervening years he knew it had to hold some valuable information. He called Graham.

  "You won't believe what I found. A cassette tape."

  "Jolly happy for you, 'ol boy."

  Guy rolled his eyes. "I mean I found a tape that I think is related to this whole shmoz." He filled Graham in on where he'd discovered it. "So my question now is where do I find a cassette player? Do they even make them anymore?"

  "Hmmm, good question. I think so but they're not very popular. Find a second hand store or go to a garage sale."

  "Right! Like I've got time to hunt down garage sales. Any news on your end?"

  "No, ran into a bit of a glitch with my computer. I think someone almost detected me accessing the police files. I must have been a bit sloppy. Won't happen again. So I should have something for you by early tomorrow. What are you up to now? How's your roomy?"

  Guy looked around the messy but empty room. "Gone. I'm not sure where. Oh and I think our guy is following me again. So I'd appreciate if you could send Bean in this direction."

  "Got ya. No problem. Now get out of there."

  Guy didn't need to be told twice. A chill pressed itself between his shoulder blades. He opened the door and looked in both directions. Just as he took a step, a man got off the elevator. Their eyes connected. It was the man who had played smash up derby with them the day before. He didn't wait but dashed the other way, heading for the exit. With his hand on the r
ailing, he was able to slide down, barely touching any steps. There was the echoing bang of the door shutting. His assailant was coming after him. Ripping down five flights, he opened the door and ran the long hallway to the other end. He raced down several more sets of stairs. At ground level he headed out the door to the parking garage. The SUV stood out like a train wreck, with its bashed in side. Digging in his pocket he pulled out his keys. It dawned on him that Bailey had to have taken a cab or walked but he needed to be sure. He couldn't leave her to deal with this nut by herself. He headed back into the hotel, carefully scouting the area. There was no sign of his follower. He dashed to the desk.

  A young, smartly dressed man smiled at him as though it wasn't out of the ordinary to see someone run like a mad man across the lobby. Guy described Bailey to him and asked if he'd seen her. No but he'd check to see if anyone ordered a cab. Guy was breathing hard and felt like his nerves were going to jump out of his skin, by the time he returned. Yes, she'd ordered a yellow cab. No, he didn't know where she was going. Guy spun around intent on leaving, only to stop suddenly. His 'friend' was standing at the elevators. The way his eyes opened wide, Guy was sure that he'd recognized him at the same time. He ran for the front door and shot out onto the street. He had no real plan, he just knew that he didn't want to get any more people involved if he didn't have to. There was no way he could spend hours with the police, telling them this man had wanted to kill them. Did he have proof? No. He started running south. Half a block later he was at Jasper, a main avenue. He turned east. When he could he entered stores through one door and out through another, hopefully onto another street. He took side streets and back alleys. Twenty five minutes later, he made his way back to the parking garage but not before he'd hidden in doorways, peeked around structures and then snuck his way back to get his vehicle.

  He started it and then raced out of the parkade, not sure where the guy was hiding nor where he'd pop out of. Shooting out on to 101 St., he headed north. Grabbing his cell phone, he dialed the cab company. The guy was nice enough to tell him, that no, he couldn't give him the location of his friend. Frustrated at not being able to get it through to the guy how serious this was he jammed his phone into his pants pocket, then thumped his fist on the dash.

  "Temper, temper."

  Jerking in surprise, the vehicle swerved as his hands tightened on the wheel and his foot slammed on the brakes. Horns honked and several people flipped him the bird as they maneuvered around him. He looked in his rear-view mirror, a pair of black eyes stared at him down the barrel of a gun. His heart pounded so loudly it echoed in his head. It was the man he'd been trying to avoid.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE