by Nicole Kurtz
“The news?” I asked with a groan. I collapsed back down to the bed, covered my head with a pillow and tried to get back to my dream of vacationing in the Bahamas with Mayor Christensen’s administrative assistant.
“Mayor Christensen’s fundraiser for local area recovering Zenith addicts was a huge success, earning some two million dollars in donations…” Roberta continued in her crisp professional voice.
“That should make her look good,” Jane mumbled. “Even though it doesn’t bring Mandy back.”
“…The fundraiser was in part a memorial to Mayor Christensen’s slain daughter, Amanda Christensen, who had volunteered at the Zion Zenith clinic and was found dead earlier this month…”
The telemonitor clicked off and the room dipped into darkness. I heard Jane get up from her bed and in a few moments, the doors open and close.
Jane was on the prowl. Heaven knows what she’d find when she was restless like this.
I dozed for a while and woke a few hours later. I made two jalapeno jelly sandwiches and drank two cups of coffee. Jane returned while I was on my second cup. She strolled back in and sat on the stool next to mine.
“Cybil, do you think we should pack it in and go back to D.C.?” she asked quietly.
“I thought we were here to find Amanda and who killed her,” I said, my plate empty as my mug growing more so with each passing second. I love coffee.
“I dunno. I mean, I like Hanson for the crime, but it seems like he’s told us the truth so far. And,” she said with a sigh, “Aunt Belle doesn’t really want us here. She still isn’t telling us everything we need to know. I mean, how badly does she want the murdering rapist caught?”
“She’s paying our rental room fees, plus my usual retainer,” I said. “She’s not doing that for nothing. Nevermind her, we’re interested in finding the killer. Right?”
Jane tossed her dreadlocks over her shoulder. “Yeah. I mean she’s doing it so that it looks like she cares, but she doesn’t. Like that fundraiser last night. That was only to try to boost her ratings with the public. Susan said last night that Aunt Belle is favored 82% above the next competitor for the Governor’s seat.”
“So what?, Don’t you want to put the bastard who killed Amanda in the cradle?” I asked, trying to lift her spirits. “Justice, you know, for your favorite cousin.”
Without speaking, she put her hand in her back pocket, and took out a tiny, metallic CD. She slapped it down on the counter. “Here.”
“What’s this?” I asked as I picked up the CD. Designed for handhelds, the CD fit snuggly into my palm. I waited while it booted it up.
“It is Amanda’s birth information,” Jane said, the undercurrent of hurt rising to the top.
I didn’t have to ask if Jane had already seen it, because she had, judging by her actions. Jane wore it on her sleeves. If she felt it, you could see it. She was as transparent as a piece of glass.
Once the file booted up, I clicked on Amanda’s name and read the mother’s name and the father’s name listed on the certificate. “Jesus Amador Raymen?”
Jane nodded with a sickened look on her face. “The son of Jose Raymen, head of the Raymen Cartel. The same cartel that’s chasing down Trey and trying to kill you.”
“Amanda’s father is that Raymen?” I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I’d had the air sucked out of my lungs by a vacuum cleaner.
“I met him, once,” Jane said. “Once, at a family reunion, he came when Amanda was like four. Ever since that time when we ask about him, Aunt Belle always says he’s away on business. Traveling, making dollars, and such. He might’ve been at the mayor parties when she won the mayoral seat about a decade ago.”
“He missed Amanda’s funeral,” I said, staring back at the file. “I bet he’s doing a lot of business between Mexico and the Southwest Territory. Who has access to this?”
“Memphis regs, upper government, the people at the clerk’s office,” Jane said, her voice heavy and tired. “How’d you think I got it? Birth records aren’t public any more.”
“Where did you get it?” I asked, my eyes moving over to her.
“Susan.”
“Ah,” I said. Susan worked at the quadrant’s clerk office.
“Do you think he would have had Amanda killed?”
Jane shrugged. “From what Amanda used to say about him, she knew even less about him then we do. He would write to her, give her money, clothes, you know the whole dotting father act, but always from afar. Of course, she knew him as Richard Christensen, not as a Zenith drug dealer, Jesus Raymen.”
Amanda, the daughter of a Zenith dealer was a Zenith addict herself. Now, I was beginning to see the picture. Trey while working undercover for the Territory Alliance, arrested Amanda for being a Zenith addict. Her mother, a popular mayor and maybe a shoe in for governor, couldn’t let her daughter’s arrest come to light. If it did, it might also come to the public’s attention as to whom Amanda’s father was… So, Mayor Christensen had Trey fired, thinking it would all hush up and go away. The Raymen Cartel wouldn’t let it go at that. They wanted him dead.
But how does any of it tie in to who killed Amanda?
I debated as to whether I should share Jane’s discovery with Hanson or not. For now, I kept it to myself. The day’s events were slow and I lay on my bed, reviewing my notes and thinking, which took a great deal of energy. So does napping. Jane had left again, restless as she often was when a case was stalled.
Sluggish, I got up to get myself a fresh cup of coffee. My batteries needed to be juiced. I had reached the mini-fridge, when the doorbell rang, and expecting Jane, I ignored the opened doors and bent down to get my sugar from the mini-fridge.
As I stood up with the sugar in my hand, I heard a voice that was too deep to be a female but it was faintly familiar.
“Do not turn around. Leave Memphis now! This is your only warning, Ms. Lewis!"
Why? Why did people feel like they could threaten me off of a case?
I allowed my shoulders to slack and with a sudden spin, spun around and whacked the threatening menace on the wrist with such force a bone cracked. The gun clanked to the ground. I shoved my hand under his chin and plowed him back against the wall using my forearm. I pressed the sugar against his larynx, which brought me up on my tiptoes. He was tall.
"Trey?" I whispered as I yanked the mask from his face. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He smiled, but it was nervous. "Uh, let me explain…"
Angered I shoved my hand higher, lifting his chin to an angle that had to be uncomfortable. "Do it."
"I-I, I didn't go underground," he muttered, calmly without even breathing hard. "I can't breathe."
"No? Really?" I released his chin and leaned back against the min-fridge. "Why the hell have you been following me?"
He shook his head and rubbed his chin. “I haven't! Listen to me. It isn't safe for you to be here. I should’ve told you, but I, I…listen to me…"
Here I was worrying about him being dead in his attempt to go underground and he was in Memphis. Furious, I could only glare at him.
He sighed and glanced past me toward the bedroom. "Amanda Christensen…"
"Yeah?" I barked. Was he going to tell all of it now? He’d been keeping something from me. The look on his face betrayed that much. Nothing he could say was going to sway my fury at being lied to.
He fell silent, but his eyes grew larger. Something I couldn’t define shined out from them.
“I heard you were nearly killed,” he said with a painful grin. “I came here at once.”
I knew he wanted to protect me, to keep me safe, but I’m stubborn. “Get to the point.”
Trey swore softly and then plowed on. “You always know how to treat a man.”
“Will you stop sneaking up on me?” I snapped and sat down on the stool across from him. “I could’ve shot you. Never mind, tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”
Thinner than when I last saw him, he seemed happie
r despite the fresh crop of wrinkles around his mouth and across his forehead. His clothes bore button size rips and tears. Broad greasy streaks marked his sweater as if he’d been crawling through the sewer.
“I’ve come to see if you’re still breathing,” he said as he crossed the room and sat on the stool next to me. “I told you. Your listening skills are slipping, baby.”
I flexed my muscles, feeling my right arm muscle pull tight and stiff, but good enough to use. “Good as new. If you’re not going to tell me what’s going on, then leave, now! Get out!”
Instead of leaving, he said, “I told you about that Christensen woman. Just pack it in and go home.”
“Come off it, Trey,” I said, tired and irritable. “Tell me what’s going on. Quit stalling.”
He said, “I haven’t told you everything because you didn’t need to know everything.”
“I have shot a T.A. agent and was nearly killed for you! You’ve got about two seconds to clue me in. Or you pack it in and hit the fucking road.”
He bit his lip. “Schmuckler and Montano aren’t T.A. agents. They’re the cartel’s hit men. Schumuckler is actually one of the lower level newbies. I heard Jane nailed the clone really good. Thank goodness she was here…”
“Hit men?” I asked, ignoring his comments about Montano. If Schmuckler wasn’t a T.A. agent than who was following Jane and me? Whose fingerprints are on the cigarette butt that was left at the scene?
“Don’t look at me that way,” Trey said. “As an agent I can’t tell you everything. You know that. Sometimes, well, you know confidentiality and all that. Come on Cybil, I had to keep you safe. Smile for me, baby. Let me hold you.”
“So the stuff back at my place was all horseshit?” I snapped. “To keep me safe?”
“Not all of it,” he said softly, his eyes staring off into some spot on the wall. “I’m still an agent, but my cover was blown by someone in the Memphis government. I wasn’t fired, but to appease the complainer, we faked my termination. My boss thinks the snitch is also the one allowing drugs to come into this quadrant. There are so many ties and connections, it’s a tangled web.”
I snorted in disbelief. Why? There was nothing to be gained from faking Trey’s termination. But why lie to me?
I had been a pawn. Bait for whoever was in the government that had connections to the Raymen Cartel. If I could unearth that, then Trey and the T.A. could get information to arrest that person. “Do you know who killed Amanda Christensen?”
He closed his eyes and swore. “No. I’m not in Memphis investigating Amanda’s death. And neither should you. It’s a Memphis regulator problem.”
“Don’t tell me what I should be doing,” I snapped. “I can’t believe anything you tell me anymore.”
“You don’t believe me? Despite everything we’ve been through?” he asked, turning his gray eyes to me. “Don’t you see, I couldn’t tell you? And I still can’t tell you all of it.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” I said, my voice escalating on believe, my heart doing somersaults in my chest. We had been through a lot together, but these last antics of trying to keep me safe was his way of trying to make me into the good little girlfriend who made cookies and wore skirts. “I don’t even know you. It was best we ended our relationship. You’re a liar and a deceiver.”
He hopped off the stool, his hands balled into fists. “You mean that?”
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t have to.
He left a few minutes later.
I hadn’t wanted to fight with him, but lying to me had been too much. My right arm tinged. Laser shots, being followed, all for him and he can’t even trust me enough to tell the damn truth.
The telemonitor buzzed again and I hurried into the bedroom to answer it. I clicked it on.
Captain Hanson appeared. “Cybil, I-I was wondering if you’d like to come by the house later, say seven tonight? I really need to speak with you.”
It was already after five o’clock and I wondered why he wanted me over at his place. Because he told the truth about Nathan’s blackmailing, didn’t mean he wasn’t a killer.
“Sorry, I’ve got other plans, Tom,” I said.
He smiled, but it seemed tired as if weighed down by grief. “Later than, about eight? I-I really need to talk to you. ”
“Why not now? What’s going on?” I asked. From the background, it looked as if Hanson was at his home. The swimming pool’s cover could be seen behind him. Hanson was on the patio no doubt.
“I-I can’t talk about it over the monitor, Cybil. Please…” he pleaded.
“Fine, I’ll be right there. Let me-uh- reschedule some appointments,” I said, still unsure of what I was walking into.
He clicked off still muttering to himself. Something was up and I needed to find out what. Sitting here in this rental room moaning over Trey’s ethics wasn’t getting me closer to finding out who killed Amanda.
I grabbed my satchel, holstered my pug, and left.
Half an hour later, I sat down my wauto once again in front of Hanson’s home. The doorway opened out into the tidy cul-de-sac. He leaned casually against the door, dressed in his satin robe and matching slippers. Lights from the house flowed out and onto the steps and the statue of Venus. The goddess of love, illuminated in yellow light, as if coming to life this very night, stared across to Hanson. The night’s sky held bits of clouds, some obscuring the full moon’s illumination. The crickets’ songs raised up against the cool air as if the beginnings of a crescendo.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” Hanson said as I crossed the path up to the door. He reeked of alcohol and sweat. His breath held the scent of sour beer.
“You called and I’m answering,” I said, my stomach fluttering.
Was he going to try to slay me after or before the entrée? Ever since that first meeting with him in his office, I’ve felt that Hanson wasn’t telling me everything. Whatever it was could mean the difference between him being a killer and him being an innocent man. The speech he’d given me, in the wauto, about loving Amanda the other day wasn’t a total package of lies. It was like my first conversation with him. There was just enough truth in what he said for me to trust him, nothing more.
He led the way back through his house to the living room. The oval room held a fireplace and skylights that revealed the partially clouded sky. The fire burned lazily. A sofa and antique, leather recliner were the room’s only furniture, except for a bar that took up most of the east wall. Hanson strode across to his fire, his back to me.
I scanned the cream-colored walls. Three nearly door-sized paintings consumed most of the wall space. I wondered: Had Amanda sat in this very same spot on the sofa?
Hanson remained standing by the fire, his shadow falling across the floor. “I have a confession to make. About Mandy, I wasn’t completely forthcoming…She, oh hell...”
He wiped his face and went over to the bar. It was a stocked filled cabinet and a littered with crystal glasses of all shapes, sizes and uses for alcohol. I still drank beer out of the bottle so those various sizes meant nothing to me. Perhaps the more civilized people used them correctly.
I remained silent and watched Hanson fix himself a drink. Never thought of him as a boozer, but the people at O’Shea’s did know him by name.
He poured amber liquid into a short, stocky glass. After his first grimacing swallow, he said, “I killed her.”
My stomach fell. “What?”
Another shot of courage and he continued, “N-no, I as good as killed her.” He sighed. “Annabelle came to see me down at headquarters. Her hair was on fire, she was so furious. Threatened to sue me, have me fired and on top of all that file charges against me if I didn’t stop seeing her daughter immediately. So, I-I ended my relationship with Mandy like her mother requested.”
“Let me get this straight. You paid money to Nathan to keep your relationship a secret, but her mom threatens lawsuit and you buckle?”
He shook his h
ead. “I paid the money to stay out of Montgomery’s. I’m a captain now, but I used to be a regulator investigator. Imagine how many of those guys in the cradle I put there. Not all are sleeping. Some get active detail. I’d be dead in a few hours,” Hanson said, his eyes swimming in their sockets. He drained the remainder of his glass. “So you see, Annabelle wasn’t going to be paid off. Not like Nathan. She wanted a pound of flesh for her daughter’s supposed virginity.”
“Mayor Christensen told me she hadn’t spoken to you about the relationship,” I said.
“She’s lying,” Hanson said as he got up and returned to the bar. “She came right over.”
“What day did you end it with Amanda?” I asked.
Mayor Christensen was hell bent on being governor. She’d do anything to keep her image clean and family oriented. With the decay of society since the fall of the United States, the focus on family units has been huge. The governor of the Midwest Territories won solely on his platform for marriage tax breaks.
“The day she disappeared,” he said as he sat back down in the recliner. He lifted the glass to his mouth and took another gulp. He looked old and tired.
“So initially the regs didn’t follow up on her kidnapping because you thought Amanda was being angry, not because she’d run away before,” I said, thinking back to Hanson’s first conversation.
“Yes,” Hanson said, his mouth down turned in a frown. “I should’ve searched for her right away, but I thought-I-I was protecting myself. If any of the regs found her while she was still infuriated with me, she might have said anything, hell, everything to them. Then I’d be under investigation…”
I had been wrong about Nathan being the wimpy boyfriend.
Captain Hanson was loosing his allure in my eyes. Pale, wrinkly and sloshed, Hanson lifted his drink, realized it was empty again and got up to refill it.
“If only I had been firm to Annabelle…” he moaned, slurring Mayor Christensen’s name.
If only…yeah, well, hindsight is a perfect twenty-twenty. I would’ve dumped Amanda too. No one wants to spend thirty years in the cradle and Hanson’s point about regs going to the cradle had merit too. But if he and Amanda had kept it secret for months, why not tell Annabelle that he’d do it and then continue to see the daughter anyway? Maybe Hanson had tired of the teenager and used the mother’s demands to piggyback his own exit from the relationship.