by D. L. EVANS
Annie smiled mischievously and I realized she had leaned toward me fully realizing her dress would gape open invitingly. She said “Oh, it hasn't escaped me that you've arranged it so I've done most of the talking. It's your turn. I'm going to eat and catch up, you're almost finished. Tell me what you're working on."
I started telling her about my conversation with Mack and the headless corpse (perfect dinner conversation) and how I've been quite involved with his cases, even though I've quit the force. "One thing leads to another and has ended up, with a little extrapolating here and there, on my computer."
"You're writing about Morgan?"
"Well, she won't be identifiable in the final version but yes, I'm collecting information on her. So far she's pivotal to the investigation, not to mention a fascinating woman. Do you think she'd mind?"
"I think she would be thrilled. Don't disguise her too much; she'd love to be the star... And me... am I in your notes?"
"I was afraid you would ask me that." She studied my face and I started to feel her energy. She was taking a seismic reading to measure the credibility of what I was about to say, "You are in my notes, but disguised." I said levelly staring into her magnificent eyes. "When I'm finished you can read the first draft and I'll take out anything you don't like. Deal?"
"Deal. But don't mention or even refer to Alison. She’s extremely private and can’t bear the least hint of criticism. Just a little warning.”
"Of course," I explained, "I'll respect your 'gentleman's agreement.' Besides, I have the option of deferring to my own vivid imagination if things don't develop... in a literary way." I grinned my evil grin. "Artistic license you know." She laughed again and I relaxed. When the last glass of wine was finished, it was still early and we decided to walk for a while. Neither of us wanted the evening to end but I was very conscious that she didn't want to move too fast. The sky was clear, and I showed her the constellation of Orion and said. "The three stars in a row are his star-spangled belt."
She laughed. "OK, Mr. writer, my turn." She looked up as we walked and said, "The star speckled fabric of infinity!"
"Hey, that's good” I said... “How 'bout ‘The opal moon pumped luminescence into the wispy clouds.’
"The gentle winds pushed an Armada of clouds across the face of the moon." She said.
I looked around and stated, "The silver moonlight washed all the flowers of colour."
“Tree branches reached up and impaled the moon as a gift to the night.”
"OK, OK...." We were both laughing. "I give up,” I said. “Maybe when you read my first draft you can jazz it up with some adjectives for me."
"That sounds like fun. A jazzy murder mystery. Think it'll sell like the first one?"
"Ummm... now that you put it like that, no." Somewhere along the way she had put her arm through mine. On the spur of the moment, I stopped and faced her. A visceral subliminal channel opened between us. I made a mistake and kissed her lightly.
Chapter Thirty-One
ADAM STONE:
I meant the kiss to be spontaneous but the shock of her touch flashed through me down to the soles of my feet. Not the right feelings, something was wrong. The warm evening had turned heavy and tense. I looked down into her eyes for some explanation. The expression on her face was strange. She looked around; kind of wild eyed and gripped my arm like a vice.
"Annie, what is it?" Her eyes stared off into the distance. What was she seeing?
"Adam... Adam, there's a fire. It's burning. I can see it. It’s close. A fire. I can see a fire."
Her eyes were huge, unfocused and her voice seemed slurred, like she had too much to drink. What on earth was going on with her? Some kind of fit? Everything was out of sync again. I felt a shimmer of... what, energy, power? Something like an electrical charge surging around us.
"A fire?" I repeated stupidly. "Where?” I looked around but all was quiet. “Is it my apartment? Your studio?... Can you tell where it is?" My God, this was real. She IS a witch. I could imagine the villagers coming to get us in a torch lit procession. We were in some kind of space warp. She turned her head in slow motion and spoke with that funny slur again. "Get us back to the car. It's Morgan's house. She lives in the annex."
“I know, I know,” I answered. We ran back to my car and I drove along Bloor toward Markham Street where Morgan lived. Sure enough, when I turned down the one-way street, several fire trucks were already in front with lights flashing and hoses pouring. Two police cars had the street blocked off so as I parked where we were I asked, "How did you know Morgan's house was on fire?”
The lightness had gone from her face. An opaque shadow seemed to be covering her eyes, a protective membrane, shielding her feelings. She must have thought things over for a moment. How much did she want to tell me?
"I was thinking about my grandmother when it took over. Don't ask me anything, Adam. I can't describe it to you very well because there aren't words. Dream state is what my grandmother used to call it. Things sort of slow down and another part of me becomes super-sensitive. I saw a fire. I looked around to see if I could identify where it was when I saw the canvas burn. Remember the canvas that was unfinished in the studio that had a woman's face drawn in pencil?” I nodded. ”That was what I saw burning, then I knew where it was happening."
I had felt something... something weird, like how the air pressure changes before a lightening strike hits.
Crowds were gathering in the street as we walked quickly toward the fire. "I can go months without it happening at all, then for some strange reason I feel it coming and sort of takes over. I used to fight it when I was little. I was so frightened, but I can't stop it so now I just go along. It's usually some sort of warning."
"How can the fire be a warning to you? That doesn't make sense."
"I know that!” she flashed. “Didn't I warn you that you had to be brave? Did you think I was exaggerating? I'm the granddaughter of the ‘Spook’ of Davenport Avenue. Uncle Rick says we come from a long line of witches, all the way back to ancient Europe. If you think he's wrong, you ain’t seen nothing yet." I must have looked bewildered. “It’s so hard to explain.” She massaged her temples and I felt her frustration. “The sensations are already fading. But, before you ask, I don't know where they came from. There’s an ingredient; an emotion in the fire, but I don’t know what it is. Words are clumsy tools. How can I explain things that I don't understand and that there aren't words for anyway?” A uniform, who prevented us from getting any closer, halted us.
Goddamn. I needed some time to sort this one out. I no longer felt close to her and it made me feel sad and empty. I took her hand. "Listen, I saw the dream state or felt it when it happened to you. I believe you. If you're not worried about it then neither am I. And one more thing, the reason I always wanted to be Spider-Man is because he was very brave. Can I pick you up Friday night for the wake?"
She seemed to stare at me for about a year, then leaned forward and kissed me lightly on the mouth. Suddenly I wished we were still in the Healey. She must have read my mind (again) and smiled. "Sure, where else would a witch rather be than at a wake with Spider-Man?” Her smile lit up the night.
The house was fully engulfed, beyond saving, and the firemen were desperately hosing down the houses on either side. Sparks flew everywhere. I caught sight of Mack on his cell phone and pulled Annie through the bystanders to the police line. He signalled one of his men to let us under the yellow tape and we joined him. "What happened, do you know?"
He wiped the sweat from his forehead and cleared his throat. The air was thick with the smell of burning wood. "We know the basics Adam. The tenant on the ground floor, Mrs. Jamieson, came home from seeing her old man in the hospital and found the place burning. She called it in from a neighbour’s house. The trucks were here in minutes but too late to save the place, as you can see. It's going to take everything they've got to keep it contained.”
"Any idea how it started?" I asked.
"Well M
rs. Jamieson is in pretty bad shape so I sent her off to the hospital to be checked out, but she thinks she probably left the iron on when she went out a few hours ago. She admitted that she’s done it before. It was an old appliance. No smoke alarms, of course."
"Could that be the cause?"
"The fire marshal will have to confirm, but yes, it could be. They seem to think it did start in the back of the house where she was doing the ironing, and the poor old love is past it in the memory department... couldn’t stop crying, thinking it was her fault," Mack answered and then moved to speak to his officers. I watched in silence, as the house crackled and groaned like a living thing under the barrage of water. Black ants fighting the monster that sizzled and steamed. It was mesmerizing. I could see why arsonists would stay to watch their ghoulish work and glanced around the crowd to see if there was anyone I recognized. Why did I suddenly think of arson? Soon, the worst was over and it appeared to be under control. Smoke swirled everywhere causing watery eyes and hacking coughs among the bystanders. The surrounding roofs were singed and there might be water damage but it looked like the danger was contained. Mack walked back looking puzzled and asked, "How did you hear about the fire, Adam? Listening on the police band?"
"Something like that," I replied, looking back at the crowd for Annie. I finally saw her standing on her own staring at the dying flames, but her eyes were unseeing. She was holding her cell phone. As I approached her she looked back at me with terror in her eyes. The small phone dropped to the ground but she didn’t notice.
“What is it Annie, what’s wrong?” All the colour had drained from her face. She looked as though she was trying to steady herself as looked back at the ruined house. I could see that she was shaking but when I went to put my arm around her she backed away. “What is it?” I demanded.
“Alison will be here in a minute,” she replied barely looking at me. “She’ll be taking me home.” I could see that she was now struggling for breath. Was this some sort of asthma attack? Should I signal the paramedics that were waiting on the street a few hundred feet away? Suddenly I was not feeling so well myself. A static charge seemed to flow over my skin raising all the hairs on my body. Nausea crept down my throat moving like a snake circling my stomach. I gripped the back of a van to steady myself. Annie could not look at me.
“But why can’t I take you?” I managed to gasp. I could see Mack was about to join us but he picked up on the negative situation and discretely moved back to discuss something with one of the firemen.
“Just some strange feelings Adam. Everything is mixed up. I need some time.”
“Something about us?”
“I… I just. I don’t know. I feel Morgan was killed in there, in her studio. The fear is there, like an echo. Part of it was me Adam. She was afraid of me.”
As if on cue Alison burst through the crowd and stormed over to us. The crowd had parted for her like Moses at the Red Sea. Her shining blonde hair hung loosely down her back and her diamond earrings glistened reflecting the spinning police lights. She wore a magnificent blue leather dress and very high heels. I wondered where she had been when she took Annie’s call. She couldn’t have been far away. Alison glared at me as she placed a possessive arm around Annie’s shoulder.
“Annie shouldn’t be here, Adam. Just stay away from us.” She led Annie away. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Whatever was wrong with her was way beyond me.
Mack came over and asked what was happening. “I’m not sure,” I answered. “I have this horrible feeling that Annie thinks I had something to do with this mess.” I indicated the burning house. ”I can’t believe I’m actually saying that.” Mack was speechless. “She had a ‘vision’ while we were out walking. When she figured out what it was, we came right here.”
“This is telling you something, mate. She’s nuts! Adam. Absolutely nuts!... Hope she doesn’t go shooting her mouth off accusing you of anything. They have pull in this city Adam.” Mack said casting a disparaging look at me. “They’re bad news, I’m telling ya… somethin’s out of whack, y’know?” He pointed to his temple. Mack, like most men of action, didn’t like any kind of danger that he couldn’t aim a gun at. “And where the fuck was Alison? She just appeared out of nowhere.” We looked up at the house now smouldering against the night sky. I had the feeling Mack wanted to be comforting but didn’t know what to say anymore. “Maybe she’s covering for Alison… but why?” We watched in silence, each wrapped in our own thoughts. “Look at it,” he finally said, nodding to the ruin. “Just another carcass to be torn down... shame.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
ROGER SMYTHE:
Roger leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. The crisis was almost over. In a couple of weeks, three at the most, he would be back on track. A team of eggheads from Harmon’s private pool of ex-FBI electronic experts flown in from New York had finally pronounced his home and office more secure than the White House. Not that they’d found any trace of any insidious devices at any of his personal or professional locations, they hadn’t. But, he was assured that they’d probably been removed to escape detection and now could not possibly be re-installed, under any circumstance. Their reputations rested on it! It was some comfort. He had celebrated by taking Lauren to lunch at the best restaurant in town. He had fences to mend and she was fortunately quick to forgive. Lunch with Lauren had its usual calming effect on his system but he did silently wish that she were less involved in her brother’s affairs. Ah well, when they were married, he would put his foot down, he thought. He would keep her too busy to even think about the jerk.
Roger’s office had been literally taken apart, right down to the bare concrete building skeleton and put back together again at huge cost. It was an exact duplicate of the previous one except that it was as secure as technology permitted. Being chairman of the board, he wasn’t concerned with censure from superiors but there was no way to rationalize the destruction and reconstruction to the rest of the occupants of the building so he didn’t bother. Most had surmised a security problem and avoided the subject entirely, knowing that they risked a none-of-your-business glare if they even brought up the subject. His secretary, Katherine, fielded most complaints, as she was paid to do anyway. He stared at the battery of monitors, dials, buttons and levers, pleased that they made his office look like the control room of a nuclear power plant. The past two weeks had been the most difficult and stress-filled time in his life. Harmon, Meyers and Churnak had been all over him. With their collective backs against the wall, they had all paid the blackmail according to the terms and were no closer to the identity of Zephyr than when they had started. It had to be Harmon or someone in his organization. All other avenues led nowhere. A fortune had been spent, strings pulled, favours collected for the sum total of nothing. No one knew anything about the allusive wind. Roger, Meyer and Chernak had agreed to pay and keep their conclusions between themselves until they had proof, mainly because Harmon was not to be crossed. He still controlled all their security systems and the satellite downloaded to his operation, which made them vulnerable. They would bide their time, meanwhile they would overhaul their companies internal systems, gradually getting out from under the scrutiny of Harmon Industries. Good ol' Frank could hardly object when they informed him of their decisions since the breach had occurred under his veritable nose. At least he appeared suitably embarrassed even if they didn’t believe that he actually paid his twenty five million. That part of Roger’s life seemed to be working towards a solution. Harmon would be handled and after all, what was twenty five million in the big picture. Lauren was another matter.
He lit another cigarette, and watched a blue twist of smoke rise to a row of ancestral portraits that looked down impassively from their silver frames. He asked Katherine to send Hennessy to his office. A few minutes later, a gentle knock on the door preceded the security director’s entrance.
"Sit down, John. I just had a very interesting conversation with Lauren."
"We
dding plans?" The words were out before he remembered that the engagement announcement had been postponed and was now a touchy subject.
"No ass-hole,” Roger hissed. “About someone who just might be the blackmailer."
"Jesus, who?"
"Just a minute." He buzzed in his secretary, Katherine, who came in immediately. "Just a quick question Kate," he asked. "The workman we discussed, remember... the one who whistled?"
She nodded affirmatively in reply. Was this a code? Surely that jerk Hennessy was investigating something? "Yes sir, I recall," she answered coolly, careful to sound neutral.
"Could it have been a woman?" he asked casually.
"I don't know... I guess," she replied. "He was on the slim side in a loose fitting coverall... dark glasses and a cap, I guess it could have been a woman." Something was going on. He has a suspect. A woman was threatening him?
"Thank you, that's all for now,” he said curtly. She kept her curiosity under tight control as she clipped across the carpet feeling Hennessy's lurid stare. Whatever the mystery was, it still occupied her boss' mind and he never dwelled on anything for more than a few days. What could have happened? she thought. Smythe was looking haggard and had been unusually short tempered since that strange afternoon. She closed the door behind her.