Jane began straining to remember something. “Morgan, what exactly did he say?”
“I just told you.”
“No, not what did he say in general. What exactly was the wise crack you say he made?”
Morgan thought for a minute. “Uh, exactly? I believe his words were that he was ‘visiting his Uncle Marvin.’ Why? What does it matter?”
The impact of realization shoved Jane back in her chair. “He’s in Ithaca!”
“What?”
“It’s where they met, Jill and Chad. They used to tell me the story when I was a kid about how they met at their uncle’s place, Uncle Marvin’s.”
Before Morgan could say much of anything, Jane was on her way up the stairs. “I’ll get dressed fast. I’ll also need to leave a quick note for Davy. It’s just a little more than an hour down route 81. I’ll drive. You can nap on the way since you haven’t had any sleep. Or bring the box along for something to look at if you like. Okay?”
Morgan was a little stunned and still catching up, but she truly had no better ideas. “Okay,” was all she could manage.
Chapter 64
Special Agent Thomas Jarboe knocked, then just barged into Special Agent-in-Charge Milton Fox’s office. Fox, who had been explaining something to a probationary agent sitting across the desk from him, immediately became silent. It was after 8:00 PM but they were still going strong. Working late was common, which made interruptions even less appreciated. With a forced smile, Fox rolled his eyes up, followed slowly by his head.
“What is it, Thomas?”
“Sorry Milton, but it looks like Chad Swan decided he didn’t need Angel Cruz anymore. We just got word that Cruz was found a few hours ago in a restaurant men’s room in upstate New York.”
“You saying he’s dead?”
“Not yet, but it doesn’t look good. He’s in a coma at Strong Memorial Hospital in Rochester. They believe he’s been poisoned. They’re keeping him alive, but unless they can figure out what toxin they’re dealing with, he’ll be gone within twenty-four hours.”
“Anyone see Swan at the scene?”
“No reports of Swan himself, but it looks like he may be working with someone else now.”
Fox shot Jarboe a questioning look.
“There was another unknown subject at the restaurant with Cruz, who likely took him out.”
“Can we talk with Cruz?”
“No. The guy is barely breathing. He’s a lucky son of a bitch so far though. EMS just happened to be on the scene already. Cruz would be dead otherwise.”
“Do we have a description on this new guy?”
“Working that up now. A few witnesses remember seeing him, and the officer who found Cruz may have seen him as he exited the restaurant. The descriptions seem to match so far. They’ll know for sure once they’ve worked with the sketch artists.”
“Anything new on the daughter?”
“Nope. She has just dropped off the grid. We haven’t issued an APB on her yet. Should we now?”
“No, just keep an eye on her place for now. Isn’t she graduating this Sunday?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Seems like she would turn up for that.”
Fox nodded. “Okay, keep me updated on where this thing goes with Cruz.”
“Will do,” Jarboe said, making his exit.
Fox fixed a blank stare on his desktop, looking at nothing in particular for a moment, as he let his wheels spin down before resuming his meeting with the now slightly confused probationary agent.
Fox had had about enough of Chad Swan.
Chapter 65
The first sensation Chad regained was that of sound—the droning sound of Michael Murdoch’s voice. Gradually, the dull senseless vocalizations converged into something he could understand, at least on the most superficial level.
“And the bump on your head is really your fault too. I’m glad you’re coming around though. I wanted to share some thoughts with you. Sorry about the duct tape on your mouth. It’s not that I’m worried you’d scream and someone would hear you. I just don’t want to be interrupted.”
Michael walked a few steps closer to Chad and stood directly in front of the chair to which Chad was bound. He leaned over to look directly at Chad’s face. As Michael leaned forward, a small, liquid-filled vial that was attached to a lanyard around his neck shifted away from his body and began to hang in mid air between him and Chad. It seemed to distract him.
As he removed the lanyard from his neck, Michael couldn’t pass up the opportunity to inflict further torment. He dangled the vial in front of Chad’s face as he spoke. “Oh, how your friend—Angel I believe it was—could have used the contents of this vial some hours ago. It’s an antidote for what I poisoned him with. I always carry it when I’m packing my lethal injection agent. You never know when you might accidentally fire a shot into yourself. Or into some other innocent,” he added vacuously.
He took a few steps away then placed the vial on the table next to the control panel. Soon enough, he was back in Chad’s face.
“That is a nasty bump. But we have eye contact now, so good.”
He started pacing back and forth as if preparing to lecture Chad.
“I hope you enjoyed the maze. A bit dramatic, I know. It’s not really all that effective. It’s just intended to weed out the merely curious from the truly dangerous. Anyone who gets through the maze into my little death cave here is dangerous enough to require treatment. Speaking of which—”
Michael walked over to his homemade resomation tank and tugged a bit on the chain. “Not much resistance now. We’re almost ready. You won’t have to wait much longer. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I use this tank for dissolving . . . people. By that, I mean dead people, which makes its use something you have to do—like housekeeping—rather than something enjoyable.”
He stepped closer to Chad. “But today, we’re going to try something new. I’m going to get myself some popcorn and a coke or maybe a beer, hook you up to the chain, and have the automated system lower you slowly into the tank. Notice I said nothing about killing you first. I’m sure it will be exquisitely painful and quite a show, slow as it may be. I probably will have to still keep the duct tape on your mouth for that,” the sociopath added vacantly.
“Not only will I get some needed housekeeping done, I’ll also get to witness a thoroughly unique spectacle which I’m sure few on the planet will ever be able to see.”
Through this entire depraved soliloquy, Chad had remained resolutely calm, at least on the outside. It took some effort to avoid letting Michael see him getting upset—and it was about to get a lot harder.
“I should probably ask what brought you here. It has to be something to do with Jill. I want to try to figure it out on my own. If I can’t, I’ll ask you before, or maybe while, I dunk you.”
Now came the part that was really hard for Chad to hear.
“It was her fault you know. I coveted her. And I loved her. At least I thought I did. She just fucked it all up. I had the plan worked out in detail like I always do. Complete disguise, down to the voice. I was going to kidnap her as Romeo, then rescue her as Michael once—well, once I was allowed to. But somehow, she fucking recognized me.”
Chad’s blood was boiling. Romeo? What in the hell is he talking about? And for Michael to blame Jill in any way for what he had done was beyond outrageously incomprehensible. Chad wanted to rip Michael’s head off and dropkick it back to whatever hellhole he had come from. It took every ounce of his internal strength and focus not to give Michael the satisfaction of seeing him struggle in vain against his restraints.
And perhaps more significant was the fact that Chad was far too furious to think through what Michael meant when he said he would rescue Jill only once he was “allowed to.” Chad’s rage prevented him from asking himself, “allowed by whom?” He was missing his chance to understand there was a bigger picture, a hidden evil behind the obvious one.
Michael walked over to t
he control panel and flicked a switch that started the chain moving slowly upwards from the tank, gradually revealing to Chad the ghastly horror he was soon to become.
“Anyway, I got really mad and started choking her. Man, that was so good. I just couldn’t stop.”
That did it. Chad began struggling wildly and fruitlessly, as the serpent’s grin slithered onto Michaels face. Somehow Chad was able to get up on his toes. He tried slamming the chair back to the concrete floor, hoping his weight would be enough to somehow break himself free. But he simply wound up lying sideways on the floor, still in the chair.
“And I haven’t been able to stop since,” Michael added, his eyes closed in some flavor of perverted ecstasy. “Now look what you’ve done,” he said, finally turning his attention to Chad’s new position on the floor. That’s going to be uncomfortable, I’m afraid.”
He stood over Chad, tilting his head sideways so they could be more or less face-to-face. “I’m gonna have to deal with this for a while,” he said, gesturing toward the gruesome remains hanging in what looked like a stainless steel cage, drops of caustic solution rolling down the stripped bones and dripping back into the appalling tank. “Should take about an hour. So I’ll be in and out for a while. When I’m done with—Dora I believe it was—we’ll set up the show, with you as the star, of course.”
Chad’s stillness belied the frantic racings of his thoughts, which offered no solution. But there was one thing he knew for sure. If he ever got out of this chair alive, Michael Murdoch was a dead man.
Chapter 66
With Angel Cruz unconscious and not expected to make it through the next twenty-four hours, Thomas Jarboe wasn’t quite sure why Milton Fox had insisted that Jarboe make the trip to Rochester to personally visit Strong Memorial Hospital. Fox’s thought was that Jarboe might be able to convince the doctors to bring Cruz back to consciousness long enough for Jarboe to question him. Jarboe saw this as a longshot, since it didn’t seem likely there was a way to bring Cruz to consciousness even if he could somehow cajole the doctors into trying.
Jarboe was glad to see a police guard at the door to Angel Cruz’s room. His FBI identification got him into the room without a problem. It was a semi-private, two-bed room, but because of the threat to Angel’s life, he was the only patient in the room. The attending physician—Jarboe had been told his name was Dr. Norris—happened to be in the room when Jarboe arrived, which saved him the trouble of chasing the doctor down.
The doctor, who was standing at the foot of Angel’s bed reviewing his chart, turned around as Jarboe entered the room, his Bureau identification still in hand.
“Doctor Norris?” The doctor nodded solemnly and Jarboe continued. “Special Agent Thomas Jarboe, FBI. How’s our patient?”
“Still non-responsive I’m afraid. In point of fact, I’m afraid you’ve taken a wasted trip.”
“Actually, Doctor, I was hoping you might be able to use a stimulant of some sort to bring him around long enough for me to ask him some questions.”
“I don’t think we’re ready to—”
“Violate Mr. Cruz’s rights?” said the voice of Nora Givens from behind, taking advantage of a slight pause in Doctor Norris’s response. “I’m sorry, Special Agent Jarboe, but I can’t permit you to do that and I must warn you that pursuing it any further will result in legal action against the FBI and you personally.”
Jarboe turned around slowly, wondering what rock in the room this legal pest could have been hiding under. “Let me guess. A & A Litigation, right?”
“That would be correct, and I might add that I am authorized to use all resources of the firm, without limit, to defend the rights of Mr. Cruz.”
“Ms. uh—”
“Givens.”
“Ms. Givens, what is it with you people? Do you realize you are interfering with an investigation critical to national security?”
“Just protecting a man’s rights, Agent Jarboe. I’d hope you would understand that.”
Doctor Norris was tiring of this debate, which he considered moot to begin with. “Pardon me, but your discussion is irrelevant. I will under no circumstances take any action to attempt to induce consciousness in this man. Until we know what toxin we’re dealing with, any such action would be beyond irresponsible. If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on my patient.”
Nora Givens was obviously fine with Doctor Norris’s position.
As Norris walked over to Angel Cruz’s bedside, Jarboe’s blood temperature increased to somewhere between simmer and rolling boil.
Chapter 67
Jane and Morgan walked slowly and pensively from Uncle Marvin’s Alehouse to the public parking lot across the street. They had some success at Uncle Marvin’s but they were still left with no obvious next steps.
The bartender remembered Chad Swan being at Uncle Marvin’s the day before, primarily because Chad had asked about Marvin and what he was doing now. But he didn’t see Chad with anyone else and had no idea where Chad went from there.
“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Jane said, trying to keep things upbeat.
“I just can’t stop wondering why he would have come here. He must have had a reason.”
“Maybe he just wanted to visit an old haunt.”
“Maybe, but only if it’s close to wherever he thought he needed to go. What else is near here?”
They arrived at the car and, as she answered, Jane pressed the button on her key fob to unlock the doors. “He went to college here. There could be lots of things near here.”
When she and Jane parked the car to check out Uncle Marvin’s, Morgan had left Jill’s file box of memorabilia on the passenger seat. She had brought it along for the ride as Jane suggested but fell asleep with it on her lap shortly after they left Syracuse. Now, as they prepared to leave, Morgan had to move the box off the passenger seat.
She opened the passenger side door and grabbed the cardboard file box by the handhold on the side closer to her. But as she lifted, the box tipped and most of the contents spilled out.
She took a quick look at the items as she herded them back into the box. There were old tickets to a few shows, a couple of Valentine’s Day cards, a folded up poster-board that appeared to have nonsense written on it, and a few letters, which Morgan knew she was not about to read. There was also a yellow baseball with something written on it in faded black ink about the Baseball Hall of Fame. And then there was what looked like a term paper of her father’s.
On the outside of the term paper was a note Chad had apparently written to Jill, suggesting she might want to keep the paper as a souvenir, “in case she ever needed to prove she had been right about something” and referring her to page eight. This sparked Morgan’s curiosity, so she kept the paper out, figuring she’d read some of it as they drove. She placed the box and the rest of its contents in the back seat, sat herself down and buckled in.
Jane had been waiting patiently. They were in no particular hurry, after all. “Ready?” she asked.
“Ready.”
As Jane pulled out of the lot, Morgan flipped to page eight of the paper to see what her father had been referring to in his note to Jill. There she saw what appeared to be Chad professor’s comments written in red ink. Oops, guess Dad messed up on that one, Morgan thought. She read a little bit of Chad’s work just to see if she agreed.
When she realized what she was reading, a chill ran up her spine. The instructor’s comments related to statements her father had made about something called null ciphers. The paper explained that null ciphers provided a way to send hidden messages without it being obvious that a hidden message even exists, and that typically, the hidden message is constructed by using a certain letter from each word in the visible message.
The issue the instructor had was that Chad had suggested a way to improve on null ciphers by specifying a character, such as a comma, that would tell the message recipient to ignore the rest of a sentence in the visible message. This would allow constructing a visual m
essage that made more sense and would appear more natural, which was often difficult to achieve with null ciphers. This way, less suspicion would be raised that a hidden message was being sent.
Morgan jerked her head up from her reading and sat bolt upright in her seat, eyes wide enough to pop out of her head.
This was enough to startle Jane. “Morgan, what is it?”
“Do you have a copy of the note from Jill?”
“Yes, I think so, in my purse.”
Morgan reached into the back seat and grabbed Jane’s purse. “May I?” she asked hastily.
“Of course. Just be careful.”
Morgan took on a quizzical look, which Jane didn’t see. The reason for Jane’s concern soon became obvious.
“Whoa Jane, is that a Beretta?”
“I’ve never used it other than at the range, but I have a permit. You have to have a permit to carry in New York state.”
“Fine, fine,” Morgan said, as she filed away this hard-to-fit piece of new information about Jane Mannix. “Hopefully, we won’t need it, but we may be glad we have it, right?”
“Right. Now, can you tell me what’s going on?”
“Sure, sorry. This paper that was in the box. It looks like your sister typed it up for my father.”
“Yeah, I vaguely remember something like that—when they first met.”
“Well, anyway, the paper talks about something called null ciphers, a way to send a hidden message within another message.”
“Let me pull over so I can help.”
Morgan nodded as she continued to root through Jane’s purse, coming up with the note in short order.
Jane found a safe spot along the side of the road and stopped the car.
“So how does it work?” Jane asked eagerly.
“It’s actually very simple. You just take one letter from each word to build the real message.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, in the paper, my father suggested using a comma to indicate that the rest of a sentence should be ignored.”
Romeo's Tell (A disappearance mystery turned international thriller) Page 19