by D. R. Bell
Everyone started talking at once. Then Maggie raised her hand and said, “Look, let’s take turns here. I, for one, would like to let my roommates know that I am OK and get my computer back and some clothes. I live in a large apartment building with many people going in and out, so even if anybody is watching it, it’s easy to go and get my stuff.”
Andrei nodded. “Makes sense. Call one of your roommates. Oleg will go and get your things. David, do you want Alex to go get your stuff?”
David hesitated, uncomfortable with the idea of his privacy being violated. He’d been in the Culver City place for almost two years now, and it was probably past time to hang some pictures on the bare greenish walls to make it appear as if the person living there actually cared how the place looked. His half-eaten breakfast from Wednesday was still on the kitchen table. No, he did not want anyone going in. “I’m renting a small house, and if it’s being watched it will be difficult to go in without being noticed.”
Maggie reminded everyone that she and David were supposed to meet Detective Megrano at noon. It was agreed that it would be useful to see what the detective found out, but that Petr and Alex would just happen to have lunch at Maria’s Italian Kitchen at the same time. David didn’t like the idea, but there seemed to be no diplomatic way to tell them to bug out.
Andrei said he’d arrange for temporary cell phones for Maggie and David. Alex asked whether it would make sense to call the kidnappers on David’s phone, but it was judged premature.
Everyone now seemed out of ideas until David, fortified by a third cup of coffee, said, “If I can borrow a computer, I’d like to see who Shulman is.”
Maggie chimed in with, “That’s a good idea,” which made David feel like he got a compliment.
They were shown to a study with a large ultra-hi-definition iMac. Maggie put on green-framed cat-eye glasses and said, “Find Shulman.” The computer responded with “Camp Shulman in Maine,” displaying a map on the screen.
David carefully pronounced, “Find a person named Shulman.” The first Shulman they hit on was named Julius, which made both David and Maggie jump.
“Unfortunately, he died thirteen years ago,” David said.
“You are a fast reader.”
“Yes, always have been, starting from childhood.” He didn’t add that some of the child psychologists he’d been sent to had thought it was a symptom of Asperger’s.
After going through dozens of Shulman’s, Maggie said, “None strikes me as a likely candidate to produce a file that kidnappers would want.”
David agreed. “True. We aren’t getting anywhere.”
Oleg came in. “Maggie, here’s your computer and a bag of clothes that your roommate gave me. Also, your running shoes.”
“Oh, thanks!” Maggie was clearly happy to get something to change into.
“And here are a couple of disposable phones, one for each of you.”
David was reluctant to accept the phone on top of Andrei’s clothes, but he told himself this was for emergencies only and he’d compensate Andrei later. Plus, the phones were 4G’s and could not possibly cost much.
Andrei poked his head in. “You better start getting ready.”
Maggie went to change and came back in a sequined turquoise shirt and a short white skirt. She still wore the same earrings and the combination suited her well. Andrei and Oleg applauded, and she waved them off. While she wanted to take the Leaf, Andrei insisted on them taking his gray Audi A11, while Petr and Alex followed in a Mercedes ML398.
David was actually happy to be out of the Leaf because now he could drive rather than be a passenger. And the A11 was the most luxurious car he’d ever driven. The car started by asking them if they wanted to relax and let the car do the driving, but David wasn’t comfortable turning the controls over to a machine. Even a crash-proofed one, with radar, sonar, driver’s alert, and all. Besides, he liked the dashboard that looked like a video console, showing him the cars around him and traffic ahead, with warnings of being too close and needing to apply brakes.
Maggie began pushing at the A11’s touch-screen, flipping through endless menu items. After a minute, this irritated David. “What are you trying to do?”
“Find radio stations.”
He silently pressed an “Audio” button to the left of the screen and then “Satellite Radio.” Maggie fumbled with menu options some more and settled on the “Jazz – Female vocalists” option. The singer’s smoky voice filled up the car, singing of love meaning more than shiny trinkets we lust after.
Maggie’s high-riding skirt distracted David. He tried to stay focused on the road, reminding himself that she thought he was a sheep. He didn’t like to think of himself as a sheep. Partly because that was one of the ugly words Judy had thrown at him when she’d left. Together with “loser.”
As they turned on Sepulveda, heading south, he wondered about the ease of the whole situation with Andrei. He’d been always reluctant to rely on others and had a hard time accepting Andrei’s hospitality.
As if reading his thoughts, or at least some of them, Maggie asked, “What do you think of Andrei?”
David chose his words carefully. “He certainly is a very thoughtful and considerate host.”
“But you want to leave, don’t you?”
“Very much so,” David admitted. “You were right to go there; it makes perfect sense. But I can’t wait to go home.”
Maggie nodded. “I understand. As for Andrei, he can be quite charming. Besides, he’s having fun with the situation. He likes puzzles. But don’t mistake it for more than that, and don’t cross him. He has no great scruples when it comes to dealing with people.”
David nodded, thinking that there must have been some personal experience behind these words. Regardless, he’d be back at his own place soon, and he’d make sure to get Andrei something nice as a thanks.
Saturday, 4/23/2022, 11:55 a.m. PDT
David parked the Audi on Malcolm, just behind Maria’s Italian Kitchen. The ML398 parked on the other side of the street. Petr and Alex nodded to them and went in first. David and Maggie followed a minute later and saw Petr and Alex sitting three tables away from Megrano, who was already waiting at a corner table with a cup of coffee.
“Hello, Detective,” Maggie said, as she and David joined Megrano.
The waitress brought two more menus, and Megrano said, “Why don’t we order first?” Maggie asked for a Caesar salad with chicken, David went for a cheese calzone, while Megrano ordered Fra Diavolo’s pasta, commenting that this was his favorite dish here.
After the waitress left, Megrano asked, “Did you two find places to stay?”
“We’re both with friends,” Maggie said, her tone making it clear she would not offer more.
Megrano slid David a sheet of paper with a name and a phone number on it, saying, “That’s the only thing of interest we found in your car.”
David glanced at it. Jeff, 425-555-9123. “That’s Jeff Moskowitz, the person who organized the meeting in Seattle. I remember calling him from the car to verify arrangements.”
Megrano nodded. “And, sorry to say, they did break the lock on your car’s trunk.”
“My carry-on was there,” David said.
Megrano shook his head. “Not anymore. And we checked the crashed Lincoln. It didn’t have your things either. They must have thought you had something of importance if they got your bag out after the accident.”
David said, “It was a change of clothes, travel accessories, and my computer. But I might be able to get the files and the list of people at the meeting from Jeff.”
The waitress brought their lunch. After a few minutes of quiet eating, Megrano asked David, “You were on Alaska Flight 422 leaving at 12:10 p.m. from Gate N9, right?”
“Yes, that’s the flight. I told you yesterday. I think the gate was N9 indeed. Why?”
Megrano ignored the question. “What time did you get to the airport?”
“Let’s see. I stopped by the
company’s offices at 9:00 a.m. to review the action items with Jeff, left about 10:15 or so, and drove from Bellevue to the airport, dropped off the car … I think I was at the security checkpoint just after eleven.”
“Did you go straight to the gate?”
“Yes, after security I took the train to the N gates and waited for my flight there. I had a drink at the bar near the gate.”
“Were you by yourself all that time?”
“Yes. Wait. I did talk to another traveler at the bar for a few minutes.”
Megrano’s eyebrows lifted. “What other traveler?”
“The guy joined me at my table. Said his name was Thomas Mann.”
“Were all other tables in the bar taken?”
David shook his head. “Not at all. There were several open tables. He was just friendly, wanted to chat.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Weather, sports, economy. We just talked for maybe ten to fifteen minutes. Then my plane started to board.”
“Did he say much about himself?”
“He mentioned he was in the import/export business. And that he was flying to Vancouver.”
“Did he offer you anything?”
“No…wait. He gave me a magazine.”
“Magazine?”
“It was US News and World Report, with ‘Et tu, California?’ on the front.”
Megrano sat forward, growing agitated. “Do you have the magazine?”
“I left it on the plane, stuck it in the pocket of the seat in front.”
“Which seat were you in?”
“I think it was 16A. I still have the boarding pass and can look it up.”
Megrano wrote it down. “Was there anything in the magazine? A piece of paper perhaps? Or some writing in the margins?”
“I didn’t see anything. But when Thomas gave it to me, it was in a green manila folder.”
“Where is that folder?”
“In my carry-on bag.”
“And the folder had no marks on it?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Can you describe that Thomas Mann person?”
David thought a moment. “He was tall; I’d say six foot three or so, late thirties to early forties, well-built. Dark brown hair with a bit of gray in it. Wearing a business suit.”
“Why didn’t you mention him before?”
“I didn’t think of it. He was just a guy in the bar that I talked to for a few minutes.”
But Megrano wouldn’t let up. “Any distinguishing features?”
“Let me think … I think there was a small scar running down from the left corner of his lip. He seemed athletic, very confident, self-assured, someone who might have been a football player who went into business.”
“Did he speak with an accent?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Was there anything unusual about his behavior?”
“He looked behind him a couple of times and explained that he didn’t want to miss his flight. Can you tell me what this is all about?”
Megrano went back to his Fra Diavolo pasta, clearly calculating what he should tell them. David once again lost his appetite and didn’t feel like finishing the calzone. Maggie must have felt that whatever was unfolding here was not good. She was frozen in her seat, looking from Megrano to David and back. The waitress returned to refill Megrano’s coffee and David’s and Maggie’s water glasses.
Megrano took a deep breath, had a sip of coffee, and said, “We’ve been in touch with Seattle. Yesterday at 12:50 p.m. a body was discovered in the men’s room near the N gates in SeaTac.”
Maggie inhaled hard. David felt cold; the fear was back. He croaked, “I know nothing about this.”
Megrano reached into his pocket and pulled out two folded pieces of paper. He unfolded one and showed it to David, “Do you recognize him?”
“No. Is he the one who got killed?”
“Yes. You didn’t see him sitting close to you at the bar or anything like that?”
“Perhaps he was, but I don’t recall seeing him. I wasn’t really looking around. Who is he?”
“He flew to Seattle from Shanghai two days before. A sales representative for a telecommunications company. He had a boarding pass for Alaska Flight 422 in his pocket.”
Megrano unfolded the second piece of paper. “They sent me an airport security camera shot of the victim with another person. Do you recognize him?”
“Yes! That’s the guy who was in the Lincoln’s passenger seat! He was asking me about Julius and what Julius gave me. That’s why his voice sounded familiar—he was the man that the flight attendant argued with over a change of seat.”
“His name is Wei Liao. He also arrived in Seattle from China a few days ago. Supposedly he works for an oil company.”
Maggie broke in. “He must have come in on the same flight as David.”
Megrano nodded. “Obviously.” David, somewhat off in left field, thought that it must have been difficult for her to keep silent all this time. Megrano called for a check and continued, saying to David, “Not only did he come in on the same flight, but there also must have been a team already waiting for him at LAX, ready to grab you. I think it would be best if you come with me to the station, so we can look at some pictures, see if we can find who Thomas Mann is. You can then pick up your Accord.”
Maggie said, “What about me?”
Megrano shrugged. “You can go to your friends. You should stay away from your apartment for the time being.”
Maggie raised her voice, indignant. “Look, I’m involved in this too. They have my phone number! They know how to find me. And I saw one of them.”
The restaurant was now pretty full for lunch, and some heads turned to see the source of the noise. Megrano must have figured that it was easier to let her come along than to deal with the commotion, because he said, “Fine, let’s go.”
As they stood up to leave, David saw Alex trying to get the waitress’s attention. Outside, Megrano pointed to his unmarked Ford Crown Victoria and said, “Follow me, but you know the place. You can park in the police cars section.”
As David and Maggie were getting into the A11, they could see Petr and Alex running out of the restaurant. The cavalcade of three cars headed west on Pico toward the police station.
Saturday, 4/23/2022, 1:43 p.m. PDT
David and Maggie parked next to Megrano’s Ford and saw the ML398 cruise by. In a few minutes, they were back in the familiar room with the big screen TV, with Detective Chander running the show. The first image was that of an Asian man.
David protested. “Thomas Mann was Caucasian, not Asian.”
Chander said, “Understand. We’ll get to him. Yesterday we showed you pictures of Asian males with criminal records. Based on what happened in Seattle, we ran the database query on Chinese citizens, twenty- to thirty-five-year-old males that came to Los Angeles recently.”
Maggie perched the cat-eye glasses on her nose and sat at attention, demonstrating that she saw the perpetrator and was ready to nab him. Pictures kept flipping through the screen. David’s eyes grew tired. After close to an hour, everyone seemed ready to give up, when Maggie jumped and screamed excitedly, “That’s him! That’s the beige jacket from the coffee shop! I mean, he’s not wearing a beige jacket in the picture, but that’s him.”
David confirmed that this was indeed the driver of the Lincoln who’d found them on the Promenade. Chander clicked a few keys on the computer and read, “Qin Dong, came here three years ago, studying finance at USC.”
Megrano turned to David. “You sure the other two were not Chinese? You didn’t have a good look at them, right?”
David replied that he did not have a good look but was pretty sure they weren’t Chinese.
Megrano told Chander, “Let’s try to find Thomas Mann.” The screen filled with Caucasian males in their forties. After thirty minutes or so of silence, Megrano said, “OK, we may need to bring an artist to help draw the guy.” He
turned to David. “Do you still think this has to do with the project you are working on?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“The man killed at the airport was supposedly working for a telecommunications company. Didn’t your project involved telecommunications?”
“Yes, it had to do with high-speed connections to airplanes.”
“Then it’s a possibility. Can you get the documents from the meeting in Seattle?”
“I suppose so. I can call Jeff and ask him to e-mail them to my personal e-mail account.”
“Why don’t you do that?”
Megrano pushed a speakerphone to David. David took the paper with Jeff’s number and dialed it. Since it was Saturday, Jeff’s voice mail at work came on. But it did give his cell phone number in case it was “urgent.” David thought, It’s pretty urgent for me, and dialed the cell.
Jeff answered, with what sounded like kids voices in the background. “Hello?”
“Hi, Jeff, it’s David Ferguson.”
“David? Ah, yes, David from LA. How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks. I am sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I have to put together a report for Monday morning, and my computer completely crashed. I can’t get any documents and I can’t get into my work e-mail. Can you please send me documents from the meeting to my private e-mail?”
“Well, you know we aren’t supposed to put the company’s documents on non-company e-mail …”
“Jeff, I know, but I’m up a creek here. My computer is fried, and they have another RIF coming up. I’ve got to get that report done. Look, it helps you, too, to push this project.”
“OK, no problem. Give me your e-mail, and I’ll send you the documents when I get home tonight.”
David dictated his e-mail address, then thought of one more question. “Jeff, just one more thing …”
“Yes?”
“I am trying to remember the last name of Julius from the Thursday meeting.”
“Julius? There was no Julius in our meeting. You mean Julia Bishow from the phased array antenna design group in Everett?”
“Yes, sorry. I misspoke. I meant Julia.”