The Bear Trap

by Grant Pies

  “You didn’t hire me to tell me what you think is important. Did you tell the cops about this?”

  “No.” Claire shook her head and looked down again.

  “Fuck.” Carter sighed and paced the room. He clenched his jaw and a pain shot through his face. He massaged his face and wondered how many drinks Sam had consumed since he stormed out of the office.

  “But it doesn’t matter now, right? They arrested that teacher. You caught him.” Claire tried to smile slightly.

  Shaking his head, Carter said, “Why’d you keep it from me? And don’t say it wasn’t important.”

  “Robert,” Claire answered. The one word confirmed what Carter suspected. “He would’ve killed Mike. Done God knows what to Rose.” Claire shook her head and took another drag on her cigarette, like a child sucking juice through a straw. Her hand shook as she pulled it from her lips.

  “Claire, it’s your daughter. You should have come clean. The whole investigation was stalled before it even started.”

  “But like I said, it doesn’t matter now, right? They have a suspect.”

  “If you have information like that, you tell it to anyone that’ll listen! Immediately!” Carter leaned against a wall, and he felt the entire structure move. This place wouldn’t last much more.

  Still making excuses for herself, Claire said, “Well if I’d told the cops, they would’ve gone after Mike. They’d have never looked into that teacher.” She nodded at her own point and sucked again on her cigarette. “Turns out the pregnancy didn’t matter.”

  “You still don’t get it, do you? Mike’s not the father,” Carter blurted out. “I know it’s early and the cops probably haven’t told you much, but that’s the truth. And it took only one stern conversation with Mike to get him to admit the kid wasn’t his. Just one conversation.” He held up his index finger.

  “What?” Claire said, gasping then quickly coughing.

  “Yeah, apparently lying runs in the family. Rose didn’t want you to know about her and the teacher. Mike played along. He thought he was protecting her. Just like you thought you were protecting her.”

  “But – no. They were so serious. They sat me down right there.” Claire pointed over at the worn-out couch in the living room.

  Claire looked through Carter, likely replaying some scene in her head of Mike and Rose telling her about the pregnancy. She snapped out of her daydream and tapped her cigarette into an ashtray on the coffee table. As she leaned down, her robe hung loosely off her body. Carter could confirm she had nothing on underneath.

  His eyes darted back to the cigarette burning in the ashtray in the dining room, a Parliament, then at the one in Claire’s lips, a Newport.

  “They figured you would be more willing to help her if you thought it was Mike’s, someone you knew, someone you liked.”

  All enthusiasm was drained from him. Maybe Sam was right to be pessimistic about this case, or as he said, realistic. For most people, pessimism and realism were two sides of the same coin, and if Carter couldn’t count on Rose’s mother to do everything in her power to find her daughter, then maybe he should just give up and move on.

  “Who is Rose’s real father?”

  Rule three, Leland Garrett told Carter years ago: Catch them off guard to get the most accurate reaction. Carter moved about the small house, peering around corners to see if anyone was lurking inside.

  “Wha—?” Claire stammered.

  “C’mon Claire, don’t lie. There’s no sense in showing your cards a corner at a time. Robert isn’t Rose’s biological father, is he?”

  “Robert is Rose’s father. Why would you ask such a thing?”

  “Okay, let me ask another question. How long have you been sleeping with your husband’s best friend?” Carter let the question linger between the two of them. Claire’s face dropped, and her eyes darted around the room.

  “I’m guessing it’s been about two months. Robert was at work. Maybe Roy came by to check in, see how you were handling Rose going missing. One thing led to another…” Carter moved his head until he was in Claire’s line of sight. He stared at her. There was nothing in her eyes. “Am I close? Or has it gone on longer? Fifteen years maybe?”

  “What? How?” Claire formed words but not sentences. She set her cigarette in the ashtray and set the ashtray back down on the coffee table.

  “You smoke Newports but there’s a Parliament on the table,” he said. “Roy’s brand. You’ve got nothing on under your robe, but your hair’s not wet, guessing you weren’t just showering when I knocked on the door. No, the smartest thing would be for Roy to park behind the house, so no one could see his car. He left out the back when I showed up, right?”

  “Please,” Claire said. Now her eyes grew red, and tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

  “Plus, your neighbor said she’s seen a man in mechanics overalls climbing out of your window. Was that another time someone came over unexpectedly? He had to get out fast?”

  Finally, Claire strung words together. “He can’t know. Please.”

  “If you’re honest with me, then I’ll keep your secret, but if you keep lying to me, keep making my job difficult, then I may have to let Robert know what I know.”

  Carter knew this would work, knew she would relent. If hardheaded people like George Kingsley would give in to blackmail, then Claire surely would.

  “Robert isn’t Rose’s biological father, is he?” he asked again.

  Claire swallowed hard and shook her head, a tear streaking down her wrinkled cheek. Any lines that naturally grew with age had deepened from her constant smoking.

  “We were having trouble. We fought. Robert was always angry … well, angrier than he is now, anyway.” She sniffled. “We thought maybe a kid would help get us through the rough patch. Maybe a child would give us a new purpose.” Claire dropped into a chair at the round kitchen table. “But I wasn’t getting pregnant from Robert. We tried and tried. Nothing.” Like a true chain smoker, she held the tip of her cigarette to a new one, then stuffed the old butt into the ashtray. “I knew I could get pregnant. Was once before in high school. My mom made me get an abortion.” Claire looked down. She clenched the top of her robe together.

  “I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, didn’t want him to think it was his fault, but I was getting older, you know? So, I went to a sperm bank. Some place in Bridgeport was running a special. Cryo-something-or-other.”

  More tears dripped down her face, and she wiped her nose with her hand. She let go of the top of her robe and ran her hands through her hair, pushing it back and wrapping it into a ponytail.

  “It sounds so stupid. A special on sperm.” Claire looked up at Carter and tried to smile. “It was cheaper if I didn’t know the donor. Five hundred dollars.” Claire stared off and slowly raised her cigarette to her mouth. Dazed, she watched the smoke drift and swirl through the air.

  “Rose knew?” Carter asked, hoping that if he kept his questions short and vague, Claire would offer more information.

  She nodded, wiping her nose again. “I was drunk one night. Robert was drunk. He got rough with me, so I was sleeping on the couch. Well I wasn’t really sleeping. I was drinking and probably crying. Rose came down to get water and asked what was wrong. I was pissed off, so I told her. Told her that none of him was in her. I didn’t want her to think that’s how she had to end up.” A tear slipped down her cheek.

  “And no one told Robert for the same reasons you never told him Rose was pregnant.”

  “Mm-hm. He wouldn’t have taken it well. He would have been violent. Probably left me … or worse.” Claire wiped her eyes.

  “What about Rose’s biological father? Did she contact him?”

  Shaking her head vigorously, “No, no. Rose didn’t know her real father. I don’t even know him.”

  “What about Robert? What if Rose told him he wasn’t her father? Maybe they got in an argument, and she blurted it out? Things got out of control?”

  Slowly shak
ing her head as Carter described the hypothetical scenario. “No. If Rose told him, we’d both be gone.”

  “Why are you with him if you can’t be honest with him? If you can’t be safe with him?”

  “Sometimes it’s just too late to start over.”

  “I’ve seen women in your situation before. Too many. And they’re all convinced they’re out of options. Usually because the man they’re with has told them that, told them no one else would want them, said it enough that it became their reality. Sometimes when I’ve talked to them, gotten to know them, I’ve tried to convince them otherwise.”

  “And have you?” Claire asked. “Have any of them started over?” She brought up a shaking hand and cigarette to her mouth.

  “No,” Carter spoke softly, hating to admit he’d failed to ever get through to one person. “Most people would rather predict a bad future than make a good one.”

  Claire looked down. “You say that like those are the only two options, like this is the worst it could be for someone like me. You ever thought that this is the good future? Or at least the best I could hope for? Things can always get worse. Can’t say the same about them getting any better.”

  A moment of silence lingered between them.

  “Okay, Mrs. Bishop.” He jotted a note on his small pad and ripped it off. “This is the first bill. That accounts for the hours Sam and I’ve worked so far. Payment is due now.”

  “First bill?” Claire said, sniffling and wiping her hand under her eye. “Are you still working the case? What else is there to do?”

  “Just a couple other things I wanted to look into before I end my investigation. Just loose ends. Formalities.”

  “Formalities?” Claire coughed and something rattled inside her chest. She held the note Carter just jotted down. “I don’t think we can afford much more than this.”

  “The cops may have some questions for us. I may have to write a report up. It won’t be much more than this,” Carter assured her. “With Orcheck in custody, they’ll put pressure on him. Hopefully, if he knows anything, he’ll talk and the cops can take over.”

  Walking into the kitchen and opening the freezer, Claire said, “But he’s the guy? Right? If anyone knows anything, it’s him?”

  Shaking his head, Carter said, “He’s our best lead right now. If the cops come here and want to talk, I suggest you tell them everything you know. About Rose’s pregnancy and about her real father.”

  “But then Robert would find out.” She grabbed the roll of cash from the back of the freezer, pulled the rubber band off, and counted out the cash.

  “Maybe he’s got a right to know.”

  Claire handed him the cash. Without counting it he crammed it into his front pants pocket and slid his notepad into his back pocket.

  “Are you going to tell him?” Claire asked.

  “I don’t care who tells him or if anyone tells him, all I care about is that you tell me anything else I need to know. Got it?” Carter made his way to the door. “Just cuz I’m getting paid doesn’t mean you aren’t able to waste my time.”

  Carter opened the door and stepped outside. He pointed at the Parliament burning in the ashtray on the dining table. “Tell Roy to stop leaving his cigarettes laying around. Be smart, Claire. I’ll call you in a few days.”

  Gladiator in Arena Consilium Rapit

  Carter arrived at the Cryobank just before it closed. It was a drab single-story brown brick building, stuck between an accountant’s office and a massage parlor. Outside was a small sign stuck in the ground that read $500 special!!!

  Out of the corner of his eye, Carter spotted a dark blue van with tinted windows parked across the street. Normally, he may not have given this van a second thought, but he was pretty sure he had seen the same van parked outside his office. Maybe I’m just paranoid, he thought.

  He pulled the door to Bridgeport Cryobank open, and a rush of cold air pushed against his face. Inside, there was just a front desk and waiting area with two upholstered chairs. No art on the wall, not even the cheap stock images you might find in a medical office. There was no TV in the waiting area. No magazines.

  Carter was greeted by a young redhead at the front desk wearing bright red lipstick and a red and white polka-dotted hair tie at the end of her braided ponytail. Her smile stretched over her thin face. “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi,” Carter said, still looking around at the empty main office. “You guys remodeling?”

  “I’m sorry?” Her smile didn’t fade, but Carter could tell it was becoming a chore for her to hold.

  “There’s not much furniture here.” Carter pointed around. “Just seems empty.”

  “Oh.” the young woman blinked rapidly and looked around, like she was seeing the place for the first time. “I guess I never thought about it.”

  “Anyway, my name’s Brian Ratliff.” He reached out and shook her hand.

  “Hello Mr. Ratliff,” she said, her smile returning to something more natural. “My name’s Belinda.” She pulled a single sheet of paper out from under her desk with prices and services on it. “These are the rates we pay for various donations. If you’re O negative, the rate goes up a slight bit for blood donations.”

  “Belinda,” Carter said, ignoring the price sheet, “I was really hoping you could answer some questions for me.” He smiled. It was still a forced smile, but he found it easier to feign happiness with Belinda.

  “Sure Mr. Ratliff, I’d be happy to answer your questions. What would you like to know?” Belinda fidgeted with her hair tie.

  “Well, if I were to make a donation … say sperm.” Carter felt uncomfortable discussing this even in the hypothetical. I wish I hadn’t pissed Sam off. His lack of tact would serve me well here. Belinda nodded quickly, her face growing serious. “What information do you collect?”

  “Oh.” Belinda’s face relaxed, likely relieved that the question was more about privacy and less about the logistics of making a sperm donation. “Yes, Mr. Ratliff. Your privacy is our number one priority.”

  That’s what I was afraid of, Carter thought.

  “We require only a name and phone number, as well as a checklist of any illnesses or disorders that run in your family. Other than that, you are permitted to provide us with additional information, such as educational background, IQ, or other accomplishments that recipients may find informative when deciding which samples to purchase.” Belinda ended her answer on a smile and a nod, ready for his next question.

  “Okay, but how is that information kept?” Sensing that Belinda might need an explanation for his questions, Carter said, “You see, I’ve got this crazy ex.” He shook his head. “You ever had a crazy ex? You know, a person who maybe is a good person at heart, but they just can’t let things go. You ever had anything like that?”

  “Maybe … yeah.”

  “Well my ex is intent on having a child … my child.”

  “Oh!” Belinda said, her smile turning to a frown.

  “Yeah, she thinks God told her to have my child.” Carter rolled his eyes. “I really wish she would get some help, but she refuses.” He tried his best to look concerned for his fake ex-girlfriend before looking back at Belinda. “But I think it’s my right to be able to make donations at whatever clinic I may want to. Don’t you think?”

  “Sure.” Belinda nodded. “Of course, Mr. Ratliff.” Carter’s alias rolled off her tongue, like they were long-time associates.

  “Well, if she found out I made a sperm donation, she may come here just to use my donation. You see?”

  “I do,” Belinda said, playing with her hair tie.

  “So, if she were to go around to various clinics snooping around, and came to this one, what assurances do I have that she wouldn’t find out I made a donation here?”

  “Yes, Mr. Ratliff—”

  “Brian, please call me Brian.”

  “Yes, Brian. As I said, you do have to leave your name, number, and medical history. But you can choose to not make that pu
blic. Those records would still be in our system, just not available to those looking for a donor. But Mr. – Brian.” Belinda looked down nervously. “If you don’t include any information, most people won’t choose you as their donor.”

  “But I’d still get paid?”

  “Yes, our flat rate. If you are chosen as a donor you would receive a larger payment at that time.” Belinda reached for the price sheet, happy to turn the conversation back to her typical sales pitch.

  “And your records.” Carter smiled, this time almost without thinking about it. Belinda’s personality was contagious. “Where are they kept? Are they safe?”

  “Yes. We have a secure system for all of our records.”

  “But, I mean, are they here? Because … and I mean no offense Belinda, but it doesn’t look that high tech here, you know. My ex could just throw a brick through the front window here,” Carter pointed at the front of the bare office, “just climb through and get on a computer.”

  Belinda looked around, her eyes darting to a security camera in the corner. Her smile grew straight.

  “I don’t think that’s gonna happen though. Maybe I’m just paranoid, you know?”

  “Ha,” Belinda let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah.”

  “I guess I’d be afraid she’d have my kid just so she could treat it badly, like as a way to get back at me or something. It sounds strange, I know. But she really has it in for me.” Carter rolled up his sleeve and turned his arm over, exposing the underside of his forearm. “See this here?” He pointed at a scar stretching from the middle of his forearm up to the crook of his elbow. An old scar from his childhood, a result of jumping over a chain link fence.

  “Oh my,” Belinda gasped slightly.

  “Yeah, she cut me in my sleep one night.”

  “Oh my!” Belinda said again, but louder and more shocked.

  “She just went crazy one night out of nowhere. I woke up bleeding.” Carter rolled his sleeve back down.

  “That’s horrible!”

  “That’s what I’m dealing with, you see. And now she’s hung up on having my baby. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was still checking cryo banks ten years from now.”