The Vortex

by Robert R. Dozier

  He examined Elizabeth’s clothes in the closet, noting their good quality, but he didn’t know what that told him. She was a wealthy woman who should have nice clothes. On the bed were two packets of letters, held together with rubber bands. Feeling somewhat like he was snooping, Curt slipped the rubber band off the first, sat down on a bedside chair and began reading.

  One hour later, as he finished the last letter, he had several views about the case he had not had before. The first was an admiration for Elizabeth. The letters she had written Sheila had begun when Sheila was in college. They were full of useful advice, of animated and penetrating discussions of her own adventures, all reflecting a lively, somewhat romantic, but exuberant view of life.

  She had obviously obtained a great deal of joy in her philanthropic activities in Latin America. Everywhere she went she had found “living saints” as she called them, and when possible, had sent Sheila pictures of them. There were only a few instances, and these in the last year of her correspondence, where she had written anything that was not in keeping with the thoughts of an intelligent, dynamic woman.

  The second thing he learned was that there was a deep and loving relationship between herself and Sheila. Curt reflected that it must have taken more than a “tiny bit” of concern for Sheila to have allowed him to see this intimacy. The last item he discovered was the stubborn independence and resourcefulness of the woman. No wonder Charles Aikens had said that he would pity anyone who kidnapped her. In many of her letters she had described contacts with criminals, outlaws, and rebels in foreign lands— people whom she would use to help her pipe in fresh water into a village, and secure exit permits and visas to sneak people out of various areas to escape certain punishments or to go to hospitals in the U.S. or in Europe. She demonstrated courage and abilities that would have made her a formidable victim. It was obvious why Sheila had believed that if Aunt Elizabeth was missing, it was because she chose to be missing.

  But there were several instances where this picture was fuzzy. He reshuffled the letters, chose four, and re-read portions of them. It was in these that Elizabeth seemed almost out of character. The first, in a letter dated in November the previous year, was only a few sentences.

  I do believe, my dear, that this old house knows I’m going on my travels again. Last night it rumbled and murmured for quite some time about it.

  The second was dated after her return.

  And, my dear, I have something perfectly atrocious to confess. Remember those noises I told you this old house made several months ago? Well, last night they started up again and they sounded exactly like voices! and men’s voices at that! You can imagine my feelings.

  Well, like a silly old maid I grabbed that pistol Charles is sure I’m going to shoot myself with, and in my housecoat, charged down the stairs. As I burst into the living room I shouted: ‘Who’s there,’ brandishing the pistol. I found no one; although in my imagination I thought I heard the door close. I checked it, but it was locked and bolted from the inside. You can’t imagine how foolish I felt, standing there like Calamity Jane, challenging the furniture. I felt even more foolish when I found I had neglected to load the pistol. Do you see what age will do to a person?

  In that Elizabeth was theoretically missing, these two instances of intruders in her house were alarming. Two more letters seemed to indicate that the intrusions had continued. About two months later, Elizabeth had written Sheila:

  Coming home rather late from Carla’s party, I had the strange experience of walking into the house and hearing voices all around me. I confess I had finished a drink, but never imagined such an effect.

  That was it – no explanation of where the voices came from. The last instance was even more baffling.

  My dear, these new television sets are designed I am sure, to drive their owners crazy. Last night after I retired, mine went on right in the middle of a talk show, I put up with it for a while, but finally I went down to turn it off, but by the time I made it to the living room, the contraption turned itself off!

  Obviously, Elizabeth had heard voices in the living room again. Of course, the question arose immediately – did Elizabeth actually hear voices or was her mind playing tricks on her?

  This was strange and somewhat alarming. Curt wondered whether this aspect of her personality was the reason Charles Aikens had said she was a “bit touched.” All of the implications were disturbing. He re-wrapped the letters and went downstairs.

  “Have you finished?” Sheila said as he came into the living room.

  “Well, almost,” he answered. For a moment he almost forgot what he had been doing. She looked so attractive sitting there on the sofa that he had to summon his will power to say: “There are some questions her letters raised that…”

  “You mean the part about the voices?” Sheila replied.

  “Why, yes, of course. Those are rather alarming, don’t you think?”

  “Not really,” she replied, surprising Curt.

  “Just consider it for a moment,” he said, suddenly feeling odd. “Suppose Elizabeth heard intruders in her house on four separate occasions – doesn’t that seem to be evidence that she might have been kidnapped?”

  Without looking at him, Sheila answered slowly,

  “I think the voices she heard had nothing to do with her disappearance.”

  “But Sheila,” Curt said with urgency in his voice, “Don’t you see? No matter how you interpret what she wrote, the fact that she wrote it tells us something which might be important in finding her.” At her puzzled look he continued:

  “First of all, let’s assume she heard what she said she heard. This would mean that there were people in her house four times! Why they were in here is hard to say – maybe they were looking for something they thought Elizabeth had – but it hints that Elizabeth might have been abducted just so she wouldn’t turn them in, or to force her to tell them where it was. At any rate, it proves people could come in as they pleased.”

  “No, Curt,” Sheila replied evenly. “I don’t think that’s the answer.”

  “All right, then,” he responded. “Let’s assume Elizabeth just thought she heard voices – wouldn’t that make you doubt her mental responsibility?”

  “Not at all,” Sheila replied calmly.

  “But don’t you see, Sheila?” Curt said, pacing slowly back and forth in front of the fireplace. He was feeling somewhat exasperated, not being able to make his point.

  “This is evidence, no matter how we interpret it, that Elizabeth might be the victim of foul play! I think we should inform the police and the FBI!”

  “NO!” she almost shouted, then in a calmer voice said, “I think I can explain the voices in the house – that is, if you will help me.”

  Curt stopped pacing and stared at her.

  “Why do you think I let you read those letters? I could have taken them out – but I need someone not connected with anyone here,” she gave a wave of her hand “to help me get to the bottom of this.”

  Her look of appeal was so intense and straightforward that Curt was momentarily stunned. This?, he wondered.

  “I’ll pay you the going rate or more if you want,” she said softly, “but I need someone to help me who knows about these things.”

  This was certainly a development that caught Curt off guard. “These things” and “this” were not exactly cries for help or the foundation for any business arrangement. Working with Sheila would be attractive under any circumstances, but the subject they were discussing seemed to be so vague or remote from his reason for being there in the first place that he was non-plussed. He tried to get back on track because information like this might be important in helping find Elizabeth – and the longer it was suppressed the more crucial it might be for her. Why Sheila, who obviously loved her aunt, wanted to ignore it was beyond him.

  Thinking
about it further, it occurred to Curt that maybe Charles Aikens already knew about the intruders and had chosen not to inform the police. But damn it all, he thought to himself, this is rather firm evidence that a crime has been committed. Against his better judgment he nodded to Sheila.

  “All right, I’ll go along but I’ll be honest with you; I’ll have to put this in my report, and I don’t know what my boss will do about it. I’ll include your request also, but I don’t know whether he’ll let me take on another case while I’m working on Elizabeth’s.”

  He could see the relief in her face as she said, “Don’t worry about this taking time away from her. Believe me; if I thought releasing this evidence would help Elizabeth, I would have released it a month ago.”

  The doorbell rang, and with a smile at Curt, Sheila answered it.

  “Hello, Bill,” she said as she stepped aside. “Come in and meet an old college friend of mine.”

  Bill was tall, tanned, and dressed for tennis.

  “Curt Jenson, Bill Townsend.” They shook hands and smiled at each other while Sheila went into the dining room to get her racket and bag.

  “I’m so glad you’re going to be in town a few days, Curt,” she said as she put her arms into her sweater, “Will you call me about these matters tomorrow?”

  Realizing it was time to go, he agreed to call, said goodbye, and left.

  After closing the door behind him, Sheila watched through the door panes as he slipped athletically down the stairs and folded himself into the small automobile. Should I trust him, she wondered. What if he were connected to the people responsible for all this nonsense? It would be a very clever move, she thought. Soften me up with all this mumbo jumbo – send in a handsome helper and… and… then what? She was back to the basic question again; and again, she had no answer.

  If she could just discover the reason for all these shenanigans, she’d know how to deal with them. It couldn’t be her money – that was tied up in an ironbound trust fund. Even if she were committed to a mental hospital the fund still could not be touched. Iturbi’s project at Sandia was pure research – findings were regularly published – and certainly, her part in it was not that important. In fact, she knew she could be replaced quite easily – so scientific sabotage couldn’t be involved. The only possibility, - and it was far-fetched – was the fact that she was the only niece of a very wealthy man, Charles Aikens – but this was a fact not generally known. Still, the possibility of being kidnapped and held for ransom was, and had been, a part of her life. But why try to drive her crazy first? It didn’t make any sense. Well, when she finished playing tennis with Bill, she could at least check out this Sir Galahad and see if he were authentic.

  Later that afternoon, after a few boring sets, she dialed Charles Aikens.

  “Aiken Enterprises”.

  “Hello Lydia – this is Sheila Cavanaugh. Is Uncle Charles busy?”

  “Why hello, Sheila, it’s been a long time. Your uncle is just coming out of a meeting. Hold on a minute and I’ll connect you.”

  “Aikens here.”

  “Hello, Uncle Charles; this is Sheila.”

  “Why hello Sheila! It’s nice to hear… . Has something turned up about Elizabeth?”

  “No – I’m afraid not. I’m calling about the investigator you sent out.”

  “Has he been a bother? Myers from the Agency said that he was…”

  “Nothing like that. I’m just trying to see if the Curt Jenson I talked to is the Curt Jenson that was supposed to come.”

  “Smart girl. I’ll call Myers and Johnson – or better still – why don’t I get his number and you can grill him yourself?”

  There was a mumble of voices as Aikens had Lydia look up the number.

  “Here it is, 555-3201. Talk to Myers directly. He’s the one on this case. Tell them who you are and you’ll get through to him. Do you need anything?”

  “Thank you, but I’m doing fine; and thanks, Uncle Charles.”

  “Call if anything comes up.”

  “I will, as soon as I learn anything.”

  After goodbyes, she dialed Myers and Johnson.

  “He’s 6’ 1”, 185, sandy hair, blue eyes, has a scar on his right cheek…”

  “Is your Curt Jenson a smooth talker?”

  “Well – he has an MA and Ph.D. from Berkeley. He generally expresses himself well.”

  “What sort of car does he drive?”

  “A beat-up Volkswagen . Even though he could have used one of the company cars, or for that matter he could have flown… he likes to travel in it. It used to be red.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Myers. I think that’s all I need.”

  “Would you prefer we send someone else?”

  “Oh, no. I just wanted to make sure he is who he claimed to be. Thank you.”

  Well, she thought as she replaced the phone on the receiver, Curt Jenson might be just what she was hoping for.

  That night, in his hotel room, Curt put the finishing touches on his outlined report before calling San Francisco. He knew Myers would tape his report for typing up later for the Aikens file, so he made sure nothing was left out. He was somewhat hesitant to mention everything – especially his hunches about Elizabeth’s voices – but knew that, somehow, these were going to be important later. Then there was the problem about Sheila, which he didn’t know how to solve. Under normal circumstances, in San Francisco, he would be pounding on her door right at this moment instead of trying to fit what she wanted into the overall investigation. Ah, well, he thought. I’ll probably be gone in a week anyway, yet… . Pushing his thoughts about Sheila aside, he dialed Myers’ number.

  “Hello, is this the Hoover residence?” This was the code sentence that would automatically make Myers’s answering service connect him directly to Myers. A few second later, his boss came on the phone.

  “Hello Curt? Listen, you’ve been spotted. They were waiting for you so you’ll have to give the Baca case a real show. Rodriguez says that at least three operatives were on Silver Avenue this morning; you’ll have to cook up a cover for that as well.”

  “Op…You mean she’s under surveillance? And what’s this about Rodriguez? Christ! Is Aikens that important?”

  “I guess. Everything he does involves hundreds of millions of dollars, changes of ownerships of corporations, ups and downs on the stock market. When he opened that dummy office in Albuquerque to make contact with the kidnappers – if there are any – it aroused everyone’s interest. I told him about the stakeouts and he said to continue as we planned. Your being there was something else, I guess. Incidentally, one of the operatives Rodriguez called in about couldn’t be traced.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, it could mean we’re not doing our job right, or that this guy is with the Federal government.”

  “The Feds? Did Aikens report a kidnapping?”

  “He swears he didn’t.”

  There was a short silence until Curt asked, “Do you want me to drop it?”

  “No. That would be worse than digging up some reasonable excuse for your seeing Cavanaugh. Incidentally, we found out that she did graduate work in physics at Berkeley; did you ever meet her?”

  “Yeah, I know. She’s already introduced me as an old school friend. But there were over 30,000 students on that campus, Myers. Besides, she was in the sciences and I was in the humanities.” He paused as he tried to assimilate this new twist. “Maybe if I explained what was happening, she might cooperate – but on second thought – maybe that’s not too good an idea.”

  “Whatever, Curt; you’re going to have to wing it. I can’t come out and we can’t send anyone else without causing more suspicion.”

  “I hate to sound stupid, Myers, but couldn’t Aikens just tell the truth – that he’s not empire-building out he
re, and…”

  “No such luck. That was our first idea and he turned it down cold. He said he could have gone that route to begin with by notifying the police. He wants us to handle this like we originally agreed to – says his personal privacy is all he’s got left and he doesn’t give a damn about the stock market or anything else. Our only out is for you to devise some cover.”

  “Say, that reminds me. She wants to hire me to work for her.”

  “I don’t know – it looks flimsy. It’s what you’d expect as a cover. Try to think of something else.”

  “Suppose I agree to work for her if she helps with the cover?”

  “Officially, no. You can work for her, but you’ve got to convince her that it’s on your own time for your own reasons. Oh, yes, she’s already checked you out, so you’re not dealing with an airhead. Just don’t worry and don’t try to be cute. Stay on top with her as much as you can. She knows how things work with her uncle.”

  “Seems like I could take her in without any cover…”

  “No. We don’t know anything about those guys trailing you. Maybe they play rough. It’s best if you keep her as far away as possible. She is, you know, the niece…”

  “Yeah, I remember. Well, this can go on all night. Got your recorder going?”