“Geez, you don’t want much, do you? I’ll call a friend who I’m sure can get that information. I‘ll call and let you know when I have something. And Raidon, dear? I’ll be calling in a lot of favors for this one. And I expect A LOT in return.”
Smiling to himself, he replied, “Don’t you worry, I’ll be UP for it. Thanks, you’re a doll.”
After bidding her farewell, he flipped his phone shut and frowned, thinking about the mysterious old bum who called himself Box Charlie. What’s his game? What would a homeless man’s stake be in this entire ordeal? How much does he know, and more importantly, WHY does he know? He wondered.
Glancing back down at the large envelope on the seat, he decided to have it dusted for fingerprints and see if anything turned up. Can’t wait to find out exactly who this mysterious, homeless helper of mine is. But I’ll bet you one thing, he’s certainly no bum…. he thought grimly.
The ringing of his cell phone interrupting his train of thought, and he glanced at the caller ID and saw it was one of his own operatives. Flipping it open, he said, “Bishop here.”
“She’s back at her apartment, all safe and sound. I’ll stay put, and keep a eye sharp eye out." the voice answered.
“Good.” he replied, breathing an audible sigh of relief. “At least that will keep Granger from losing his mind. And you’re right, stay put until one of us gets there. In the meantime, if she leaves, you bird dog.”
“Will do.” the voice said, and hung up.
Dialing Granger’s number, he waited impatiently.
“Yes?” the man’s tense voice answered a moment later.
“Your wife is back at her place, she seems fine, and my associate….” his voice trailed off as he realized the line was dead.
Cursing under his breath, he quickly he dialed Malcolm’s number.
“Yeah?” the man’s breathless voice answered. It sounded as if he had been running. Hard.
“Bishop here, I just spoke to Mr. Mortensen, to let him know his wayward wife was back at her place. But he cut me off.”
“I know, he told me that even as he was bolting out the door. The elevator wasn’t fast enough, so he took the stairs, eight fucking flights…that‘s why I‘m out of breath. Cynne’ and Jocelyn are with me, we’re having hell playing catch-up to him, but we’re on our way.”
“Alright, but listen, I want to meet you, Cynne’, and Mrs. Ames at the coffee shop in an hour, you can’t miss it, it’s the one that’s only two blocks down from her apartment.”
“We’ll be there.” he promised, then hung up.
Chapter 17
Charlie checked the narrow street, making sure the area was clear before making his way across to the giant warehouse. Quickly, he unlocked the steel gate out front, then quickly made his way to the main entrance.
Stepping inside, he turned to a small keyboard mounted on the wall and punched the series of numbers needed to deactivate the state of the art motion detector and alarm.
Walking quickly across the spotless floor, he sprang up the flight of stairs that led to his large office space, which also doubled as his living quarters.
Placing the ever-present oily box he carried around on the desk, he stripped off his tattered army jacket, folded it neatly, and laid it on top of the box. Pulling the holstered nine-millimeter from behind his back, he laid it on top of the jacket.
Releasing a tired sigh, a muscle ticked in his jaw as he stared angrily up at his board, the board that had consumed him, had become his obsession. The board displayed a series of photographs, in the shape of a growing pyramid, and all but one of the photographs were of females. Victims, in his eyes. Women who had had the misfortune of falling prey to Brett Parker. It was something he knew, but had been unable to prove. Yet. At the top of the pyramid was a photo of Brett Parker himself, who always seemed to be smirking at him in smug satisfaction, taunting him, tormenting him.
Looking down at the desk, he picked up the picture of Sammy Byrd that had been faxed to him earlier, and looked at it gravely for a moment. Her lifeless body on the sidewalk, her life’s blood running down the sewer drain. “Rest in peace, at least he can never harm you again.” he muttered.
Walking to the board, he pinned her photo up with the rest. That done, his eyes settled on one photo in particular, one that he didn’t want to look at yet again, but seemed unable to help himself. The lifeless eyes looking back at him, the spark gone. All signs of her love of life and laughter gone from her battered and broken body. His daughter. The terrible emptiness and futility washed over and through him for the thousandth time, and suddenly, he found himself in the grip of a blinding rage unlike anything he had ever felt. Slamming a fist against the wall in frustration, he screamed, “All this death, by ONE sick bastard! I should kill him, right GODDAMN NOW!!!”
Stepping away from the wall, he closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, all in an effort to not only keep from crying yet again, but also to stave off the insanity he felt could overtake him at any moment. He wanted nothing more in the world than to destroy the man. He wanted to be the one to put a gun between his eyes and blow his brains out. Then dance and urinate on the monster’s grave afterwards. “Truth is the only safe ground to stand on…Elizabeth Stanton.” he muttered as his erratic breathing slowly dissipated. It had always been a favorite quote of his, and at times had been useful in keeping himself focused. Reminding himself that his own lust for vengeance shouldn’t outweigh the victim’s rights to justice, he said aloud, “I’m going to prove to everyone, especially those who refused to listen to me, that that fucked up, evil family of his paid people off to keep quiet, paid people off to lose evidence. The ones who believed I had simply lost my mind with grief will have to deal with and face the family members of his victims.”
Feeling centered again, he quickly slipped into another one of his routines. Looking at the office clock, he quickly stripped down and went into the bathroom to get showered.
Afterwards, he put on a pair of dark, tailored slacks, white shirt with a tie, expensive Italian shoes, and jewelry. Putting his holstered weapon back in place behind his back, he slid the expensive jacket on, looked in the mirror, made one last adjustment to his tie, then grunted with satisfaction. “Transformation complete. From Box Charlie, to successful businessman.” he muttered.
Grabbing his Blackberry, he dialed a number he had gotten from the police report on the death of Sammy Byrd. After several rings he glanced at his Rolex apprehensively, knowing he would have to leave soon, or be late.
“Hello….” a woman’s voice finally answered in a weak and tremulous voice. The tone suggested she had been crying.
“Yes, I would like to speak to Mrs. Bryd. I’m calling concerning Sammy.” he said as he walked to the desk and picked up his briefcase and keys.
“Sammy is, I mean, WAS my daughter.” she replied with a choked sob.
Closing his eyes, his heart went out to the woman as he did his best to keep his own acute sense of loss at bay.
“You still there? Who may I ask is calling?”
Opening his eyes, he walked to the office doors and looked around, making sure everything was in order. Turning the lights off, he stepped out and shut the doors behind him, then locked them as he resumed the conversation. “Mrs. Byrd, my most sincere and deepest condolences go out to you and your family. I’ve called to let you know that I’ve made arrangements with the funeral home in your town, and have paid in full for your daughter’s ...arrangements. It was my understanding that you live on disability, and that you don‘t have the means to afford it. I also sent a cashier’s check to you, by FedEx, to help you through this time. I know money can’t replace a beloved child, but I simply didn’t want you worrying about money while going through such a terrible ordeal.”
“Wha…who…why? Were you close to my daughter?” she asked in obvious confusion, then wailed, “Who ARE you?”
There was no way he could explain that what he was doing was out of guilt, that he felt
haunted by the fact that if he had only been able to stop Brett Parker sooner, her daughter would still be alive. Stopping to set the alarm, he punched in the code, then stepped outside and locked the doors. “I’m very sorry, but I simply can’t tell you, not at the moment, anyway.” he said.
“But why?”
Making his way to his parked Jaguar, he opened the door and slid inside. “Mrs. Byrd, I didn’t know your daughter personally, but you just have to believe me when I say I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there myself. “
“Please, I MUST know!"
“Goodbye ma’am." he interrupted. “God bless you and your family. My thoughts and prayers are with you." he finished, then clicked the phone off.
*****************************************
“Sir, Mrs. Mortensen is here to see you.” Alex Caldwell’s secretary announced through the intercom.
Fussing with his thinning hair, he stood quickly and pulled his jacket on, then buttoned it, hoping it would adequately conceal his gut.
“Sir?” the secretary’s voice asked uncertainly.
Stabbing the intercom button with a pudgy finger, he replied with the slightest hint of impatience. "Well, show her in.”
At that moment the door opened and Grace came gliding into the room.
From the timing of her entrance, it was obvious to him that she hadn’t waited to be shown in by his secretary. But he didn’t care. Watching her, he felt his stomach flutter with excitement, as usual. It amazed him still that despite her true age, she had always managed to retain her lovely, youthful appearance. She had always possessed that most rare kind of beauty, the kind that seemed to defy the laws of physics and time. If he didn’t know her from Adam, he would have sworn on a stack of bibles that she was her own son’s slightly older sister, rather than his biological mother. Looking at her perfect, hourglass figure encased in a low-cut, cream-colored dress, he felt his manhood begin to stiffen painfully. He wanted her so badly he ached.
Smiling at him sweetly and innocently, she was very much aware of the effect she was having on the pitiful man. Had always had on him. “Alex, darling!“ she purred as she went to him, grabbed both his hands in hers, and kissed his sweaty cheek, leaning forward in a manner that would ensure he would get an eyeful of her ample cleavage. “I was pleased you called. My son, well, while he IS an adult, he still needs his mother’s guidance.”
Still spellbound by her bosom, it took a moment for her words to register in his mind.
“Alex, are you listening to me?" she pouted, then released his hands. Hips swaying seductively, she walked to the expensive leather sofa and sat, making a production of crossing and uncrossing her legs. Slowly.
Catching a brief glimpse of her silk panties, his breathing became erratic and he began to perspire more heavily than usual. Forcing himself to peel his eyes away from her silky thighs, he stammered. “Would you like something to drink? A coffee, or tea, perhaps?” He prayed she didn’t notice the raging hard-on he was sporting, certain that a perfect lady like her would be very offended by his obvious lust.
Waving a hand dismissively, she declined the offer. She wasn’t here to socialize with the fool, she just wanted to know what Granger had told him. Giving him a seductive smile, she patted the cushion next to her. “Come and sit! And please tell me about my son’s plans to divorce that horrid woman.”
Like a well-trained pup, he sat down beside her, and tugged at his tie nervously. “Well, the thing is….actually…he doesn’t want a divorce. And he…he had his will changed."
“What?" her voice cracked like a whip, making him flinch.
“There was nothing I could do! I tried to talk him out of it, but he got angry and…and…well, threatened to get someone else to do it if I didn’t.” he whined desperately.
Grace sat in stunned silence. Her son was actually doing what her husband had predicted he would do. He’ll toss you away when he finds a woman he loves….his words rang in her head. But still, a small seed of hope was there. She knew that Granger wouldn’t want the secret of his father’s death to come out. It was still a powerful bargaining chip.
“He also wanted me to retain a defense lawyer, but refused to tell me why. I thought it could have something to do with his wife. Maybe she’s in some sort of trouble.” he said, both expecting and hoping that she would know the reason why. When she said nothing, his heart sank, and he continued. “So, I hired one of the best, Satin Johnson. She’s an evil, insufferable little bitch, but one of the best, no question about it. In court, I have personally witnessed her breaking hardened detectives down on the witness stand."
Her eyes grew wide, and her face clouded with uneasiness. Panting and putting a hand to her heart, she looked faint.
“Grace, dear, what’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly alarmed. Trying to take her hand in his, he flinched again when she snatched it away.
Oh! God he’ll find out! Her mind screamed in a panic.
Not giving the dumbfounded man so much as a glance, she bolted from the couch and ran out of the room.
*********************************************************
“Doctor Parker, I’m glad I caught you. Can I have a word?” Detective Rhodes said as she stepped in front of Brett, blocking the path to his car.
Brett didn’t want to deal with the silly woman, nor had the patience for it at the moment. He had gotten a call several minutes earlier from Cassandra, and knew she was at home. He wanted, he needed, to get there before Granger and her mother found out and beat him to the punch. Not bothering to conceal his annoyance, he snapped, “I just got an important call from a patient of mine who needs me, so if you’ll excuse me."
“Well, I have some distressing news concerning someone in your employ, doctor. And from what I understand, you were her doctor also. Sammy Byrd. She took a swan dive from her apartment balcony, but not before she made some interesting comments to someone about you and your patient, Cassandra Mortensen.” she replied grimly.
“Yes, I found out about it earlier, very sad. She was a very troubled young woman, detective, and had been in and out of treatment facilities for most of her life. I had thought I had gotten her stabilized with medication.” he replied, letting the words hang.
This callous son of bitch! She thought, her gut instincts, which rarely failed her, telling her that he couldn’t care less. “She told someone you were planning on skipping town with Cassandra Mortensen, something I don’t think her husband Granger is going to let happen.” she said, throwing Granger’s name in the mix just to gauge his reaction.
To her disappointment, he never batted an eye. If he was surprised by what she had said, he certainly hid it well.
Looking down his nose at her, he spoke with utter contempt. “Detective, I know you’re doing the best you can, and I’m sure you would love to be able to brag that you’ve solved the odd crime here and there in your…lackluster career, but even YOU can tell from her medical records that Sammy was unstable, and quite delusional. Now, while I flatter myself that I’m among the best at what I do, I’m not God, and I’m not perfect. No one can possibly know what goes on in ANYONE’S mind at any given time. Like any healer, it breaks my heart that she took her life, but I did the best I could.”
“Delusional? That was your own diagnosis, wasn’t it, doctor?"
Narrowing his eyes, he leaned so close his nose was nearly touching hers.
Even though she hated having her personal space violated, she refused to back away, and returned his glare impassively.
“ Listen….detective… I’m a very well respected doctor in this community, Ok? Now, if you go and start making false accusations about me, or ever hint of any wrong doing on my part, I can arrange it to where you’ll be writing parking tickets for the rest of your miserable career.”
“Is that a fact?” she replied airily, spooked in spite of herself. She wasn’t spooked by his threats of what he could do to her career, but by what she had seen in his eyes.
&nbs
p; Stepping back, he smiled faintly and replied, “There’s only one way for you to find out now, isn’t there? Now, good day."
Suddenly infuriated by his condescending attitude, she uncharacteristically lost her temper. Glaring at him, she spat, “Well you want to know what I think? To hell with you and your threats! I think I’ll eventually discover what role you played in Sammy Bryd’s suicide, and Cassandra Mortensen’s attack and disappearance. I promise you, pretty boy, if you have ANY skeletons in that closet of yours, along with your silk undies, I WILL FIND THEM. Now, have YOU got that? Good day!”
Watching her turn on her heel and stomp off, his eyes narrowed again. Complications! Time to clean up complications! He thought as he finally made his way to his car and slid in. It’s time to get what I want, and no one will stop me!
Remember Me Page 18