by Anne McAneny
“I’ll give you that, but not by much.”
Zoey’s color faded and her lips began to tremble. Farnham put a steadying arm around her and steered her to the sofa in the living room. Then he sat down next to her, close enough to catch her in case she was determined to topple over and faint. “Zoey, we can play this thing right and end it by 7:15 a.m. That’s less than five hours from now. You got five hours in you, right?”
Zoey grasped at mental straws. “Jake was meeting a very dangerous contact tonight, related to his meth story. What if that person got angry and forced him to go somewhere at gunpoint? Maybe Jake pleaded not to be killed because his fiancée was expecting a baby.”
“And this meth guy just happened to take him to the exact place where your mother described your murder?”
Even Zoey realized how ridiculous she sounded.
Farnham looked her right in the eye. “Look, anything’s possible. But you’re forgetting the most important thing. Jake’s the bait here, not the catch.”
“The bait?”
“The catch… is you. Someone wants you in those woods. The trick is to keep you out of them. So let me take care of this. I will go to the exact location specified in the message at six a.m. with ten burly guys and—”
“No!”
“You prefer eleven?”
Zoey stood. “The note says no police.”
“Of course it says no police. They always say no police. Audiences for murder are usually limited to the non-uniformed guys.”
“I’m going,” she said.
Farnham grew as stern as she’d ever seen him. He stood and dwarfed her. “You’re not going. Not only would that be crazy by anyone’s standards, but it’s absolutely insane when you consider your mother’s prediction.”
“I agree. But there’s a chance Jake is in danger. You know as well as I do that Corbin Black is probably already here in town, and for all we know, Cesar Descutner might have found out about Jake and be determined to kill him out of some demented sense of jealousy.” She grabbed Farnham’s hands. “You may not understand this, Farnham, but I won’t be able to live with myself if something happens to him.”
“Don’t you see, Zoey? That’s why I’ll go—an hour earlier. Either I’ll save Jake—or I’ll arrest him.”
Zoey’s face grew as stony and structured as one of her prehistoric weapons. “He’s the father of my baby. If something happens and I’m not there, or if it happens because I’m not there, I do not want to be the one explaining that to his child.”
Farnham shook his head and threw his hands in the air. “Well, you’re not going without me. And since I’m not in the foretelling, as far as we both know, I plan to enter the picture and mess with the outcome. A lot.”
“All right,” Zoey said, a smile stealing across her face. “It’s a deal.” They shook hands, and she let relief wash over her now that a decision had been reached. “This whole thing, you’ve got to admit… it’s like someone is reading straight from Dora’s letter.”
Farnham shrugged. “If your mother really was seeing the future, I guess the bad guy has no choice but to read from the same script. But remember what I told you: nothing’s written in stone.”
Zoey glanced at the hand-axe on her coffee table. “I read entire histories of people in stone. Their messages, their language, their size, their way of life—it’s all there, in layers of rock, waiting for me to uncover it. But the message wasn’t always so solid. The stone forms afterwards, encasing the past and petrifying the story. Only then does it become fixed. But during the actual lifetimes, everything was possible—and undetermined—like it is for us. I used to believe that anyway.”
“And now?”
“If my mother foretold all of this over two decades ago, it makes you wonder how free anyone has been to live his or her own life. But then… who’s pulling the strings?”
“You mean who’s writing the script?”
“Yes.”
“I still think we are. And we’re rewriting the ending to this one. I promise you. Now let’s figure out where those latitude and longitude coordinates are.”
They returned to the open laptop on the kitchen counter. Zoey punched the coordinates into her search engine. When an image and website finally materialized on her screen, she stepped back from the laptop.
“What is it?” Farnham asked, his older eyes not as quick to assess the page. He looked closer, allowing his vision to adjust to the image.
“Damn,” he said.
“You mean dam,” she said.
Chapter 43
Cesar’s cell phone rang. It sat next to an open bottle of tequila and a moist shot glass atop a cheap, faux-wood desk in a Philadelphia motel room. He’d paid cash for the room to a long-haired dude in the lobby in the middle of the night. The Caller ID read Aviva—again. He reached down, hit the Quiet button and mumbled, “Just a few more hours, Viv. That’s all I need.”
He returned to his laptop while a huge roach took advantage of the unkempt millionaire’s distractions and boldly crossed the coffee-stained carpet. He reread the email message Jake had sent to Kyra at 10:30 p.m. It lacerated his tired eyes in the dimly lit room as he highlighted and copied the coordinates specified in the message. What was this about a baby? Jake sounded stone-cold nuts in the message. Did Kyra have a child? Had she been married before? Could she be pregnant?
Within seconds, Cesar had pasted the coordinates into his search engine and found himself staring at an aerial shot of a wooded area near the Schuylkill River Dam, almost directly behind the Art Museum and slightly south of the boathouses used by local crew teams. The thick forest prevented him from seeing the huge boulder mentioned in the message, but he knew it must be there, jutting out precariously from the steep drop to the water. Cesar would bet that he already had a better idea of the boulder’s location than Zoey did. She’d accessed the message a couple hours ago and probably only subscribed to standard search engines. With Cesar’s sophisticated, private software programs—and clearance on top government satellite sites—he enjoyed access to up-to-the-minute surveillance photos. He felt sure he could not only pinpoint the location of the boulder, but that he’d be looking at it in real time before Jake even arrived on the scene.
He almost smiled. In a few hours’ time, he’d see his old friend who, one way or the other, might be begging for her life.
As he examined the picture on the screen, a sensation of dizzying unreality overtook him. He turned away from the laptop and lowered his head to his legs to abate the feeling. The voice in his head was screaming at him, loud enough to have become unintelligible. In response, Cesar pressed both hands into his temples before rearing up and nearly pulling several muscles in his neck. Then he downed a third shot of tequila, hoping it would silence the voice.
“Okay!” he finally screamed. “I’ll go. But I didn’t know about any child. This is messed up!”
He grabbed his laptop and car keys, and flicked the lights off, abandoning the cockroach whose activities mirrored his own—stumbling toward a dark unknown to hunt, and hopefully survive.
Chapter 44
While Farnham made calls to arrange the potential sting operation, Zoey headed to her bedroom to change. Durable athletic wear would get her through the dense forest that she’d need to traverse to find the boulder. Once dressed, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and abruptly came to a halt. No way could she wear these clothes. It would be paramount to a death row inmate chugging the poison slated to kill him… because her outfit matched exactly the one described in the foretelling. She shook her head in disgust and tore the clothes off, changing into a long-sleeved, green yoga top and black, stretch Capri pants. She looked at her reflection with a haughty sneer. Take that, foretelling. Then she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and headed to the kitchen.
Farnham sat at the table, furiously jotting notes as someone yelled at him through his speakerphone. Then Farnham shouted back, “If it’s blocked off to civilians, how th
e hell is this guy getting access?”
An impatient man on the other end said something that sounded like a bunch of rubbish to Zoey, and Farnham continued to give him hell.
After a few minutes, Farnham hung up. “Okay, I’ve figured out two ways we can reach this spot.” He pointed to a location a half mile north of the dam, behind the Philadelphia Museum of Art. “You’ll approach from the south. I think that’s what he’ll expect. I’m taking a more roundabout way from the northeast. Buddy of mine used to do security for Fairmount Park so he knows the ins and outs of this area. I’ll be in place at six a.m., an hour before you get there. Where you’re going, it’s illegal. Public’s not supposed to be there, so you’ll have to trek through some dense forest. You okay with that?”
“Ran cross-country in high school,” she said. “I eat rugged terrain for breakfast.”
Farnham playfully screwed up his tired face. “Whatever gets you through the day.”
On a map, he showed Zoey the route she should take. Then he sketched out a circle to represent the clearing where the boulder was. Above the circle, he drew a wide, inverted W with flattened points. Below the circle he drew a squiggly line for the river. Then he began to explain his hieroglyphics. “There’s a ledge beyond this clearing, up high.” He pointed to the left half of the W. “That’s where I’ll be. Should give me a clear view of the boulder and whoever it is we’re dealing with.”
“You mean a clear shot.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, but yes.”
“You any good with a gun, Farnham?”
“Matter of fact, I eat bull’s-eyes for breakfast. Now, you’ll be coming this way along the river. There’s a pretty steep drop down the bank so be careful as you go. And even though I’m using the word clearing to describe this area, it’s still thickly forested. Might as well use the provided GPS device.”
“Okay. Hey, are we putting anyone in danger? Won’t there be other people around?”
“In the vicinity, maybe. Fisherman or crew team members getting an early start, but they’ll be upriver a bit, in the calm water. Jake—or whoever—has actually chosen well. At this early hour on a weekday, even the nearby trails should be abandoned.”
“Very comforting.”
Zoey had never felt so drained yet so pumped. The surrealness of the entire scenario gave her the sensation that she was trapped in a twisted episode of The Twilight Zone. “Man, I hope I know what I’m doing,” she said.
“It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“I can’t. Could there be anything worse than Jake being in the clutches of Corbin Black?”
“Yes,” Farnham said drily. “You being in his clutches.”
Zoey’s phone rang. She looked at the number and didn’t recognize it. She glanced at Farnham for permission to answer.
“Go ahead,” he said. “But be careful. Give nothing away.”
“Hello?” she said.
A frantic voice screeched into Zoey’s ear. “Is this Kyra the slut? Kyra Collette?”
Farnham had no trouble hearing both ends of the conversation.
“Who’s calling please?”
“You know damn well who this is, but let me lay it out for you. I’m the wife. You’re the other woman, okay? Everybody got their parts now?”
“I’m sorry. I have no idea who you are.”
The woman on the other end sobbed into the phone, but the tears failed to dissipate her fury. “It’s Aviva Descutner, you lying tramp!”
“Descutner? Oh my God. Cesar’s wife?”
“That’s right, baby. You gonna tell me you didn’t know he was married? Try reading the society pages. You think you can take me on? You ever met a pissed-off Greek woman?”
Zoey glanced at Farnham, who offered what he could. “Ask her why she’s calling,” he whispered. “And tell her she doesn’t have to scream; it’s not a can and a string, for God’s sake.”
“Who’s that?” Aviva shouted. “Is he there with you now? Put him on. Cesar! Is that you?”
“Mrs. Descutner,” Zoey said, “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. I haven’t seen Cesar in ten years—since sophomore year of college. This is very important, though. I need to know what you know and why you’re calling.”
Aviva harrumphed, several times. “You want to know why I’m calling? That’s simple. To tell you to keep your filthy paws off my Cesar. Even hearing you say his name—ugh!—I spit on your grave!”
The mention of her grave knocked Zoey off the courtesy bandwagon. Her knuckles turned white on the phone. “Listen to me—Aviva. You tell me right now why you think I’m with Cesar. Because if you don’t, you’ll be charged with accessory to murder and harboring a fugitive.”
“What are you talking about?” A little of the fire in her voice went out, but a few flames still burned hot.
Detective Farnham decided he had let Zoey play Law & Order long enough. He grabbed the phone. “Mrs. Descutner, this is Detective Rick Farnham with the Philadelphia Police Department. I need to know your husband’s immediate whereabouts. Not only is he a suspect in a felony crime, but his own life may be in danger.”
“What?” The sobs again. “My Cesar… in danger? What has that bitch gotten him into?”
“His whereabouts, Mrs. Descutner? Now. If you can’t tell me over the phone, I can have my colleagues at the SFPD jog your memory at the local precinct. Or perhaps a night in jail will help you remember.”
“What the hell! Look, all I know is he’s been hacking like a madman trying to find this Kyra Collette. Mr. Genius, my ass. I put a standard snooper program on his laptop and he didn’t even know. So he finally figured out that this Kyra wench is some chick named Zoey Kincaid, and he took off like a shot. Took the corporate jet to Philadelphia last night. You sure they’re not together?”
“Quite sure.”
“Well, they will be. Mark my words. And I’m not saying another word without my lawyers, but I’ll tell you one thing for sure. Cesar’s getting off.”
“Pardon?” Farnham said.
“Getting off of murder charges. The guy’s freaking insane and I got everything I need to prove it. So screw whatever felony you’re charging him with.”
“Mr. Descutner is lucky to have you,” Farnham said. “Thanks for your help.” He hung up. From the look on Zoey’s face, she’d heard every word.
“Remember what I said about trying not to picture Jake in the clutches of Corbin Black?” she said.
“Yes.”
“That call almost makes me wish Black does have him—so he’ll be safe from Cesar.”
Chapter 45
Corbin Black popped a modafinil pill to stay awake. Guys in the restaurant business used them like candy to survive the late night crowd after a busy dinner shift. He sure as hell didn’t want to miss the pig’s next exit from the building. The big guy had reappeared thirty minutes—thirty freakin’ minutes!—before Black had planned to make his move on the whore.
But no worries. Everything was under control. No rush, after all. Black had cash in his pocket and he could blend into a city like a discarded piece of trash littering the sidewalk. No one ever took notice of him—until he wanted them to.
Black had returned in his car as soon as that little, dark-haired guy had gone off-duty at eleven. Ha! They had better security at a late-night fast food joint than this building here. He checked his watch. Five in the morning. Whatever. When he used to work breakfast shifts, he’d have been up for an hour already. Give him a dinner shift and he’d be crashing right about now. Five in the morning, five in the afternoon. All the same to a man as free and unencumbered as he was.
The front doors to Zoey’s building opened and the pig stepped out, looking slovenly but surprisingly energized. The sight of his nasty mug made the decision easy for Black. Besides, the pig’s size and entitled attitude reminded Black a lot of his own father—not in a good way.
Black reflexively touched his cheek at the memory of dear old da
d and all the times he’d smacked Black across the face “for looking stupid and acting stupider.”
Yeah, this cop would be like an order of eggs and toast—quick and easy—because the damn flatfoot expected to be the hunter, not the hunted. Black needed to eliminate the whore’s shout-out possibilities—that was the thing to do. He had plenty of time to come back for the red-headed wench now that he knew where she lived. First things first.
The engine of the Buick hummed to a gentle purr and followed the rickety Chevy Caprice as it pulled onto the street. No U-turn this time. Okay, no problem. Black had been studying a map he’d found in the glove compartment. He’d gotten to know the city’s layout pretty well the last couple of hours. The Chevy was headed in the direction of that Museum of Fine Arts, the one with the Rocky stairs. If Black remembered correctly, it sat pretty damn close to the Schuylkill River.
Chapter 46
Forty-five minutes after Farnham left, Zoey got in her car and drove alone through the city on her way to Forbidden Road, where she would enter the woods to hike to her final destination. Of course, she hoped it wasn’t her final destination. She and Farnham had reviewed the plans so many times, she had them memorized. He would enter the woods two miles north at Gables Point and hike a little over a mile from there. The back-up officers would arrive shortly thereafter. They were to stay at Gables Point and await Farnham’s call. At 6:30 a.m., Zoey was slated to enter the woods at her designated spot, from which she would also hike just over a mile to the huge boulder. From then on, it was pure improvisation, with the ultimate goal of staying alive.
As she neared Forbidden Road, her car hit a pothole the size of a basketball hoop and she cursed the city’s budget cuts. The ensuing vibration jiggled the box in her back seat—a box she’d almost forgotten existed. It was the one Dora had given her, filled with her mother’s letters and mementos. She glanced at it now in her rear view mirror. At least it hadn’t toppled over. Before leaving her building, she’d grabbed the box and shoved it in the back seat of her car. If things went as planned, she’d arrive at her destination with time to spare. Going through her parents’ memories seemed like an appropriate way to while away the minutes.