The 7th Tarot Card

by Valerie Clay

  Great. That’s just great. Now he’s stealing paperwork—personal information. I told Judah I’d head back home right after breakfast and punched the button, ending the call. Turning to an anxious Amanda, I related everything I’d heard.

  “Don’t worry, Vic, Carl and I are coming back with you,” Amanda, faithful Amanda, declared firmly as she poured the batter onto the waffle iron. The batter bubbled and hissed as it hit the hot grill, and the rising steam filled the room with the most delicious, buttery scent.

  I gave her an affectionate smile. “No, that’s okay, my dear friend. Really. Judah will meet me there, and then together we’ll go to the police. I’ll be fine. Thanks though, your support means everything.” She looked uncomfortable with my decision, but reluctantly accepted it.

  We made small talk over breakfast, preferring to avoid the obvious, then I got cleaned up, thanked Amanda for her generous hospitality and took off for home to face the music.

  My spirits were tanking as I drove across the 520 bridge, heading east towards Redmond. It would have been easy to fall into a depression, I thought, but I’ve been down that road before and learned from my mistakes. When you start to have negative thoughts you need to nip them in the bud. Block them the moment they begin. Otherwise, they take hold and send you spiraling downward into a pit, from which it’s very difficult to climb back out. So, I kept reminding myself of all the blessings in my life. Let’s see, I had an amazing, talented son; there was Judah; I had wonderful friends; there was Judah; I had a good job; there was Judah; I had a loving family; and there was Judah.

  Funny how he keeps haunting me, when he so clearly is not what I’m looking for, or want. However, when this was all behind me, I was going to hold him to his promise of explaining everything over a bottle of wine. And he had a lot of explaining to do. Strictly as a matter of curiosity, of course. Nothing more.

  Before arriving at my condo complex I’d called Judah, and he was waiting outside for me as I pulled into my garage. The casual black sports coat he wore over a black T-shirt paired with jeans emphasized his dark, wavy hair and gave him a certain urban/international quality. One look at him took my breath away. Let’s face it, I was a gonner and I knew it.

  In one hand he held a white plastic bag from the hardware store and in the other his laptop. I pulled the plastic bag open and peeked inside as we walked to the stairs. “Oh, honey, a deadbolt lock. You shouldn’t have,” I said.

  “Nothing but the best for you, baby,” he said in return and shot me a playful smile. I knew he was joking, but it gave me a thrill all the same.

  The first thing I noticed after we entered my condo was the blinking light on my message machine. I hit the play button, turned up the volume, and listened.

  Hello, Victoria, this is Kristy at the credit union. Your husband stopped by yesterday afternoon to withdraw some money from your home equity line of credit, but since he’s not a signer on that account, I couldn’t give him access. I apologize if that caused any problems, but we have to abide by our security rules. If the two of you want to come in and sign some paperwork on Monday, I’d be happy to help him out. Let me know what you’d like to do. Thanks.

  I put my face in my hands and leaned against the counter.

  “Don’t cry, Victoria,” Judah said. “I know this looks bad, but we’ll stop him.”

  I turned to him. “I’m not crying, I’m ready to explode. I’m ready to go after this guy and smash his face in.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said grinning. With renewed energy, I stomped into my guestroom, opened my filing cabinet and did a quick inventory.

  “My bank folder’s missing, and so is last year’s income tax folder,” I reported when I returned to the living room.

  “Then we better get moving. Let’s take a look at the recordings and I’ll make a copy for the police.” He placed his laptop on the dining room table and while we waited for it to warm up, pulled a USB key out of his pocket and set it down next to the computer.

  During the video playback, I watched this psychotic stranger casually walk through my home, helping himself to my things. A shiver ran through me as he opened my filing cabinet and leisurely searched through my financial records. Judah sat at the table next to me, his eyes calm, watching me.

  “Do you recognize him?” he asked when the video ended.

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know. Even without his baseball cap, with his beard and long grey hair, I just don’t know who he is. He looks like an old, broken-down hippie. I wish I could tell you.” I felt disheartened as I sank back into the chair and watched Judah copy the file onto the USB key.

  “Don’t get discouraged. This may be enough,” he said as he handed me the key. “Might as well go talk to the cops now and get it over with.” He stood up and moved to the door, leaving his computer on my table. As an afterthought he returned to the table, picked up his laptop and took it with him. “Just in case,” he said with a grim smile.

  I followed him out to the parking lot and his black Porsche, gleaming in the kaleidoscopic rays of momentary sunlight. After he unlocked the doors with his remote I climbed into the passenger seat, buckled in, and we took off. A few minutes of small talk passed before I noticed we were heading south, away from Redmond.

  “Wait a minute. Where are we going?” I asked, troubled by the apparent change in plans. This isn’t the way to the police station.”

  Judah kept his eyes on the road. “I need to make sure we’re not being followed. We don’t want to tip our hand to this guy—let him know we’re onto him.” We continued south, then turned west, got onto SR 520, then off at the next exit and circled back towards the Redmond police station.

  I stared at him. “So how is it that you know so much about this kind of stuff?” I tried again.

  “What kind of stuff?”

  I heaved a sigh. “Losing a tail, secret video cameras, jimmying locks. Are you involved in something illegal? Because if you are, it’s none of my concern. I wouldn’t report you to the police or anything.”

  He took his eyes off the road for a moment and turned to me. “Victoria, it’s a long story, I’ll—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ll tell me all about it over a bottle of wine someday.”

  He gave me a playful half-smile, then turned on the radio. I abandoned my interrogation and remained silent the rest of the way, contenting myself with watching his graceful hands and the movement of his thigh muscles as he skillfully shifted gears. Maybe he was a bodyguard, I thought. Bodyguards would know about such clandestine things, and aren’t lawbreakers. He might not be involved in anything underhanded at all. But then, why wouldn’t he just tell me that?

  When we pulled into a visitor’s slot at the Redmond Police Station parking lot, I unfastened my seatbelt and gathered my things. Judah, however, remained belted and left the car running. I hesitated and gave him a questioning look, but he just smiled back, saying nothing.

  “Aren’t you coming in with me,” I asked, feeling like a fragile baby bird that was about to be shoved out of the nest, headfirst.

  “Got some errands to run,” he responded breezily. “Just give them the video and tell them your story. You’ll be fine. Call me when you’re done and I’ll pick you up.” He gave me an unreadable smile.

  “Yes, certainly, thank you,” I replied, forcing a smile. Translation: he’s avoiding the police. Nice. “Well, what did you expect?” I grumbled under my breath. Guess I can cross bodyguard off the list.

  Fully armed with my USB key and bank account info, I opened the car door and reminded myself that I was a big girl now. Chin up, shoulders back, I climbed out of the car and marched into the second police station in as many weeks. This was getting to be a bad habit.

  I spoke with the desk Sergeant, a paunchy, balding man with tired eyes and a gentle, but formal manner. He had me fill out some paperwork, then directed me to the Threat Management Unit, where I took a seat on a dented metal folding chair, and waited in a small anteroom until Detec
tive John Hutchings was available.

  The vibrations from heavy footsteps advancing rapidly down the hall caught my attention, and I looked up with wide eyes as he entered the room. Tall and powerfully built, the man had dark skin and wore his graying hair cropped short. As large as he was, I doubt he had an ounce of body fat. He looked lean and mean. The expression on his fierce countenance was serious as he flipped through a manila folder. If I had to guess, I would say he was in his mid-fifties. His navy blue suit fit him like a glove and must have been made for him, but it looked like it had seen better days. His maroon and blue striped tie was loosened around his thick neck, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the top.

  I stood up as he approached and extended his baseball mitt-sized hand.

  “So, Ms. Morgan,” he began in a deep voice, frowning. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Uh, sure,” I responded meekly.

  “What follows two days of rain in Seattle?”

  “Pardon me?” I asked, not understanding the question.

  “I said, what follows two days of rain in Seattle? I don’t think I stuttered.”

  “Well, I . . . I have no idea.” I took a step backwards.

  “Monday.” With that he roared at his own joke and slapped his thigh. The sound of his great horselaugh filled up the small room and reverberated down the hallway. “That one always cracks me up. I’m John Hutchings, but you can call me Hutch. Let’s go into my office.”

  I smiled questioningly, and looked around, not knowing what to make of him, then followed him to his office and took a seat on one of two blue upholstered chairs across from his desk.

  Hutch’s friendly, casual manner, so different from his outward appearance, was thoroughly disarming, and soon I began to relax and warm up to him. He was perfect for his job and I found myself smiling a lot in spite of the situation. He even laughed loudly at some of my feeble attempts at humor, which, of course, endeared him to me even more. When I told him he could call me Vic or Victoria instead of Ms. Morgan, he said he preferred Vic. Said it sounded hip, and well, hip is part of my Action Plan.

  Before I got into the sordid details of my story, I handed him the USB key and explained to him that it was recorded on a “Nanny Cam” after I suspected I had an intruder. I decided to keep Judah out of it, since he had been reluctant to come in with me. He must have his reasons, which I’m convinced, can’t be good.

  “Vic, if you don’t mind, I’d like to send this to a contact at the FBI, see if we can run a facial recognition. I’m also going to run it through NCIC, The National Crime Information Center. Hopefully this guy is in a database somewhere.” I gladly gave him my permission and he excused himself and left the room.

  While I waited for his return, I looked around his office. On the wall behind his desk, was a poster of Hutch as a young man in a Green Bay Packer’s uniform. He was ex-NFL, I realized. That fits. I would have to ask him more about that later, when I wasn’t afraid for my life.

  Framed pictures in all shapes and sizes, filled with photos of family and pets, topped his desk and the shelves on the far wall of his office. They told a lovely story about his life and his happy family. A young man, obviously his son, was shown in various stages of development ranging from toddler to Boy Scout to UW college football player. A pretty young girl in a pink tutu, posed at what looked like a ballet recital, then later she was pictured in a graduation cap and gown.

  I was still examining the photos when he came back into his office.

  “You have a beautiful family,” I commented, returning a silver-framed picture of his son to his desk.

  “That’s JJ, John Jr., and there’s my sweet Olivia,” he said pointing to the little girl in the tutu. “We call her Liver.” I smiled and scooched my chair forward as he plugged the USB key into his computer. We watched the recording together and it didn’t get any easier seeing it for the second time. Hutch leaned forward, steepled his fingers, and asked me several questions in his no-nonsense, direct style.

  “You recognize this scum?”

  “No,” I told him, “I don’t recognize him.”

  “Is it possible he’s someone from your past? Someone who’s aged and his appearance has changed,” he suggested.

  I leaned forward and again studied the video paused on his computer screen. “Maybe. I can’t say for certain. I’m sorry.” I shrugged my shoulders and sat back, feeling useless.

  “That’s okay, don’t worry about it, we can—” The sound of Hutch’s ringing phone interrupted us, so he excused himself and took the call. I listened to the one-sided conversation, trying to make sense of what was being said. “I see,” he said to the caller. “There’s no doubt about this then? Good work. Thanks.” His expression was grim as he hung up the phone and turned back to me. He asked, “Does the name Louis Ogborne mean anything to you? Louis William Ogborne?”

  “Louis Ogborne. Louis Ogborne,” I repeated as I thought for a moment, then it hit me. “Bill Ogborne? Could it be Bill Ogborne? Do you think?”

  “Yes, possibly. Probably. You know him?”

  “He’s a guy from back in my college days. Used to follow me around campus a lot. Creeped me out, but he was harmless.” I thought for a long moment. “I can’t believe it. Why now? Why after all these years?” I wondered out loud.

  Hutch put his palms up. “Who knows? Why does any homicidal sociopath do anything?”

  Comforting words.

  I sat back in my chair and sighed. “Homicidal seems a little harsh, don’t you think? He’s just a misguided soul. Well, now that I know who he is, I feel a little better. At least he’s not a complete stranger.”

  Hutch leveled his eyes at me and said, “Yeah, I wouldn’t feel all that better about him,”

  “What do you mean?” The expression on his face was beginning to scare me.

  “I’m not gonna sugarcoat it for you. This is a really bad dude. He’s wanted by the FBI for kidnapping and murder. He also has a history of crank calls, breaking and entering, and sexual assault. He’s pretty much a violent psychopath.”

  “Oh my Lord. Poor Bill. What happened to him?”

  “If you saw the police report and what happened to his last victim, I don’t think you’d be feeling so sympathetic. I’m not going to give you the gory details, but you need to know that your life is in serious jeopardy.”

  I sat forward and leaned my arms on his desk. “Well now that you’ve identified him, can’t you just arrest him?”

  “We would if we could find him. His last known address was in a trailer park in Spokane, but he skipped out a few months ago, behind on his rent and facing eviction. He rented the furnished trailer under an assumed name and paid in cash. After he split, several items were missing, so the landlord called the police and they dusted for prints.”

  “What can I do?” I questioned. “What can you do? You can give me police protection or something, right?”

  His old leather chair squeaked as Hutch leaned forward and put his large hands flat on his desk. “I wish we could, Vic. Fact is, we just don’t have enough manpower to assign a bodyguard to you, so here’s the deal. You have two choices. You could either call us if you see him again and we can try and apprehend him at that point, or you can play up to him, draw him out, and we’ll be there and nab him the minute he shows.”

  Silence. I was feeling queasy. “I don’t know . . . how would I do that?”

  “The next time he calls you, pick up the phone and talk to him. Or, if you prefer to move faster on this, you can return his text message and ask him to call you. Either way, try to set up a meeting. Let me know where and when, and we’ll be there. We’ll have your back. I promise you that.”

  Neither one of those options was tolerable. I had a lot to think about and my head was beginning to pound. There was no way I was capable of making that choice right now. I thanked Hutch for his help, and told him I’d call and let him know as soon as my decision was made. Concern darkened his eyes as he stood and shook my hand. Wit
h a heavy heart, I made my way out of his office and down the corridor to the main entrance.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “To do anything in this world worth doing, we must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in, and scramble through as well as we can.” —Sydney Smith, British writer

  *******

  It was shortly after six o’clock by the time my police interview had ended, and I was exhausted, hungry, and frazzled from head to toe. I called Judah and told him I’d be waiting for him in the parking lot, but when I stepped outside, ominous-looking rain clouds sweeping in rapidly from the west caused me to change my mind. A major shift from this afternoon’s golden sunshine. As the saying goes, ‘If you don’t like the weather in Seattle, wait ten minutes and it’ll change.’ I decided to wait for him inside the safe confines of the station.

  He must have been somewhere close by when I called because within moments Judah’s sleek black sports car came zipping into the lot. As he swung around and pulled up to the entrance I experienced an overwhelming sense of relief. Swiftly scampering over to his car, I dodged the first drops of what looked like a bad storm ready to let loose any second.

  The moment I opened the door and climbed inside his car, I was hit by the intoxicating aroma of chicken panang curry. My absolute favorite. “Don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Judah said. “Hope you like Thai food.” A crooked smile eased across his handsome face.

  “You read my mind. I love Thai food.” I looked at him and shook my head. “You are the best.” Gratefully I accepted the two red and white plastic bags he held out, and balanced them on my lap, feeling the comforting warmth and weight of several different sized containers as we pulled out of the parking lot and blended into traffic. Off on the horizon a silver streak of lightning flashed across billowing black and grey storm clouds, and soon large rain drops began pelting the windshield.

  He didn’t ask me any questions. Instead, in a rare moment of affection, he reached over and squeezed my hand, then turned on his stereo. The sensual refrains of Sting filled the air and, all at once, everything underwent a magical transformation. I wished the moment would go on forever. That we could just keep on driving and never stop. The words drew me in: