Alien Abduction

by Irving Belateche

  “Then let’s start with the things you can talk about.”

  “I’ve told you all those things.”

  He was sticking to his lie, and the anger I’d been repressing since I’d walked into the room was starting to assert itself.

  “I don’t believe you,” I said firmly.

  “What don’t you believe?”

  “Any of it. All of it.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and for a second I thought he was about to come clean. But instead he said, “I’m sorry you don’t believe me.”

  “What is wrong with you?” I couldn’t keep my anger in check any longer. “Why can’t you tell me what’s going on? I’m your wife, for Christ’s sake!”

  His face contorted as if he was in pain. But he didn’t say anything. He stared at me as if he was hoping my anger would subside.

  I didn’t say anything either for about thirty seconds or so. Finally, when the silence was unbearable, I said, “Tell me the truth about your job. Right now.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m working for a private investigation firm.”

  “What?” I was totally taken by surprise.

  “I couldn’t bring myself to tell you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a nasty business. Most of my work is investigating cheating husbands.”

  I almost blurt-laughed over the irony. I suspected him of infidelity, not of exposing infidelity.

  “I tail cheating husbands,” he continued, “and/or their suspected mistresses. If it looks like the two are having an affair, then I try to build an airtight case.”

  “Seriously?” This was so different from what I’d expected that it was hard to swallow. It was a far cry from the fictitious job at ADM.

  “Yeah, seriously,” he said. “It’s not as low-down as it sounds though. Most of the time, the investigation is part of a legitimate lawsuit—a messy divorce. But I also work on other types of cases.”

  “Like what?” I was now trying to fit this admission into what I knew about his behavior.

  “Like sometimes a family with too much money on their hands hires us to find out whether the guy who’s dating their daughter is a gold-digger. You’d be surprised how many families do that.”

  I’d recently heard a case like that on the news.

  “Or a guy wants to know if the woman he’s planning to propose to has been cheating on him.” Eddie shook his head and let out a little chuckle. “And believe it or not, I had one case where a husband who was cheating on his wife was investigating his mistress to make sure she wasn’t cheating on him.”

  Eddie looked less pained, like he was relieved to get this off his chest.

  “So why do you spend so much time on your computer?” I asked.

  “Because these days, you can get a lot of digital evidence that helps prove a case. Especially with some of the software tools the PI firm has.” He let out a breath, then glanced at his computer. “And now I can also tell you the real reason I have a new computer: the PI firm doesn’t want anything traced back to them or me. So every couple of months, they give me a computer that’s outfitted with protective software, then dump the old one as a precaution.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Yeah. I think so, too. But it’s because of the law firms who hire them. They want everything hush-hush. Especially if our investigation is tied to a pending lawsuit. They’re the ones who don’t want anything traced back to them.”

  “Why did you tell me you were working with ADM?” I asked. “Why the whole acquisition story?”

  “Since both involved investigating, I thought it was a good cover. I was stupid.”

  “I agree with that,” I said, and then realized he had another reason for wanting to hide the job from me. It wasn’t just because it was shady.

  “It’s dangerous, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he said, without hesitation.

  I didn’t have to ask the next question: Why did you take the job if it was dangerous? The answer was obvious: money. The job paid my medical bills. But I did have another question.

  “Eddie—why did they offer you the job?”

  He let out another chuckle. “Honey, they didn’t offer me the job. I begged them for it. A reporter I knew from the Seattle Times had become a private investigator and was doing well. So I asked around and found a couple of openings. But when I applied, they told me they were only interested in former cops. So I begged them for a shot—selling my LA Times experience and that Seattle reporter’s success. When they still said no, I asked them to give me one case, freelance. I’d do it for free. They did, and the rest is history.” He smiled. “But I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right off the bat.”

  “I’m glad you told me now,” I said, and I was. The bottom line was that he’d taken a job in a shady business and, therefore, had been acting shady.

  Eddie got up and we both instinctually hugged. I felt good, and I was positive he did, too. I would be worried about his safety from here on in, but I’d have to live with that. Still, it was better than living with a lie.

  We embraced, enjoying a moment of closeness, until a ringing phone interrupted us.

  I walked over to the desk, picked up the phone, and said, “Hello.” It turned out to be one of Eddie’s former tutoring students. I covered the mouthpiece and turned to Eddie. “It’s Mason Kingsley,” I said. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Wow,” Eddie said. “Those tutoring days seem like ancient history.”

  As he walked over to take the phone, I noticed that the pained look had returned to his face.

  EDDIE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Things are going okay,” Mason said on the phone, after I’d asked him how he was holding up. “At least, better than they were,” he added tentatively. “But I let my studies slide.”

  “That’s understandable,” I said. Of course it was. You didn’t just move on from losing your dad and blindly get on with your life.

  “But I think I’m ready to regroup,” Mason said. “And I need some help. I mean with my studies. I want to catch up.”

  I knew what was coming next—and I wished it wasn’t. But it came anyway.

  “Will you tutor me again?” Mason asked. “I know you can bring me up to speed better than any other tutor.”

  I wanted to say the timing was all wrong, but man, did I owe this kid big time. I’d ruined his life. So after a second of hesitation, I did the right thing. “Of course,” I said. “I don’t tutor anymore, but I’ll be more than happy to get you back on track.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hart. I really appreciate it.”

  How could I refuse the kid? He was reaching out for help, reaching out to the very man who was responsible for leaving him fatherless and for sending his life into a tailspin. This was a chance to make amends for my terrible sin.

  But I wasn’t fooling myself; I knew no amends would bring Mason’s father back. But I’d do what I could, including, if necessary, anonymously getting the boy and his mother cash, in case they hadn’t found the safe or gotten access to wherever else Ben kept his ill-gotten gains.

  When I got off the phone, I explained to Jenny that tragedy had struck Mason’s family, and that the kid had fallen way behind in his studies; I was going to try and help him catch up.

  So that afternoon, rather than sitting around waiting for more bad news to dribble out from Rose David’s murder investigation, or waiting for Abel to contact me with this new mystery assignment—which might be a suicide assignment—I headed over to Mason’s house. But not before I’d loaded a hundred thousand dollars in cash into the trunk of my car. I kept the bulk of my earnings in a couple of boxes in the garage, among dozens of boxes of memorabilia that we hadn’t looked at in two decades. I’d planned to move the money to a more secure location, but still hadn’t gotten around to it.

  I had no idea how I’d actually give the money to Mason anonymously. But if I saw that he and his mom were in dire straits
, I’d figure out a way.

  When I pulled out of the garage, I questioned what I was doing. Shouldn’t I use this time to get the sample in the glove compartment tested? Shouldn’t I start implementing my blackmail plan? Why was I assuaging my guilt instead?

  Because my guilt was growing stronger, taking over, when I needed to push it back. I was ashamed of the new lie I’d thrown at Jenny; it had added to my guilt. But I knew the ADM story wasn’t cutting it. It never had, had it?

  As I drove up Beverly Glen, nostalgia swept over me. I hadn’t driven this route since I’d stopped tutoring, and it now felt like those tutoring days were carefree compared to my new life, where I was trying to stay one step ahead of a murder charge. That was how drastically my perspective had changed, for the reality was that those tutoring days hadn’t been carefree. I’d been desperate to find a job and desperate for money, which was how I’d ended up zeroing in on Mason’s father in the first place.

  No, those days weren’t carefree. The unvarnished truth was that I’d been transported into a brutish, ugly reality—a menacing reality—when compared to my days as a tutor.

  I turned onto Tiffany Circle and drove down the familiar street of McMansions. If I was going to be of any help to Mason, I had to change my frame of mind and channel the confidence I’d gained through my job. The confidence I’d been high on before my blunder in Del Mar.

  That confidence was the best part of my new life. I’d adapted. I’d reinvented myself. I’d come a hell of a long way. And I’d earned a hell of a lot of money.

  I pulled up to Mason’s house and parked.

  As soon as I stepped up to the front door, the door swung open, and Mason greeted me. “Thanks for coming, Mr. Hart,” he said, and invited me inside.

  He led me toward the den and didn’t try to make small talk.

  “I’m sorry you fell behind in your studies,” I said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “But you’re a great student. You’ll catch up in no time.”

  “I hope so.” He didn’t sound very sure of himself.

  “We’ll get you there.”

  We stepped into the den, and I noticed the desk had nothing on it. He’d always had his computer and whatever school textbooks and papers we’d need ready to go.

  “Do you want to get your stuff and show me where you are with everything?” I asked.

  “I can talk you through it first,” he said. But he didn’t sit down, and he didn’t bring a second chair over to the desk.

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  “I haven’t been able to concentrate for a while,” he said. “Even on the subjects I’m good at.”

  “That’s perfectly natural.”

  “You mean because of my dad.” He wasn’t going to be obtuse, and that was probably a healthy thing.

  “Yeah,” I said. “No one can get right back to business after a family tragedy, Mason.”

  “But it’s been months and months, Mr. Hart.”

  I wasn’t a grief counselor, but I wanted to say the right things, so I spoke from my heart. “Learning to live with a change in your life as big as this takes time. Especially when it’s something so sad and unexpected. I know you’re hard on yourself, but this isn’t something to be hard on yourself about.”

  “Yes, it is,” he said, a bit harsher than I’d expected.

  “I know it seems that way. Because we’re helpless. We can’t do anything to change what happened. That’s why it’s tough.”

  “But there is something I can do.”

  I was confused, and I waited for him to elaborate. But he just stared at me with a hard look on his face.

  “I guess I’m not following you,” I said.

  “There’s an answer to what happened to my dad,” he responded.

  I wanted to change the subject as fast as possible, but I knew that was a terrible idea. So instead I asked, “Is that what’s bothering you?”

  “Yeah—the police don’t have an answer. Just theories. But there’s an answer out there, and I want to find it.”

  “And that’s why you can’t concentrate on your schoolwork,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Everyone is sorry.”

  “And that’s no help, right?” I said. “Not when you want answers. I get it.”

  “If you get it, then I want you to give me some answers.”

  “I don’t think I’m qualified to help out there, Mason,” I said.

  “I think you are.”

  “How do you think I can help?” I asked, worried that this conversation had quickly headed into territory I didn’t want to explore.

  “The police have all these theories,” he said, “but not one of them has any real evidence behind it—and they never found my dad’s body, or his car, or anything.”

  Instinctively, I almost said “I’m sorry” again, but I caught myself. “I’m sure they turned over every rock,” I said.

  “Maybe. But I haven’t.” He took a beat to stare me directly in the eyes. “I want to ask you about the argument you had with my dad.”

  “What argument?” I asked, then instantly regretted it. Mason was smart. If the kid overheard the argument, I wouldn’t be able to deny it and keep my credibility.

  “The last night you were here,” he said. “You two had an argument at the front door.”

  I furrowed my brow and cocked my head, like I was thinking back to that night. But I was frantically racing to come up with a way to handle this.

  “It wasn’t an argument,” I said.

  “I don’t care what you call it.” There was anger in his voice. “Just tell me what you were talking about.”

  “We were talking about tutoring,” I said. “I let him know that I was going to be moving on to a new job.”

  “So why was that a big deal?”

  “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “I could tell when my dad was mad. And at the end of whatever you guys were talking about, he was mad. Why would he get mad over you moving on?”

  “I don’t think he was mad. Maybe a little insulted. He offered to double my rate and I said no. Then he offered to triple it and I still said no.”

  “Is that what you told the police?” Mason said.

  That threw me for a loop. “The police? What do you mean?”

  “I told the police about your argument. Didn’t they question you about it?”

  It was too late to backpedal. “No,” I said, sure that Abel had intervened to keep the police from pursuing this lead.

  “I wonder how many other clues they didn’t follow up on,” Mason said.

  “I’m sure they followed up on everything that mattered.”

  “How would they know if something mattered unless they followed up on it?”

  Again, the kid was right. So I moved on to something tangential. “I know there’s nothing I can do to make things better,” I said. “Losing your dad is terrible. And you want answers. But I’m old enough to tell you that sometimes there aren’t answers—”

  “In this case, there is an answer.” And he was determined to find it.

  It was time to extricate myself from this conversation and go home. “I don’t know how to help you find that answer, Mason,” I said.

  “I’m going to find out what you and my dad were arguing about.”

  “We weren’t arguing.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Okay. But I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  “How about telling me the truth?” He stared at me, as if challenging me to confess.

  “I told you the truth,” I said.

  “Then you can leave,” he responded.

  I stood there for a few seconds, weighing whether there was a way to stop him from pursuing this. If there was, I didn’t yet know what it could be.

  So I walked out of the den and let myself out of the house.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I had put out the fire with Jenny, but not with Mason. On
the drive back home, I wondered how worried I should be. The good news was that, unlike Jenny, the kid didn’t have access to me. Unless he decided to investigate me in person, his main source of information would be the Internet, and I didn’t think that would lead to anything. Abel would have made sure of that.

  But I wasn’t off the hook. What if the kid went back to the police and insisted they question me or investigate me? That possibility terrified me. Would Abel once again throw the police off my trail? Or was there a way he could give me up without implicating himself? Of course, there was a way. I was sure Abel was capable of that.

  I should have talked to Mason’s mom. She might have dropped hints as to how far the kid was willing to go to connect me to his dad’s disappearance. But I didn’t have to talk to Mason’s mom, did I? I already knew how far the kid was willing to go. After all, he’d called me out of the blue and he’d confronted me in person.

  Mason was going to leave no stone unturned. And there was no denying that his strategy was working. He had already picked out the right suspect.

  My stomach churned, and I suddenly felt queasy—sick.

  What if Mason got too close to the truth? Abel would kill the boy.

  And that led to the most awful of revelations.

  What if that was my mystery assignment?

  What if Abel wanted me to kill the boy?

  I understood that this awful revelation might be nothing but paranoia. But with Jenny’s sudden demand to know the truth, and Mason’s accusations, and Rose David’s murder being investigated by the police—not to mention the press, including Larry, who was tracking it closely—I guess it made sense that I was seeing threats everywhere I looked. I felt like the walls were closing in. The queasiness in my stomach had seeped into my legs, which had turned rubbery. If I hadn’t been behind the wheel, I would’ve had to sit down.

  The confidence I’d had before my meeting with Mason was gone. And the only way to get it back was to assert some control. Sitting back and letting the walls close in, without taking action, was asking for disaster. It was time to get back to basics. I needed to take care of my family.