by CJ Petterson
She tried to keep her mind a blank, but a string of pictures kept looping through like a set of photographs in an old stereopticon. Dan, the crash; Ray, the lab; Dan, the crash; Ray, the lab. She peeled the tape and gauze out of the crook of her arm where the IV had been, then rolled the bandage into a ball that she started to drop on the floorboard but shoved into her shirt pocket.
Fifteen minutes into the short drive to her home, Thompson made a stab at conversation. “You’re kind of quiet over there. You okay? Or are you just still mad at me?”
She was examining the red pinprick left by the broad-tipped hypodermic needle in the center of a widening blue stain on her arm when she spoke. “I’m just frustrated. And my whole body hurts. One friend is dead, and another … I can’t even guess what’s happened to Ray, and I don’t know why these things are happening. I’m scared, I’m tired, and I’m crabby.”
“Understandable. You’ve had a pretty hard time of it the last few days.”
“More than I’m used to, for sure,” she said with a nod. “You still haven’t found Dan?”
“Not yet, but we will.”
Evan turned into her neighborhood of postage-stamp-sized lawns and gray asphalt streets, and Mirabel retreated into silence again, anxious to get back to the security of home.
He pulled up in front of her garage, and the car rocked to a stop. “You want me to check the house?”
She contemplated the rented, two-bedroom, white frame bungalow that suited her needs. In place of an expansive, time-consuming, grassy carpet for a yard, she had a walled-in patio where patches of yellow-headed dandelions persistently encroached between garden stepping stones molded of red clay.
“It’s fine,” she said. “Nothing looks out of place.” Not that you wanted to haul your sorry butt out of the car anyway, she thought as she stepped out of the patrol car and retrieved her crutches from the back seat.
He reached over the seat to hand her the clear plastic bag stuffed with her dirty clothes then watched her hobble up the driveway to the side door of the garage.
She unlocked the door and leaned against it. When the sound of Evan’s retreating engine faded into the distance, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a key with white paint on it that she’d found on the lab floor — the key she’d given Ray. She closed her fist around it, feeling stymied and helpless. She didn’t like the feeling at all. She liked herself better when she was in control. But I guess that’s only when the problem doesn’t affect me personally, isn’t it?
She found her last pair of clean walking shorts in the back of the closet and pulled on a sky-blue T-shirt. She tossed the borrowed scrubs into the laundry basket with a silent promise to get them washed and returned ASAP.
In the spare bedroom that she used as a home office, she dug around in a desk drawer until she found a ballpoint pen and a lined legal pad of yellow paper. She drew a line across the paper’s width at the top and another down its length. At the top of the column on the left, she wrote, What I know. In the right column, she wrote, What I need to know. Below the header in the left column, she added, Dan dead.
She stared at the words for a long time. Then in the right column, she wrote, Sabotage? No? Yes? Why? Who?
Genome research. Across from that she wrote, Reason for sabotage? Yes? No? Possible? She drew a circle around Possible then wrote Recheck data.
Ray missing. Then: Temporarily off the radar: Seminar? Kidnapped?
Evan no help. In the second column she wrote: Get help. FBI, state police. She leaned back in her chair and stared at the page. Finally, she penned: **Call Sully** After a few minutes, she underlined the words twice. Ex-husband or not, he’s the only one I absolutely trust.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mirabel flipped open her spare cellphone and snapped it shut a second later. “Dan said Sully’s in Vegas. That means he’s unwinding from another job.”
As a geophysicist, her ex-husband traveled a lot. When an oil company’s exploration group discovered the prospect of a new oil field, they called in a team of experts to confirm the finding. Sully’s name was on top of everyone’s list. I should have named at least one of them as co-respondents in the divorce, she thought. She pushed the complaint out of her mind, dialed his home number, and left a message at the sound of the beep. Then she stretched out on the couch and broke into hiccupping sobs. She cried until she fell into a coma-like sleep.
When the phone jolted her awake, she sat upright with a groan and managed to snatch it before it rang a second time. The sunlight slanting through the blinds had brightened to a white glare.
“Hullo,” she mumbled. Her voice thick with sleep, she wiped her hand over her eyes to clear the cobwebs and checked her watch. She’d been out for an hour.
“It’s me, Sully. Did I wake you?”
She felt a familiar tug in the pit of her stomach at the sound of his voice. He could still get her juices going. “No,” she lied. “Did you get my message?” A dull ache and swelling just below her ears on both sides of her throat testified to the intensity of her grieving tears. Her cheekbones felt tender, her eyelids were swollen to the touch, and her head was pounding.
“Yes, and I am so sorry, Mirabel. I’m at the airport now. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“No, don’t. Not right now. If I see you, I’ll lose it.”
“Sounds like you’ve been sleeping … or crying, maybe?” His voice was deep and vaguely lyrical, the song of his father’s Gaelic tongue passed on to the son.
She tented her hand over her eyes to block the glare streaming through the window and nodded as if he could see her. “Both.” A sniffle escaped. “Dan is dead, Sully.”
“I know. Evan told me.”
When she heard his voice break, she knew he was choking back sorrow. The dam broke again on her own tears. “Oh, Sully. I am so sorry.”
“I’m still trying to get my head around it. Dan was my best friend.”
“You two were such kindred spirits, almost mirror images.” She’d always thought Dan and Sully were so close they resembled each other.
Dan had twenty-plus years on Sully, but the only other difference she could see was in their eyes. In contrast to Dan’s twinkling green eyes, Sully’s deep-set brown eyes seemed always clouded by mystery. Veterans of wars, they shared experiences that added intense complexity to their personalities. Both had hair the color of an old copper penny — Dan’s streaked with silver, Sully’s long enough to curl against his collar. “I never thought of him as ever dying,” she said. “He was supposed to be here always. I never should have asked him to fly me to Vegas.”
“That’s not your fault, Mirabel. You weren’t the only reason he was going to Vegas. We were supposed to get together on Sunday.”
“That’s what he said, but he was flying in early because of me.”
He cleared his throat. “What’s this about someone trying to kill you?”
“Dan said it wasn’t right that so many things would accidentally fail at the same time. That idiot Evan insinuated that Dan was involved in something illegal, like transporting drugs or guns.”
“Don’t pay attention to everything Evan says. He likes to hear himself talk.”
“I think it’s more than that. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to investigate the crash. Maybe you can light a fire under him.”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be an investigation. It’s not up to him. The Feds step in when there’s a plane crash that involves a death.”
Evan had told her that, she remembered, but she hadn’t really believed him. “There’s something else. Ray — ”
“Ray hasn’t called, and you’re worried. Evan told me.”
Cool. Flat. Mirabel picked up on the unmistakable change in Sully’s voice. Whoa. A little jealous? Good. “I asked Ray to pick up my project book at the lab, and n
ow he’s missing. Evan won’t take a missing persons report. Says I have to wait forty-eight hours. That’s not acceptable.
“SOP, Mirabel. Standard operating procedure. If your friend doesn’t surface by tomorrow, I’m sure Evan will call out the dogs.”
“Did he tell you somebody trashed my lab?”
“He said it looked like a B & E. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Just a little hole in my leg. I’ll be on crutches for a day.”
“Glad to hear about the leg, but how are you doing, emotionally?”
The concern in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her. “Holding on.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” She needed to change the focus of Sully’s conversation before she crumpled into a sobbing lump. “Were you on another job?” Because you weren’t here when I needed you … again. The grievance crossed her mind like an unbidden reflex that stiffened her jaw and her resolve.
“I just finished one and needed a little R & R, Vegas-style.”
“You never lose at the tables. Haven’t they figured that out yet?”
“Of course they have, but they like a winner at the tables every now and then. Keeps the rest of the suckers playing.” His voice drifted off into nothingness then he said softly, “You know I wouldn’t have made it through flight school if it hadn’t been for him.”
“It’s bizarre,” she said. “I feel like I’m in the middle of a nightmare, and I can’t wake up.” She swallowed a rising lump in her throat.
“I’m home now, Mirabel. We’ll work through this,” he said. “You know Dan loved you almost as much as I do.”
Her voice iced up. “Don’t go there.”
“It’s hard not to when he was so much a part of us.”
“Stop. Please.”
Empty air filled the line for several seconds. “Who’s making the funeral arrangements?”
“Me, if Evan can’t locate any family.”
“He has a brother down in LaJolla. I’ll get with Evan. Call me if you need anything.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Go back to sleep. I’ll check with you later.”
She toggled off the phone, picked up her car keys and reached for her crutches. Then she side-armed the key ring toward the kitchen table with a growl. “Can’t drive till tomorrow anyway.”
She found the key dappled with white paint and rubbed her thumb across it like a talisman. She was toying with the idea of calling the nearest California State Police post when the cellphone rang in her hand.
“Mirabel, it’s Lisa.”
Mirabel had no trouble assigning a face and body to the voice. Ray’s latest partner could stand eye to eye with him in her bare feet. Lisa Penn was three inches shy of six feet tall and model thin with gray eyes and a luxurious mane of flaming red hair.
“Tell me you’ve heard from Ray.”
“Briefly. He hung up a minute ago. He said he would be out of town for a few days. Some kind of dental thing in New York.”
“He didn’t mention one word about leaving town when he was at the hospital last night.” The phone beeped in her ear, but she ignored the incoming call.
“I didn’t know about it either, and for the first time since we’ve been together, he went on a trip without asking me to go along. He’s supposed to ask. He knows I’ve always wanted to go to New York. The radio station wouldn’t miss me for a few days. And my classes at Cal State are only on Saturdays, so I’d miss two at the most.”
Mirabel grimaced. The whine in Lisa’s voice echoed her own. “Sounds like he’s going to be in big trouble when he gets back. Did he say anything about running an errand for me?”
“If he did, I didn’t hear it. He seemed to be having trouble with his cellphone. Anyway, when you called looking for him this morning, you sounded worried. Thought I’d let you know he called.”
“That’s kind of you. Thanks, and when you talk with him, ask him to call me?”
“Of course I will. Talk with you later.”
Mirabel hung up and tapped into the new voice mail message.
“Hi, Mirabel. It’s Ray. Hey, sweetie, I had no luck at the lab last night. Just wanted to touch base. I’d forgotten I’m on the agenda to speak at an orthodontists’ meeting in New York. I drove over to Sacramento and took the redeye last night. I’ve decided not to waste the trip to one of my favorite places. Gonna take some vacation time and see a Broadway show or two. We’ll get together when I get back. Later.”
She replayed the message. “You told me you hated New York,” she said as if Briggs could hear. She tapped in the phone number for the sheriff’s office.
• • •
“Checking caller ID isn’t going to help,” Mirabel said. “The number you’re looking at is his cellphone, and he could be anywhere. Unless you’ve got some high-tech electronics to trace a cellphone, you’re not going to find him.”
Evan had stopped for lunch and held a thirty-two-ounce soft drink cup in his thick hand. He took a long, noisy pull through the straw before he answered. “Let me hear the message again.”
Mirabel turned up the volume, and they listened to Ray’s words.
“In the time I’ve known him,” she said, “he’s turned down at least two free trips to New York. He hates the place. And he didn’t say a word about the binder. I know something’s wrong.” She balanced one-legged against the arm of her couch.
“I heard him say he had no luck at the lab.”
“Someone made him say that. I can always tell when he’s lying. I can hear it his voice.”
Evan’s straw vacuumed up the dregs of his drink with a loud slurp. “Maybe he got an offer he couldn’t refuse. Money-wise. Let me hear it again.”
Mirabel replayed the message again.
Evan swiped at a splotch of catsup near the midline of his tie.
“Hear that?” She pointed to the phone and nodded as if Ray’s voice had just confirmed what she believed to be true.
“His girlfriend, what’s her name? Lisa? Did she think something was wrong?” He rattled the ice in his cup and then clomped into the kitchen.
“She said he was having trouble with his cellphone,” Mirabel called. “And she wasn’t happy he’d left without asking her to go.”
“Don’t have to shout. I’m right here.”
“Lisa said this was the first time he didn’t ask her to go with him.”
“There’s not a lot I can do right now. I can’t tell from this tape that he’s saying any code words. Sounds like a normal conversation to me. According to your own timetable, he’s only been out of touch a few hours. You know as well as I do that’s not unusual for a single man.”
“Why can’t you get it through your head that Ray is in trouble?”
“Okay. Tell you what. I’ll put in a call and see if the dental association thing is legit.”
“That’s a start.”
“Well, here’s more. The FAA and the NTSB are sending in more people and equipment to locate the plane, and if they verify the crash wasn’t mechanical failure or pilot error — ”
“When they verify. You’re going to call the FBI, right?”
“Why does everybody think they can tell me how to do my job?”
“Are you going to call the FBI?” she demanded.
“If the crash was due to sabotage, it’s a given they’ll be called.” Evan eased toward the door. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Quit worrying, Mirabel. I’m sure he’s fine. He’ll probably show up in a few days.”
As soon as the door shut, she called information and asked for the number for Rudy’s Cab.
• • •
Mirabel pushed her finger against the computer’s “on” button and spun slowly in her desk chair at the lab t
o survey the mess while the monitor flickered from black to blue, and the computer’s musical tones signaled it was alive and well. Hoping she’d missed something earlier, she typed in a search command for file names that contained the word “project.” Nothing came up. Not willing to give up, she tried “rice,” then “genomic engineering,” then “food supply.” Her searches produced no files.
Then she got into the computer’s backup files. All her documents had been erased except for a few music downloads. She stared at the monitor until she caught herself dozing off and admitted Sully had been right about needing rest. She blinked to clear her vision and clicked on her e-mail icon. Eight new messages waited.
She leaned her chin against her palm again and double-clicked the mouse to highlight each message. “Spam and junk mail. There ought to be a law,” she muttered and, based on the subject line, deleted the first seven without opening them. The last e-mail was a follow-up note from Ray about her astronomy sighting. Four sentences into the memo, she gasped. “I have outgoing e-mail without the project as the subject line.”
She started a memo-by-memo search, opening the copies of all the documents she had sent over the past twelve months. “Glad I’m so bad about clearing out my e-mail.” Holding her leg straightened awkwardly to the side, she righted the laser printer that lay on the bottom shelf of the cabinet and connected the cable. “Yes,” she hissed when the printer sent out a test page. She queued up two dozen documents.
While she waited for the printer to finish, she read the rest of Ray’s memo. It reminded her to order the second set of photos he’d asked for. While the printer spat out the last pages, she accessed her e-mail contact list and dialed the phone number for the observatory on Mount Palomar. She repeated the date and time of the sighting to the woman at the other end of the line who promised to send her another set of photos. She’d compare them with her star atlas.