Farraday Road

by Ace Collins

  “You look very happy in all these photos,” Curtis said, then looked down as if embarrassed.

  “It was easy,” he said. “There was real life wherever she was.”

  He gave the agent a few minutes to glance through the vacation shots before directing her to the den. “Here you can really see Kaitlyn’s talent as a decorator. She could take anything and make it look like a piece of art.” He pointed to a display case with a small college pennant, an old washboard, a Vietnamese sketch, a dish of what looked like pink pearls, and a framed grade-school report card. As he worked his way through the room, he directed Curtis to other small mementos: buttons off a military uniform, portraits taken a century before, an oriental fan, a brightly colored scarf, and a wooden baseball bat. As she studied the dozens of seemingly unrelated but carefully displayed keepsakes, Lije said, “She put all these things together as a creative history of our two families. She felt that by looking at each of these unique items, any person could write a fairly complete biography of both of the individuals who called this place home.”

  Curtis seemed oblivious to time as she slowly went from wall to wall, table to table, and, finally, room to room. When he felt a need, Lije told her the story behind a certain item. But usually he just observed her. There was something about the woman’s enjoying Kaitlyn’s touch that brought him a temporary sense of peace. She got it. She at least knew intellectually why his wife had been so special. She was carefully examining a gold pocket watch when Lije felt a little warmth sneak into his soul. The timepiece reminded him of one of his wife’s favorite jokes. He leaned over the agent’s shoulder and said, “That was my grandfather’s watch, not to be confused with his clock, which is next to the door in the foyer.”

  Curtis smiled and put the timepiece back on the shelf. “All of this stuff is from your family?”

  “And hers. It was a part of our past. Until I met Kaitlyn, I never really thought much about this sort of thing. My family keepsakes were stored in the attic. Though she was born in the States and never even visited her father’s home country of Vietnam, I still feel there was a part of her that was very Asian. She seemed to revere not only her ancestors but mine too. She constantly pulled things out of trunks or closets, cleaned them up, and found a special way to make them a part of our daily lives. So ninety percent of the things you see in this home are part of the story of either the Evans or the Do clans. There’s even a scrapbook on the desk in the corner of the great room where she wrote what each item is, where it came from, and why it’s important. She used to tell me, ‘Everything we touch shapes our lives and defines who we are.’ I’d laugh when she said that, calling her Confucius. Then she’d remind me that the great philosopher was actually Chinese. It was our joke.”

  Curtis nodded.

  “Enough about me and my past. Do you want something to eat?”

  “No, not now.”

  “As you can imagine, I was given enough food to feed an army. Before they left, some of the women from church somehow found a way to stuff it all into the fridge. I can avoid the grocery store for weeks. I really hate shopping anyway.”

  Actually, he had once enjoyed it. There was a time when he and Kaitlyn had good-naturedly fought over food choices. But now those times were past and being in those familiar aisles would just pull into sharper focus the loneliness he’d feel for the rest of his life.

  As Lije considered this facet of his loss, Curtis slowly looked around the den, then casually strolled through the foyer and into the great room. “Are we alone? ” The agent seemed surprised.

  He glanced around the room. “Yep, I guess so. You must have scared everyone off.” It was a forced joke, he knew, and it brought no laughter, not even a slight grin. But there was a good chance it was true. “It’s seven-thirty. They’d been here for hours, and I guess they had pretty much run out of good memories to rehash. If your coming actually did drive them off, thanks.” This time he was sincere.

  Curtis nodded a reply, then started to work her way through the home, checking the locks on the doors. As she undertook her security detail, Lije said, “You can check them if you want, but they’re all locked. Your partner did that already. I’m sure you know the sheriff has a man stationed at the bottom of the hill, and my lane is the only way up here. But I’m sure you know that. And to answer the question you’re probably about to ask, I’m tired, still a bit sore from the wound, but hardly sleepy.” He was rattling on now, knew it, and didn’t care. Following her from room to room, he added, “In fact, I really don’t want to go to bed tonight. Not here anyway. What sleep I got last night was in a chair in my study. Might choose that route again tonight.”

  Curtis didn’t reply. She spent the next few minutes closing the blinds that covered the home’s oversized windows.

  Her silence upset him. He was talking and she didn’t seem to be listening. So much for thinking she had a warm spot buried under that icy glare. “You’re going to miss a great sunset,” he said as the last shade came down.

  “Maybe, but I’ll feel much more secure if no one can see in.”

  Just to the left of the final window were two photos. They had been placed in a double 1930s-era frame. The first shot was printed in black and white and showed the law office of John Evans in downtown Salem. Out in front of the entrance sat an unusual antique car. It had huge pipes exiting from under the hood and entering the front fenders. There didn’t appear to be any headlights and the squared-off hood resembled a coffin. The rest of the body seemed more like a classic art-deco sculpture than something that came off a Detroit assembly line.

  The second photo was shot in the same location, but captured the scene in color. The building had been updated, new streetlights now lined the square, and a green bench sat under the law office’s large front window. Sitting in the very same spot was the car. It was the only thing that appeared the same.

  “Is the car in these photos the same? There must be seventy years’ difference between the photos.”

  Lije removed one photo from the wall and studied both the antique shot and the newer one. What a car! How he loved it. Now there was a tie to a past he treasured even at this horrible moment. After rehanging the photo, he said, “That’s a 1936 Cord Westchester 810 Sedan. My grandfather saw the new Cords at the New York Auto Show and fell in love with them. In the summer of that year, he made a trip to the Auburn-Cord-Duesenberg company headquarters in Auburn, Indiana. He talked to the officials, test-drove one of the latest models, and placed an order. He asked for a red sedan. Since they didn’t have that color in their 1936 line, he took one of the executives over to a Packard showroom and showed him a red he liked. The man told him that if he paid them an extra seventy-five dollars, they would build the car for him and paint it Packard red. He was thrilled, wrote them a check, and gave them instructions for shipping it.

  “He was about to leave when he noticed a car parked at the back of the building that had stainless-steel side pipes. A company engineer informed him that Cord was going to use those exhausts on supercharged models that would be a part of the next year’s line. Grandpa walked back into the building, sat down with the president, pulled out his checkbook again, and convinced the company to upgrade his car a few months early.

  “Six weeks later, the car was delivered by rail to Mammoth Spring. Grandpa picked it up and drove it the twenty miles home. I later found out he hit a hundred miles per hour on one of the few straight stretches on Arkansas 9. And this was before it was paved!The Cord was passed down to my father and my father passed it down to me.”

  Curtis seemed amazed as she again looked at the photos. It was the first time Lije had seen her act unlike an ABI agent. At the moment, she seemed almost human.

  “So you still own this car?”

  “At times, when I have it worked on, I think it actually owns me. But yes, it’s mine and is parked in the barn.”

  The car was his escape. It had always been there for him, even before Kaitlyn. “Would you like to see it
?”

  Without hesitating, Curtis said, “Of course.”

  CURTIS FOLLOWED LIJE THROUGH THE HOUSE, INTO the garage, out a back door, and across the yard. About forty yards from the home, nestled in a grove of walnut trees, sat what Lije called “the barn.” He had designed it to match his home. Constructed of native stone, with a green metal roof and matching shutters, it looked more like an upscale house than a dwelling built for farm animals. She was impressed.

  “I could live here,” she said.

  “It doesn’t look as good on the inside,” he said, typing in a numerical code on a keypad by the large garage-style entrance. A moment later, the door began to roll up. When the mechanical opener cut off, the two strolled into a building filled with antique farm equipment, a vintage road grader, a woodworking shop, and an incredible red car.

  As Lije stood to one side, Curtis slowly circled the vehicle. From its hand-tooled dash, lined with more instruments than most people had ever seen, to bumpers that appeared to be constructed of styled chrome towel racks, the car was an art deco masterpiece. Everything from the pod like front fenders to the small double rear window seemed to have been as carefully conceived as a Da Vinci painting.

  “What did you say this was?”

  “A Cord.”

  “It looks like a 1930s Batmobile. Why have I never heard of it until now?”

  He was aware that he was distracting himself from his grief over Kaitlyn’s death, but he didn’t care. It was a welcome distraction. “The company went out of the car business in 1937. The cars were simply too expensive to survive the Depression. And they were probably too radical too. This car had front-wheel drive when all other cars were driven by their back wheels. It had hideaway headlights, a transmission where you preselected the gears, and a stance that was so low it couldn’t really navigate some of the horrible roads of the era. The dash setup seemed to be designed for an airplane, which is what actually inspired the configuration and look. As you could guess, it was meant for high-powered executives and movie stars, and at that time, there weren’t enough of them around to keep the assembly lines moving.”

  As he spoke, the investigator walked from one side of the car to the other.

  “You drive it? ” Curtis asked.

  “About once a week. Not good to let them sit. Kaitlyn and I used to take the Cord to church and then out to eat when the weather was pretty. We even drove it to the big Labor Day Auburn-Cord-Duesenberg reunion in Indiana a couple of times.”

  Shaking her head, Curtis smiled, her eyes glued to the car. “It’s remarkable.”

  The sun was just starting to set as they walked out of the barn. As the automatic door rolled downward, Lije stopped and took in the full beauty of the Ozarks. From where they were standing, he could see for miles in three directions. From the city below to the rolling hills in the background, the scene was simply picturepostcard perfection.

  Strange that nature went on with its beautiful displays even when life itself was immersed in ugliness and decay.

  “I don’t guess you’d ever want to live anywhere else,” she said.

  Turning from the view, he motioned for her to follow him toward the house. “Actually, there is a piece of property about twenty miles from here that I always wanted to buy.” And what a piece of land it was. It had to be the prize of the region, the most incredible spot in all of the Ozarks.

  “It’s on Spring River,” he continued, shortening his stride so she could more easily keep up. “I used to canoe down that stream and I never passed Swope’s Ridge without wondering what the view looks like from up there. It was our dream to purchase that place someday, build a new home, and then Kaitlyn wanted to turn this place into a meeting center and camp for some of her charities. We thought it would be like living two dreams at once.”

  “Swope’s Ridge must be something if you’d give up this place for it.”

  Lije turned to her, but never got the chance to respond.

  TWO SHOTS RANG OUT. THE FIRST STRUCK A TREE branch just inches over Lije’s head, sending leaves floating to the ground. The second bullet hit a boulder to their left, ricocheting past them before burrowing into the Arkansas clay.

  “Hit the ground,” Curtis yelled, shoving Lije down as she dove headfirst to the turf with him.

  “Can you tell where it came from? ” he whispered.

  Her answer was typically clinical. “If you think of the hill as a clock, look for the hour of three. But don’t raise your head too high or they’ll blow it off.”

  He followed her instructions and locked on to the grove of trees that offered the shooter almost complete cover. Straining against the darkening shadows of dusk, he tried to spot a human form. He saw nothing.

  “Are they still there? ” he asked.

  “Not if they’re as smart as I think they are,” Curtis said. Rolling over, she pulled out her cell phone and tapped in a number.

  “Teddy, it’s Diana. We’ve had another attempt. This time it was a sniper with a rifle. We’re pinned down and I can’t leave my mark. Get up here ASAP.”

  Lije clung helplessly to the grass and pressed the side of his face to the ground. For the second time shots rang out and he offered no help. As he hugged the turf, he wondered if he had responded the same way on Farraday Road. Had he lain there just as scared that night? Was the final image Kaitlyn had of him one of an impotent coward, and was that why he was alive right now?

  Curtis pulled out her gun.

  “Teddy’ll be here in two or three minutes. There’s not enough cover between us and the trees for the gunman to approach, and the angle of the hill makes it impossible for him to get us while we’re on the ground. We’ll be safe until backup gets here. Just keep hugging the grass.”

  She had been right to close the shades, Lije thought. “I’m starting to get mad. I’m tired of being used for target practice.”

  “Can’t blame you. I’m not thrilled about this either.”

  If she was scared, she didn’t show it. “It’s my fault,” he whispered. It was a reality that he had to admit. That he was the target all along.

  “What? ” Curtis hissed.

  “I must have done something to put myself in danger, but I have no clue what it is.”

  She didn’t respond, which only confirmed his fear. Kaitlyn was dead. With the shooters still after him, this was all about him. And he was to blame. But what had he done?

  Not seeing a gunman or hearing more shots almost made things worse. The silence brought new fear. Each second seemed like an hour. Was someone sneaking toward them? And the darkness, creeping closer with each tick of the clock, created its own insecurities. It was only the sound of a siren followed by bright blue emergency lights that allowed him to finally breathe easier.

  “Can we get up now? ” he asked.

  “Not yet,” Curtis said. “We’ve got to wait until Teddy checks that clump of trees.” Hitting redial on her phone, she set up the search pattern with Teddy, then waited.

  “Got it,” Curtis said as she snapped her phone closed. She looked over at Lije. “There was no one in the trees. But I’m not taking any more chances. I’m putting out a warrant for my main suspect’s arrest.”

  “I DIDN’T DO IT! NOT ANY OF IT!” HEATHER JAMESON cried as she was paraded out of her apartment. “Lije, you have to believe me!”

  Lije nodded, assuring her that he did believe in her, even if there was nothing to go on but faith. He stood and watched as the crying woman was marched toward the squad car. Just before she was forced into the back seat, Heather turned to look back toward him. “In my desk, the third drawer down on the right, there’s a box. In it is something that Kaitlyn was saving for your anniversary present.”

  Lije nodded and smiled, but said nothing. He opened his cell phone.

  “What are you doing? ” Curtis said.

  “Calling a friend who’s the best defense lawyer I know. This is not just hard to believe, it’s impossible to fathom. And I don’t believe it. Heather�
��s going to need a top-flight criminal mind at her table. After all, she’s battling the fabled ABI and its up-and-coming star, Special Agent Diana Curtis.”

  “Before you make that call, you need to have some of the evidence we have against her. There’s a lot more than you know about. It’s not just about finding her in the vicinity of your home tonight. She had guns in her apartment. That’s not unusual, but they had been fired recently. Her car was warm.”

  He turned to face her. “You know the evidence, and that’s all well and good; I respect you. But I know Heather Jameson, and I know she would have had no part in any of this.”

  “You don’t know about her drug problem.”

  “We knew about it. She told us about her past when I interviewed her.”

  “She’s up to her ears in debt.”

  “Kaitlyn informed me of that a few weeks ago. She found out by accident. Neither of us let on to Heather that we knew. But we would have bailed her out before she lost everything.”

  “Then I’m guessing you know why she has spent so much money in the last few months.”

  He looked at Curtis. “Tell me what you know.”

  “We figure she fell off the wagon. Probably pushed by her mother’s suicide.”

  “You’re wrong. Dig a little deeper and you’ll find a logical reason for her problems. I’ll bet you it won’t be drugs either. And, by the way, just in case I’m right and you’re wrong, you might want to keep your eyes open. Someone is still trying to kill me, and it’s not Heather.”

  THE LARGE OUTER ROOM OF THE EVANS LAW OFFICE was furnished with well-maintained antiques. Most of the wood in the desk, tables, chairs, and shelves was tiger oak. On the walls were paintings of scenes from the area as well as an imposing three-by-four-foot portrait of Lije’s grandfather. John and Lije shared the same dark hair, gray eyes, and firm jaw.