Forget Me Not

by Lee Boschen

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Next morning a haggard Leslie drove them to the Camera Store office. The enlarged prints and the packet of negatives were lying on Richard's desk, where they had been for two days. Richard picked up the negatives and handed them to Leslie. “For whatever they're worth,” he said.

  She nodded, gazing at the film in despair. They had been up most of the night, trying to work a way around the most likely outcome of their meeting with Coleen's kidnappers. But no matter how they picked at the problem, it wouldn't go away. There was no way the kidnappers were going to let them go free. There would be no exchange. Once they had given up the negatives they would die. They were sure of it.

  And yet, if they didn't surrender the negatives, Coleen would die. There didn't seem the slightest doubt about this. The kidnappers had already shown their willingness to kill.

  Richard leafed through the stack of enlargements, examining each one painstakingly with a magnifying glass he had taken from his desk. One after another he passed them to Leslie with a shake of his head.

  "Nothing,” he said each time.

  The stack was nearly gone when Leslie said, “Four people have died for nothing. There isn't anything on those negatives. They only think there is."

  Richard passed another print to her, and picked up the next to last one. His magnifying glass roamed over it as it had all the others she had watched him examine. Then it stopped, and Richard grew still as stone.

  "Jesus,” he whispered.

  Leslie's heart froze. “What? What is it?"

  He passed the print to her. It was another photo of the Kimberlys, this time shot against the opening in the wall screening off the Lafayette Square service area. Behind and off to one side of the Kimberlys in the picture was a car, evidently just idling past the opening at the instant Richard had made the picture. Richard passed her the magnifying glass and tapped the car in the photo. “Who do you see there?"

  As she looked through the magnifying glass and saw the men in the car, she knew at once why so many people had died. “Phearson! And, oh, my God—"

  "Yeah. Phearson. Your gut instinct was right. Now I know why he came after me that day at police headquarters—so I wouldn't suspect him. And I bought it.” Puzzled, he stared at her. “But what's so terrible about this picture?"

  "It's not Phearson, it's the man he's with."

  "So, who is he?"

  "As often as his picture appears in the paper, you'd know him in an instant if you hadn't been banged so hard on the head. His name is Carl Dailey. Also known as the Round Man. Also known as Fazz Dailey."

  "Fazz?"

  Leslie nodded. “Yes, that's the closest people dare come to calling him fat. He has a vicious temper, and people who use the word ‘fat’ to his face simply disappear. I've seen him in court with his lawyers.” She curled her lips in disdain. “They're probably the only people in the world who call Dailey ‘mister.’ He's a disgusting creature. Short, and grossly fat."

  She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God, the kids on the bus were right. I just never imagined it could be him.” She drew a deep breath as she gazed at the picture. “Now it makes sense. The attack on you, the store burned—all to hide the connection between a police officer and a racketeer."

  "Racketeer...?"

  "Fazz is the numbers king around here. The numbers game is an illegal lottery. People bet on numbers that can't be predicted. Say, the quoted price of a security as reported in the paper. It's big. Millions of dollars. And Fazz Dailey controls numbers."

  "But what's the connection between him and Phearson?"

  "That's just it, there shouldn't be one.” She squinted through the magnifying glass again. “But there sure is. One of them has just handed the other something in this picture. And since Fazz is the one with the

  money..."

  She looked up from the picture. “I guess you know this doesn't change anything,” she said. “We still have to give them the negatives. Regardless of what happens."

  Richard put his clenched fists side by side on his desk and stared at them for a long moment. Then he drew a deep breath.

  "I can't do it,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Fear churned Leslie's stomach, and her mind skittered from one disaster scenario to another. He was afraid. He was going to abandon her. Her mother had been right—he was a lightweight. He didn't really love her—her mind jarred to a stop on that thought. No, that wasn't true. He was telling her something else. “You can't do ... what?"

  "I can't force myself to commit suicide."

  "Commit suicide? What are you talking about?"

  His eyes were sad as they met hers. “You know what I mean. Isn't that what we're talking about? Going to someplace of their choosing, handing over the negatives, then letting them kill us. What else is that but suicide?"

  "I have to go where they say, Richard."

  "Knowing that none of us have any chance of coming out alive?"

  "There's always a chance."

  "What chance? That maybe the man who tried to kill me, and who did kill the Kimberlys and a policeman ... the man who stood squeezing the trigger of his empty gun even after he'd already shot the school bus driver five times ... that man will have a change of heart and let you and Coleen and me go? Is that the kind of chance you're banking on?"

  "Richard, I have to try. How would I ever be able to live with myself if I—"

  "Honey, I'm not saying we won't try. All I'm asking is that we do something to give us some hope of coming out of this alive."

  "I have to do what they say, go where they say. There is no other option."

  "For Christ's sake,” he shouted. “Stop reacting like a hysterical mother and start thinking like an intelligent woman."

  She rose a little from her chair to lean toward him, her fists on the desk. “I am Coleen's mother,” she stormed at him.

  "And you're trying to get yourself and your daughter killed. Yes, and your husband."

  She screamed at him. “What do you want me to do?"

  "I want you to help me work out a way to beat those guys."

  Rigid, she glared at him. “I don't know how.” She sank back into her chair and forced herself to take several deep breaths. “We can't go to the police.” She threw the picture across the desk. “Phearson is the police. He'll hear about it, and Coleen will ... they'll kill Coleen."

  Richard sat staring at her until finally she noticed how still he had become. Her eyes narrowed and she asked, “What are you thinking?"

  "'Phearson is the police,’ you said. Yeah, but not all the police."

  "We're not going to the police."

  "Leslie, was I wrong a minute ago? Will they really let the three of us go after we give them the negatives?"

  Leslie's eyes were haunted. Her gaze darted away from his, returned, fled again. “If we promise not to tell..."

  "If we promise not to tell ... what will they do, sweetheart?"

  Leslie leaned her head on the desk, her low wail sounding from the depths of her distress.

  "Leslie, what if we call Honey and tell her we can help her solve the Kimberly murders? Yes, and all the other killings?"

  Leslie never raised her head from the desk. Her voice weary, she said, “She'll go straight to Phearson."

  "Not if we approach her right. Look, let's try this..."

  * * * *

  Detective Honey walked into Richard's office with Fahrquar trailing behind her.

  "What are you doing here?” Leslie asked Fahrquar.

  "We come as a pair.” He smirked. “You of all people ought to understand that."

  Leslie's gaze met Honey's. “Poor woman,” Leslie said.

  Fahrquar's face reddened. “All right,” he said. “We're here. What have you got?"

  "Who knows you're here?” Leslie asked.

  "Nobody,” Honey said. “Just the way you wanted."

  Leslie's eyes moved to Fahrquar. “I didn't tell anyone,” he said.<
br />
  "All right,” Leslie said, “You'll have to keep it that way for today. I'm talking about my daughter's life here, and I don't want anything to go wrong. We're going to give you a chance to get the credit for solving five murders: the Kimberlys, the policeman in the black and white, the woman in Mr. Webb's house, and the school bus driver."

  Honey frowned. “School bus driver?"

  "In Boone county.” Leslie said. “All killed by the same pair.” She described Coleen's kidnapping calmly, only the slightest quaver in her voice giving evidence that she was telling of the abduction of her own child, followed by the murder of the bus driver. “To think the kids had to see that monster—” She stared at the photo in her hand. “This man shooting her again and again."

  She explained that Coleen's ransom was to be the negatives, the connection between Richard and the Kimberlys. “Those negatives are what this is all about,” she said. Then she shoved the eight-by-ten photograph across the desk to Honey. “And that's why we have to keep you two a secret from the rest of the police."

  Honey stared at the picture. “Oh, Christ,” she muttered to Fahrquar, “it's Phearson and Fazz Dailey.” She passed the picture to Fahrquar. “You were right about the leak,” she told Leslie.

  "But not about you,” Leslie said. “I apologize for that. It was temper talking and I should know better."

  Honey shrugged. “It happens."

  Fahrquar was staring white-faced at the photo. Leslie noticed his silence, and with a strong feeling of foreboding, asked him, “What's the matter with you?"

  "Phearson with the Round Man. Phearson's on Dailey's payroll. Oh, my God,” he groaned, “I didn't tell the whole truth. I left Phearson a note about this meeting."

  The color drained from Leslie's face. “What,” she whispered.

  Honey looked at Fahrquar as though she was seeing him for the first time. “I told you this was to be kept quiet,” she said. “Didn't that matter?"

  "I just work with you,” Fahrquar said. “I work for Phearson."

  "You won't be working with me after today,” Honey said, “I promise you that.” She turned to Leslie. “I'm sorry,” she said.

  Leslie's face was a mask of horror. She couldn't speak, only stare at Fahrquar.

  Richard spoke. “What exactly did your note say?” His calm manner was deceiving. Inside he wanted to pound Fahrquar to scrap.

  "Just that we were coming to see you and that it was Honey's idea."

  "You didn't tell them why you were coming?"

  "I didn't know why."

  Richard turned to Leslie. “I think we can handle this. When Phearson calls, let me handle—” He sat in thought for a moment, imagining ways to cope with this situation. “I'll talk to him. Don't be surprised at anything I say to him."

  Leslie stared at Fahrquar with eyes as cold as stones on a midwinter beach. “If you're responsible for harm coming to Coleen..."

  "Here's the way I see it,” Richard said. “Phearson is going to want to take us to someplace quiet, get the negatives and kill us.” His gaze moved from Leslie to Honey. “Do you disagree?"

  Honey's gaze was level. “No."

  He looked into Leslie's eyes. “And you, sweetheart?"

  She nodded. “You're right, of course. I just..."

  "I know. Okay, I'm not going to let him do that. I'm going to tell him where we're going to go—it's going to be my house, and I want you two at the back door.” He took a deep breath. “You guys will have to decide when to intervene. All I ask is that you don't wait too long."

  "Why not take them the minute they show,” Fahrquar asked.

  "They have a hostage. Our daughter. We have to be sure she's safe before we do anything else."

  The phone on his desk rang, and suddenly another presence loomed in the office—evil, threatening. Richard looked at the clock. “Four o'clock. That'll be Phearson.” He took a deep breath and his eyes sought Leslie's. “Trust me?"

  She nodded. “Yes."

  Richard picked up the phone. “Phearson, what in the hell was the idea of sending Honey and Fahrquar to see me? You think I want them around while we've still got our trade working?"

  "What? What are you talking about? I didn't send—"

  "Doesn't matter. They were here, and I don't like the idea of them being involved. This was supposed to be between you and us."

  "What did you tell them?"

  "What could I tell them, Phearson? What kind of deal are you trying to set up—they come in and shoot us for resisting arrest after you've safely gone with the film."

  "Shut up, Webb, and listen. Those two are working on their own, I can't know what they're doing all the time. Forget them, here's what you're to do. You and Carson bring the package to the Tri-X warehouse complex out on north—"

  "No way, Phearson, we're not going anywhere where you've had all day to set up some kind of—"

  "You'll do as you're told, Webb. Have you forgotten who's with us?"

  "We'll make the trade at my house, Phearson, and we're leaving now. We're going to watch you, and we don't want to see anyone but the two of you show up."

  "Who the hell you think you're pushing—"

  "Shut up, Phearson, and pay attention. If anything happens to the person with you, you'll die in the electric chair. You got that? Or maybe you think we can't put you there? We want to talk to that person now. Put her on the phone."

  "She can't talk now."

  Richard's heart sank, and his voice grew icy. “Phearson, if she can't talk, you and that fat bastard with you are both as good as in the chair."

  "Take it easy, Webb. She's all right, we just have to take off the gag."

  Richard was glad that Leslie hadn't heard the bit about the gag. He stared into Leslie's eyes, wide with apprehension. In a moment he heard Coleen's voice. “Hello?"

  "Are you all right, sweetheart?” he asked.

  "Richard? Are you coming to get me?"

  "Yep. Talk with your mom now, honey, and don't worry."

  "Mom?"

  Leslie's eyes welled tears at the thin sound of the little voice. “Yes, darling, we're coming for you."

  "Be careful, Mom, and tell Richard I—"

  "That's enough,” Phearson said. “You can tell she's still alive. Okay, we're at your place, Webb. You'd better be alone when you get here."

  "We'll be talking with that person again, Phearson, before our trade, so you'd better be sure nothing happens to her."

  Hanging up the phone, Richard spoke into the silence. “I tried to make them think we expected to walk away with Coleen after they have the negatives. I can just hear them laughing now at my tough talk.” He sighed deeply. “If we're lucky, they think we're the most gullible people in the world.” His laugh was bitter. “Naive. Why else would we trust them not to kill us right there in the house"

  His gaze at Honey and Fahrquar was intense. “I guess you know that once we're in there, it's your show. If something goes wrong and we don't make it out, don't just let them walk away, eh?"

  * * * *

  They sat in Leslie's car outside Richard's house. Not a word had been spoken during the drive from Richard's office. Leslie's hand gripped Richard's so hard it hurt her. Richard was staring out the window at the setting sun. Finally, he took a deep breath. “You know, as far back as I can remember, there's only been you. Isn't that something? My entire life, from horizon to horizon, only you."

  Leslie's eyes swam with tears. She gulped hard at the big knot in her throat.

  "I remember the first thing you ever said to me. ‘Let me help you,’ you said. And you did, and everything got better. And it just kept getting better and better. You have to be the nicest thing that ever happened to me. But, two weeks ... I wish—"

  "Don't say it,” she said. “We'll come out of this all right."

  He turned to gaze into her eyes. “I was going to say that I wish I'd met you five years ago. Two weeks—"

  "The most wonderful two weeks of my life,” Leslie whispere
d.

  "I love you, lady."

  "I know, darling.” And she did know. He was going with her to almost certain death. And he was doing it for her. Only for her. Then she remembered what he had said to Fahrquar and Honey. “...a hostage. Our daughter.” Our daughter. He hadn't talked a lot about his affection for Coleen, and to learn of it now, so late—she tried vainly to blink away her tears as she raised his hand to her lips. “Thank you."

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alex Wright prowled restlessly through Janet Roget's house. What was going on next door? Who were the two men who'd dragged the whore Leslie's brat into Webb's house? And what were they doing with the girl anyway? He'd grinned painfully when they'd showed up—they'd done him a favor, because where the girl was, sooner or later her whore mother was certain to appear. And when she came, so would Webb. And that would be the end of all three of them.

  But then he'd got to thinking ... what if the two men were using the girl for bait? What if they had plans of their own for Webb, plans that might interfere with what he had in mind for Webb and the whore mother? His face began to hurt as his anger and frustration mounted, and he fingered the pistol jammed into his belt.

  Roget's phone rang. Alex ignored it as he had all the other times it had rung during the day. Risky to leave it unanswered, he knew, lest a friend become alarmed and came to see what was wrong. But riskier to answer. No way he could explain his presence and her absence. Besides, if someone showed up ... There were lots of bullets in his clip, enough for everybody. There'd be no witnesses.

  He opened the closet in which he'd thrown Janet Roget, wrapped in masking tape like a mummy. She was still alive? The old lady must be tougher than he'd thought. He examined her with interest. The blood on her face had dried, and the mark of his fist had ripened to a deep purple. One eye had swollen shut, but the other peered fearfully at him. Served her right, looking at him like that when she'd seen his face.

  He kicked shut the closet door and started pacing again. God, it had been a long night. Roget's bed was too short and he'd hadn't been able to straighten out all night. Then her pillow was too soft, and he'd woke up with a stiff neck to a day that was longer than the night. He felt his stomach growl. And that was another thing, Roget didn't have a decent meal in the house. Skinny as a broom handle, she lived off salad makings; fruit and vegetables filled her refrigerator. No meat. What did she think he was supposed to eat? But she'd pay. He'd leave her in that closet and she'd starve to death.