“Don’t. Take Nelly. I’ll get your car out of the garage and drive it to Carrie’s. Then, on the strength of your new salary, you can take it straight to a dealership and trade it in on a new car. Get vanity plates that Carl wouldn’t recognize in a million years. Keep your new location off the Internet and you’ve eliminated the only ways he could find you.”
“But my stuff is still at the house,” she said.
“Like what? Is there really anything there you can’t replace? Remember, you’ll actually be making some money now – get new clothes! I’m sure you can find some of that radical hippie shit you love so much in Oswego. Treat yourself! You’re free!”
She laughed and gave me a hug, then called Carrie and accepted the new job. She took what she wanted from her desk (the pancake makeup went into the trash), packed a few of the outfits I’d loaned her, and all of Carrie’s files (with my blessing). I walked her to the door and watched as she drove out of the parking lot for the last time.
Feeling lonely already, I called a cab and went to the hospital to get her car out of hock. Then a quick trip through a drive-thru netted me a cheeseburger and a diet soda for lunch. I was close to an hour behind Harley, as I headed north to Oswego on I-690W, a healthy forty-five minute drive from Syracuse. It was a beautiful spring day and even though there was a chill in the air, I lowered the windows a little. After driving all winter with them rolled up, it was always a thrill to hear the sound of the tires on the wet, spring pavement. It sounded loud and messy – like freedom, and it lifted my spirits.
About fifteen minutes into the trip I noticed a truck behind me; one I’d seen back at the fast food place. Not nervous, but cautious, I got off at the next exit and drove half a mile to the offices of a radio station where I often had meetings. The truck exited too, but as I pulled into the parking lot, it caught up to me and passed by. I watched until it was out of sight. Great, I chided myself. Paranoid much?
I pulled back onto the road and headed again toward the highway that would take me toward Oswego. Within five minutes, the truck reappeared in my rear view mirror. Now I knew that whoever it was, was following me, and it had to be Carl. I’d never seen him, but since I was driving Harley’s car, it made sense that he would think she was behind the wheel. It’s illegal to use a cell phone while driving in New York, but I dialed Jack’s number. It went to voice mail and I left a message saying I was being followed, and that I was going to turn around and head back to Syracuse to avoid leading Carl to Harley, if that was who was driving the truck.
I took the next exit and circled around to pick up the highway again, but headed in the opposite direction, toward home. The truck did the same. My throat tightened and my heart raced as the truck sped up and closed the gap between us. Was he going to drive right into me? Would he try to run me off the road? That’s what always happened on TV. It was my only reference since I’d never been in a situation like this.
The truck backed off, then sped up, coming close enough that I couldn’t see its headlights in my mirror, then it backed off again. It swerved into the passing lane and pulled up even with me, then slowed down and pulled in behind me again, this time ramming into my bumper. The steering wheel jerked in my hands as I felt the truck push me along the road. I swerved into the passing lane to try and break contact, but he changed lanes too, and rammed into me again. I called Jack a second time and pleaded with him to pick up, but there was no answer.
Ahead, a line of cars appeared, and I sped up and pulled into the right lane, wedging myself between a sedan and a delivery van. The truck continued to follow me, but did not attempt to close in on me again; most likely he was waiting for the chance to make another move.
Once off the highway, I drove on busier roads to the police station and pulled into the driveway, which was full of officers and canine units. The truck drove on by. I tried to catch a glimpse of the driver so I could give Jack some kind of a description, but the windows were tinted, something that had escaped my attention before. I hopped out of the car and went to an officer, to tell him about the truck. He said he could look for it, but without a description of the driver or the license plate number, there was no way to prove that any gray truck he found was the right one; not even if it had tinted windows.
As I was getting back into Harley’s car, Jack pulled into the parking lot. I called to him and he walked over to where I was. I explained what had happened, and how I suspected it was Carl who had been driving the truck.
“Call Harley and ask what he drives,” he said.
It took me a minute to get her on the line. “A gray truck,” she said, “why?”
“With tinted windows?”
“Yes. What’s this about?”
“Do you know his license number?”
“No, I don’t! Why do you want to know?”
I told her how he had followed me as I was bringing her car to her. “Oh, God,” she said, “he’s going to find me!”
“No, he isn’t,” I tried to assure her, “I turned around before he could possibly know where I was going. We have to figure out how to switch vehicles so you can get a new one right away. I’ll call you back.”
“Let me guess,” said Jack. “Carl has a gray truck with tinted windows.”
I nodded my head. “What are we going to do?”
“Tell me where he lives,” he said. “I’ll go there and park nearby. Once I’m sure he’s home, I’ll call you and you can head to Harley’s. If he gets in the truck, I’ll find a reason to pull him over.”
I smiled, and the look in my eyes must have given him a hint of what I was feeling. “Don’t kiss me in front of the guys,” he warned. “I’m working your investigation. I could get taken off the case.”
I waited there until Jack called and said that Carl had parked his truck near his house and had gone inside. I headed off toward Oswego once again and called ahead so that Harley would know when to expect me. An hour later, I followed her to a dealership where she turned her car in on a used 4-wheel drive vehicle that she would need for snowy Oswego winters. Then off to the DMV, where she turned in her old plates and had temporaries put on. I gave her a hug and called Jack to tell him he could leave. I was on my way back to Syracuse in Nelly, and Harley now had a vehicle that Carl would not recognize. I felt like we had accomplished something big.
Instead of heading back to the office, I drove to the hospital to check on Tony. The stern day nurse allowed me into his room for “one minute and not one second more”. Matt St. John was there, speaking with Tony and writing in his notebook, while Rose smoothed blankets and adjusted the pillows behind her brother’s head. When she saw me, she waved me in. Tony was one big mass of tape, bandages, and plaster. His left leg was in traction, his head was bandaged, and both arms were in casts. He was conscious, but looked just awful. I went to the opposite side of the bed and gently touched his hand. “How are you?”
He shrugged. “I’ll live, but the Soul of Syracuse is a goner. I’ve had that plane for a long time.”
“Listen,” I said, “I’m just glad you’re not a goner, although I have to tell you, you had me wondering if you were going to pull through. I’ve been so worried about you. Do you remember anything about what happened? Did the plane make funny noises? Or did any warning lights come on? You know the plane so well – do you have any idea what could have caused it to fall?”
“Falling” was a term Tony used when talking about planes dropping out of the air, or making emergency landings, and he’d made a few of those. Eight years ago January, during his first week of air traffic reporting, water had somehow gotten into the gas tanks that he used to fuel the plane. While he was in the air, the water in the gas line froze and stopped fuel from getting to the engine. Tony had “fallen” out of the sky, but had managed to guide his plane to a stone quarry, where he’d landed safely. On another occasion, his landing gear failed and he’d flown in circles, dumping fuel, flying lower and lower, until he was able to land on the plane’s belly in a g
rassy area. He was a fearless flier and a fearless faller.
“This time it was out of my control,” he said. “Those other times I’ve managed to bring the plane in safely with only minor repairs necessary. But this was different.”
“How?” asked Officer St. John. “How was it different?”
“I couldn’t control the plane…because I couldn’t control myself. I felt like I was falling asleep or about to faint. The doctor said there was something in my blood consistent with sleeping pills. But you know me, Audrey – I never take as much as an aspirin.” I nodded. That was true. Tony not only worked out in the gym every day, but he ate healthily and didn’t believe in medication of any kind; a point he and I good naturedly debated on occasion.
“Did you leave the table at any time during breakfast?” asked Officer St. John.
Tony thought for a minute. “I went to the restroom,” he said, “but I don’t know when. I’m sorry, things are a little fuzzy for me right now.”
“That’s okay,” he said, as he put his notebook back in his pocket. “I’ll check back every so often to see if you remember any more. Take care, Tony,” then he nodded to me, and left.
“I’m going to go too,” I said, “before that nurse outside chases me away.” I headed toward the elevator feeling terrible, and praying that Jack was wrong; that what had happened to Tony – and Ferdy – had nothing to do with me.
Later, Jack called and wanted to have dinner. I was famished and agreed immediately, and suggested we meet at Krabby Kirk’s, thinking that I might persuade him to come up to my apartment with me afterwards. I could feel infatuation for him growing into something more and wanted some alone time with him to see how receptive he would be to getting a little closer; my office wasn’t going to cut it.
It was a warm evening, so we sat on the back patio while we ate. I found myself staring at him and made a concerted effort not to; I didn’t want to come off as the one of us who was the most interested. My grandmother used to say that in every relationship, one person loves the other more. The person who loves the most, she’d say, is the person who gets hurt the worst. And, of course, being the person I was, with anxiety always lurking, ready to strike, that kind of hurt could do a lot of damage. It could mean years and years more therapy. More medication.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.
“I guess not. I thought I was, but…”
“You’re okay though?”
“I’m fine. You want to have coffee upstairs?”
He smiled. “You mean upstairs, as in upstairs?”
I nodded. “A long as we’re here, I’d like to check the place.”
Jack left the money for the meal and a generous tip under the edge of his plate, and we climbed the second set of stairs that led directly to my apartment. “What’s that I smell?” he asked, after we closed the door behind us. “I remember it from the night you called me over.”
“Frankincense. Incense. Does it bother you?”
“Ah, incense,” he laughed. “Usually when I come into contact with that, someone’s trying to cover up the smell of pot.”
“My previous therapist used it in our sessions to relax me.”
“Previous – so you don’t see that therapist anymore? I’m not prying, just wondering. You don’t have to answer. I always sound like I’m in interrogation mode. Sorry.”
“No, I don’t see her now; she’s in Rochester. In fact, I had just left our last session when Danny Stearns ran into me.” Why did you bring that up? I chastised myself. I didn’t need Jack to start talking about the bank robbery. And don’t mention you’re seeing a psychiatrist now– one step higher on the mental food chain!
“Speaking of Stearns,” he said, “Rochester has pulled out all the stops to find him. They want to bring him to trial.”
“I’m sure they do,” I said, furious at myself for having mentioned his name.
“Your ID alone won’t put him behind bars, but it will be an important part of their circumstantial case against him.”
“Circumstantial because they don’t have the money? Or his prints on anything at the bank? Or what?”
“All of the above. No DNA – at least not yet. But you saw him fleeing the scene.”
“I didn’t actually see him come out of the bank; the bank was around the corner from where I was standing. His lawyer could say he was coming from somewhere else, right?”
“And his lawyer will say that. But right now they can’t even place him in Rochester on that day. And you can not only do that, but you saw him running with police in pursuit.”
Jack was so sincere, his eyes so honest, that for the second time that day, I did something that would help someone else, even though it would make things worse for me. I went to my closet and pulled down the box that held the ski mask Danny Stearns had dropped that damnable day.
“I believe the police in Rochester will find the DNA they’re looking for in here,” I said.
Chapter 12
“What is it?” Jack opened the box and saw the black ski mask crumpled inside. “Where did you get this?”
“Danny dropped it when he bumped into me. I picked it up off the sidewalk and then didn’t know what to do with it, so when I got back to the dorm, I stuck it in this box and it’s been there ever since. His DNA will be in there, right?”
“Audrey, this is what they need, whether or not they find the money. Between this and your testimony, you’d never have to worry about running into him again.”
“Take it, then,” I said. “Good riddance to it.”
He pulled out his cell phone. “I can’t take possession of it. It’s a chain of custody thing, although you’ve had it so long that may be a moot point.”
“Who are you calling?”
“Sheriff’s Department. They’ll pick it up and contact Rochester.”
“Tonight? They’ll come here?”
“Yes – and I’m sure it’ll be a relief to have it out of here.” I smiled and nodded, even though what I was feeling was not relief. Not even close.
He explained the circumstances to someone on the other end of the phone and finally finished the call. “They’ll be here in a couple of hours. You okay? Let’s sit.” He ushered me toward the sofa. “I’ll get you some water,” he said. “I’d ask where the kitchen is, but I can see every room from here.”
I sipped the water and began to feel better. I liked that Jack seemed worried about me, but figured he would have done the same for anyone, until he brushed a lock of hair from my forehead and then rested his hand on the back of the sofa, near me. I felt blood rush to my cheeks, and in an effort to hide the blush, I looked down and studied my glass of water.
After an unbearable amount of time, he put his hand under my chin and lifted it up until our eyes met, and he leaned down and kissed me.
“Was that okay to do?” he asked.
“Yes,” I breathed, “could you do it again please?” And this time it was a kiss.
“I’d ask where the bedroom is,” he said, “but, well, you know.” He carried me as if I weighed nothing and lowered me onto the bed, which thank God, I had made.
“Is this a good idea?” I asked, between kisses.
He slid his hand up my back and pulled me closer, and mumbled, “Is this the best time to ask?”
“What about the sheriff’s deputy?” I whispered. “He’s coming tonight.”
“If I do this right,” he whispered back, “that’ll make three of us.”
I couldn’t get enough of his muscled arms, broad shoulders, and sturdy back. His thick wavy hair, compassionate hazel eyes, and full lips, lent beauty and wonder to an otherwise wholly masculine body, that spoke to the rigid training needed to live a life of danger. His movements in bed were focused and slow, and with great purpose: a machine with rhythm. A man who knew what he wanted, but also knew what I wanted. What I needed.
Later, as we cuddled under a sheet, he reached for my locket. “Can I see your father’s picture?”
At that moment, I would have said yes to anything. “Sure,” I said. He pushed the little button on the side of the heart and it popped open.
“You have his eyes,” he said. “The other side, though, no photo of your mom?”
I closed the locket and covered it with my hand. “I had one, but it fell out when I was little,” I lied.
“You could always replace it,” he said. “You must have another one.”
“No,” I said, “I don’t. Can we change the subject, please?”
He smiled. “Sure. It’s your locket. Maybe you’ll put someone else’s picture in the other side someday.” He raised an eyebrow, as if to say perhaps it would be his.
Instead of getting to lounge in bed, relishing our first time together, we hopped in the shower (which was fun too), and then got dressed before our company arrived.
The interview didn’t take long, and I was not nervous at all, but I attributed that to Jack. After I answered his questions, the sheriff’s deputy shook hands with me, then with Jack, and left with the box. I was glad to see it go, even though I knew it would be the reason my life would become even more complicated than it was now.
Jack started to pick up his things – his keys, his cell – getting ready to go. “I’m going to stay here tonight,” I said, “I want to sleep in my own bed.”
“I’m always just a phone call away.” He kissed me goodbye, and when he went to leave, I pulled him back.
“One more,” I said, and he happily obliged.
Had there ever been a time when I’d felt happier than I did at this moment? In a celebratory mood, I jammied up and threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave. I was dating a cop! A man who was putting up with me so far, and someone who could protect me; keep me safe. One who had already helped me so much, and had helped Harley as well. I couldn’t believe any harm would come to her, or to me, with Officer Jack Morey on our side.
I flipped on the news, thinking I wouldn’t need any medication at all to get to sleep. The first story was a report of a crash, in which a vehicle had run off the road and sheared off a telephone pole; the scene was gruesome. A reporter was standing outside, near the scene of the accident that she said had happened yesterday. I’d turned in early last night and missed the news.
Brainstorm Page 6