As usual, before I dug in, I turned on the tube to see what was on the news. Half an hour of local stuff reported nothing about Tony. He was old news now, I guessed, and until something formal came down from the FAA, or whoever else was involved, he would be off the radar. No pun intended. A short piece about Ferdy’s disappearance reported that the police had no leads, and mentioned again the $100,000.00 dollar reward. This time, instead of the one formal shot of Ferdy, the screen was filled with a compilation of the photos Sean had brought.
Where are you, Ferdy? I thought. Are you involved in this Danny Stearns thing? Did you know him? Did you tell him when the bank would have that three million in the vault? Was it you? And did Danny come get you? Did he kidnap you or kill you because you could confirm his part in the robbery? What did you do Ferdy?
The national news came on and the first story was the capture of Danny Stearns. The FBI had delivered him to Rochester, where he was shown being led into what I assumed was the police station there, his hands bound behind him in cuffs, or zip ties, I couldn’t tell. My food forgotten, I stared at the screen. Breathe 1…..2…..3……4…5…6. Breathe 1…2…3…4…5…
Now it would begin, I thought. He was in police custody. They wouldn’t have arrested him without reason. They wouldn’t jeopardize their case against him with a flimsy arrest. Did they find DNA in that ski mask? Did it match something in that data base they talked about? Now they would come for me. They’d want me to pick him out of a lineup. How long would it be before they brought him to trial? I would have to sit in that witness chair and see him. Up close. He would stare at me with those eyes of his and try to intimidate me. I knew he would.
I ran to my bedroom and shook not one, but two happy pills out of the bottle into my palm. Without hesitation I swallowed them both with the dregs of the cold coffee. I put my dinner in the fridge and climbed into bed, not wanting to prolong this day any longer. I yearned for the solace of unconsciousness – for the escape sleep could afford me. But it wasn’t to be.
Danny Stearns haunted my dreams. He was at my door, in my kitchen, getting closer and closer to me as I slept. He waved a ski mask in one hand, a gun in the other. “You want my DNA?” he shouted, his eyes burning with fury. “I’ll give you all the DNA you can handle.”
I woke drenched in sweat, quaking like an Aspen leaf – my legs hardly held me as I got out of bed and made my way to each of my doors. My shoulders, aching with tension, relaxed a little as I saw that both deadbolts were in place and the kitchen chairs were still wedged beneath the doorknobs. Sobbing, I sank to the floor, hands over my ears, eyes closed, and rocked back and forth to comfort myself.
My cell phone rang. I crawled to the table near my sofa and retrieved it; the readout flashed “unknown caller.” Who would be looking for me in the middle of the night? Fearing it was Harley in a panic, or that something had happened to Jack, I pressed the Talk button.
“Hello?” I whispered.
“Did you get a good look at me today?” The voice was deep and raspy. And angry.
“Who is this?” I asked. But I already knew it was Carl.
“Did you? While you were parked down the street from my house? What – are you watching me now? Holding your own little stakeouts?”
“I,” I started.
“Let me tell you something, Audrey - I don’t know where the hell you’ve stashed Harley, but I’ll find out. So why don’t you smarten up and just tell me where she is?”
“I didn’t stash her anywhere,” I said, “I don’t know where she went.” I couldn’t loosen my grasp on the phone. Lord, help me!
“I want her back here now!” he shouted.
“I can’t help you, Carl.”
At last I was able to hang up, expecting him to call right back, but he didn’t. He knew where my office was, but did he know where I lived?
It was 4 a.m. and with no way to go back to sleep, I made a pot of coffee, lit a stick of Frankincense, and kept watch on my kitchen chairs, expecting one of them to shift and the door behind it to fly open.
Chapter 20
I opened my eyes just after 7 a.m. Somehow, I’d drifted off on the sofa and was thankful for the sleep, even though it had only been a couple of hours. At eight, I called Jack and told him about Carl’s call. “Can you come over?” I asked.
“I have to testify in court this morning,” he said, “but I should be out by lunch.”
“I’m pretty much of a mess,” I said, hearing a tremble in my voice. “I can’t believe he called me.”
“Keep your doors locked. Meet me at Heid’s at noon, okay?” he asked, referring to a popular hot dog stand.
“I’ll see you there.”
I showered, and did what I could to make myself presentable. I looked tired and drawn in the mirror; my skin so pale that the blush I dusted onto my cheeks looked like blood stains in snow. I re-washed my face; pale was better than looking like a clown.
When my cell phone rang, I saw Tony’s face smiling up at me. “Hey! How are you doing?” I asked.
“A lot better. I’m actually getting out of here later today.”
“Seriously? You’re okay to go home? Is Rose going to stay with you?”
“Rose and everyone else.”
“Listen, Tony,” I said, “I’ve spoken with the GMs of your stations and…”
“No need to say another word. There’s no way I’ll be in shape to fly for a long time. I know they can’t wait for me.”
“You’re quite a guy, Tony.”
“I also wanted to give you a heads-up,” he said. “I met with the sketch artist and he wants you to take a look at my version of what that guy looked like; compare it to the one Mike did. They do look different. He’ll probably call you today.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You take care. I’ll be in touch.”
I wanted to run away. The number of police who wanted something from me was only going to grow. Maybe looking at another sketch of Diner Guy wasn’t that big of a deal, but how long would it be before the FBI agents who’d captured Danny Stearns and more members of Rochester law enforcement would be knocking on my door?
Not five minutes after I’d hung up from Tony, my cell rang again. This time it was the sketch artist and I agreed to meet him in half an hour; it beat sitting here, hiding behind locked doors. It looked like rain so I grabbed my umbrella and headed outside. As I unlocked Nelly, I wondered what would happen if I just drove away and kept going. How long would it take for them to find me? Harley had disappeared, why couldn’t I?
At the police station, the sketch artist, who introduced himself as Officer Fields, offered me coffee, but I declined, remembering how Jack had referred to precinct coffee as swill. He showed me the sketch of the man Tony had described, and I saw immediately that his description differed from Mike’s. While the man’s hair was shaggy, as it had been in Mike’s sketch, and the mustache and glasses were similar, the eyes, nose, and mouth were different enough to make me stare at the image. A dark something wiggled in my stomach.
“Do you mind if we change this up a little?” I asked.
“Let’s do it,” he said, “what did you have in mind?”
“Can you get rid of the glasses?” I asked.
He erased the lines from around the eyes and across the bridge of the nose. “Anything else?”
“How about the mustache. Can you get rid of that?”
He worked for a minute or two and then asked, “How’s that?”
“The hair,” I said, and I realized my voice had gotten louder. “Get rid of the hair.” Heat built inside me and my arms prickled.
“How’s that look?”
“Make the lips a tad thinner.”
When Officer Fields was done, I found myself looking at a somewhat skewed picture of Ferdy. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was him. “I know who this is,” I said.
Officer Fields stared at me. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “It’s not dead-on, but it’s him. It’s
Ferdy. Fergal Finnegan.”
He waved over another officer and asked him to locate Matt, who arrived within ten minutes. “You’re saying you can positively identify Mr. Finnegan from this sketch?” he asked.
“The eyes and nose were different enough in Mike’s version that it didn’t click before. But seeing Tony’s version, it was obvious, once Officer Fields made the changes I asked for.”
Matt called a detective over to the desk and introduced me to him. “Miss Dory has just identified the man in this sketch as Fergal Finnegan. Put an APB out on him right now. I don’t believe he was kidnapped. I think he made himself disappear after he drugged Tony Bravada. And I want him found yesterday!” The officer turned and left, walking fast, excitement clearly hastening his pace.
“What about his brother, Sean?” I asked. “He held that press conference and offered the reward – he’s tortured thinking Ferdy has been kidnapped. Shouldn’t he be told?”
“No, no, no,” he said. “Sean could warn his brother if he hears from him. If Mr. Finnegan saw the press conference, he’ll think we’re still looking for him as he appeared in those pictures. If he finds out we suspect he disappeared on purpose, and that he’s using a disguise, he’ll go deeper underground, change the disguise, and make it that much harder for us to find him. So keep it zipped until I tell you otherwise.”
“Jack can know, though, right?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
I looked at my watch. “Are we done here then?”
“Yes, we are. Thanks for coming in. Good job.”
I headed for Nelly, having just enough time to make my lunch date. Old Liverpool Road took me along the shores of Onondaga Lake, the scene of Tony’s crash, and I began to wish Jack had chosen another place to eat. The image in my head of my friend being floated to shore and loaded into an ambulance, his plane in ruins, depressed and saddened me.
Noon wasn’t the best time to go to Heid’s, the lines would be long – but standing with Jack would take the sting out of it. I thought about the feel of his skin, the color of his eyes, the touch of his hand. Yum. He was already in line when I arrived. “Why don’t you tell me what you want,” he said. “I’ll get the food and you go get a table before they’re all taken.” I gave him my order and then, because the rain clouds had dissipated, headed toward the picnic tables instead of the inside seating area.
As soon as he put the food on the table I brought up Carl’s call. “My phone doesn’t have a record feature so I couldn’t capture it for you,” I said. “But he was mad as all hell and he’s sure I know where Harley is, which I don’t. If he calls again, can I report him?”
“Depends on if he threatens you, or if he calls often enough for it to be deemed harassment – but with his history of abuse, he may not do that, if only to keep from calling attention to himself. Abusers are basically cowards; they know where the legal lines are drawn and they’ll go right up to them, but not over.”
Between bites, I described how I’d had the sketch artist make changes to Tony’s description of Diner Guy, and how that had turned the picture into something I could positively identify as Ferdy.
“That’s great news, Audrey. Now we need to see if we can tie him to Danny Stearns.”
“First we have to find Ferdy,” I said.
“They’ll find him, don’t worry. And remember, we don’t know for sure if he has ties to Stearns. We can only be suspicious because he worked at the bank. Right now they’re chasing Ferdy down in connection with Tony. But my gut tells me that he’s in the robbery up to his neck, even though he didn’t seem to be living a lavish lifestyle.”
“He didn’t, I mean, you saw his house; it’s in a very nice neighborhood, but a mansion it’s not. He ran a successful business. He made legitimate money from his patents and had a new one ready to go. If he was in on it though, maybe he and Danny split the money after the robbery, and they’ve each been sitting on their half, waiting a good long time before they dare spend any of it.”
“I can’t imagine anyone having the patience to sit on that kind of money for a decade,” he said, “but then I can’t imagine being stupid enough to rob a bank and believe I could get away with it.”
“Well, it took a whole ten years to arrest Danny. And he still has to be convicted. I know from TV that he could go through a trial and still go free.”
“I think once we get both of them in custody, one of them will sing if, in fact, they were in on it together. And you, Audrey, watch entirely too much TV.”
Chapter 21
“Will I see you tonight?” I asked, as we tossed out our paper plates.
“Sure. I’ll bring dinner.”
“Actually, I have a barbeque meal in the fridge that was supposed to be my dinner last night. There’s plenty for two.”
“So I’ll bring wine.”
“Stay over?”
“As long as you don’t try and ply me with my own wine and take advantage of me,” he smiled.
As soon as I arrived home I checked the mail and found a small bubble envelope amongst the bills and junk mail. I tore open the top of the package and found a single key inside. There was a piece of paper with Warners Post Office Box #281 printed on it. No indication of why the key was sent to me or who it was from. I put it on the kitchen table. The more I looked at it, the more I wanted to try it out. Finally, I put the damn thing in my pocket and drove to the post office, a tiny two-room building which was only a five-minute drive from my apartment.
I started to call Jack, but then decided to keep the key a secret for now. Well-meaning or not, he’d dragged me into the Danny Stearns case when I confided in him, and I had no idea what this key was for, or where it would lead. I pulled into the post office driveway, wondering what I would find.
I entered the tiny room of mail boxes and looked at the rows and rows of them. Most were rented by normal people who simply received their mail here. But what about the others? Like the box for the key I had? How many of these innocuous little boxes held secrets, surreptitious messages, covert instructions, or even facilitated illegal goings-on? With shaking hands, I opened the box and found something so unexpected, it took me a minute to comprehend what I was holding. A letter from Harley. I tore it open.
Dear Audrey,
First, please don’t tell anyone I’ve contacted you. Not even your Jack. I really need to speak with you. It’s time I explained some things. I will try and Skype with you at noon on May 3rd E.S.T. Hopefully you will have read this letter before that date. I can’t tell you where I am, but I can tell you I am NOT in New Orleans, as the postmark on this envelope suggests. Forgive me, but I have to keep my location a secret. H.
I stuffed the letter and the key into my purse and headed for home. Jack would be there shortly and I would have to act like nothing amazing had happened. I had heard from Harley! She was apparently fine, just in hiding.
I wanted to tell her all I’d learned about Ferdy and how Danny Stearns had been arrested, although depending on where she was, she may have already heard about it on the news. I could tell her I was in love with Jack, that I’d moved back to my apartment, and about the call from Carl. I envisioned our Skype as two old friends on a catch-up call, but I knew it would be way more serious than that. I was almost exhausted from the excitement that was pinging around inside of me and the trepidation that was pounding away at my brain at the same time.
When Jack knocked on the door at 6:30, I had the table set and the food warming. “I’m a little later than I thought I’d be,” he said. “It smells good in here.”
“Did you bring the wine?”
“Right here,” he said, as he held up a bottle. “It’s okay for you to have wine when you’re taking medication?”
“I haven’t taken any today,” I said, keeping to myself the fact that last night I’d doubled the number of pills I was supposed to take.
“Okay then,” he said, and he proceeded to remove the cork from the bottle and fill the glasses I had set out
. Over dinner we talked a little more about Ferdy and bet each other a nickel on how long it would take to catch him. “I’m stuffed,” he said, as he got up from the table and began clearing. “Your landlord makes a mean barbeque. It’s some of the best I’ve ever had.”
“I know. This apartment always smells like great food. It makes me want to eat all the time. Really, it’s a miracle I’m not having trouble squeezing through the door.”
Jack continued to clean up, scraping and rinsing the dishes. “Just leave it,” I said. “I mean it. I’ll take care of it later.” He smiled at me. “Or tomorrow’s good,” I added.
“Want to watch a movie?” he asked. “It’s still pretty early. We could go for a drive, or a walk if you want.”
“I’ve been waiting to be alone with you all day,” I said. “I want to stay right here, if you don’t mind.” Don’t sound desperate. You’ll chase him away.
“You have a little TV in your room, right?”
I shook my head. “It’s still at the office.”
“Well, I could tell you a bedtime story. But we’d have to be, you know, in bed.”
“I don’t know if I should trust you,” I laughed. “I think you’re just trying to take advantage of me.”
“No, seriously,” he said, as we walked into the bedroom, “I think you’ll like it. It’s the story of this Swedish guy, Hans Downerpantz.”
I laughed at the ridiculousness of it. “So?” I asked. “How does it go?”
“The real question,” he said, “is how would one illustrate the title in a game of charades?”
Who needed a TV? Jack and I spent the entire night in each other’s arms. His powerful hands explored, massaged, until I felt like the most desired woman in the world, instead of the craziest woman in Camillus. Exhausted, we faded into a drowsy bliss. “Night Audrey,” he murmured, as he cuddled close.
I smiled and cuddled right back. “Night, Hans.”
No horrid dreams invaded my sleep. Jack’s steady breathing regulated my own, and even though my bed was small for a man of his size, neither of us tossed and turned. We fit together perfectly, and sailed through the night, waking wrapped in each other’s arms, just as we had started.
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