The Always Anonymous Beast

by Lauren Wright Douglas

  “Just tell him what he wants to hear,” I told her.

  “And that is?” she inquired.

  I sighed. Good old testy Tonia. “That you’re scared to death, that you’ll meet him anywhere, and that you’ve got the money.” She looked a little alarmed, and I tried to reassure her. “Remember, you’re not paying. And you’re not going anywhere—I am.”

  She snorted. “Scum,” she said.

  Speak of the devil. As if on cue, the phone rang. I started the recorder, and motioned for Tonia to pick up the phone. I took the dining room extension.

  “Hi there,” a cheery voice said. It was the same voice we had heard on Monday. Then, I had assumed it belonged to a much younger man. Now, I was sure it was Farkas’ voice. He wouldn’t want to deprive himself of the pleasure of hearing his victim squirm. “You’ve got the money, I presume.”

  “I’ve got it,” Tonia replied coolly.

  “Good girl, good girl,” Farkas intoned as if he were talking to a dog. “Listen up and I’ll tell you where to bring it.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “As you drive along the ocean on Dallas Road, you’ll come to an observation point. I’m sure you know it—Clover Point.”

  “I know it.”

  “All right. Be there at nine tonight. Park your car and blink your headlights three times. You’ll see a light flash twice down in the rocks. Throw the money in the direction of the light. Then get back in your car and wait.”

  “I want to know when I get the first letter,” Tonia said.

  “Don’t interrupt,” the voice replied. “As soon as I see the money, I’ll decide if it’s a sufficiently large goodwill gesture.”

  “You bastard!” Tonia exploded. “You said—”

  “Don’t interrupt me!” Farkas shouted. “You bloody interfering woman! Make me any angrier and I’ll have to really punish you. It will make what you’ve gone through so far look like a picnic.”

  Sounds of heavy breathing came across the line, and I motioned for Tonia to control herself. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, I might have laughed out loud. I wonder if Farkas knew how ridiculous he sounded. I guessed not.

  “I’ve said all I intend to,” he told her. “You have your instructions. When you start receiving the letters will depend on my mood. We’re going to have many conversations, you and I. Don’t make me angry, Dr. Dyke. Never make me angry.”

  Tonia listened to this drivel with lips tightly pressed together. But she seemed to be under control. “Is that all?” she asked Farkas.

  “That’s it,” he told her. “Until nine tonight.”

  She hung up.

  We sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “I’ve never hated anyone before,” she said at last. “But I hate that man.” She took a deep breath. “Caitlin,” she confessed, “I’m about at the end of my emotional resources with this thing. I expected to get some support from Val, but she hasn’t even called. I know it’s foolish of me, but I’d appreciate hearing just how you know everything will be all right.” She blinked her eyes rapidly, and I could tell she was about to cry.

  “Okay,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll tell you. But not here. Let’s go have some lunch.”

  Over salmon sandwiches and apple crisp at Burt’s I told her as much of the story, and my plans, as I wanted her to know. Basically that I had the letters, that I would be getting some help tonight, and that I had a plan to neutralize Farkas for good.

  “I can’t believe that you just...do these things! Break into people’s offices and homes. Rifle through their belongings. Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll be caught?”

  I shrugged, a little surprised that she was still hung up on this aspect of my activities. “Well, I try to minimize that likelihood. But yes, I do worry about it.”

  “God, Caitlin, you take such chances.”

  I made an equivocal sound as I thought this over. I’ve never been a risk taker. I don’t have a T-type personality. I’m really very careful. Chances? I didn’t think so.

  Tonia said accusingly, “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to let Farkas know.”

  “Why not?” she demanded angrily. “If he knew you have the letters, then you wouldn’t have to go and meet him. We could have concluded this over the phone.”

  “I don’t think so,” I told her. “Farkas isn’t just going to lick his wounds and go away. He’s going to need some persuading.”

  “Why? What could he possibly do now that you have the letters? And what could you do to him anyhow?”

  I shrugged, reluctant to tell her about my bad feelings about Farkas. She’d probably laugh. But damn it anyway, I knew this wasn’t as simple as it seemed. What could I tell her—that in my Llewelyn genes I had an unshakable feeling of some revelation impending? No, that would only alarm her all over again. Better to have her believe that Farkas simply needed to be thoroughly stomped on before he would let go of this particular bone. Who cares if she continued to think I was a thug?

  “I don’t think he’ll give up without a fight,” I said. While true, it was not, of course, the whole truth. But what was? I had a terrible feeling that I was only hours from finding out.

  “And you’re just dying to be the one who makes him cry uncle, aren’t you? Damn it, Caitlin, I don’t see why you have to drag this out! Meeting him is bound to be dangerous. Or is that what you want?”

  “What?”

  “The shootout at the O.K. Corral. Caitlin Reece dispensing justice with her .357. Is that why you’re so reluctant to let this thing with Farkas go?” She raked her hair a few times, obviously warming up for a long harangue. I decided it was time to leave. I needed time to find a white hat for the shootout.

  She marched into the house and barricaded herself in the study, obviously figuring that further association with me might be dangerous to her moral health. I went into my bedroom and got out my gun cleaning kit, took it and my .357 Magnum into the living room, put Purcell’s Dido and Aeneas on the stereo, and went to work. In an hour or so I was satisfied with the condition of my firearm. Although I didn’t intend to use it, I wanted no surprises. I loaded it with brand new .357 factory ammunition—full wadcutter load this time: it makes a bigger hole—and slipped two speed loaders into my pocket. I poured myself a large Perrier with lots of ice, and settled down to make my phone calls.

  Lester sounded nervous but ready. He assured me he had the scope. I told him I’d pick him up at the British Fish `N Chips at eight tonight. I suggested he wear dark clothing. Something warm.

  Gray sounded the same as she always did. We could have been discussing the latest shipment of daffodils to Ottawa. I told her where I was meeting Farkas and when, and she assured me she’d be there in advance. We rehearsed the signals that would bring the girls to me, and I assured her I still had my dog whistle. I reviewed the sequence of signals that would send the girls back to her. She sound a little puzzled, so I explained things—if I really did get in a shootout with Farkas, I wanted the girls well out of danger. Their purpose, after all, was only window dressing. Gray understood.

  I called Francis’ number, and to my intense frustration, it was still busy. I briefly considered going over there and kicking in his door. Oh well, I rationalized, if he had dug up anything really important about Buchanan, he’d have called me.

  Then there was nothing else to do except change clothes and wait. I put on my favorite old jeans, navy sneakers and socks, and a heavy black wool turtleneck. I put my .357, my dark windbreaker, and a pair of gloves on the bed beside me. Then I closed my eyes and tried to compose my thoughts. I had a little over three hours to wait.

  Farkas. I wasn’t worried that he’d discover the letters were gone. I believed, as Lester had intimated, that he never intended to give them back. I’m sure he anticipated many phone calls in which he humiliated Tonia, holding out hope, promising next time, next time, and never delivering. But why? My mind pursued that question aga
in and again until it felt like a hamster on a wheel. Give it up, Caitlin, I told myself.

  But the feeling of something approaching, something shuffling through the darkness like a mute, hulking beast, would not leave me. It’s nothing, I told myself. Just my own fear. A perfectly normal thing. Dismiss it. I decided to try to sleep. I took four more aspirin, set my alarm for seven-thirty, closed my eyes, and emptied my mind.

  It seemed only minutes later that the alarm went off. I reached over and silenced it. Then it was time to go. Tonia’s door, I noted, was firmly closed. Like her mind. Ah well, I thought, we thugs don’t need coddling. Not much, anyhow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lester didn’t want anything to eat. Neither did I. We ordered coffee, and toyed with the cups.

  “You’re so calm,” he observed.

  “A cunning pose,” I told him. “Actually, I’m a nervous wreck.”

  “So why do you do these things?” he asked.

  I debated giving him another smart answer, then decided the truth might do as well. “Because they have to be done,” I said, “and I’m able to do them.” The words surprised even me. I had never said them to anyone before. Why him, why now? I wasn’t sure. I had begun to feel very mortal in the past few hours. Perhaps I wanted to be remembered as more than a thug.

  He took off his glasses, polished them furiously on a napkin, and finally met my eyes. “Oh,” he said.

  Briefly, I explained what I wanted him to do.

  “Is that all?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

  “It’s enough,” I said. “Keep out of sight, and keep looking through the scope. Make sure you get pictures of me and Farkas. Especially if he tries any funny business. No matter what happens, don’t you dare make a sound. And if I’m, ah...in no shape to collect the film from you at the end of the evening, call this man.” I wrote Sandy’s name and number on a matchbook and gave it to Lester. “He’s with the Oak Bay Police Department. Give him the film and the negatives of the stolen property. Tell him the whole story—at least as much of it as you know.”

  Lester stared into his coffee cup.

  “Lester,” I said softly. “Don’t go all wimpy on me now. I need you.”

  He looked up, swallowing manfully. “All right.”

  “What about Harrington and Jerome?” I asked. “Are they ready to go to work?”

  Lester nodded. “They’ve got two delivery companies lined up. The stuff should be returned by ten or so. They’re going to move their belongings out in the meantime. We’ve rented a new place. Farkas doesn’t know about it.”

  “Okay. Let’s go, Lester. Showtime.”

  He gave me a tremulous smile. I linked my arm through his and we went out to slay the dragon.

  Fog-shrouded Clover Point looked like a set from The Hound of the Baskervilles, lacking only a little canine baying. I wondered if the girls would oblige. Actually, I was surprised that visibility was as good as it was. The sodium vapor lights in the parking lot were a great help. I found a spot for Lester on the grassy verge of the embankment, behind a cluster of garbage containers. It was just after nine, but I wanted Lester in place before either Farkas or Gray arrived. I drove back onto Dallas Road and parked on the street, just across from the point. Then I settled down in my car to wait.

  Farkas showed up at nine forty-five. He drove the Buick wagon onto the point, parked, and got out. Then I lost sight of him. I guessed he was going to secrete himself in the rocks, whence he intended to pop up like an evil gnome, scaring Tonia witless. Except he didn’t have Tonia to contend with—he had me.

  I drove my MG onto the point and took a space several yards away from Farkas’ car. I blinked my headlights three times. Almost at once an answering pair of blinks came from the rocks on my right. I turned off the MG’s engine, reached behind the seat, and took an old backpack off the floor. Earlier I had stuffed it with a bunch of newspaper cut to the same size as currency, and bound with a rubber band. Farkas was about to get a surprise. I slammed the car door, put the dog whistle to my lips, and blew two short and two long blasts, inaudible to me. I will admit that I prayed a little, too.

  They came loping out of the fog, those wonderful, enormous, brindled hounds, and I let them smell my hands, then hugged them. The cavalry had arrived. They took up positions one on each side of me, and I felt suddenly hopeful. I heaved the backpack down into the rocks with a fillip of savage glee. Then I unholstered my gun, held it down by my side, finger on the trigger guard, and waited. The girls waited beside me, silent and patient. Farkas didn’t make us wait long.

  A gargle of muffled rage came out of the fog, and I felt a sharp, shameful spasm of satisfaction. The girls moved a little, uneasily. Then, from the embankment came a noisy scrabbling, and suddenly Farkas loomed out of the fog. He took several steps toward me, and I decided he had come close enough.

  “Stay right there,” I told him.

  He turned his flashlight on and shone it in my face. I closed my eyes to preserve my night vision and held my .357 Magnum out in plain sight, muzzle pointed at the sky. “Shut that light off, or I’ll shoot it out.”

  The light was dutifully extinguished. “You’re not Tonia Konig,” he said. “So who are you?” The voice was harsh, imperious.

  I blinked a few times, and my vision returned to normal. I could see him only as a dark, featureless shape outlined against the fog. I hoped Lester’s scope was working better than my eyes. “I’m just a friend,” I told him. “A kind of advisor. Tonight, though, I’m a messenger.”

  He laughed. “Well, messenger, your friend owes me some money. And I didn’t find your little joke with the backpack very amusing. You know,” he told me, “I think I might add an extra thousand to my bill for that piece of foolishness. You can tell that to Dr. Konig. But first, I want the money she was to deliver tonight.”

  “Oh, really?” I said. “Well, you have something of hers, too. Why don’t you let me see it. Then maybe we can talk money.”

  He laughed unpleasantly. “I must have forgotten to bring it.”

  I knew it! He hadn’t even checked on the letters. While he was still cocky, believing himself to have the upper hand, maybe I could trick him into divulging a few pieces of information.

  Farkas continued, “But if I got the money, say right now, I could always mail the letter to her.”

  My antennae started to vibrate—why did Farkas always speak about “her,” and not “them?”

  “On second thought, maybe I’ll mail it to the newspaper,” Farkas threatened. “Or the university. You know, I said I’d do that if she didn’t follow my instructions.” He was warming to the subject now, and I wanted to keep him talking.

  “Well, maybe you’ll have to do that,” I said. “We’ve been wondering if keeping this thing quiet is worth it. This is one hell of a lot of money to fork over on trust. We have only your word that you’ll keep your mouth shut. Maybe once you get the money you’ll spill the beans anyhow.”

  Come on, Farkas, I muttered impatiently to myself. Give! Tell me what’s in this for you. Besides the money.

  He chuckled.

  “We’ve been talking things over this week,” I improvised. “We’ve almost decided you’re asking too much.”

  It worked. “You’ve come here to bargain?” he said incredulously. “You don’t have anything to bargain with!” He laughed unpleasantly. The girls growled, a menacing throaty duet.

  “Sure we do,” I told him.

  “Oh?” he asked. “What?”

  I was fed up with this fencing. Maybe the shock of hearing the facts would loosen his tongue. “Have you checked the bottom drawer of your office filing cabinet lately?”

  Farkas stood absolutely still for a moment while the words penetrated. “No!” he howled, and took a few running steps toward me. Warning growls from the girls brought him up short—I’d not yet met the person who would charge two growling Great Danes. I could see his face pretty clearly now, and it wasn’t a pleasant sight. “You little
bitch,” he said, opening and closing his fists. I was pretty sure what he wanted to close them around.

  Now it was my turn to do some crowing. I had to make him sufficiently angry to be heedless of what he said. “You blew it, Farkas,” I taunted him. “Beaten by a bunch of women.”

  He panted and snorted a little, but said nothing.

  “Now what, Victor? Are you going to send James Harrington to run Tonia down in the park again? Or shoot at her in her study? Or hang around her back yard and spy on her?” I decided I might as well help Lester out, too. “Or maybe you’ll get the resident photographer to take some more candid shots.”

  Silence. By now I was seething. Damn it, Farkas, talk!

  “Forget it, friend. It’s all over. I’ve beaten you. I’ve got the letters, your extortion notes, and the two phone calls you made to Tonia. That seems like a lot of years in prison to me. And if you’re thinking of falling back on the burglary scam, you can forget that, too. Your young accomplices have suddenly seen the error of their ways. In fact, right about now they’re returning the stolen goods. You’re alone, Victor. It’s finished.”

  I let this sink in for a minute, before throwing him a bone. “Of course,” I added, as if the thought had only then occurred to me, “I don’t have to hand you over to the police.”

  “Oh?” he asked, a sly tone coming into his voice. “Why not? What do you want?”

  “Not much,” I told him. “I just want you to stay away from Tonia Konig. Far away. I’m going to keep the letters and photos and tapes in a safe place, and if I hear that she’s so much as sprained an ankle getting out of bed, I’m going to assume it was your doing.”

  He thought this over for a minute. “What else?”

  “You’re to stay away from Valerie Frazier, too. I don’t want to have to worry about you harassing her. So the same rules apply to her as to Tonia. This thing is over, Victor.”

  Then he did something that completely surprised me—he threw back his head and laughed. Loudly and long. Fool that I was, I attached no particular meaning to it, apart from Farkas’ own brand of nuttiness.