Pieces of the Puzzle

by Robert Stanek

  The sun was setting when he arrived in Summer Haven. He stopped at a gas station and asked for directions to Meadow Park. The clerk looked at him strangely, then told him, “Up the road a ways, when you see the headstones, you’re looking at Meadow Park.”

  “A cemetery?”

  “Meadow Park, right?”

  He didn’t answer. He got back into his convertible and drove away. Meadow Park was right up the road. If he had just kept going without stopping at the gas station, he probably would’ve seen it but never would’ve turned in. He was suddenly curious. Jessica drove all the way up from Boca Rotan every two weeks to visit a cemetery? There had to be something more.

  Meadow Park was a small cemetery with a panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean. There was a groundskeeper near the gate. He was putting the finishing touches on a row of hedges. As Scott drove in, he flagged Scott down. “We close her up at sunset.”

  “I’ll only be a few minutes, less if you can help me.”

  “No need to hurry, people’s always in a rush, and that’s how they end up here.”

  Scott offered a friendly smile. “I’m looking for Harry Johnson’s plot.”

  “You looking for Harry Johnson?”

  Scott said, “Yes.” The groundskeeper gave him directions and told him he’d keep the gate open until he returned. Harry Johnson’s grave was before the third bend in the road, atop the second hill, and under a great oak tree, provided he made a right-hand turn where the groundskeeper told him to, which he did. He parked along the side of the road and climbed to the top of the hill. Right under the boughs of the great oak tree was Harry Johnson’s tombstone. The plots on either side of him were unoccupied, and there were fresh flowers on the grave.

  He stared out at the ocean for a moment. The view under the darkening sky was breathtaking, even more so toward sunset. He kneeled down and examined the beautiful collection of summer flowers—fresh-cut summer flowers and not a hint of wilting. He stayed only long enough to focus his thoughts on the two sisters. Helen and Jessica came to Summer Haven to see more than a grave, had to.

  He thought about Jessica’s credit card bills and the weekend trips up the coast. Three fill-ups. A stop for supper in Palm Bay. A breakfast, a lunch, and a supper at a tiny restaurant on the outskirts of Summer Haven. Two fill-ups. A stop for brunch in Palm Bay. What was missing?

  He grinned toothily as May’s words echoed in his mind. “Jessica loves those fancy hotels. She’d find an excuse to spend the night in one just because she had a doctor’s appointment and there was one a mile away.”

  Hotel bills. No hotel bills.

  Scott got in his car and drove back to the front gate. The groundskeeper was waiting for him. Scott stopped to thank him and ask if he’d seen anyone bring flowers to Harry’s grave today.

  “Speed limit’s five miles-per-hour for a reason.”

  “I didn’t know—”“It’s posted.”

  “I’m awful sorry. The grounds are beautiful. Do you do all the work yourself?”

  “Me and my boy.”

  “Then you see just about everyone coming and going?” He took out the picture of Helen and Jessica.

  “I like to say hello to most folks. Try to be friendly, you know.”

  “Did you see who brought the flowers to Harry’s grave today? They were awful pretty.”

  “One of his daughters, I suspect.”

  Scott showed him the picture, pointed to Helen. “Was she here today?”

  “I don’t need to look at that. They’re both real private types, so I stay out of their way. The youngest, she sits up there for hours sometimes watching the water. The other one, well I don’t see her much, but I reckon that was her this morning.”

  “Do you remember the time?”

  “Don’t keep a watch, don’t want to know. Either the sun’s up or it isn’t.”

  “When was the last time you saw Jessica Johnson?”

  The groundskeeper removed his cap and scratched his head.

  “Don’t rightly recall, been a while.”

  “Do the Johnsons have relatives in Summer Haven?”

  “You ask a lot of questions, you with the police?”

  “No, just thought I might find Helen up here, that’s all.”

  Scott reached into the back seat and grabbed Helen’s purse. “We’re kind of seeing each other, and well, she left in a huff. Her purse. I really would’ve liked to return it to her and maybe apologize too.”

  “Well young man—” No one had called Scott “young man” in years. “—Either you’re seeing her or you aren’t, there’s no kind of about it. Check the Orange Tree, I’m headed there for supper myself.”

  “That was on the left a ways back?”

  “I imagine it was.”

  The Orange Tree was the restaurant Jessica frequented when she visited Summer Haven. It was a Mom and Pop place where he was sure he’d get a good meal, but not the sort of place that would fulfill Mom and Pop’s American dream. The ancient, water-stained “For Sale By Owner” sign in the front window attested to this.

  He sat at the front counter and ordered fried chicken. The meal came with soup, salad and a choice of side dish. He said he’d like mashed potatoes and gravy. He was the restaurant’s sole occupant, so he figured his rumbling stomach would be filled in a matter of minutes. This was not the case, and he imagined he could’ve driven back to the KFC in Miami Beach faster. Still, the spicy fried chicken, a whole chicken, and mashed potatoes made from real potatoes were as good as he expected and certainly worth the wait.

  Scott was licking his fingers when the groundskeeper and a youngster, probably his son, came into the restaurant. He waved. Scott waved back. The father and son took a table next to a window. As Scott turned back to his plate, he heard the door open and close. He turned his head toward the door. His eyes went wide and despite the urge to jump from his seat, he remained seated. He looked down at the plate and leaned on his left hand in an attempt to hide his face.

  He heard heels pass by the counter, a chair draw back. He watched out of the corner of his eye and said casually, “Keneke Kawena, Honolulu Police Department. How’s it going? Still playing detective I see.”

  Ken bashed his knees on the table as he jumped up. “This isn’t what you’re thinking.”

  “Maybe not, but you might as well join me.”

  Ken took a few uneasy steps toward Scott. “I’m not following you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Scott lied. “That’s not what I was thinking at all.”

  Ken took a stool next to Scott. “The truth is I was following you. I figured you might have given me the slip when you didn’t come out, so I decided to come in.”

  “Bad choice.” Scott sipped his Coca-Cola, asked the man behind the counter if he’d bring another. “How long you been following me?”

  “Since I saw you’d returned to the hotel, since Wednesday night.”

  Scott raised an eyebrow and laughed into his Coca-Cola. He didn’t say that he had returned to the hotel on Monday. Instead he said, “Since Wednesday night, the whole time, no shit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you were doing a bang-up job until a few minutes ago.” Scott’s voice changed, the tone became less friendly. “Why you following me, Ken, and don’t test my patience?”

  “I work in the fraud division, remember?”

  Scott sighed. “How could I forget? And I suppose you’re going to tell me about the cuckoo’s egg now?”

  “It’s a book,” Ken said, as if that would illuminate everything. The man behind the counter hadn’t brought Scott’s bill yet.

  Scott took out his wallet and smiled at him. When the man didn’t come over, Scott asked, “Will twenty dollars settle it?”

  “Chicken’s eight ninety-five, dollar-fifty for two sodas, tax, tip for my wife—twelve dollars outta cover it.”

  Scott gave the man a Hamilton and two Lincolns, and slipped an Andrew Jackson under the plate. Scott grabbed a clean
paper napkin, took out a pen and thought for a moment about what phone number to write down. Ken watched him curiously. Scott wrote his Baltimore phone number on the napkin and folded it in half. Ken waited expectantly, but Scott stood and walked over to the groundskeeper. “You see Helen or Jessica, please give this to them. Tell them they can call day or night.”

  The groundskeeper said he would. Scott left the restaurant.

  Ken followed. Scott walked away from the lights of the restaurant, away from the street lights, and into the darkness of the parking lot. He heard footsteps not far behind and walked a little faster. Abruptly, he stopped, whirled about and drew his gun. Ken nearly walked into him. Scott grabbed him by the shirt, stuck his gun in Ken’s ear, and cocked the hammer back.

  “You have exactly five seconds to tell me who you really are, and your stupid act isn’t going to work anymore, so don’t try it.”

  “Keneke Kawena—”“Drop the act.”

  “It’s the truth. Keneke Kawena is the name on my birth certificate. I work for HPD in the fraud division. I was investigating an unauthorized user on the Apollo res. system, not the sort of thing we usually do, but fraud is fraud. No matter if it takes place in the ether or on the streets, fraud is fraud, and computer fraud is what I like to do.”

  Scott removed the gun from Ken’s ear. “Keep talking.” “The Information Highway isn’t all miracles, you know. The number of hijackers in the ether grows exponentially every year, and someone has to track them down.”

  “And?”

  “It’s what I do best. Unauthorized access simply isn’t enough.

  I track down unauthorized users who commit computer fraud. In the case of fraud, we can make a case. There’s two of us who handle computer fraud. We get no support from anyone and the department spends more on uniform repair than they do on our budget. We deserve our own section. It’s the same story just about everywhere. No support. No recognition.”

  “And?”

  “Well, I thought if I cracked a really big case, you know, get some national exposure, we’d get more support and the budget we deserve. I’ve been looking for a long time, saving up vacation time and sick time—”Scott was losing his patience. He stuck the gun back in Ken’s ear. “Is there a point?”

  “Don’t shoot me, please don’t shoot me.”

  Scott pulled the gun back. “And?”

  “You ever been on the Apollo system?”

  “A few times, planning the dream vacation with the first-class seating assignment that I’ll never go on, and the one you’ll never go on if you don’t stop stalling.”

  “See, that’s what I thought. After I met you that first time, I said to myself, this guy just isn’t the hacker type. I mean you don’t have any idea what the Cuckoo’s Egg is or who wrote it. You’re not a hacker, you couldn’t have been the one accessing Apollo as a super user: QED.”

  “And the English translation is?”

  “Someone logged onto Apollo illegally as a super user and input dozens of airline reservation transactions. I traced the calls to your computer in Baltimore. At least, I thought that was the termination point. Maybe I was wrong, but I’m not usually wrong about that type of thing.”

  “You’re telling me someone committed fraud using my computer?”

  Ken nodded his head. “That’s what I’m telling you. Even better, they left footprints all over the place directing me back to you, almost as if they were inviting me to find the tampering.”

  “How did you find me in Miami?”

  “It was the only reservation from Baltimore. I figured the others were bogus transactions and you were just joy riding in the ether.”

  Scott holstered the gun. “And what am I supposed to do with you now?”

  “I figured if I watched you long enough, you’d lead me to your accomplices.”

  “So I’m still a suspect?”

  “Not you, but someone you know.”

  “I work for the federal government—”“Are you FBI? It was a local case when I started, honest. I would’ve told someone eventually—”“Ken, I could give you a number to call and they would verify anything you need to know, but I don’t think I need to do that, do I?”

  Ken’s eyes lit up. “Are you working on a case? I could help, you know. If there’s a computerized record, I can get into it.”

  “Ken, go back to Miami Beach, go back to Hawaii, go somewhere. Stop chasing things you’re not going to find. You understand?”

  Ken said he did. Just to make sure, Scott walked Ken to his car. When Ken drove away, Scott followed. He made sure Ken was headed to Miami before he drove back to the Orange Tree Restaurant. He watched the place from a bench near a phone booth across the street until the restaurant closed around nine, and passed some of that time calling the Johnsons and Wellmen that lived within sixty miles of Summer Haven. Both endeavors turned out to be a waste of time, and Friday morning found Scott parked in a vacant lot where he had a clear view of the gates of Meadow Park.

  Helen was still in town. Scott could feel it. Scott had traced Helen’s every step since Miami Beach and this felt like the end of the line. Maybe she had found Jessica, but somehow he didn’t think so. Jessica was dead, and his certainty about this was unsettling even to him.

  Something here made the sisters feel safe. All he had to do was find out what that something was and in the meantime before revelation came, he would stake out the cemetery and the Orange Tree. Especially since the chances were very good that Helen would return to one or the other sometime soon. He had staked out weird places before, but a cemetery was definitely near the top of the list.

  He was half asleep behind the wheel when the groundskeeper’s son opened the gates of Meadow Park. He scratched absently at his right temple and watched the sun rise into the sky. He returned to the Orange Tree for lunch and showed the picture of Helen and Jessica to everyone in the restaurant. No one offered to help. He watched the restaurant from across the street until three and was about to drive back to the cemetery when he thought of Cynthia, and eventually, Glen.

  Glen wasn’t entirely pleased to hear his voice.

  “Scott, where have you been? Do you know how long—forget that, I don’t want to know, just tell me where you are now. Where are you?”

  Scott moved the phone away from his ear. “Summer Haven.”

  “Summer Haven? You found something, tell me you found it.”

  Scott rubbed his right temple as a muscle beside his eye started pulsating. “How’s Cynthia?”

  “Did you find something or not? We don’t have a whole hell of a lot of time left. Ten days, ten days is all we have. Wellmen will be in Maui on the 24th.”

  “What are the doctors saying?”

  “Your leads came through, you know. XWEH is Kexian Wong Enterprises of Hawaii, an import-export company based in Honolulu. Jessica had tickets from Miami through Atlanta, Houston, Denver, Las Vegas and LAX to Honolulu. A change in planes, airlines and names with every stop. Pretty amazing we were able to track it down but we did have the departure time and were pretty sure about the destination.”

  Scott shook his head, switched the phone to his right ear. “Back up, you lost me.”

  “Tell me straight up if you have anything because if you don’t I want you in Honolulu, yesterday.” When Scott didn’t say anything, Glen continued. “I’ll take the silence as a no. I know you lost track of Helen, and I have every reason to believe Jessica made the trip to Honolulu. We have baggage checks, seating confirmations, all the way through to Honolulu on the 4th of December.”

  “The 4th? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I’ll make the reservations for you.”

  “First tell me what you aren’t telling me, and I’ll make my own reservations, thank you very much.”

  “What makes you so certain I’m not telling you something?”

  “Because it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  “Her luggage was never claimed in Honolulu, and it’s still at the airpor
t.”

  “That’s what I thought. I don’t think she ever left Miami.”

  “Scott, call me when you get to Honolulu. I’ll fax you authorization to pick up the luggage.”

  “What else?”

  “What else, what?”

  “What else aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing you don’t already know. Jessica left on the 4th and was scheduled to return on the 10th, but you already knew that. Call me when you get to Honolulu.”

  The phone went dead. Scott rushed back to the car and took the Rand McNally map of Florida out of the glove box. It didn’t take him long to decide on Jacksonville International. Jacksonville was only an hour away, at most, an hour and a half to the airport. He was almost to Jacksonville when something Glen said clicked. Glen had told him he knew Jessica’s departure time from Miami, but if she had left on the 4th and planned to return on the 10th, what he had given Glen was the departure time from Honolulu. There was a rest area ahead. He stopped.

  He found a phone, dialed Glen’s home number. It rang three times before someone picked it up. He shouted into the mouthpiece, “What aren’t you telling me, you son of a bitch?”

  It was a woman’s voice and not Glen’s that replied. She was crying. “Scott?”

  “Who is this?”

  “I don’t have time to talk, Glen’s upstairs. Scott, come back to Baltimore.”

  “Is this Janet? What’s wrong?”

  “Scott, just come.”

  “Is it Cynthia, has something happened?”

  “He’s been lying to you. She’s not getting better. They called Father Joseph…” Her sobs grew so loud he couldn’t make out what she was saying. “… I got to go.”

  “Don’t hang up, don’t hang up, don’t hang up! Janet? Janet?”

  Janet’s voice was so weak that Scott could barely hear what she said, and then even as he strained to hear, he wished to God Almighty that he hadn’t heard anything. He dropped the phone, got into the car and as soon as the car was pointed toward the highway, he stamped on the accelerator and never slowed down and Janet’s voice never stopped echoing in his ears. Hours later, aboard the flight to Baltimore, her words still echoed over and over and over.