Antenna Syndrome

by Alan Annand

  I watched them fly to the far end of the lake, where there was a public park with picnic tables. The hornets disappeared behind the rooftop bubble of a dark blue van.

  Vivien’s phone rang. She put it on speaker mode. “Wait there,” the Russian said.

  “In the middle of the lake? How long?”

  “Half an hour.”

  “We paid your ransom. Where’s Marielle?”

  “You wait. I will call you.” A dial tone hummed.

  All this time, I’d kept my eye on the van in the park across the lake. But a glare on its windshield prevented me from seeing who was in the van. In a few moments, it drove away.

  Vivien shook her head. “What the hell were those things? Were they real?”

  I thought of all those paintings in Marielle’s room – the ladybugs, beetles and moths. It all made a sort of sense and it didn’t make any sense at all.

  “Giant cloned hornets,” I told her. “I think Marielle’s been kidnapped by a mad scientist.”

  Chapter 29

  We waited out in the lake. I had to admit the ransom exchange – small bundles of money airlifted by giant hornets – had been efficient. No one in their right mind would have stood in the way of those hornets. A sting from something that big could induce immediate anaphylactic shock. And even if I’d worn dragon skin body armor, how could I have followed them across the water?

  After half an hour and still no call from the kidnappers, we realized something wasn’t going according to plan. Or at least not our plan. We returned the boat to the marina and headed back to East Massapequa.

  “How’d Marielle get so interested in insects anyway?” I asked Vivien on the return trip.

  “She was fascinated from an early age, and one thing led to another. She collected pictures of bugs, started photographing them, then sketching and painting. She even took an online course in entomology to understand their anatomy. At one point, she wanted to start an apiary but her father wouldn’t let her. You saw the flower boxes on her balcony? They’re to attract bees.”

  Her mention of entomology triggered something. “Who offered the online course?”

  “NYU.”

  “Did Marielle ever mention the name Dr. Globik?”

  “No. Who’s he?”

  I told Vivien the gist of it – a gifted polymath with advanced degrees in medicine and entomology who’d been fired from NYU for unethical practice. Who’d subsequently opened a private clinic dedicated to advanced prosthetics.

  “You think he had something to do with her kidnapping?”

  “The evidence suggests some connection. Even though I don’t understand why a scientist of his stature would stoop to something like that.”

  “Maybe he saw it as a challenge,” Vivien said. “Even Dr. Mengele must have acted for reasons that made sense to him at the time.”

  She made a good point. But whether Dr. Mengele was a scientist at heart or a sadistic racist given free rein to experiment with people in the Nazi concentration camps was debatable. I’d made up my mind on that one.

  We were silent, each in our own thoughts, the rest of the way back. I wondered why she hadn’t received another call from the kidnappers. By now, they’d have counted the money and known she’d met their demand.

  “Maybe she’ll be at the house when we return,” Vivien said.

  “I hope you’re right.” But I wasn’t that much of an optimist.

  Back at the house, the Volvo was there but still no sign of the Tesla. Vivien unlocked the door and we entered the foyer. She went to the security panel and punched in a code.

  “That’s weird,” she said. “Where are the dogs?”

  She called for them and hurried down the hall. I followed. In the kitchen she let out a shriek. The two dogs lay on the floor. She kneeled beside them. One dog raised its head a few inches and then dropped back to the floor. The other dog’s tail twitched briefly.

  I checked them out. They were both breathing in shallow pants and their eyes were glazed. A puddle of drool lay under each dog’s head.

  “It looks like they’ve been doped,” I said.

  “How?”

  “Beats me.” But after what we’d seen at the lake, I wondered if some kind of insect hadn’t bitten them.

  “Maybe someone got in.”

  “But you armed the security system before we left.”

  “Yes, although it looks like the power was off.” She pointed to some blinking lights among the kitchen appliances.

  The clocks had all re-set to 00:00 and the time now read 1:10. Where had we been an hour and ten minutes ago? Probably in the middle of the lake. Nicely timed.

  “Look around, see if anything’s missing.”

  She drew her pistol from her purse and called out. “Jack! Are you here?” No answer. She quickly went through the ground floor. “Marielle!” She took the elevator to the third floor.

  I inspected the back door to the patio. Nothing forced or broken. I tapped my goggles and called up the magnifying glass utility. I crouched at doorknob level and inspected the lock. Fresh oil in the key aperture, a few scratches in the finish. Someone might have picked the lock.

  The dogs lay on the floor six feet away. Someone could have opened the door just enough to insert a dart gun. After a minute, they could have waltzed right in. But for what purpose?

  I heard a scream from the third floor. I couldn’t wait for the elevator. I ran up the stairs to the second floor and passed through the hidden door in the study closet. I drew my gun as I climbed the stairs to Marielle’s third-floor loft. Vivien stood there wailing, but seemingly unhurt.

  “Vivien,” I warned her I was there, mindful of the gun in her hand.

  “They took all her paintings.”

  I walked around the loft, which now seemed strangely barren. All of those pictures, a dozen or more, were now gone, even the ones where her subjects had barely been sketched in.

  I’d had a bad feeling all the way to Ronkonkoma, that a ransom payment wouldn’t bring Marielle home. Now, we’d been doubly duped. Knowing the house would be vacant, someone had taken advantage of our absence to steal Marielle’s paintings as well.

  Vivien phoned Jack. Turns out he was on his way home, just a few blocks away. Five minutes later, he joined us in Marielle’s loft to see the situation for himself.

  “Sonofabitch!” His outrage seemed genuine. He turned to Vivien. “Did you forget to arm the security system when you left?”

  “She didn’t forget,” I said. “Someone cut the power, jimmied the back door and doped the dogs. They were probably in and out of here in half an hour.”

  Jack and Vivien searched the third floor more closely to see if anything else had been taken. I looked to see if anyone had left a note or some clue as to their identity.

  After we’d finished on the third, we took the back stairs down to the second floor. Vivien and Jack looked around Jordan’s apartment. Everything seemed to be in order, which I found a bit odd. I’d have thought the thieves might have taken the opportunity to lift anything else of value in the house. But it seemed like they’d only come for the paintings.

  Chapter 30

  Back on the ground floor, Jack checked the security video. Nothing from the house cameras. We watched a short clip from a camera near the lane entrance. In it, a white van parked at the roadside. A short man got out and effortlessly climbed a power utility pole without lineman’s gear. Moments later, the video feed died. After a brief snowstorm of static, the man descended the utility pole and got back into the van. Except now the van was pointed in the other direction. Obviously, time had elapsed. During the power interruption, the thieves had loaded Marielle’s paintings into the van. We watched it drive away without getting a look at the plates.

  “You see him climb that pole?” Jack said. “Like a fucking monkey.”

  “Was that the same guy who repaired the AC?”

  “No. That other guy was tall. This guy was too short.”

  “If those
paintings were insured, you need to report the theft,” I told them. “You can at least provide the police a general physical description.”

  Vivien shook her head. “We can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know.” She gave me a look. “What they said…”

  I knew what she meant. But technically, this was now more about an insurance claim than a kidnapping. But would the criminals make that distinction?

  “Who said what?” Jack said.

  I knew she didn’t want to admit it, but Jack had a right to be kept in the loop. “Vivien got a ransom demand this morning. The caller warned her not to contact the cops. She asked me to ride shotgun to make the payment.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said to her.

  “I didn’t want to interfere with your outing.”

  Jack bit his lip, glancing at me as if he resented my presence. “How much did you pay?” he asked her.

  She told him.

  “That’s chump change. If Jordan was on the hook for this, he’d have paid ten times as much. What the fuck’s going on?” He looked at me.

  “I wish I knew,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I need a drink.”

  “Haven’t you had enough already today?” Vivien said. “I can smell it on you.”

  Jack forced a smile. “Join me, Savage?”

  “Sure.” I was still somewhat unnerved by what I’d seen on Ronkonkoma Lake. I needed a shot of aqua vita like a three-testicled sailor needed shore leave.

  I followed him into the salon. It was all polished wood and leather, a handful of club chairs in a crescent around a fireplace. A corner cabinet was stocked with twenty different kinds of booze. Jack poured a couple of scotch-and-waters and we sat. He took his phone from his pocket and laid it on the table between us.

  “Where were you today?” I asked him.

  “I don’t have to account for my whereabouts.”

  “True,” I agreed. “But seriously, where were you?”

  He shrugged. “Visiting a friend.”

  “A regular thing in your agenda, or something out of the blue?”

  “It was kind of spontaneous, now that you mention it.”

  “Your idea or hers?”

  He looked at me for a moment before answering. “Hers.”

  “How well do you know her?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Maybe you were lured out of the house, same as Vivien was.”

  He nodded. “That’s why the ransom was low. It was too good to be true. They just wanted Viv out of the house to steal the paintings.”

  “But they knew you were out too. That raises a few possibilities: they’re watching the house, they’ve tagged your car, or your playmate’s in on the deal.”

  He didn’t leap to denial, so all three were possible. But only the third would have guaranteed enough time to do what the thieves had done.

  “How would they know about her paintings?” Jack said. “Aside from Jordan and us, nobody knows she even exists.”

  “Except for her sister, art dealer, astrologer and maybe a few online friends you know nothing about,” I reminded him.

  “Did you find Myers yet?”

  “Yeah.” I took a shot of scotch and let it circulate around my teeth before I swallowed. “But only after your guy Walker had his way with him.”

  Jack eyed me over the glass poised at his lips. “Sorry about that.”

  “Some double standard,” I said. “You cheat on her, but you’re a jealous husband?”

  “I’m not jealous because Viv’s not the type to cheat. But she is susceptible, and there are lots of cons out there. I’m just trying to protect her.”

  “Nice to know you have her best interests at heart.”

  I wondered if Myers had been able to read Jack’s chart well enough to warn Vivien he was cheating on her? Maybe she’d confronted him over it. Maybe Jack had sent Walker to give Myers a message, and poor Jenner had ended up getting it instead.

  “Spare me the sarcasm.” He took a drink and summoned a little attitude. “But let’s not forget, you’re just a hired snoop, not to mention, a guest in this house.”

  “Sure. And you’re the live-in handyman. What’s your point? You think you can fire me?”

  “I’m just trying to be helpful.”

  “Then stay out of my way. Or if you have another agenda, save it till I’m done. Otherwise, I’ll bail, but not before I bring Jordan into the loop.”

  He drained his scotch and gnashed an ice cube. Tough guy. But he had reason to worry. Marielle had disappeared on his watch. Jordan could fire him, maybe even sue him for dereliction of duty. Then he’d really need a drink.

  I went to the kitchen. Vivien was still with the dogs, who’d recovered enough to drink a little water. I crouched beside her and said in a low voice, “Distract Jack for a few moments. I need to get my hands on his phone. I’m going back now. Give me a minute, then call him in a panic.”

  “What panic?”

  “Something to do with the dogs,” I suggested.

  She nodded. I returned to my chair in the salon. I picked up my drink and swirled the shrinking ice cubes in the watery scotch. Waiting...

  “Jack! Gretel’s having a seizure.” The alarm in Vivien’s voice sounded both genuine and urgent.

  Jack was out of his chair and across the room in a shot. I grabbed his phone from the table between us. It hadn’t been dormant long enough to go into sleep mode and demand a password. I located his phone activity log, sent it to an anonymous mailbox, and deleted evidence of my presence.

  I put the phone back and went out to the kitchen. Jack and Vivien were both sitting on the kitchen floor with the two dogs.

  “What’s happening?” I said.

  “Gretel had some sort of seizure,” Jack said, stroking the dog’s muzzle, “but she seems okay now.”

  Vivien gave me a look. I nodded. Mission accomplished.

  “I’m going to head out before the traffic builds up,” I said. “Let me know if you hear anything.”

  Chapter 31

  I returned to the city. Between the time I’d wasted on Long Island, and the inbound traffic, it was after six when I crossed the Williamsburg Bridge back into what I used to think was civilization.

  The underground lot on Delancey was full but I found another parking facility a block north. It was warm outside, and a heavy pall of smog hung like cobwebs over the street. I pulled on my eMask and walked briskly to LeVeen’s building. In the lobby I buzzed his apartment, but got no answer. I looked at my watch. Six thirty. He should have been home by now. I picked another unit, rang the bell and got buzzed in without a word. My lucky day.

  I hoofed it up to the fifth floor, peeling off my eMask as I went. I rang LeVeen’s doorbell. No answer. Rapped on his door. Still no response. I tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. I looked up and down the hallway but saw no one so I went inside.

  There was an acrid burning smell in the apartment so I immediately pulled my eMask back on. You never know what you might encounter in these buildings. Gas leak, meth lab, dead bodies…

  In the living room I saw LeVeen in a chair by the window, wearing only a pair of jeans. He was kneeling in the seat but draped over the back of it with his chin almost on the windowsill.

  A bird cage lay on its side near the window. Water and birdseed were spilled all over the floor. Hermie the pigeon was nowhere to be seen.

  “Did you lose your pigeon?”

  When I went closer I saw he’d lost more than that. There was a hole in the back of his head, and a mass of blood had drooled from his mouth onto the windowsill. One hand hung over the window ledge but there was nothing in it. There was no exit wound around his face, so he’d probably been killed with a small-caliber weapon.

  I drew my pistol, thumbed the safety off and racked a load. I made a quick tour of the apartment to make sure that whoever had shot LeVeen wasn’t waiting to clear my head the same way. The tw
o bedrooms and the kitchen were empty. Something was burning on the stove so I turned the gas off. I returned to the living room, locked the apartment door and pocketed my pistol.

  A small padded USPS envelope addressed to Crabner lay open on the coffee table. I looked inside and saw only a soggy tissue in a baggie sealed with a twist tie. I felt the tissue through the baggie. No flash drive in there. Where had it gone?

  The envelope had originally been addressed to Crabner, care of the Avatar Clinic on Laight Street. Postmarked a month ago. Someone had written “Not resident here”, and written the Delancey Street address below it, but no apartment number. Someone had later added the zip code in red pen. Given the current state of the US postal service, no wonder it’d taken a month to show up here.

  I pulled on latex gloves and checked LeVeen’s pockets. In his wallet I found five hundred dollars and a bank slip for three thousand dollars deposited just two hours ago. His wallet also included business cards of several civic government officials. His cell phone was in another pocket.

  I looked around the room he used as an office. His laptop stood open, the text of a script on the screen. I checked the USB ports but found no flash drive. Beside his laptop was a bag of weed and an empty beer can. The closet was empty except for Crabner’s books I’d seen yesterday.

  In his bedroom, the sheets were turned down and rumpled. I noticed a woman’s slacks and blouse draped over a chair in the corner. I opened the closet door and discovered a brunette in only her underwear, ready to scream. I clapped a latex hand over her mouth and shook my head.

  “Police,” I said. “Detective-Sergeant Boyle. Put your clothes on.” I rolled the eMask halfway down my face, just enough to make her feel less threatened, not enough to make a positive ID if this all went sideways and real police got involved.

  She came out of the closet and went to her clothes. I retreated to the doorway, giving her a little privacy. She stepped into her slacks and buttoned her blouse. She ran her fingers through her hair and gave me a nervous look.