by Don Prichard
The only person she could control for sure was herself. That meant it was she who would have to go. Whatever it took, that had to be her plan. To disappear. For good.
Brad broke her silence. “You used to work out at Ace’s Gym. Start there. It will be good for you, help you recuperate.”
She gritted her teeth. “All right. One box of files.”
One box, then she’d vanish.
Chapter 16
Light flickered over the surface of the indoor pool as if a hovering spaceship were about to land. Eve sat on the cement lip, feet dangling in the water while she gasped in gulps of air. She had swum one lap, one lap, and she was done. Shopping for her bathing suit had taken more time than the number of laps she’d spent wearing it for a whole week at Ace’s Gym. She’d never get well at this rate.
“Take it easy,” Ace had said. “Don’t get yourself all wore out and discouraged. Stop while you got some gumption left so next time you can push further.”
The old man had more gumption in his scrawny, seventy-year-old body than she had at half his age. He had set up a schedule for her of three days swimming alternating with three days jogging on the indoor track. Puny as her efforts were, she was at least sleeping better. No more jungle dreams jerking her awake shaking and sweaty.
The door to the men’s locker room on the opposite side of the pool opened. Eve stiffened. Two young men emerged wearing skintight Speedos, caps and goggles in their hands, towels draped over their shoulders. They had been swimming laps the first time she returned to Ace’s Gym. From then on, she made sure she arrived before them. Today they were early.
Her gulps of air jammed to a halt in her throat. Were they Romero’s men? Next in line after the pizza deliveryman to abduct her?
Her stomach tensed as her bodyguard stepped forward to greet the men. Lisa’s voice was friendly, but Eve knew Lisa’s eyes were like an X-ray machine examining them for weapons under their towels or any kind of threat. When the men slipped into the water and began plowing steady furrows down the pool, the grip on Eve’s stomach relaxed. She got up and walked to the ladies’ locker room.
Lisa joined her and checked out the room before she let Eve enter a shower stall to wash off and dress. Eve was grateful, but she couldn’t help but picture Lisa as standing in front of the stall, feet spread, arms crossed, chin up, eyes piercing steel.
She liked the protection. But did life from now on mean enduring Wonder Woman or other bodyguards as her sidekick because of the danger posed by Romero?
***
The receptionist’s voice, competing with a Detroit news broadcast in the background, crackled over the intercom into Neal Oakleigh’s office. “Ian MacBride on the line.”
“Thank you, Barbara.”
About time. Neal squeezed his irritation into a tiny ball in his fist. He’d expected Mack to call immediately after the P.I.’s interview with Jake Chalmers, and here it was a week later. Mack’s thoroughness was an asset in court, but an exasperation when you had to wait and wait and wait on him.
He relaxed his shoulders, tilted back his chair, and put his feet on the mahogany desk that had once been Franklin Parker’s. He picked up the receiver. “Mack, how’s it going?”
“Slower than I thought. I need to stay over an extra week.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Dead ends. I’m going to have to use contacts in the police department, and that’s always touchy.”
“About Chalmers?”
“No, my report on him is complete. I’m talking about finding Eva Gray.”
Neal dropped his feet from the desk. How long had the report been ready? He couldn’t care less about his sister-in-law’s missing friend. “Snyder’s been breathing down my neck for that information, and I don’t like postponing him. What did you learn about Chalmers?”
“Perhaps I should report directly to Mr. Snyder then.” Frost coated Mack’s words.
“I’m paying for the Chalmers information. I’d like it now.”
“I’m billing you directly for it?”
“Yes.” Mack didn’t need to know Neal would get reimbursed.
“Then I’ll put the report and the bill in this afternoon’s mail.”
“I’d like it now, Mack. A verbal report over the phone will do.”
“My reports are based on facts. Written facts that can be validated. A copy for you and a copy for my files.”
“Fine. But today is Friday, and I won’t get your report until Monday at best.”
Mack didn’t answer.
Neal huffed. He’d better take a different approach. “I’m concerned for Betty, Mack. The sooner I can act on your report, the sooner I can help her. I need to know what I’m facing with Chalmers.”
“Okay.” A pause. “I’ll add a note that I gave you a preliminary verbal report, at your request.”
“Fine, good. Send everything to me at my office.”
Mack started in with Chalmers’ full name, birth date, and place of birth. Neal grabbed a pen and notepad and started scribbling.
“Married Virginia—nicknamed Ginny—O’Donnell on June 10, 1961, presumed dead and lost at sea in the sinking of the Gateway in June of 1981. Two children, Brett and Dana Chalmers, twins, born January 22, 1963, currently attending their second year at West Point Military Academy.”
Neal put down his pen. Not the information he was looking for.
“Served on active duty with the United States Marine Corps …” Mack gave dates and locations. “Served as a reservist …” More dates and places.
Neal leaned back in his chair and waited. Mack was going to make him pay, wasn’t he?
Chalmers’ military honors came next, culminating in the Purple Heart and the Navy Cross. At these, Neal grimaced. War hero wasn’t helpful.
“On June 14, 1982, the Philippine Coast Guard picked up Chalmers from a tankard that found him floating in the ocean and took him to the yacht where they found two men dead, and Eva Gray barely alive. The same day, the Coast Guard rescued Betty Parker and Crystal Oakleigh—”
“My granddaughter.”
“—from a nearby island in the remote eastern sector of the Philippines and escorted them, along with Jacob Chalmers and Eva Gray, to Manila. Detective Lee of the Philippine National Police interviewed them, as did Ambassador Armacost later at the U.S. Embassy.
“Also on June 14, Detective Lee traveled with Chalmers to the island that he, your granddaughter, Betty Parker, and Eva Gray had lived on. Chalmers and the detective stayed there two days and returned to Manila on June 16. The next day, on June 17, Chalmers, Parker, and your granddaughter flew to the United States, arriving at their destinations in Indiana and Michigan on June 19.
“Do you want a verbal on Eva Gray’s part in this?”
“No. I’ll catch it in your written report.”
Mack continued. “I interviewed Detective Lee on the telephone. The Philippine Coast Guard retrieved three bodies from the island—a Filipino sailor reported missing a year earlier from a freighter, and two sailors who died two days before the Philippine Coast Guard returned to the island for them.”
Neal picked up his pen and pulled the notepad closer. Mack’s arrows were finally closing in on the bull’s eye. He leaned forward, as if Mack sat whispering across the desk from him. “Were they sailors from the yacht?” He held his breath, the taste of his last cigar thick on his tongue.
“Yes. The two sailors attempted to abduct Eva Gray.” Another pause. Long. Significant. Then the arrow, slicing the air with its shrill whistle, punching into the exact middle of the bull’s eye. “Chalmers saved her by killing one of them.”
Neal exhaled an exuberant typhoon. Interesting that Betty had failed to divulge that little detail in her litany of praises for Jacob A. Chalmers.
***
A half hour later, Neal tapped on Leroy Snyder’s office door. The door stood ajar, revealing Leroy writing at his desk, a six-inch leather tome open beside him. He glanced up, motioned Neal to
enter, and kept writing.
Neal stepped inside. “Mack called.”
Leroy raised his face and looked squarely at Neal. He put down his pen. “Close the door.”
Neal shut the door and took a seat across from Leroy. “Chalmers killed a man on the island. No charges were brought against him.”
Leroy sat back and folded his hands, his face expressionless.
“He claimed self-defense in protecting Eva Gray,” Neal said.
“Heroism is not what we’re looking for.”
“There were no witnesses. Betty and Crystal were hiding in a cave, and Eva Gray saw the body only after Chalmers killed him.”
Leroy lowered his chin and gazed at his folded hands, a sure sign he was thinking. He straightened and shook his head. “Not what we need. It won’t discredit him in Betty’s eyes.”
“No, but a charge of second-degree murder would remove him from the picture.”
Leroy shook his head a second time. “A conviction won’t change her mind. We’ll have to let this go, drop the whole idea.”
“Okay.” Neal hid the snarl leaping with sharp claws from his stomach until he exited Leroy’s office. No way he’d let this go. As Crystal’s grandfather, he should have power over Crystal’s inheritance, not this manipulating hero who had weaseled his way into Betty’s affections. By adopting Chalmers, Betty had made it next to impossible to go a simple legal route to usurp the man.
But not impossible. He calmed himself with a fresh cigar in his own office. It’d take a bit of work, but he could still carry out the plan he’d suggested to Leroy.
Chapter 17
The clatter of footsteps in the hallways of the Harry S. Truman Building faded as most of the employees in the Washington D.C. State Department left for the day. Orville Marsh studied the last two letters his secretary had slipped onto his desk for final approval before he put them in the mail tomorrow.
The first was an answer to an inquiry by Bradley Henshaw, District Attorney at the Everett Dirksen Courthouse in Chicago. Orville checked to make sure his secretary had correctly copied the dates this time. The information Jake Chalmers had given him for Betty Parker and Crystal Oakleigh had proven false. Crystal Oakleigh didn’t exist, and the closest birth date for a Betty Parker was different by several years. The only castaway whose identity could be validated was Jacob A. Chalmers.
Orville loosened his tie and reread the description of his interview with Chalmers. Still made his knees knock at the memory of that long, serrated knife in Chalmers’ belt. Bottom line, the man’s story wasn’t to be trusted. But Orville had been fair—a psychological profile of Chalmers, he wrote, should be sought for confirmation.
The second letter was addressed to Jacob Chalmers. It was short and simple: The U.S. State Department’s investigation into the Gateway was proceeding on schedule. Orville’s conscience was clear. He had yet to check out the cruise ship’s officer, Captain Emilio. No doubt it would be another dead end.
***
Betty Parker swung the door wide open when Private Investigator Ian MacBride rang the doorbell on her front porch Thursday afternoon. “Come in, come in.” It was all she could do not to grab his hand and rush him to a seat in the living room. He had taken a week longer than expected. Did that mean he had found Eve? His expression gave no hint.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Parker.” Clad in tan shorts and a navy T-shirt, the detective looked for all the world like a newspaper boy collecting his fee and hoping for a generous tip. The day had proven to be one of Detroit’s hottest, and sweat formed a glistening mustache on his upper lip. “I hope you don’t mind I didn’t change clothes. It’s been a long drive.”
“Not at all. Please, come in and sit down. Can I get you a drink?”
“Water would be good, thank you.” Mack took a seat on one of the four couches Betty’s sister, Clara, had arranged into a large square in the living room.
“I’ll get the water,” Clara announced from the hallway.
Betty suppressed a scowl. She should have guessed Clara would find a way to insert herself into the meeting. Clara had no business taking Mack’s phone call about his visit instead of waking up Betty to talk to him.
Betty sat on the couch with Mack. “You found Eve?” At his nod, firecrackers lit the night sky that had been darkening her heart over her missing friend.
“Yes. I called Mr. Chalmers to tell him, but he didn’t answer. I left a message on his answering machine, although I imagine you’ll talk to him first.”
“You can be sure of that.” Betty beamed at Mack. “He’s visiting his sisters out west, but I have his number.”
Clara joined them and handed Mack a tall glass crammed to the brim with ice cubes and water. She settled herself into the corner of the nearest couch and parked her mobile oxygen tank at her feet. “I’m Clara Oakleigh, Betty’s sister.” She fixed her eyes on Mack and didn’t look at Betty.
“Thank you for the water.” Mack took a sip and lowered the glass to his knee. “I know your husband, Mrs. Oakleigh. We’ve worked together on numerous occasions.”
Betty spoke before Clara could take over the conversation. “Tell me about Eve. Is she okay? Where did you find her?”
Mack’s boyish face sobered. “Finding Eva Gray turned into more of a challenge than I’d anticipated. The reason, I discovered, is because her name is not Eva Gray. It’s Evedene Eriksson. Eva Gray is her alias.”
Betty felt the blood drain from her face. Alias? She clutched the edge of the couch cushion. Jake had told her Mack insisted on considering Eve a possible criminal. “You mean alias as in an illegal alien … or a criminal?”
“No, no, Mrs. Parker, as an undercover agent. Evedene Eriksson works for the United States government.”
“As a spy?” Betty released the cushion and clasped her cheeks. Her mind spun, readjusting and shifting everything she knew and didn’t know about the woman Eva Gray.
“Your friend is a federal prosecuting attorney. She boarded your cruise ship, the Gateway, incognito as Eva Gray to uncover information for a federal lawsuit.”
Betty dropped her hands and sagged into the couch. “We lived together a whole year on that island. Why didn’t she tell us?”
“Maybe that man Jake you’re so fond of is a criminal and she knew it.” Clara’s lips pinched shut in satisfied smugness.
“Jake is not a criminal.”
“Oh? You thought you knew Eva Gray. Maybe you don’t know Jake Chalmers either.”
Betty leaned as close to her sister as she could without getting out of her seat. The odor of Neal’s cigars emanated from her sister’s hair and clothes like a week-old ashtray. “Clara, why are you here in my meeting with my investigator?”
The ice in Mack’s glass collapsed in a noisy plop, drawing their three pairs of eyes. He raised the glass to his lips and drank until the ice cubes batted his mouth. The sisters watched him in stiff silence.
He smiled weakly at their stares and set the glass on an end table. “Mrs. Parker, I didn’t attempt to contact Evedene Eriksson. My understanding was that you and Mr. Chalmers want to do that.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Betty, catching the hint that he wished to conclude the meeting, cast a final glare at her sister. “How do we get ahold of her?”
“She works in downtown Chicago at the Everett Dirksen Courthouse. That’s where you could meet her, or find out where she is staying.”
“Neal would never give out an attorney’s address,” Clara huffed.
Mack retrieved an envelope from his briefcase and handed it to Betty. “Do you want to go over this together?”
She peered inside at two typewritten sheets and a bill. “No, I’ll read it and call Jake. He’s been … eager for an update.” She smiled at the understatement.
Mack’s mouth twisted into a boyish grin. “Have him call me if he has questions.”
She walked him to the front door, caught sight of Crystal walking up the driveway, and hurried to intercept her before Clara
got ahold of the child’s ear.
Crystal would be excited that Eve was an undercover agent—a federal prosecutor, for heaven’s sake.
But Jake? How was he going to take it, that the woman he loved had deceived him?
***
Adrenaline spiked every cell in Jake’s body, and he sprang to his feet at Betty’s news. His heart hammered his ribcage, pummeled his lungs, crashed lightning bolts in his ears. “Wait a minute, Betty.” He’d missed everything she’d said after those first three words, Mack found Eve.
In his excitement he jerked the phone off the cabin’s tiny, rustic desk. The base dangled precariously between the wall plug and the spiraled cord of the receiver clasped to his ear. He grinned like a goofy younger brother at his two sisters, who stopped lunch preparations to stare at him.
He restored the phone to its rightful location. “Start over again, Betty. My heart was doing somersaults and I didn’t hear a thing you said.”
“Eve is in Chicago.”
Chicago—only three hours from Indy! Except here he was in Estes Park, Colorado. Didn’t matter, he’d take the next plane out. “Where in Chicago?”
“Mack didn’t get an address. There was a problem, Jake. That’s why Mack took so long. Eve isn’t Eva Gray, she’s Evedene Eriksson.”
“Evedene,” he mused. “That’s why she preferred Eve over Eva.”
“That’s not all, Jake. She’s a federal prosecuting attorney.”
At this he threw back his head and laughed. “We knew she was hiding something. That takes the cake and turns it upside down, doesn’t it?” He shook his head in amusement. How about that—he was in love with a prosecuting attorney!
“That doesn’t surprise you?” Betty sounded put out.
“The way that woman could nail down an argument? Did you ever win one?”
Betty chuckled. “You’re right, it makes perfect sense.” She paused, then lowered her voice and spoke so softly Jake had to strain to hear. “But why didn’t she tell us? A whole year on the island and she never told us.”