“Stan especially.”
“I’m not in any way excusing myself,” Julia said. “I didn’t want to get involved with him.”
“What’s the matter? Can’t you say his name?”
Her eyes flashed for a moment, and Chuck saw in them something of that past she had hidden from him. He didn’t know what was in those murky waters, and he didn’t want to. He did not want to feel sympathy for her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I hate myself for what happened. He told me how much money we’d have. He told me we would get away from the whole world. Do you want to know something, Chuck? Getting away from this world is something I’ve wanted to do since I was six years old. The world is ugly. Reality is ugly. I wish I could have stood by you, but I’m not that good.”
They sat in silence. Chuck started to feel the talons grip his brain but he fought them back. He was not going to fold in front of her. He was not going to give her that.
But part of him saw the wreck she was, and was sorry for it, sorry for himself, too, because he had loved her and once felt like Fred Astaire in her arms. And all that was gone now, exploded like an IED on a dusty Afghan strip of hell.
The tears were coming down her face now, soundlessly.
Tears like those of some of the rough, tough soldiers he’d counseled alone on dark nights of the soul. Tears of hopelessness and fear.
“Julia,” he said.
She looked up at him. And then said, “I’ll miss you. And Stan. I’ll miss you doing those magic tricks, too. I’ll miss Stan’s laugh.”
Chuck felt a jarring in this head, like a drunk kicking a locked tavern door. But it opened. Light came out.
“What is it?” Julia said.
Astonished, wordless, Chuck stared at her, more light flooding in.
He stood.
“Don’t go,” Julia said.
“I have to.”
“Will I see you again?”
“I don’t know.” He tried to see the future. Couldn’t. “I just don’t.”
“Chuck!”
But he was out the door, calling for Agent DeSoto.
She came out of an open door and into the corridor. “What is it?”
“Get your team together, and somebody to record what I’m about to tell you.”
“What? What are you—”
“It’s going to blow your ever-loving federal mind.”
.
Ten minutes later they were in a conference room on the third floor: three FBI agents, an Assistant U.S. Attorney named Cheryl Magnussen, and a stenographer.
“It’s like this,” Chuck said. “There’s a truck with some untold millions of dollars in gold in it. Ditched. A soldier named Dylan Bly was dying, and told me where it was. He knew I did memory tricks.”
The faces in the room tried to look like they understood.
“Here’s the trick,” Chuck said. “Nolan Ryan has a rash on his tan line. He’s pitching to Mario Lemieux, who is holding a knob, a fish, and a kite.”
The faces in the room began to get restless.
“Listen, it corresponds to numbers! Nolan Ryan was number 30. And Mario Lemieux was number 66. I see their uniforms. That makes their numbers stand out. But then the crazy phrases are numbers, too. Each digit has a sound associated with it. A one is a d or t sound, because it looks upright. A two is an n sound, because it has two legs. A three is an m sound because it has three legs.”
“Is he serious?” AUSA Magnussen said to DeSoto.
“Let him finish,” DeSoto said.
“Four is r, because it ends in r. Five is L because when you hold up five fingers, your forefinger and thumb form an L shape.”
“He is serious,” said Magnussen.
“Six is a ch or j. Seven is k or a hard g. Eight is f, because it looks like a handwritten f. It can also be v sound, because it’s close. Nine is a p because it looks like a backwards p. It can also be b.”
“Can we get to the point here?” Magnussen said.
“This is what it is,” Chuck said. “Nolan Ryan is 30. His phrase translates to 461252. Mario Lemieux is 66. His phrase is 298671.”
“So what?” Magnussen said.
“It’s latitude and longitude! 30.461252 by 66.298671. That’s somewhere in Afghanistan, ma’am, and it may just be a huge boatload of drug money in gold.”
A long pause clenched the room in its fist.
Without taking her eyes off Chuck, Magnussen said to the stenographer, “Did you get those numbers?”
Chapter 72
Detective CO Brady put his hand out, indicating Sandy should take a seat.
It’s the hand of death, she thought. I’m out of here again. Didn’t follow protocol. Good excuse to get the axe out and—
“Detective Epperson,” Brady said. “I’d like your side of the story.”
“My side of what story?”
Brady did the little drumming thing with his fingers on the desk. Oh so theatrical. Sandy wanted to rap his knuckles.
“The Raymond Hunt story,” Brady said. “Did you know that Ray Hunt and I knew each other?”
“As a matter of fact I did.”
Brady frowned. “How?”
She felt really petty, but said it anyway. “Oh, by observing things. You know, like that picture on the wall behind you?”
Her CO looked behind, saw the picture, turned back and smiled. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”
Sandy shook her head, and was reaching for her shield to throw it on the desk when he added, “Because I do.”
“You what?”
Brady picked up the desk phone, punched a button, said, “Send him in,” and hung up.
A moment later Mark Mooney entered the office, his puffed out chest with him.
“What is this?” Sandy said.
“That meeting I told you about,” Mark said.
“Your partner,” Brady said, “got the Raymond Hunt confession all clean and neat.”
“That’s what he told me,” Sandy said. “He must be a super detective.”
“He is. He was trained by one of the best.”
“Excuse me?” She looked at Brady first, then Mark. Mark was smiling. He went to the corner of Brady’s desk and sat. “I was just telling Cap that I really don’t want you to get a big head or anything.”
“What does that even mean?” Sandy said.
“Gut instinct,” Mark said.
Sandy waited.
“The other night when you called me to give me your theory about Ray Hunt, after I hung up, I don’t know, I got a little gut instinct myself. I thought, Now what would Detective Epperson do?”
He smiled.
Sandy did not smile.
“So I thought I’d go have a little talk with Mr. Hunt. At his house. At night. Catch him when he’s not expecting anybody. And when I got there, the door was open. And Jimmy Stone was inside threatening our Mr. Hunt. It’s what we detectives like to call serendipity.”
“That’s a big word,” Brady said. “Even for you.”
“Especially for you,” Sandy said.
“What I’m saying, partner, is that you da man.”
“I don’t want to be da man,” Sandy said.
“But you are,” Brady said. “And we can’t have that around here.”
“What?”
“I’m going to give you two days to clean out your desk and hand your files over,” Brady said.
“But—”
“And then if you need help moving it all to your new office at RHD, I’ll give you hand.”
“Not me,” Mark said. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Wait a minute,” Sandy said. “What just happened?”
“You’re gonna be one of the best,” Mark said. “Try not to blow it.”
Ten minutes later she was back at her desk, still numb, picturing how her mom and dad might have looked if they’d been here to hear the news. They would have liked this kettle of fish.
Her phone buzzed.
/> “Detective Epperson,” she said.
“Chuck Samson.”
“Mr. Samson. Well, how you doing?”
“Better than most, not as good as some.”
“Maybe that’s the best that can be said for any of us. The Feds treating you right?”
“They love me. That’s not why I’m calling.”
“Oh?”
“You still have an unsolved case, I believe,” Chuck Samson said. “The killing you tried to pin on me.”
“You mean Grant Nunn? Look, we never really thought—”
“You were doing your job. I’m good with that. I also know who did it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You want the guy who killed Grant Nunn, don’t you?”
Instinctively, Sandy grabbed a pencil. But she tapped the eraser end on her desk. “Mr. Samson, you have a theory?”
“No, I have the guy. Or I should say the Feds do. Agent DeSoto, you know her, she’s the one to contact.”
“This is for real?”
“It’s all recorded down at the federal building.”
She used the pencil to write DeSoto on a piece of scrap paper. “I’ll follow this up.” She paused. “What about you, Mr. Samson? What are your plans?”
“Teaching,” he said.
“Where?”
“Same place.”
“But I thought, the administrator . . .”
“The parents came together to save the school. The school board voted to change the name to Academy of the Hills. All the teachers are staying.”
“That’s great. I’m happy for you. And for the kids.”
“You keep holding that thought, Detective.”
“Done deal, Mr. Samson.”
Chapter 73
Los Angeles Times
State Department Denies Rumors of Gold Cache in Afghanistan
Afghani Government Asking Questions
The State Department today issuedan unqualified denial of rumors that a cache of gold has been recovered in a desolate area of Afghanistan known as the “Iron Stove.”
“I can state categorically that these rumors are false,” Assistant Secretary of State Erik Pappalardo said. “We do not withhold information like that from the Afghan government, and certainly not when it comes to something like gold.”
But the Afghan liaison to the State Department, Aarif Chowdhari, told reporters he believes the gold does exist and that is “has been stolen from our country.”
Chapter 74
“I’m glad to see you looking so well, Stan,” Mr. Cambry said.
Stan was back inside Ralphs, his domain, his world, his place, his work. He loved it here, and he was back. He was sore. He was bandaged. He was told not to do anything too strenuous. But this was work! “Mr. Cambry, I’m sorry I missed work. I really am.”
The boss smiled. “All you have to do is call in. Let me know what’s going on.”
“There was something going on all right.”
“Nothing bad, I hope.”
Stan was about to tell him. The words were on his lips, bubbling up from his throat. But then he saw old Mr. Manchester coming in with his cane. “I’ll tell you about it later, Mr. Cambry. I have to see the specials. People are gonna want to know about the specials!”
Mr. Cambry gave him a slap to the shoulder and Stan walked to the door and grabbed a specials flyer.
Doritos were $1.88!
Oh boy, he was going to tell Chuck about that for sure. Chuck loved Doritos.
Chapter 75
The auditorium was packed.
Chuck Samson, sitting in the back row, had Wendy Tower on one side of him and his brother Stan on the other. He looked again at the program. It had a whale on the front, a drawing, and the whale was singing.
“It looks like opening night box office will be boffo,” Wendy said. Then added, “Why are you looking at me that way?”
“Remind me to tell you about Boffo the Clown,” Chuck said.
“This I’ve got to hear,” Wendy said.
“Oh yes, you do,” Chuck said. “How about at dinner tomorrow? The two of us?”
She smiled. “I can go for that.”
Stan leaned over to Chuck and whispered, “Are you going to hold her hand?”
Chuck gave his brother a gentle rap on the leg.
Stan giggled.
It was the way Stan used to giggle, at home, when he and Julia and Chuck had lived for a few brief months of happiness. Thinking of Julia then brought the same dull ache to his stomach, but it was not as bad now, not like when he’d first seen her in federal custody. He had gone to visit her once more, just before they shipped her off for a short prison run. She’d cooperated with the feds and her deal gave her two to four years.
He told her then the hardest thing he’d ever had to tell anyone, that she couldn’t be part of their lives anymore. That he would pray for her safety and her health and her ability to start a new life on her own. She looked hurt, even stunned. Maybe she’d hoped for too much.
Which stunned him, too.
He left her something, cleared with the detention unit. A paperback edition of the sonnets of Edna St. Vincent Millay.
He had looked up that one she mentioned. The one that started This door you might not open, and you did; So enter now, and see for what slight thing you are betrayed. He’d read the whole thing several times, and two other lines jumped out at him.
One was about the room that was uncovered behind the door. It held nothing. It was only “cobwebbed and comfortless.”
That was the room in Chuck’s mind where memories of Julia were shelved now.
And at the end, the poet says she seeks another place.
Both of them, Chuck and Julia, would not dance together again. They each had to find another place.
And for Chuck, it was right here, right now, at this school with the new name, next to his brother, and next to Wendy Tower.
The lights came down. The curtains parted and the crude set, made up to look something like a ship, appeared in all its handmade glory. The quest for the white whale was about to begin.
Chuck reached for Wendy’s hand.
Acknowledgements
This novel would not have been possible, in its present form at least, without the incredible help of some very cool people, including: Cindy Bell, Emily Bell, Mike Berrier, Rich Bullock, C. J. Darlington, Teddi Deppner, Jennifer Lindsay, Richard Mabry, Carrie Padgett, Mark Young.
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www.JamesScottBell.com
About James Scott Bell
JAMES SCOTT BELL is the author of the #1 bestseller for writers, Plot & Structure, and numerous thrillers, including Deceived, Try Dying, and Watch Your Back. His novella One More Lie was the first self-published work to be nominated for an International Thriller Writers Award. Under the pen name K. Bennett, he is also the author of the Mallory Caine zombie legal thriller series, which begins with Pay Me in Flesh. He served as the fiction columnist for Writer’s Digest magazine and has written highly popular craft books for Writer’s Digest Books, including: Revision & Self-Editing for Publication, The Art of War for Writers, and Conflict & Suspense.
Jim has taught writing at Pepperdine University and at numerous writers conferences in the United States, Canada, and Great Britain. He attended the University of California, Santa Barbara where he studied writing with Raymond Carver. He graduated with honors from the University of Southern California Law Center, and
has written over 300 articles and numerous books for the legal profession. He has had three feature screenplays optioned and is on the faculty of Act One, the Hollywood screenwriting program.
A former trial lawyer, Jim now writes and speaks full time. He appeared as an expert commentator on Good Morning America, CBS radio, and in Newsweek magazine during the O. J. Simpson murder trial. He lives in Los Angeles.
For more see his website at www.JamesScottBell.com
He blogs about writing and other subjects every Sunday at www.killzoneauthors.blogspot.com
Copyright © 2013 James Scott Bell
All rights reserved.
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Table of Contents
Don't Leave Me
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Don't Leave Me Page 23