“The pilot that flew the black triangle has the best chance to capture the creature,” he said. “We should give him a chance. The police will destroy everything.”
“Travis, I don’t care if they destroy everything. I just want my brother back.”
Travis stared at the phone. How long did Burke have? And his own sister and brother-in-law?
He could stall one day. One day would give him time to get in the building. He could visit Lisa and Ian, use the tracker, and call the police with his story. If the tracker would work again.
“I can’t go with you,” he told her, knowing she would hate him for it.
Lexie hung up. He listened to the click, dying inside.
Chapter 17
Dr. Lynch
“Your teeth are more decayed than I thought,” Dr. Lynch said.
Great. Lisa’s heart sank, but she couldn’t ask him anything because his fingers were in her mouth. She shut her eyes and imagined hanging pictures in the condo while she waited for it to be over.
“We’ll stop for the day,” he finally said.
Lisa crawled to her feet. Her face felt like a balloon.
“How much more decayed are they?” she mumbled. “Is it bad?”
“Not that bad. I just need to make an adjustment on the estimate.” He wrote out a prescription with businesslike preoccupation and thumbed through a small calendar. “How about a follow-up next Saturday at eight? We can make it later in the day if that’s not convenient for you.”
“Eight is fine,” she said. “Do I pay you? Nobody was at the desk.”
“No, I need to get you another estimate,” Dr. Lynch said. “Here’s a prescription for pain, and here’s my home phone number. This is where I want you to call me. And call me if you have any problems of any kind. You’re my number one priority.”
“I was going to prepay. You don’t want me to pay you for today?”
He smiled and shook his head, so she left the office and crossed the lobby. Mid-morning sunlight streamed over the candy dish and the jack-o’-lantern on the concierge’s desk. The pumpkin looked sly, as though somebody had been in a bad mood when they carved it.
Lisa’s mind circled back to Dr. Lynch. She’d never been to a dentist who handed out his home phone number instead of an answering service and didn’t want her to pay. Incredible personal service. In her addled state, she saw an announcement posted by the elevator about the building’s Halloween party and read it twice before she realized the party was that night. She caught her swollen face in the hall mirror and remembered the prescription for pain pills. It would be a good idea to fill it before the anesthesia wore off.
Forty minutes and a bottle of pain pills later, she trudged back through the lobby, surprised to find Dr. Lynch had been a busy bee. He’d left a letter and a tiny return envelope with a Kensington, Maryland address in her mailbox.
His house, she realized with surprise.
She skimmed down the letter. He’d added three hundred dollars, but was writing two hundred off because she’d been “exceedingly cooperative and an excellent patient” and he “appreciated her flexibility.” That was nice, Lisa told herself, flattered. After insurance the bill came to twelve thousand, one hundred dollars, and he wanted a check payable to David Lynch, DDS.
“Once again,” the dentist wrote in closing, “I appreciate your cooperation and look forward to your new beautiful and healthy smile.”
Maybe he was still there. She could just give him the check now and transfer it from savings when she went upstairs.
Lisa dragged herself down the hall, but Dr. Lynch was gone. She wrote the check, put it in his stamped, self-addressed envelope, and dropped it in the mail slot by the elevator. The envelope fluttered down the chute and landed with a soft rustle on top of the other letters waiting for pick-up.
He probably did his bookkeeping at his house. She turned to the elevator. Blew a nice hole in their savings.
Moments after she lay down on the living room couch, Lisa gave herself up to a pain pill induced sleep that surged over her in waves. The rustling leaves outside the window became the crash of rolling surf. Sand sifted between her toes. The ticking of the clock ceased, the solid couch beneath her body faded away, and she floated out to sea, drifting into oblivion.
When she opened her eyes, she looked straight into Pie’s face. The kitten was standing on her chest, gazing at her with rapt curiosity. “Pie!” she cried. “What are you doing? Don’t you have any cat manners?”
The TV was running. “The security summit ends this afternoon,” a CNN reporter said outside the White House. “While the leaders failed to make progress to reduce nuclear stockpiles, they leave with a new commitment to keep nuclear weapons and weapons-grade materials out of the hands of terrorists.”
The teakettle whistled. “You awake?” Ian called from the kitchen.
“Yes, a cat got me,” she said. “What time is it?”
“Three o’clock. You’ve been sleeping all day. How’d it go this morning?”
“Good,” she yawned. “I think he’ll solve my headaches. How come all the windows are open? It’s freezing in here.”
Ian came in with two cups of tea and clicked off the TV. “It still smells like burned food. Do you feel like a walk in Rock Creek Park?”
She took the tea. “Why don’t we go tomorrow, Ian. It’s so late.”
“There’s plenty of daylight left. I could use some air.”
“I’ll come,” she sighed. Last night’s conversation all over again.
“You don’t have to, you know,” Ian said. “Stay here and rest.”
“I want to come,” she insisted untruthfully. “Just let me get my shoes.”
“Let’s drive down to the old stone mill. There’s a trail that cuts through the park. We can even leave the car and walk.”
“I don’t want to do that. We’ll end up walking home in the dark.”
“You worry too much. You’re exactly like my mother.”
“I am not,” she grumbled. “Let me close the windows.”
“Leave them open,” he said. “Let the place air out. We’re on the ninth floor. Nobody’s going to come in here.”
They drove up Connecticut Avenue and turned off onto Tilden Street. After they passed the Kuwaiti Embassy, the road wound down a sharp hill, past the gates of more embassies and mansions that were hidden from sight behind dense woods. Signs appeared at the bottom of the hill for Rock Creek Park and Pierce Mill, where Ian swung into the parking lot.
Lisa looked around. In spite of the late hour, the park didn’t seem as abandoned as she’d thought it would be. Bleak sunlight still shone down. A man with a book sat on a bench near the park kiosk, and a family with a crying baby gathered around a picnic table. More families walked down the trail into the forest, followed by a young woman in a dark blue jogging outfit with a black Labrador retriever at her side. Bicyclists cycled down the paved path, ringing bells as they passed.
Lisa and Ian took the path beside the creek. Old trees with smooth trunks leaned toward the water as if they yearned to escape their earthbound existence. The water flowed over the rocks in the middle of the streambed and beyond lay as still as a brown mirror. Ian told an amusing story while yellow leaves drifted around them.
They ended up meandering in a circle, passing fewer and fewer walkers and cyclists until they heard the ring of bike bells for the last time. The sun had dipped below the trees when they arrived back at the parking lot. Storm clouds were forming. The family with the crying baby and the man reading the book were gone. In the distance cars with their headlights on rushed down the parkway. Lisa wished she’d worn a heavier coat.
Ian pointed across Tilden Street to another picnic area. “A trail goes through those woods and ends up at our building. You can pick it up on Connecticut Avenue.”
“How did you find that out?” she asked.
“I took it today when you were asleep.”
“Ian! I told you about the bod
y they found in the park.”
“Come on. That was blocks away, and it’s Saturday. The trails have been crawling with people all day. If we didn’t have the car, we could take the trail now and be home in thirty minutes. It’s still daylight. How about walking another half hour?”
“There are only two other cars here. I don’t want to get mugged.”
Ian pulled out his keys. “You’re right, sweetheart. Let’s go. You don’t look like you’re over the dentist yet. I’ll drive.”
“Fine,” Lisa said.
“You know, we should think about getting a new car when we get the move out of the way. Our chariot here has seen better days.”
She opened the passenger door. “Well, we can’t think about that now. We need curtains, and I don’t know what that’s going to cost. It all went to Dr. Lynch today.”
“What are you talking about?” he said.
“The bill was really high,” she told him.
“Oh, yeah? How high?”
“Twelve thousand dollars. Twelve thousand, one hundred, to be exact.”
“Twelve thousand, one hundred dollars!” Ian cried. He shut the door and walked around to face his wife. “Lisa, you go to the dentist every year. Why would you need to spend over twelve thousand dollars? That’s outrageous!”
“He said I need the work done. I’ve been having these awful headaches. It’s worth it to me to do something about them.”
“But twelve thousand! Get a second opinion.”
“I took it out of savings. I already paid him.”
“You already paid him,” Ian repeated.
“He gave me a discount because I prepaid. I mailed the check to his house today.”
Ian stared at her. “You mailed a check to his house?”
The last traces of the sun sank behind the black trees. The shadows were growing. A couple came out of the restrooms, got in their car, turned on their lights, and drove off, leaving only Lisa and Ian’s car and an empty SUV at the other end of the lot.
Lisa shrugged defensively. “He must do his bookkeeping at home. A lot of small businesses do that. It’s not unusual.”
Ian shook his head. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. Mailing a check to somebody’s house. Is this clown a partner or an employee?”
“He’s not a clown,” she said. “I resent that. And I assume he’s a partner.”
“Well, you’d better find out.” Ian’s normally calm face looked flushed. “That’s one thing I would never do, mail a check to somebody’s goddamned house. I can’t believe you did that.”
Her eyes widened in anger, but she held her tongue. What if Dr. Lynch had played her for a fool? “He didn’t have an assistant. He was by himself in the office.”
“Lisa, he has you off the books.”
“He’d never do that. He wouldn’t want to risk his license.”
“He figured you out. He had you in there on a Saturday because the rest of the people in his office weren’t there. You’ve been diagnosed with migraines. How could you fall for that? Don’t you grasp that there are unscrupulous people in the world?”
“He said it’s my teeth and don’t tell me what I don’t grasp,” Lisa snapped.
“Your teeth are fine. And it’s true, sometimes you just don’t grasp things.”
“I grasp plenty of things. Don’t you dare tell me what I don’t grasp.”
He threw his hands up. “Here we go again.”
“I’m suspicious, I’m obsessed with crime, I don’t grasp that everybody in the world is not out to get me. Now I don’t grasp that the dentist is a world class criminal. Maybe he’s the head of the mafia.”
“You’re blowing everything out of proportion.”
“No, I’m not!” she exploded. “I don’t grasp this, and I don’t grasp that. That’s your favorite word in the English language, grasp. You’re always telling me what I don’t grasp, and I’m sick of it!”
She turned her back, shaking, and refused to look at him. It was nearly twilight, too dangerous to storm off, so she stayed by the car. She wanted an apology but wasn’t going to ask for one. Throughout their marriage he’d never apologized until she prompted him, but just as she’d done dozens of times before, she held out, hoping.
From the corner of her eye she could see him by the hood of the car. Once again, the apology didn’t seem to be coming. She opened the door to the back seat and picked up a bottle of water, stalling.
Ian moved away from the car. She felt a flutter of anxiety. Where was he going?
Now he was crossing the parking lot toward the restrooms behind the Pierce Barn. She took her time getting out her keys. A full minute later, she walked around and sat in the driver’s seat.
When she finally looked out the car window, she couldn’t see him at all.
He must have gone in the restroom. Her worry grew. The fight suddenly seemed stupid, just an angry squall of emotion that wasn’t worth carrying on this far. The shadows lengthened. She heard a car door shut and turned to see the SUV pulling out of the parking lot, leaving her alone. The dull orange sunset deepened, fast fading into night. It was no longer safe to be sitting there.
“Now what am I supposed to do?” she asked the silent car with a flash of anger. “Sit here or go home? Bastard, walking off like that, leaving me by myself. Damn it, I’ll have to go get him.”
She hid her purse under the floor mat and hurried to the restrooms. “Ian? Are you in there?” she called in a thin voice outside the men’s room, afraid to go in. The strong scent of old tile, urine, and industrial soap wafted out.
No answer. When she looked up, she thought she saw the back of his jacket crossing a distant picnic area on the other side of Tilden Street.
Why would he go over there, if it was even him? She walked to the end of the slate sidewalk to peer across the road. On the other side of the pavement a row of pines turned into a single formless shape in the dusk. A dirt path between the trees led to picnic tables and another parking lot framed by deep woods.
Whoever she’d seen had disappeared. It had to be Ian. Maybe he was sitting down, waiting for things to cool off.
Tilden Street was hard to cross. Cars turned off the parkway every few seconds, rumbled over a small stone bridge, and whizzed by, shining their brutal headlights in her face. After she made it across, she took the dirt path to the second parking lot, which turned out to be empty. A large white building with darkened windows sprawled beside the lot, half hidden by towering fir trees. An embassy, but she wasn’t sure which one, and it looked closed.
Park Closed at Dark: Park Watch said a sign in the grass.
Everything was closed. How much time did she have before they towed the car? Furious at her husband all over again, she hurried across the empty parking lot, past bags of trash piled against overflowing trashcans, until she came to a small stone building steeped in long shadows. More restrooms and empty picnic tables.
“Ian?” she called in a shrill voice. There was no answer.
Beyond the building a gravel path led into the woods. She walked along the path past the last picnic table, surrounded by the cries of starlings settling down for the night. When the scent of leaves grew overwhelming, she stopped to look into the black woods.
“That’s where he went,” she realized. “He walked home though the woods. He took that path he was talking about. Damn you, Ian. How could you do that?”
He was probably home by now. She brushed back her fears. He’d said the path was thirty minutes from their building, and she’d been looking for him at least that long.
You have to get out of here. The animal attacks.
She sprinted through the shadows, back down the gravel path, past the picnic tables, across the empty parking lot, and through the traffic. Their car was still in the lot. She climbed in and clicked on the locks, grateful for the safety of the cocoonlike windows and doors. When the instrument panel glowed on, she remembered he had his cell phone with him.
And she
didn’t have her cell phone. She shook her head and started the car. She’d call him when she got home.
Chapter 18
The Intruder
Lisa pushed through a crowd of revelers in the lobby, a lot of office types braying out loud laughter and leaning all over each other. The building’s Halloween party. Everybody in the place seemed to be in costume with an imported beer in their hands. Even the faded concierge was there with ten pounds of makeup and a shiny orange blouse, imitating a pumpkin.
But no Ian. Lisa glanced down the hall at Dr. Lynch’s office. She was a fool.
When she unlocked their door, she knew Ian wasn’t home because the lights were off. “Bastard,” she said. “Leaving me alone like that.”
He should have been back a long time ago. A cold breeze fluttered through the papers on the dining table. The windows and the balcony door were still open, just as they’d left them hours ago. She closed up the condo and called his cell phone, but he didn’t answer. He’d turned it off. Or maybe he’d never turned it on. Maybe he’d stopped for coffee, or headed to a bar to let her stew, but that wasn’t like him.
Damn him. Now what? She curled up on the sofa and felt her anger cool to raw anxiety.
Her wedding ring was still cold from the night air. Before the wedding they’d ordered their rings from a jeweler and then walked through snow flurries to a coffee shop. They’d held hands in the bright window, filled with the flush of their new love, waiting for the day when they would say “I do.”
Why did she have to blow up at him like that? Maybe he was still out there in the dark. She looked at the jack-o’-lanterns on the mantle. What was the point of decorating for Halloween if Ian wasn’t there to share it?
Click. The soft sound came from their bedroom.
“Oh, my God, Ian must be home,” she whispered. The place didn’t look or feel as if he was there, so she soundlessly slid her feet to the floor.
If it wasn’t Ian, then it had to be the cats. One of them had probably walked on the remote control and turned on the TV. And if it wasn’t the cats, it had to be the heating system, or the building shifting and settling the way old places do in the winter. The building was over a hundred years old. They had to expect a few creaks.
Lost Cargo Page 17