by M. L. Harris
I bolt upright, turning toward the kitchen. There’s somebody standing there.
As he comes closer, I recognize him.
“Jack!”
I jump from the sofa, hurrying over to him and wrapping my arms around his waist, burrowing my head in his chest.
“Ouch,” he says, wincing in pain.
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. Your injuries, I forgot.”
“It’s alright. I’m in decent shape. Surprised to see me?”
I look up into his eyes.
“Jack, you scared the hell out of me. I thought maybe you were…”
“The killer? I didn’t mean to scare you. I tried to be as quiet as I could when I sneaked in.”
I step back, looking him over.
Besides a lot of scrapes and bruises he looks handsome as ever.
“I’m so happy we’re together again,” I say, kissing him.
“I couldn’t take it anymore, sweetheart.” He nestles his cheek against mine. “I was worried sick about you.”
“Aww… that’s so sweet. I thought I would go nuts thinking about you, lying in that hospital. By the way, how did you get out?”
“It’s a long story. Got some help from inside. I’ll tell you all about it later.”
The reality of our circumstances begins to wash over me.
“This is crazy, Jack. You’re going to be looking over your shoulder now.”
He looks into my eyes.
“What about you, Mag?”
I try to play it coy.
“What do you mean?”
“I think we need to have a talk.”
“Okay, I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
We sit down at the kitchen table and discuss what has happened in the last day or two. The conversation continues for more than an hour with me doing most of the talking as I provide details of my exploits.
“Maggie!” he interrupts at one point. “And you think I’m crazy for going on the run?”
“As I saw things, I didn’t have a choice.”
“You could have let the police protect you.”
“Oh sure… is that why you escaped from the hospital?”
He takes a sip from his coffee cup and looks down at the table.
“Look Jack, this is some heavy shit we’re into. Either we find the killer or we’ll both wind up dead. It’s that simple.”
He meets my eyes and takes my hand in his own.
“I feel the same. I’m with you Maggie.”
I give him a wide smile.
“Till death do us part.”
Chapter
16
I close the blinds on the windows and Jack and I start formulating a strategy.
“This Hector Gray dude…”
“He’s going to be a hard nut to crack,” I reply as I fill a coffee mug and hand it to Jack.
“What’s our next move?”
“Well… the murders, I think they’re the work of somebody who likes it.”
“Yeah, like a hit man.”
“And it’s definitely not Gray because he’s a corrupt lawyer, not a killer.”
“Right.”
“Then we have to find a link between Gray and this hit man.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“We follow the money: hack, tap and beg if we have to.”
I walk over to a desk and take out a pad and a pen and start making notes. I tear pages from the pad and hand them to Jack.
“This is a list of research assignments.”
He studies the list for a moment.
“Mag, this is a shitload of work. Who’s going to do it? We sure don’t have the time.”
“I’ve got an idea. DynaTech was started in a lab, right here at Berkeley.”
“Right.”
“And the company founders have donated money to the university for a scholarship fund. Students here love DynaTech. I doubt if there’s anybody here who wouldn’t like to see Hunter and Gupta’s killer brought to justice.”
“Hey, what about the Berkeley Boys? They’d throw down on this like a piece of red meat.”
Jack is referring to a loosely-knit fraternity of guys on campus who stick together like glue and pursue causes which they feel passionate about.
“That’s a great idea. I like the idea.”
“Okay then, let’s get started.”
Jack walks to the front of the townhouse and cracks the windows before turning to a stone fireplace and preparing a fire to buffer a cool breeze floating through the townhouse.
There’s a pass-through between the living/dining room and the kitchen, creating a feeling of one large space.
Jack sinks into a chair by the fire and we begin calling Berkeley Boys, including some in my computer science classes.
“This will burn up a lot of time,” he says, looking at his list.
“I know, can’t help it.”
I get situated at the dining table and I am expecting a marathon.
“We should cover the entire spectrum,” Jack says. “Plunge into Gray’s life: business ties, personal, family… everything.”
“What about his enemies?” I suggest. “Somebody might feel like ratting him out.”
“Excellent.”
I walk over and point a finger at his notepad.
“This item is crucial. We need to dig into his business dealings, court cases, phone records, travel records, the works.”
A few hours later the Berkeley Boys are penetrating every crevice of Hector Gray’s life: his first girlfriend, every place he’s ever slept, the name of his kindergarten teacher…
Another two hours pass before we get our first call. It’s Aaron, a friend from the computer lab, and he’s come up with something interesting. After scouring Gray’s credit card records he discovered that Gray dined at a restaurant in the Tenderloin, San Francisco’s toughest neighborhood.
It doesn’t fit.
“A penny for your thoughts,” I say.
Jack shrugs his shoulders.
“Why would a rich lawyer like Gray dine at a restaurant in a high-crime neighborhood?”
“Beats me. But it does seem suspicious. By the way, I like your idea of digging into his pool of enemies.”
“It’s a big pool.”
“I know, but we might catch a break.”
Sometime later we are in the kitchen chatting and eating dinner on our feet because we’re both way too amped up to sit.
We hope to ease the tension by opening a bottle of red wine.
Minutes tick by and each feels like an hour.
The daylight has faded and evening is setting in.
Around ten o’clock my cell starts ringing and I answer it. I listen to the caller and Jack watches as my face lights up.
A few moments pass.
I nod.
“Thanks Josh,” I say.
There’s a silence after I hang up.
“Well?” Jack prods.
“I think we’re on to something. It was Josh, you know, that cute guy who…”
“Keeps hitting on you in class?”
“Yeah, in my dreams. Anyway, he just left a bar in the city’s financial district. He was flirting with this girl and she started going on about her boss getting swindled by none other than Hector Gray. This guy lost a bundle and he wants revenge.”
“And?” Jack replies anxiously.
“I guess she was so drunk and hot for Josh that she unloaded on him. Apparently her boss heard rumors about Gray conducting his swindles through a bank in San Jose.”
Jack perks up.
“Interesting. But which bank?”
I pause for a moment to think.
“We could compare transactions at banks in San Jose to wire transfers at Gray’s law firm. A connection with this hit man might crop up.”
“That would take a long time.”
“Not necessarily. With enough of the boys throwing down we could write a software program and reduce the time from days to hours.”
> “Awesome.”
“But given the extent of the data the guys doing the research will have to kick it up a notch.”
Jack slips his arms around my waist and kisses me.
“This is what I love about you, Mag.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re a real go-getter.”
I smile back at him.
“You know what I really love about you?”
“That I let you tune into the Home Shopping Network when I really want to watch a football game?”
“No, silly. Your blue eyes. I could look into them all night long.”
He kisses me again.
“I love you sweetheart. No matter how this turns out, I’ll always love you.”
I feel my heart melt.
I whisper in his ear, “I love you too,” and nestle my head under his chin.
Then Jack reaches over to the table and taps some keys on a laptop. The Berkeley Boys are really pounding away at computer servers in San Francisco and San Jose.
The challenge will definitely put their skills to the test.
And the researchers… they’re sifting through documents like crazy. But technology has its limits: nothing can take the place of human effort. Any piece of the puzzle will have to be brought into the light through personal application.
Another two hours pass.
Nothing.
Jack has drifted off in his chair beside the fire.
After eleven o’clock my cell rings. I answer it.
“Talk to me.”
“I’ve got something really hot,” Luke tells me.
“Go.”
“It’s an account at Wells Fargo in San Jose. Your buddy Hector Gray controls it. During the past few weeks a guy named Ivan Riktor made two withdrawals. The amounts were twenty-five thousand and a hundred thousand bucks.”
“So?”
“Maggie! The withdrawals were made in cash. You know, a guy goes into a bank and walks out carrying a sackful of money.”
“Better.”
“The bank’s surveillance videos can be tapped into but somebody has to actually go inside the building.”
“Much better, terrific. The bank opens at nine. We have to get those tapes.”
“Whoa, hold on a minute, girl. You’re not suggesting I do it.”
“We need those videos,” I reply.
I explain to him that one of the boys (daring enough) can enter the bank under the guise of a technician employed by the bank’s security company. I agree to go along and help things go smoothly.
Jack and I wait by the fire and I keep my fingers crossed.
Twenty minutes later my cell rings. It’s Luke.
“I got somebody to do it.”
Chapter
17
Slade is a very nervous computer geek when he arrives in downtown San Jose. Tall and wiry, his boyish looks cover an intensity boiling underneath.
He sits in the passenger seat beside me and I pull to the curb beyond the security cameras at Wells Fargo. The morning is beautiful and the sun beats down on us.
I turn to Slade.
“Are you ready dude?”
Although we planned extensively during the night Slade is still anxious as hell.
He takes a few deep breaths.
“Just give me a second, Maggie.”
“Take all the time you need.”
Finally Slade is ready.
“Okay, let’s do it.”
I give him a supportive pat on the shoulder.
“Good luck.”
He crosses the street and as he walks into the bank he’s trying to appear calm and casual. A security guard sits behind a kiosk and Slade approaches him and presents his falsified credentials.
The guard makes a call to the security company which is rerouted to Jack who answers it.
Satisfied the company dispatched a technician to the bank the guard motions toward the elevators. Slade breathes a little easier as he rides down two floors to a secured area.
He is met by another guard who clears him to enter a room with the bank’s surveillance equipment. A guy is sitting there in front of a bunch of monitors and turning to Slade he gives him the once over.
Slade then walks over to a row of database servers, looking for the right one. A few moments later, the guy at the monitors turns and faces him.
“Have you seen Martin lately?”
Beads of sweat begin pooling on Slade’s forehead.
He doesn’t look over and his eyes remain on his work.
“Not since he died last year.”
Slade is suddenly grateful because I suggested he memorize the security company’s employee records, past and present.
The guy nods and swivels his chair around to the monitors. With the threat now deflected Slade begins copying the files to his hard drive.
Ten minutes later he emerges from the building and jumps in the car beside me.
“How’d it go?”
He is shaking.
“Drive, please… just drive!”
I pull away from the curb and take off down the street. After Slade’s nerves calm down he boots his laptop and sends Jack an email with the videos.
An hour later I am back at the townhouse in Berkeley and Jack and I open the files in a software program I wrote last night in a sleepless stupor. I search for the videos matching the dates and times when this Ivan character made his withdrawals. We both sit in front of the laptop and look at the guy on the screen.
One of the videos shows him walking past a surveillance camera and we both notice a slight limp.
“I’d say he’s in his mid-thirties,” Jack observes.
I hit Pause and the video becomes a still image which fills the entire screen.
We study him.
He’s about six feet tall and he’s got a muscular build.
And those eyes: they suggest… a psychopath.
I lean in closer and stare at the screen.
“So, this is the next piece of the puzzle.”
“What now?”
“The rest we’ll have to get from Hector Gray,” I say as I notice Jack’s alarmed expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Come on, Maggie. We’ve turned this creep’s life inside out during the last twenty-four hours. He’s got to know that something is up. Besides, this guy is bad news. God only knows what kind of people he’s involved with. You’ve pissed him off once already. Why push our luck.”
I have to admit, I don’t like the idea either.
“I know what you’re saying, Jack, but he’s our only hope of finding this Ivan guy,” I say as I point to the laptop screen.
Jack gives a heavy sigh.
“Once more into the breach.”
Chapter
18
After heading upstairs and getting a few hours of sleep (sort of) I watch Jack get out of bed and walk into the bathroom.
“Nice tush!”
He looks over his shoulder and smiles.
“I have to get ready.”
“For what?”
“I’m meeting Brody Weston in an hour,” he says from the bathroom.
“Why?”
“He wants to see me. He’s totally freaked out about Hunter and Gupta. I’d be doing the same if two of my business partners died suddenly.”
“Are you sure this is wise? I mean, under the circumstances.”
Jack pokes his head around the corner.
“Look, the guy’s been good to me. I owe him this much.”
“Alright then. Just keep a low profile.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
Showered and dressed Jack sneaks out through the passage and climbs on the Yamaha before taking off through the streets of Berkeley.
He heads south through San Jose and rides toward the mountains and Los Altos Hills, an affluent suburb which is dotted with many large estates, some backing up to canyons and looking out toward the Pacific Ocean.
Jack rides farther
as the rolling hills and beautiful scenery mix with a cool breeze. A mile past the small business district of Los Altos he pulls into the entrance to Weston’s estate.
A hundred yards farther he approaches a huge gate and sees a security guard standing there in a uniform.
“Good afternoon,” the guard says. “May I help you?”
“Jack Fisher to see Brody Weston.”
He glances at his clipboard and looks for the name.
“Okay Mr. Fisher, you can go on ahead.”
There is a click and the gate opens.
He rides up the long driveway and through a stand of mature trees. At the top of a knoll the elevation is high compared to the neighboring houses and the expansive grounds are on display, together with the mansion and its stone exterior.
Jack rides into the motor court and climbs from the Yamaha before taking a set of stairs up to the front door.
He rings the bell and waits.
Moments later the door opens.
A neatly-dressed man in his forties stands in the doorway, affecting an air of self-importance.
“How can I help you?”
“Hi, Jack Fisher to see Mr. Weston.”
“Follow me please.”
He escorts Jack through an enormous entrance hall, its focal point a winding staircase leading to the bedrooms above.
At the back of the house they enter a two-story library, tall windows framing a sweeping view of the Pacific Ocean.
The man leads Jack out to the terrace.
“I’ll tell Mr. Weston you’re here.”
“Thanks.”
Left alone, Jack settles into a chaise and gazes out toward the expansive rear lawn.
Jack and Brody Weston first met about six months ago when the twenty-eight-year-old billionaire took a liking to Jack, having come to appreciate his good manners and loyalty. It’s not at all unusual for people to like Jack immediately, and I’m speaking from experience.
While Brody enjoys the life of a single guy in the Valley he’s a philanthropist, regularly making the rounds as an eligible bachelor on the social scene.
A few minutes later Jack sees Brody emerge from a pair of French doors. He rises from his chair and they shake hands.
“Jack! It’s good to see you… and still in one piece I see,” he says as he looks Jack over. “Been waiting long?”
“Not at all, I was just enjoying the view. This is some place.”
“Let me show you around.”