He was pleased to see that her memory had been jogged and she remembered the visit.
“So Rob, what brings you back to the library this afternoon?” she said, so pleased that she had finally remembered.
“You mean other than you?” he said.
She could tell that he was dead serious and it concerned her. “Don’t tease me, what would your girl say? Really, what can I do for you today?”
“Okay, you called me on it. I just wanted to do a bit more reading and I was interested in looking up some stuff on violent crimes. This recent crime wave has got me curious and I had a few minutes today, so here I am,” he said, smiling and trying to put her at ease.
“Well, I can certainly help you with that. Very popular lately, can’t seem to keep them on the shelf. They’re up and ….”
He cut her off. “I know where they are, but thanks, I’ll find them just fine.”
“Okay Rob, it was good seeing you again. Let us know how we can help you further. Good luck convincing that girlfriend to go with you.”
“I really don’t think she’ll have a choice when it comes right down to it,” he said, trying to hide the malevolent intent in his voice.
She watched him walk up the stairs to the second floor. She thought of his words and the strange conversation she’d just had.
“Why was it that the weirdo’s always seem to come her way, glad this one’s moving to California,” she thought, and in her next brief moment she realized how fortunate she was to have a man like Seymour in her life.
Lester’s anger peaked as he reached the second floor. How could she not have remembered who he was! He thought there was a spark, a connection that she had seen as well as he. It was the influence of Jasper and Seymour but that wouldn’t last for long. After tomorrow, they’d be past history and she’d learn to love him the way Virginia May had, when they first united their souls. They’d be one and he knew it was only a matter of time.
An older guy stood on a ladder near the emergency door. He was afraid of that. Good thing he decided to make this impromptu visit. He watched the worker for a moment before he approached him.
“Do you need some help?” Lester asked.
Marcus looked down from his perch on the ladder, a small electronic device in his hand, “No thanks, think I’ve got it.”
“What you working on there?” the curious patron asked.
“Oh, the stupid alarm on this door is broken and we’ve got to have it fixed by today or my butts in a sling.”
“How so?”
“We have an inspection this afternoon and this door is supposed to set off an alarm when opened. Somebody messed with it last week and it won’t work, so here I am. Got one on order but won’t be here ‘til Friday.”
Lester was relieved to hear it, “Think you can fix it?”
“Nope, just trying to appease the director. Known my butt was going to be in trouble for a couple days but nothing I can do about it.”
“That’s too bad, wish I could help but don’t know anything about electronics,” he lied.
The stranger turned and walked to the shelves housing the true crime, took down a book and sat at a table and read waiting for the custodian to finish his work. A quarter of an hour passed before Marcus gave up, collapsed the ladder and headed for the stairs. Lester got up leaving the book, Helter Skelter, on the table and offered a hand with the ladder as they both maneuvered the stairs to the lower floor.
“Couldn’t get it huh?” The Stalker asked.
“No, knew I wouldn’t be able to, but I gave it a shot.”
“Too bad,” pleased that his work of last week could not be undone.
Blanche saw the pair coming and offered a quick wave, making her look busy so she didn’t need to speak with Rob again. He did not stop at the desk, thankfully but went to the door and spoke loud enough for her to hear.
“See you soon,” the unusual character said as he departed.
* * *
Felix walked through the door of the Land and Title Office after Bev dropped him off to retrieve his car from the bar. He stood just inside the doors and looked the place over, wondering what it must be like to eek out such a boring existence as the trolls behind the desks. The self-described charmer could not see the head troll but he was able to see a woman busy at a desk with a placard identifying her as Marge.
"Marge, afternoon, how ya doing?"
"I'm fine. Is there something I can do to help you?" Marge smiled, already enjoying the company of the stranger.
"You sure can, we talked on the phone a day or two ago. I'm Felix Unger; remember I have an appointment with your boss tomorrow night. I just wanted to drop by and confirm, as well as, meet Mr. Savard. Would that be possible?"
"I'll see what I can do," the receptionist said, smiling broadly at the handsome Felix.
"Much appreciated."
Marge stood, smoothed her paisley skirt and brown button down top to pull the fabric more tightly against her curves, making sure that she had Mr. Unger's attention, before she walked to the director's office. She knocked softly, knowing that she was likely waking him up.
"Mr. Savard, there is a Mr. Unger here to see you sir," she said through the door, not wanting to open it until she had permission.
A somewhat disoriented Ignatius answered from inside the dimly lit room. "Give me a second, then bring him in thanks."
She returned to her desk, again smiling and overdoing the wiggle but Felix was appreciative, nonetheless.
"Just a moment and he'll see you. Can I get you anything?" she put an unusual amount of emphasis on the word 'anything'.
"No thanks, I'm good. On second thought Marge, could you just check your planner and see if I'm booked tomorrow night with Mr. Savard?"
"Surely, no problem." She stepped behind the desk, pulled up the electronic schedule and after a minute of looking it over reported, "Yes, I have you meeting Mr. Savard tomorrow night at a property south of Moody Air Force Base. Is that correct?"
"Perfect, knew you'd get it right the first time. You worked for Mr. Savard long?"
"A few years, nice place to work," she said.
Within the time it took Felix to write down Marge's phone number, the door to the director's office opened and Mr. Savard stepped out waving his hand at Felix to join him inside. The two entered the smallish office and Iggy closed the door behind him, then one by one lowered the blinds, securing the location from prying eyes.
“What are you doing here?”
“I told you I’d probably drop by today. I wanted to confirm our make believe meeting tomorrow night with Marge. She’s put together Iggy. You doing her?”
“No, I most certainly am not,” the displeased director said.
“I had to come by anyway and get the little present you have for me. You got it online under a fake name?”
“Yeah, had it shipped to a generic postal box in Douglas, drove down on the weekend to pick it up, better be worth it.”
“From my perspective, it’ll make it much easier. Thanks for following through and getting it for me,” Felix replied.
“Should fit, says it’s for that exact make and model,” Iggy clarified.
“Good. You ready with the packet for our friend?”
“Yeah, took care of the key issue in Douglas as well, I’ll drop everything off tonight.”
“Any word from Jeremy? Wouldn’t surprise me if he backs out at the last minute,” the taller man inquired.
“Nothing, don’t expect we will either. Let’s walk out to my car and I’ll grab that for you,” The Director said, moving toward the door and ushering Felix through the reception area and out into the parking lot.
The pair went to the sedan parked in the spot reserved for the director. Iggy popped the trunk and removed a small 6x8x3 inch parcel and handed it to Felix after looking around to confirm that they were not being watched. They shook hands, both grateful that would likely be the last time either man saw the other and they went their separ
ate ways.
* * *
At noon 'The Wolf' entered the jail portion of his facility and spoke with Seymour who had been trying to reconstruct Monday morning as best he could.
"Sheriff, thanks for coming. I've been thinking a lot about Monday and I remembered something that may help both of us," the accused said.
"I wish somebody would help us, we've done nothing but follow bad leads this week. What have you got?"
Seymour filled the Sheriff in on the items he remembered about the unknown stranger. He filled in as much detail as he could then included, "I remember exactly the type of sunglasses he had on and I was curious if the people that saw the shooter at the diner described the same type."
"That's certainly a thought but you could just as easily be telling me about yours."
"True enough but Sheriff you have my sunglasses. They're in my backpack that you took from me when I was arrested. They are not the same style or make, get them and you'll see, and I'll bet your boys didn't turn up any other at my house either because I only have the one pair."
Lupo left briefly, and then returned to further his discussion with Seymour.
"Has your office interviewed any of the students about Monday? Maybe somebody saw this guy. Start with the friend I was talking to in the gym or some of my racquetball classmates. It's likely that one of them could confirm my description."
The Sheriff knew the young man was correct but his resources were spread quite thin already. If he got a chance he would send Guest back over to the school and do some interviews.
"So Seymour, tell me about the sunglasses."
"I know what type they are because my dad had the exact same pair and they've come in and out of style a few times. They were Ray Ban Aviators with the gold rims and reflective surface, kind of like a mirror on the front. Check with the people that saw the shooter, show them a picture, maybe they'll recognize it if they see it again."
"I appreciate the help Seymour but you don't have to tell me how to do my job."
"Sorry Sheriff, I'm just reaching at straws, way harder being on the inside looking out, if you know what I mean."
"I understand, but believe me we're doing our darndest to prove your innocence," he paused. "Or guilt."
The doors at the end of the cellblock opened and Deputy Breland approached the two, carrying Seymour's backpack. The Sheriff took the pack and rummaged through the many zippered pockets until he found a pair of sunglasses. They were much different than Seymour had described. The frame was plastic, tortoise shell, a mix of black - brown - yellow, and the lenses were a dark brown, more dense at the top then lighter at the bottom. Angelo inspected them closely and found the Maui Waui stamped on the inside of the left temple.
"Seymour, describe the make and model again to Deputy Breland here. Breland take this down and find me a picture that we can show the witnesses at the diner. Start with the Delaney woman at the library and work your way to each of the people we have on file ‘til they've all seen it. On second thought, I want you to do it like a line up, get five different models, various brands, all similar and include both the Ray-Ban and Seymour’s." He handed the glasses to Breland. "Then have them tell you which one they saw, let's see if we can get a consensus."
The Sheriff looked back at Seymour, "You happy?"
Seymour responded in the affirmative and the officers left the block.
* * *
At 4:00 p.m. Lillian Wood finally got a call from the bank manager. There was both good and bad news. The bank was prepared to provide a line of credit on the property and home but the very best they could do was $150,000. Mrs. Wood's heart sunk, $50,000 short and really nowhere to get that kind of money quickly. She had nothing to sell, no close friend, at least not that would have that kind of money, and the hope of freeing her son, sooner than later, fleeting. The bank manager suggested that she approach the court to see if they would bring the bail down. He'd seen it done before, however, he assured her that the money would be ready Thursday by noon and she could drop by and pick it up at her convenience. She thanked him and phoned the library.
Blanche picked up the phone and delivered the usual spill but with much less cheer and enthusiasm.
"Sounds like you're having the same kind of day as me, Blanche," Seymour's mom said, also sounding a little down in the dumps.
"Well, could be better, but I'm sure it's nothing like what you've been going through. We just had our inspection and we failed because of one item which we'll have fixed Friday but it means they have to come back again and put us through another day of stress."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Well, I just got off the phone with the bank and they'll only give me $150,000 for Seymour's bail. I'm $50,000 short. The manager suggested I go to the judge and see if he'll extend some mercy and lower the amount. Guess that's really the only option I've got and who knows how long that will take. What do you think?"
There was an unusually long pause as Lillian waited to see what the librarian thought.
"Blanche dear, you still there? Did we get cut off?"
"No, I'm here Lillian, just doing some calculating."
"Whatever for? Do you think we should go to the judge or not?"
"Not. Listen Mrs. Wood, I've got the $50,000 you need. In fact I think I've got $54,340 to my name and I want to help. How do we pool our money and get Seymour out of there?"
The once discouraged and directionless librarian had never felt so compelled to do something in her whole life. The thought of reaching out to the Wood family, as she had, made her feel light and free. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that the money was not lost and would once again be hers, but the ability to help in their hour of need was liberating. She stopped by the Sheriff's Office to let Seymour know that the money was taken care of, but Officer Breland had seen her come in and he informed her that visiting hours were over, however, he'd let her see him if she'd do him a favor first.
"So what can I do for you deputy?" she said, somewhat puzzled.
"The Sheriff has asked me to speak with each of the witnesses from the diner to see if you can pick out the type of sunglasses the perp was wearing. Would you give it a try?"
"Sure, don't know if I'll be able to, hardly remember and it was such a poor angle."
"Try anyway, if you would. I'll show you five different styles, all you need to do is pick the one that most closely resembles the pair you saw the shooter wearing," he explained.
"K, let me see them."
He handed her five full size sheets of paper, each with a large picture of a pair of sunglasses of various styles and makes. Blanche carefully looked through the sheets, running through them once before making any decisions. The second time through she removed two of the sunglass pictures, explaining to Breland that she was sure it was neither of them. She returned her attention to the others, knowing that any help she could provide could assist Seymour's case. Again, scrutinizing each photo, she compared the color, the material and she was able to eliminate one more from the batch. Two remained. The Ray-Ban and another metal frame but she had already eliminated Seymour's from the queue without knowing it.
"I can't be sure but I know it wasn't any of these," she said, pointing to the three she removed from the stack.
"Thanks, I'll note your selections. You are free to go Miss."
Blanche was allowed a few minutes alone with Seymour, she explained that his mother was able to secure the money for the bail but that it had taken longer than she anticipated. They would be by sometime around noon to finish the matter and see to his release. Seymour had been almost overcome with appreciation and relief. The two hugged, as they were able, separated by one inch reinforced steel bars but the kiss was memorable.
"Thanks for letting me see him, we've arranged his bail for tomorrow morning," Blanche said.
"Good for you, he's a model prisoner but I know he'll be glad to go home, even if he still has to appear in court," Breland said.
"Thanks again and goodnight."
Blanche treated herself to a taxi ride home. Unbeknownst to her a silver van followed the taxi closely, a troubled man at the wheel.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
The sun was cresting over the tree line when Lester pulled the van into his driveway, parking it in the usual spot. He sat behind the wheel for a few minutes collecting his thoughts in anticipation of the day ahead of him. The hours he’d spent sitting outside Caroline’s B&B waiting to see if Blanche would venture out for an evening walk or run had been a total waste of time. By 2:00 a.m. he was convinced that everyone in the establishment would be in bed, all the lights were out and all appeared quiet. He’d left the van parked in the alleyway between the homes that led to garages and backyards. With his face painted black and wearing his standard issue dark shirt and jeans he had made his way around to the rear door that entered into the kitchen area. Lester thought back, closing his eyes as he sat in the van, reliving the previous hours and events.
Standing on the porch he felt for the hunting knife attached to his belt and slid it from the sheath, the blade gleamed in the dim light of the lone street lamp that sat atop a pole two houses down. The 9mm stuffed into the front of his pants was somewhat uncomfortable; he smoothly moved it to the small of his back, and certain his belt would hold it in place. His gloved left hand grasped the old doorknob and tried the lock. It was secure but he was sure it would not take much pressure just to force the door open without damaging the frame. He’d seen these old style locks too often to have it slow him down. Inserting the blade of the knife between the jam and the door, he twisted his wrist while turning the knob and pushing with his shoulder. The door popped open like using a bottle opener on an old-fashioned coke bottle.
Once inside Lester inspected the frame and lock for damage, it would be difficult for Caroline to see that anything had changed. For a split second he was unsure what he was doing in the home, but the thought of seeing Blanche one more time and the remote possibility that he could spirit her away tonight, rather than waiting, spurred him on. The antique old wood planks that made up the kitchen and dining room floors squeaked as he tiptoed across their surface. He had not bothered to remove his shoes. The Stalker would not be there long. Lester knew exactly which room was Blanche’s after spending an evening a short time ago watching her through the bedroom window. He eased his way up the stairs from the dining area, the knife still in his right hand.
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