“Did I say I did?”
“No, just all the other Muslims in the world.”
Our soup arrived. I decided to leave the conversation where it was.
Chapter Forty-one
Tuesday
It’s heartwarming to see one’s daughter take responsibility for herself. Even if there’s an ulterior motive. By the time we got back from the diner, Rachel’s laundry was neatly folded and stacked near the door. Sure, she could have done it downtown, and she mostly does, but even my father knew the reason she was here.
“Wanted your mom to spring for some soup, eh?”
“Not true, Opa. I wanted to see Mom. And you,” she added quickly.
Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Nice try.”
Rachel’s eyes widened in mock innocence.
“Never try to con a con.” He laughed.
“Or a poker player,” I added. “Especially on vegetable soup day.”
Rachel threw up her hands. “Okay, okay.”
I handed her the carton of soup. Dad looked pleased with himself. “You taking off now?”
“I guess. Unless you want to take me shopping. I was thinking of—”
“It was great to see you too,” I said.
She smiled ruefully and turned to Dad. “It was worth a shot.”
Dad nodded.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Someone came to see you while you were out.”
I stiffened, our banter forgotten. “Who?”
“A woman. Young. Well, around my age. Maybe a couple of years older.”
Not Hollander. “What did she want?”
“She wanted to talk to you. I told her you’d be back in an hour, but she said she couldn’t wait.”
“Does this woman have a name?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Did you ask?”
“What do you think? Of course. She said it wasn’t important. But it was strange. I got the feeling it was, you know?”
“Can you describe her?”
Rachel furrowed her brow. “Small. Delicate. Pretty. Chin-length black hair. Oh, and Asian. At least partly.”
• • •
On the way home after dropping off Dad, I worried a hand through my hair. I usually get Jehovah’s Witnesses on my doorstep once a year, as well as neighborhood kids selling candy, flowers, and lemonade. But whoever had shown up while we were at lunch wasn’t either, and the fact that I was now getting visits from strangers filled me with unease.
There was no way I could figure out who’d come to the house, although the fact that she was Asian made me think it might have something to do with Gregory Parks, maybe General Gao. But I didn’t want anything more to do with spies, espionage, or the Chinese. Thankfully, Luke would be back tonight.
I parked in the garage and went inside, determined to have a normal afternoon. But a minute later I started to wander around, trying to puzzle out what had happened to Charlotte Hollander. Who orchestrated the explosion at Dolan’s office. And what was on the flash drive.
Finally I had an idea. I was about to go online to Google it, then remembered Luke and Dolan’s warning. I’d already tracked the SUV online. I shouldn’t be taking another risk. Instead I drove down to the library and found the number for Lake Forest Middle School, the school Charlotte Hollander’s son attended. I tried to remember his name; Susan had told me when she found the address.
Kevin. That was it.
I got back in my car, fished out my cell, and called the school.
“Lake Forest Middle School. This is Marie. How can I help you?”
I mentally crossed my fingers. “Hello. This is Kevin Hollander’s father’s secretary calling.”
“Oh, hello.” Marie didn’t sound surprised; in fact, her tone implied she might even have expected the call.
“We were just wondering about Kevin’s attendance over the past few days. Is he all right?”
“Um…” Marie sounded confused. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
I started to feel uncomfortable. “Well, with all the recent changes, Mr. Hollander wanted to check up on him.”
Marie hesitated. Then: “I don’t know your name, but—”
“I’m sorry. It’s Susan. Susan—um—Wheeler.” Forgive me, Susan.
“Perhaps you’re both a little confused. We sent Kevin’s transcripts to his new school in Columbus yesterday. I thought I left a message for Mr. Hollander at his office.”
Sent the transcripts? To his new school? Backtrack, Ellie. Fast.
Happily, Marie saved me. “Kevin’s last day was Friday.”
“Um…oh no. I just looked at the note from Mr. Hollander. It’s dated a week ago. I apologize. I am such a flake. I don’t know how I got so turned around.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Happens all the time.”
“Please…” My voice turned into an appeal. “Don’t tell Mr. Hollander about this. He might fire me. I am so embarrassed.”
“No problem, Susan. Glad I could straighten it out. Have a good day.”
Chapter Forty-two
Tuesday
Kevin’s move was both good news and bad news. Good news because Hollander hadn’t taken him with her wherever she’d gone; bad news because it implied she’d been planning to flee. Something was very wrong, and I suspected Gregory Parks’ death on the subway tracks had triggered it. But that left me in an awkward position. What should I do with the flash drive? Return it to Hollander’s boss? Delcroft’s Human Resources Department? Gary Phillips? And what should I say when I did? I would only be getting myself in deeper.
My cell buzzed. I picked it up. The caller ID was blocked.
“Ms. Foreman?” The caller had a gravelly voice. Probably smoked two packs a day.
“Who’s calling?”
“This is Warren Stokes. I work for Delcroft. I’d like to pay you a visit.”
What was going on? “I haven’t run into you before. What is your position at Delcroft?”
A slight hesitation followed. “I worked with Charlotte Hollander, and we’ve been reviewing the videos you produced for her. We think there’s a lot of good material in them, and I want to talk about how we can revive the project.”
Surprise temporarily had me at a loss for words. After everything that had happened, now they wanted to resurrect the videos? Then I smiled. There was something very satisfying about coming full circle. Still, I replied cautiously. “I’m open to discussion.”
“Good, good,” Stokes said. “May I come to your house, say, in two hours?”
Suddenly I was leery. “My house? You don’t want me to come downtown?”
“I was just trying to make it more convenient for you.”
No way was I letting a stranger, Delcroft employee or not, into my house. Who was this guy, anyway?
“What did you say your name was?”
“Warren Stokes.”
“And your title?”
“Head of security for Delcroft.”
“Security? What’s your connection to the video?”
“I’d rather explain that in person.”
A red alert buzzed in my head. “Well, I’m sure you’ll understand that I’d rather meet you someplace public. Do you know Solyst’s? It’s a pub in Northfield.”
“I can find it,” he said, but his tone indicated he wasn’t happy about it.
“Great.” I checked my watch. It was three now. “How is five?”
• • •
Solyst’s used to be a dive bar. Then the owner sold it, and the new owners remodeled the restrooms, bought a bunch of flat-screen TVs, and expanded the menu. Now it’s a semi-dive, and one of my favorite haunts. I arrived early and nursed a glass of wine at the bar.
At five pm sharp, the throaty sound of a car engine outside hummed. I peeked through the glass doors of the bar. Then I blinked to make sure of what I was seeing. The same SUV I’d seen twice now, staking out my house and at Hollander’s the other night, was pulling into the parking lot. The SUV that couldn’t be
found on any of Georgia’s databases. I seriously contemplated an immediate departure. But we were in a public place. If he tried anything at all, I would have plenty of help.
A stocky man got out of the SUV. He disappeared from view for a few moments, then reappeared and pushed through the door. He wore a ball cap and was dressed in chinos, a heavy sweater, and a bomber jacket, as if he’d once been in the military. He appeared to be in his sixties. I was sitting on a stool near the entrance.
“Warren Stokes?” I called out.
He nodded and studied me, as if assessing whether I was a threat. I was dressed in sweats, sweater, and boots, and I thought I saw a trace of relief on his face as he took me in. Meanwhile I assessed him. His eyes were hooded and pale: maybe gray, maybe blue, but definitely not friendly. A tiny spiderweb of veins ran down his nose.
“You’re Ellie Foreman?”
I nodded, mentally debating how much to tell him. The people who’d been staking out Hollander’s house worked for Delcroft. Which meant Delcroft was spying on their own people. And me. I decided I’d had enough.
“So tell me something, Mr. Stokes. Why were you staking out my house in your SUV last week?”
Chapter Forty-three
Tuesday
To his credit, Stokes didn’t deny it. “It wasn’t me; it was someone on my team.” He turned to the bartender, who was hovering nearby. “Whatever you have on draft,” he said. The bartender motioned to an array of spigots a few feet away, all with colorful logos.
Stokes looked them over. “Pale Ale will do.”
The bartender nodded his approval.
I changed the subject. “If you needed to check up on me, you should have contacted me directly.”
“We were still doing recon on the terrain.”
Team? Recon? Terrain? Was this how security chiefs spoke in the hallowed corporate corridors now? “This isn’t about reviving the videos, is it?”
The bartender brought Stokes a frosted mug of Pale Ale. Stokes shook his head grudgingly. “No. I’ll get to the point. We know you ‘retrieved’ a flash drive from Gregory Parks the day he died.”
“And you know this how?”
“That doesn’t matter.” His pale eyes turned steely. He took a swig of his ale.
“It does to me.”
He went quiet for a moment. Had he not expected to be challenged? Did he expect me to capitulate like a “good girl”?
He rubbed his nose and broke eye contact. “Charlotte Hollander told me.”
He was lying. Or at least not telling me the entire truth. “Are you the ones who’ve been bugging my phone? And hacking into my computer?”
He looked surprised. “No. Is there a reason I should be?”
That response appeared to be genuine, but everybody lies when it comes to protecting their interests. “By the way, what happened to Hollander? She seems to have disappeared.”
He turned it back on me. “Why do you care?”
I gave him the same answer I’d given the HR official, which, if he was a decent security person, he already knew. “The video of course. We were planning to resurrect it. Now I’m told she was transferred.”
He cleared his throat. “That’s right.”
“Where?”
“Sorry. That’s on a need-to-know basis.”
“Seriously? Do you really think the world cares about one executive at one company?”
“You’d be surprised.” He took a long pull on his ale. “Back to the drive. Hollander told us you had it. We need it.”
But I wasn’t ready to talk about the drive. “You blew up Dolan’s office, didn’t you?”
“I can’t comment about that.”
“What are you, ex-CIA or something?”
“Or something.”
“Look, Mr. Stokes, or whatever your name is, I’ve had enough of whatever cat-and-mouse game you’re playing. We’re done here.” I swiveled away from him, about to slide off my stool and leave.
“We’re not done, Ms. Foreman.”
“Yes. We are. I left a message for Hollander telling her I would give the drive back to her. And that’s who I’ll give it to.”
“You don’t understand. She’s gone. And she’s not coming back.”
I froze. “Is she dead?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
I let out a breath. “Well, then, exactly what are you aware of?”
“Look.” He leaned toward me and slid his hands down to his knees, an aggressive position for someone on a barstool. “I’m trying to do this the nice way. But if you don’t cooperate, you’ll force me to take other measures.”
“Look, Stokes. I don’t like threats.” I mimicked his body language and tone. “I don’t owe you anything. Two hours ago I didn’t know you existed. You say you work at Delcroft, but I don’t know that for sure. I may not have the information you do, but I’m not an idiot. If you really are from Delcroft, you already have the conversations and emails.” Even I knew that corporate emails were subject to eavesdropping by employees’ superiors.
He colored from the neck up. More of a slow burn than an explosion. But I was on a roll. “I have an idea of what’s on that drive. Or could be. But until I’m sure it will get to the right people, I’m not handing it over to anyone.”
“You might want to reconsider that. Your life could become unpleasant.”
I swigged the last of my wine. “If anything happens to me, anything at all, I’ll know who’s responsible. And I’ll make sure other people know too.”
He kept his mouth shut. He was probably wondering how he’d screwed this up. But I didn’t know if I was right either. I didn’t want the drive, but something about this guy irritated the hell out of me. I just couldn’t give it to him. I wanted to tell him I knew he was at Hollander’s last weekend, behaving like a common thief. Then again, Luke and I were there too.
He levered himself off the stool and pulled his ball cap farther down his forehead. “This was not a smart move on your part.” His voice was laced with acid.
I rose too, opened my bag, and pulled out my wallet. “It may not be. But I have nothing to hide. What about you?”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
I threw a ten on the bar. He’d have to pay for his own drink. “By the way, it would be nice of you to call off your dogs. The ones that are tailing me, tapping my phone, and hacking my computer.” I didn’t believe him when he’d denied it. “Or perhaps I should call your CEO. Brian Riordan, right?”
He surprised me with his reply. “Miss Foreman, it wasn’t us hacking into your comms. But you can be damn sure it will be going forward.”
Chapter Forty-four
Tuesday
I drove home, astonished at my chutzpah. Where had my courage come from? True, Stokes was arrogant and aggressive, the type I instantly dislike. But his cold belligerence had teased out something similar in me. Did he have that effect on others too? Maybe he cultivated it, counted on the fact that he’d rile people up so much they’d say or do something reckless. No. I was giving him too much credit. He couldn’t be that Machiavellian. And while I realized there might be consequences later, I was proud of my gutsy conduct.
Until Luke arrived. While I heated up the lasagna I’d picked up earlier, I told him about my meeting with Stokes.
“So you basically told him to fuck off,” Luke said.
“I couldn’t help it. He’s the kind of creep you want to punch in the nose.”
Luke ran a hand through his hair, which didn’t take long. He was mostly bald. “Tell me his name again?”
“Warren Stokes. Said he’s head of security for Delcroft. He tempted me with the possibility of reviving the videos when he called.” I plated the lasagna and set it down on the table. “But at the meeting he zeroed in on the flash drive.”
Luke didn’t say anything for a moment. “Okay. I’m not going to tell you what a stupid thing you did. Or dangerous. Particularly with Hollander gone. And the reason I’m not going to tell yo
u that is because I have a feeling you already know.”
“Actually, I don’t. It didn’t feel stupid when it was happening. It felt—I don’t know—like the right thing to do. I mean, what choice did I have? I couldn’t let him walk all over me.”
“Except now you’ve pissed off Delcroft’s head of security.”
“What’s he going to do? He’s already tapped my phone, hacked into my computers, planted a bomb. For all we know, he could have had something to do with Hollander’s disappearance.” I opened the fridge, pulled out a beer, popped the tab, and set it down in front of Luke. “I asked him if Hollander was dead, by the way.”
“What did he say?”
“He said not that he was aware of.”
Luke ignored his beer. “What happened to the frightened woman who just wanted to give the drive back to Hollander?”
I took a swig of his beer. “I think I’m just tired of being pushed around. Look, I get that he’s not a good guy. I know what I’m getting myself into. But I need to see this through. At least until we know what happened to Hollander.”
Luke reached for his cell and punched in numbers. “Who are you calling?”
He shook his head. A few seconds later he said, “Griz? Luke here.”
I took another pull on Luke’s beer. He obviously thought I’d overplayed my hand. I wondered if he was right.
• • •
While Luke was on the phone, I went out to fetch the mail, which I usually do only once every few days. In years past, it was because of bills that I could barely pay. Now I get most of my bills online, but stacks of junk mail still clog the box. I was standing over the recycling bin tossing the flyers, pseudo-news weeklies, and coupon sheets when I came across a white business envelope with my name on it. It bore no postmark or return address. Someone had delivered it by hand.
I dumped the rest of the junk mail, closed the recycling lid, and tore open the envelope. No salutation and no signature. Just a typewritten note:
Please meet me Wednesday at 1 pm at the Dragon Inn North restaurant.
I have information about Gregory Parks.
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