Secret Passages

by R D Hathaway

  Arriving at his glass wall, she paused for a moment. He looked like he’d already had a long day. His shirt was wrinkled, his sleeves were turned up to his elbows, and his desk was a mess. He seemed to search frantically for something.

  “Hey, big guy. What’s this about?” Rennie held the note out.

  “Come in, sit down,” Bud said without looking up. He continued to open and close files and check slips of paper.

  “I need you to take care of something, It’s very important to me. You need to drop whatever you are doing.”

  He sat back in his chair. He studied her for a moment. “What’s with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You look like —, I don’t know. You look happy. You got a guy?”

  She said nothing.

  “Well, whatever it is, or whoever it is, it’s got to wait. I need your help on this.”

  “Bud, something has come up. I came in to ask you for a little time off. I need to go somewhere.”

  “What? What happened? You’re not running off with some guy are you? You can’t do that.”

  His neck became red and he pursed his lips.

  “No, nothing like that. I am going away but it’s with a girlfriend, not a guy. We leave tomorrow.”

  Bud jumped up as Rennie had never seen before. “You’ve got to be kidding me! You can’t go anywhere.”

  She leaned against his desk and stood quietly. “Bud, what’s going on?”

  “This could be it. There are new rumors running. It’s like all other industries. Cut out the middle management people. Bring in more material off the wires and syndicates. Put in a few local stories to make it look like a local paper but fill it with pulp from around the industry. To do that, you don’t need people like me.”

  He stared at his desk. “Or, maybe you.”

  She sat down in the chair in front of his desk. She wondered if he or she had been fired.

  “Rennie, I thought if you could take on some stories with real meat in them, you could save us both. Maybe there’s no time left.”

  He fell into his chair.

  “Bud, whatever happens, it could be a good thing. Look at you right now. Is this living? I’d like to see you happy for more than a quick laugh.”

  He squinted at her as though she was speaking a foreign language. “What? This is my career, here. What are you talking about? I’d die without this place.”

  “Maybe, you’d really live without this place. When is the last time you spent a few days with the grandkids? You deserve better.”

  “You’re not helping me, and you’re not helping yourself,

  Rennie spoke in such a soft, confident manner that he listened to her. “We leave tomorrow morning. We’re going to London to find out how Professor Justus died and why. It’s big, Bud, very big. Will the paper help with costs? It is about the story.”

  He sat silently for a long time. “My authority goes up to five hundred bucks. Will that help?”

  “That would be wonderful. Bud, things are going to work out for the good. The bad guys don’t always have to win.”

  “Maybe, you’re right. You’d better come back with a story, and it better be good! Our publisher, Miss Revenue Maximizer, has asked about your professor story.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I don’t know. Her secretary called me a few times to see where you were. I told her I figured you were out at Simpson.”

  Rennie got up and walked around his desk and gave him a hug. As she headed for his door, she said, “I’ll see you in five days, and I’ll have the story of a lifetime. It’ll save more than a few jobs.”

  “You’d better!” he shouted after her.

  Rennie made some calls, left a few messages, and organized the paperwork on her desk. As she reflected on what she was doing, she sensed a joyful peace instead of her usual intensity. She was working and being productive, but it flowed in a current of grace.

  At 10:30 a.m., a clerk from Finance stopped by her cubicle and gave her an envelope. Inside, she found a check for $500, payable to her with “Feature Research” in the description section. A photocopied letter enclosed with the check explained the requirements for documenting work-related expenses. She called Angie with the good news and left a message.

  Rennie reviewed her notes from the library and selected what she would take with her to London. Then, she reviewed her calendar for the next two weeks, looked over her checklist, and logged off her computer. She pushed back in her chair and sat quietly, looking at the black screen of the monitor.

  “Everything will be different,” she said.

  She left her cubicle and went through the department like a warm breeze. Getting into her car, she realized she wasn’t going to Simpson College to review the professor’s journals and files. She was going to London to see where he worked, where he lived, and where he died. She hoped it would bring her closure, as a journalist and as a person.

  As she turned into her driveway, she felt a rush of energy for all the things she wanted to do. She was on a mission and had a purpose. It created energy. It didn’t drain it. The tasks did not matter. Only the end did.

  Rennie asked her neighbor Roger to see he would care for Balderdash while she was gone. He still had an extra set of keys to the house from the last time he watched the cat and was happy to help.

  She quickly finished packing and fixed a sandwich for lunch. Rennie then sat down at her computer to check her e-mail messages. She had one from Angie and two from the interns in London. Angie’s message was brief.

  “Are you ready!!?? Tomorrow, 2:00, we fly out of here. I’ll pick you up at 12. Arrive in London at 7:30 a.m. next day. How about getting together at 2:30 today to coord? Call me.”

  Rennie enjoyed Angie’s energy and eager anticipation. Next, she opened the first e-mail from one of the interns in London.

  “Cheers. More news from the police and my research. At the time of the Professor’s death, there was some jurisdictional dispute between two local police authorities, the ‘red’s’ and the ‘blue’s”. The ‘blue’s’ were the forerunners of Scotland Yard and were the Metropolitan Police. The ‘red’s’ were the City of London Police. Apparently, their lack of coordination and perhaps the desire to not deal with the professor’s death left the case to neglect.”

  Rennie sighed with frustration and read on.

  “The Metro Police were called to the British Museum to investigate and question some people about possible missing shipments or other property. One memo indicates Mort was questioned about the issue and later about the professor’s death. Nothing came of it. Authorities arranged for boxing the professor’s belongings and sending them to America with his remains. That’s all for now on legal issues.”

  “By the way, when I chatted with someone at the BM about your questions, a fellow who worked there stepped up and listened to my inquiry. He then questioned me about my interest in these matters. It was quite odd. Tiffini Gibson.”

  Rennie reviewed Tiffini’s last comments and then the section about the police investigation. “Mort,” she snarled as she opened the next e-mail.

  “Good day, ma’am. A friend who has a genealogy hobby assisted me with finding some of the information you requested. Mrs. Priscilla MacDonald had two children, Mary and Matthew. She died in 1978. No record of death for her husband Reggie MacDonald. Mary was in a nursing home in London. Matthew is a retired professor, also in London. He served here at the University of London in the Department of Languages and Cultures of the Near and Middle East. He was also adjunct staff with the British Museum and an Associate Professor of Judeo-Christian Studies from 1951 to 1993. Last word is that he lived in London. Can’t find much on Rev. Worthy other than his grandson who’s a prominent lawyer here. Will keep trying. Josh Ramsey.”

  Rennie hit the “reply” button and let Josh know she would be
there in two days and wanted to meet.

  Angie called. Rennie told Angie about the messages and her disappointment in Priscilla’s marriage to Reggie. “It makes me sick. Priscilla had two kids. One is a son named Matthew; not far from Matthias, huh? Get this. He grew up to be a professor at the University of London as a professor in the language department specializing in Judeo-Christian studies and was also connected with the British Museum. It’s like Priscilla took her son and molded him into the man she lost. How sad.”

  “Well, I guess we try to make people into who we want them to be. Are we going to be able to meet Matthew?”

  “I’d sure like to. I asked the intern to get us contact info on Matthew and his sister Mary. They may be able to fill in some useful details.” Rennie paused. “I wonder if Matthew knows anything about the letters Matthias found. It seems so odd that he became a professor of languages and Middle East religion.”

  “Yeah, I guess we’ll find out. Do you still want to get together this afternoon?”

  “I’m on a roll now and I don’t feel the intensity of what we’re doing as I did yesterday.”

  “Rennie, do you still want to go? You seem to have lost that edge you’ve had.”

  “I definitely want to go. But, you’re right. I’ve thought about what Matthias found and I feel so much peace. My drive is still there, but it’s in a more confident place. But there is something very serious going on behind the scenes. I feel like shaking my fist and saying, ‘bring it on!’”

  “We’ve stumbled into an amazing story. Rennie, just be careful, okay? I’ll talk at you later.”

  Rennie hung up, put her feet on her desk, and closed her eyes. A warm, soothing summer breeze came through the one window she opened. Soon, she was asleep.

  An hour later, she was back on the computer, checking her e-mail messages. She researched maps of London, the locations of well-known places, information on the British Museum, and did a few name searches. Finding nothing helpful, she ran upstairs and repacked her suitcase while making last minute phone calls.

  By ten o’clock, she had cleaned the house and felt ready for the trip. Her eyes burned and exhaustion filled her body. Trudging up the stairs, she was eager for bed. Balderdash jumped onto the comforter and slowly walked across it to where Rennie was lying. “Hey, buddy. I’m going away for a few days, but you’ll be okay. You get to stay with your buddy, Roger.”

  Balderdash bumped his head against her. As she stroked his coat, he purred loudly. Hearing a noise downstairs, she sat up. Her breathing stopped. She focused on the sound, comparing it with the common noises in the neighborhood. Her memory raced through her actions to determine if the windows and doors were locked. She remembered the open window where she dozed off.

  Rennie slipped off her bed. Every sound she made sounded amplified. She scanned her bedroom for her cell phone. Then, she realized her bedroom light was on and her window shades were open.

  Rennie grabbed a string on one shade. Jerking it downward, she pulled the curtain off the window frame. The moment it crashed to the floor, there was another noise downstairs. Then, she heard a louder, tearing sound.

  Her face twisted in anger. Rennie grabbed an antique brass candlestick and took a canister of pepper spray from her purse. She ran to the top of the stairway and looked into the darkness.

  “Get out of my house!” she screamed.

  Rennie flipped a light switch on the wall and winced in the sudden, bright light. She ran back into the bedroom and called 9-1-1 on her cell phone. In a loud voice, she informed the dispatch person of her fears. Carrying the phone and candlestick, she cautiously stepped back to the stair railing.

  Minutes later, she saw through a back-window beams of colored lights flapping across the lawn. Rennie firmed her grip on the candlestick and carefully descended the stairs when she heard a hard knocking on her door.

  Feeling fierce, she flicked open the lock and jerked the door open. A police officer holding a flashlight stood a few feet from the door. His other hand rested on the revolver attached to his belt.

  “Hello, ma’am.” His fingers grasped the handle of his weapon when he saw a flash of light reflect off the candlestick in Rennie’s hand. He realized what it was and took a deep breath.

  “Ma’am, I’m Officer Samuelson. Are you okay?”

  “I am now, officer,” she replied. “Did you see anyone out there?”

  “I’ve got another officer looking around out back. We haven’t seen anyone, yet. Would you like us to come in and check the house for you?”

  “Inside?” Rennie asked, and then looked behind herself.

  “Do you think someone might be inside? Yeah, come in.”

  The police officer turned off his flashlight and entered the house with careful steps. He seemed to be as cautious of Rennie as of what might be in the house. “Ma’am, please put down the candlestick. Is there anyone else in the house with you?”

  “No, I’m alone, except for my cat.”

  “Where were you when you heard the noise?”

  “I was upstairs. The noise was down here.”

  The officer scanned the living room, and then checked the dining area. His big body seemed to fill the room.

  “I see your computer is on. Were you working on it?”

  “No. I was down here some time ago, but I thought I turned it off.”

  Rennie noticed the screensaver image floating across the screen. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I know I turned that off. Besides, it goes into a sleep mode if I’m away from it for more than six minutes. Even if I didn’t turn it off, I haven’t been down here for at least twenty minutes.”

  “So, what are you saying?” Samuelson asked.

  Rennie realized she was still holding the candlestick. She put it on the table.

  “What I’m saying is that some intruder must have gotten in here and turned on my laptop.”

  His face contorted as though he tasted something bitter. “Lady, we don’t have a lot of cases where somebody breaks into a house and checks their e-mail.”

  His grimace turned into a grin.

  “Officer, there’s more value on people’s computers than there is in their wallets. Not only that, I happen to be a reporter for the Record, and there may be a story I’m working on that is of concern for someone. In fact, maybe you’d like to be in my next story. On the other hand, you could go through my house and do your job. The jerk that broke in might still be here. What do you think?”

  “Ma’am, please sit down over there and I’ll look around. If my partner comes to the door, please let him in.”

  He set his flashlight on the dining table and placed his fingers around the stock of his pistol. As he walked around the downstairs area, he often looked back to see if Rennie had moved. His partner came to the door and entered after Rennie motioned him in.

  The men examined each room and the basement. One of them noticed the open window and inspected it. He looked back at the other man and tipped his head in the direction of the window.

  After a brief review of the window screen, they turned toward her. “Ma’am, we’re going to have another look around.”

  Together, they inspected every closet and room more diligently than before. One of them tilted his chin toward a small microphone attached to his shirt and said something. They returned to the living room to speak with Rennie.

  “Well, someone was apparently here,” Samuelson said.

  He pointed at the open window. “Over there, the screen on that window has been cut along the frame. It was done very precisely. They got through there and must have left through there. We’ll go outside to see if they might have dropped anything coming in or going out. You might want to check your computer to see if you can figure out what they were looking for.”

  Rennie stared in silence.

  He continued. “We’ve checked the whole h
ouse, again. You’re alone, now. I’d close and lock the windows down here.”

  “There’s something else you need to know,” Rennie said, interrupting the man. “Someone came here today and told me to be careful. He said some guy hired him to tell me that.”

  She got up, found the visitor’s business card, and gave it to the police officer. He squinted at the card and handed it to his partner.

  “What did he say? I know Dennis. He’s kind of a loser, but he’s straight up.”

  Rennie waited, as though more information would be offered. “Your buddy Dennis,” she finally said, “told me that someone hired him to tell me that certain people might be interested in harming me. He said the person who called him wanted me to be careful. It was like a friendly warning, I guess. He wouldn’t say who this person was or who the others are.”

  “Ma’am,” the other officer said. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Officer Clark. I checked the exterior and looked into surrounding yards. There’s nothing out there of any concern. Here’s my card. Could you stop by our station in the next day or two?”

  “Sure. Wait, no I can’t. I’m leaving for England tomorrow. I won’t be back for about five days.”

  Officer Clark looked again at the visitor’s business card. “That’s probably a good idea. That will give us a chance to visit with ol’ Dennis and sort this out. He shouldn’t be telling folks stuff like that. If he knows something about people in danger, he’d better let us know first. Ma’am, you have a good night, now. We’ll drive by once in awhile and let it be known that we’re looking out for you. Let us know when you’re back in town. You’ve got my card.”

  Rennie escorted them to the front door. She locked it behind them and then closed and locked the open window. As she did, she observed the police officers shining their lights around the side yard and inspecting the area under the window.