by E B Corbin
JS: No place is safe.
ST: Maybe, maybe not.
JS: Gotta run. See you soon.
ST: See me?
JS: …
ST: R U there?
JS: …
ST: Hello?
JS: …
ST: R U there?
JS: …
“Guess he’s done.” Henry performed a complicated exit pattern and slammed the laptop closed.
“Or he’s trying to trace the transmission.”
“Good luck with that. I took extra care to hide our location. Why is this Jules guy warning you about the hit?”
“He feels guilty, I guess.”
“Do you trust him?”
“As much as I trust anyone who works for my father.”
“Why would he feel guilty?” Henry gave her a suspicious look. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Sam kept her eyes averted. She didn’t want to get into her relationship, or lack of one with Jules, but if she wanted Henry for protection, he should be aware of the full story. She sighed. “Jules and I used to be engaged.”
“What?”
“Engaged, you know, like to be married.”
“Yeah, I got that. What happened?”
“We met at Stanford where we ended up in many of the same classes. To me, growing up in a small town in New Mexico, Jules had all the qualities I admired at the time. He grew up in Connecticut but spent most of his weekends in New York City as a teenager. I equated that with sophistication and worldliness. I considered myself a rube, but he was interested in me. I was flattered even though I had a sneaking suspicion I was out of my league. I was only twenty when he asked me to marry him.”
“Didn’t you think you were too young?”
“I thought I was in love with a good-looking, intelligent man and we would have good-looking, intelligent children.”
“What happened?”
“We went to New York in our senior year for Thanksgiving and I introduced him to my dad. It was one of the few times I agreed to meet with my father. And it was at Jules’s urging.”
“I thought you didn’t want anything to do with your father?”
“I didn’t. Hadn’t seen or talked to him since I was six. But when he found out I was engaged, he bombarded me with emails. He wanted to meet the man I was going to marry and make sure he approved.
“I couldn’t have cared less whether he approved or not, but Jules convinced me it was a small thing and he would be happy to meet my family before we married.” Sam stopped, lost in memory.
“And…” Henry prodded.
“And it turned out Jules and my father hit it off right from the start. I wanted no part of a relationship with a man who admired what my father did. Jules turned into a kid in a candy store with my dad. I couldn’t stomach it. I left and returned to California the day before Thanksgiving. Jules stayed and spent the rest of the week with my father. I threw his ring at him the minute he returned.”
Sam told Henry the story without emotion. She no longer felt any attraction to Jules and was thankful she’d never married him. When she was trying to build a case against her father for the FBI, she came across Jules’ name again. Trying to turn the man against his benefactor had proved impossible, but it also cemented her belief that breaking off their engagement had been the right thing to do.
“We could have built a case against my father a lot quicker if it hadn’t been for Jules maneuvering. As it was, we never found any evidence against Jules and couldn’t prosecute him even though I knew he was the one hiding a lot of the funds.”
“So Jules has just as much reason as your father to want you dead.”
She gave him a grim smile. “Probably, although he never threatened me or showed any kind of animosity toward me. Even when I tried to turn him before the trial.”
Sam thought about how her bosses at the FBI pushed her into doing something she swore she’d never do—contacting Jules. They met for dinner one night in DC. The years had been kind to him, giving him a polish he lacked as a college student. He managed to avoid giving her any useful information, while at the same time assuming the persona of a duped employee who had no idea his boss worked an excellent con. Sam knew Jules was lying, but he convinced her immediate supervisor of his innocence and lack of knowledge about any scams.
It was her word against his, and when Jules played the jilted fiancé card he made it sound as if he broke up with her. He was sorry she had this vendetta against him, but he understood how she felt rejected and wanted to get even. Her boss claimed he didn’t buy it, but he had doubt in his eyes when he looked at Sam after hearing Jules’s version.
Henry had remained silent during her story, but he still had questions. “So when did you two start communicating in a private chat room?”
“When I was trying to turn him. Seemed like the best way since I didn’t want to be seen with him.”
“But you continued chatting with him until about a year ago? Long after your father’s trial.”
“Yeah. I hoped he would let something slip that could be used against him.” She shook her head. “I should have known better. I stopped going to the chat room when I managed to locate the majority of the money on my own. When I had enough to pay my father’s victims with interest, I didn’t care if there was more or not. But Jules knew it was me who moved the accounts. I lived in fear for the first few months that he would turn me in to my former boss.”
“He never did,” Henry said.
“Not yet, anyway. I have a feeling that he managed to stash a comfortable chunk of money in his own accounts before Dad was arrested. He didn’t want to risk tangling with me and perhaps getting caught.”
“So he manipulated your father into placing a hit on you.” Henry shook his head. “This Jules guy is a real gem. He’s smarter and more cunning than your dad.”
“Yeah, I can sure pick ’em.”
“Guess we don’t have to speculate whether or not the hit is a rumor. How much is your head worth, do you think?”
“I don’t have a clue. My father can’t have a lot of money left even if he has access to accounts I haven’t located. He would have to find a cheap hit man—unless Jules is helping him finance it.”
Henry raised his eyebrows in question. “What makes you think that?”
“My father has been paying some high-profile attorneys to appeal his case every year. They don’t work for peanuts. He won’t give up and still believes he’ll get out sooner or later. He cannot conceive of spending the rest of his life in jail. I think Jules is covering his ass with my dad. He knows my father can rat on him anytime.”
“From what I read, your father’s been turned down five times.” Henry swung his stool to face away from the kitchen.
“Six times, actually. I’ve been notified every time he tries again. My father could sell you the Taj Mahal and charm the pants off the Statue of Liberty, but he doesn’t have much common sense. His appeals are getting to be a joke.”
“He just might get it right one of these days.” Henry couldn’t ignore the light buzzing that began in his head when they started this conversation. Danger lurked somewhere. He couldn’t pinpoint what or how but it was there. “At least he doesn’t know where you are. Sounds like your pal Jules is anxious to locate you, though.”
“Don’t be so sure he doesn’t already know. Jules is tricky. He would ask even if he knew just to get a reaction from me.”
“I got the impression he seriously wanted to know.”
“Then he’d have to be pretty stupid to think I’d tell him. And Jules is not stupid, believe me.” Sam rubbed her forehead. This conversation gave her a headache. “It’s late. I’m going to bed.”
Henry watched her walk into her room, and then swung around to the laptop again. He had some things to look up. Like just who in the hell was this Julian Stein character and what was his current connection to Sam’s father?
After an hour of searching, Henry had found no
thing on Julian Stein. He was a ghost as far as social media or news outlets were concerned. Henry debated doing a search on the dark web but thought it might alert Julian. For now, he’d have to be satisfied with whatever Sam told him and his own suspicions.
His search for Sam’s father turned up more than he could handle and very little that he did not already know. He’d kept abreast of the con man’s life ever since he was fifteen and discovered the reason for his mother’s disappointment and his father’s disappearance. He was getting nowhere so he shut down the computer and went to his room.
✽ ✽ ✽
When Sam entered the kitchen around 7:30 the next morning, she found brewed coffee and a note from Henry informing her he had gone in search of a convenience store where he could lay in some food supplies. Fine with her, as long as he didn’t expect her to cook anything. Since his half-sister, Vicki, owned a vegetarian cafe in Pennsylvania, perhaps along with the hair color they shared Henry had inherited the ability to prepare a meal.
Sam hoped that was the case, otherwise, they’d be eating out every meal. Nothing wrong with enjoying food prepared by someone else, but not being able to nibble on snacks when she felt like it could get old real quick.
Henry returned with a sack of food. Celery sticking out the top of the bag, with eggs, bacon, cheese, and whole wheat bread filling out the rest. He moved a package of Oreos out of Sam’s reach when she started to grab for it. “Not till after breakfast.”
She threw him a disgusted look. “Fine. You make it while I call Stacy.”
“It’s early. Give her some time to contact us.” Henry cracked eggs into a bowl. Scrambled eggs seemed the best bet with Sam so antsy to get started this morning. “Why don’t you take charge of making the toast?”
Sam busied herself with the bread while Henry plated the eggs and bacon. She wolfed down the food in a matter of minutes. “Are you happy? I ate. I’m going to call Stacy now.”
Henry looked around at the dirty dishes. “Somebody’s got to do the dishes. I cooked the food.”
“I made the toast.”
Henry decided not to press the matter. He began to load the dishwasher when a knock sounded on their door. Sam paused with her phone in her hand and looked to Henry with a question in her eyes.
“I’ll get it.” Henry wiped his wet hands on a dish towel, grabbed his Beretta from where he’d stashed it in the microwave and moved to the door as the knock sounded again, demanding and impatient.
“Portland police, open up.”
Sam grabbed her gun, held it at her side and backed against the wall on one side of the door. Henry stood on the other side, signaled for Sam to stay quiet and whispered, “Let me check it out.”
Sam ignored Henry’s directive to not speak. She called through the door. “Let me see your ID.”
They almost bumped heads as both tried for a quick look through the peephole before jumping back to their respective sides. Sam signaled for Henry to take a look. If one of them got their head blown off through the small opening, she’d rather it be Henry.
He shot her a disgusted look then stuck his eye to the hole for a second. He saw a nondescript middle-aged man holding up a wallet with an ID. “C’mon, open up. I know you’re in there.”
Henry took his time releasing the deadbolt. “Can I help you, officer?”
“It’s detective, Detective James Munroe. I’d like to speak to you and the woman with you.”
“About?”
“About the murder next door.”
Sam tucked her gun into the back of her jeans and pulled her blouse out to cover it. She moved close to Henry and touched his arm. While Henry snapped the safety on his weapon and held it behind his back, she smiled at the man in the hall. “Let the detective in, Henry. Maybe he has news we should know about.”
The man nodded his appreciation at Sam and stepped through the threshold, his attention on Henry, who grinned and remained silent.
“I hope this won’t take long. We have an appointment this morning,” Sam said.
The detective’s brown eyes took in the room while Sam hid her concern and studied him with detachment—thinning brown hair, indolent brown eyes, necktie loose around his waddled neck. He wore a wrinkled brown suit remarkable only in its dullness. Nothing for her to worry about, she decided.
“I have a few questions. Just routine.” The man made no move to sit down.
“Can I see your ID again, please?” Sam kept her demeanor friendly, not wishing to antagonize one of Portland’s finest. At the same time, she needed to divert his attention from Henry to give her assistant time to stash his gun somewhere.
He held out his badge, snug in a leather case with an ID photo showing a much younger face but still recognizable as the man standing before her. Henry slipped around them, taking care to keep his Beretta out of sight. He reached the kitchen where he dropped the gun into the open dishwasher and closed the door.
Sam took her time studying the ID. “Detective Munroe, we’ll be happy to answer your questions, although I don’t know what we can tell you. We arrived two days ago in the afternoon, and saw nothing but your people roaming the hallway.”
“I have a few questions for you. Why don’t we all take a seat?” Without an invitation the detective moved further into the room and indicated for Sam and Henry to follow.
Henry glanced at Sam, hoping to pick up a clue about how to handle this. True, they knew absolutely nothing about the homicide or the murdered woman, aside from what the Stay Andrew guy had told them. They had nothing to offer except hearsay and it baffled him why this detective needed to talk to them.
Sam grabbed Henry’s hand and led him to the sofa so they were sitting together in an attempt to convey the impression they were happily married. She wasn’t ready to trust the detective with her true identity. She sent Henry a subliminal message to go along before she spoke. “We’ll try to help. Ask away.”
Munroe dug a tattered notebook from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “According to Mr. Barnes, you were originally scheduled to arrive on Monday but notified him that you would be a day late. What caused your change of plans?”
Sam answered without giving Henry a chance to open his mouth. “Our flight out of Milwaukee was cancelled due to weather. We spent the night at a hotel near the airport.”
“You can understand why it’s important that we verify your whereabouts. What airline? Flight number?”
“I’ll have to look it up,” Sam said. “Alaska Airlines. I don’t remember the flight number.”
“That’s all right. We can check it out. Alaska has only one direct flight a day.”
Sam lifted her shoulders, dropped them. “Anything else?”
“I need to confirm that you didn’t know Mrs. Magruder; had no contact with her when she was alive.”
“I assume that was the woman’s name who died?” Henry asked. “Never heard of her before yesterday.”
The detective’s eyes moved to Sam. “And you?”
“I didn’t know her either. We don’t know anyone in Portland. Never been here before.”
“Are you here on vacation?”
“No, I’m, uh, I have a job offer from Nike. We’re relocating.”
“I see. That’s a huge leap from your previous position with the FBI. Can you tell me why you left law enforcement?”
Sam’s heartbeat kicked up. Why was the Portland PD checking into her background? “I don’t see where that’s any of your business.”
“You can’t possibly think we had anything to do with what happened here yesterday.” Henry failed to hide his anger at the detective. At the same time, he wanted to strangle Sam for continuing the pretense regarding their presence in Portland. Why didn’t she tell the guy the truth? It made no sense. And it wouldn’t hurt to have the Portland police aware of their situation should they run into any problems.
“Not really, but I need to fill in a few blanks. This is a high profile case, we have to cover all bases. And you two
are a bit of a puzzle.”
“Why is that?” Sam said. “We’re merely staying in this apartment until we can locate a home to buy. I don’t see how that can be a problem.”
“You told the people at Stay Andrew that you’re a married couple. I couldn’t trace any marriage certificate for you. Also, you’re still going by Sam Turner. Shouldn’t your last name have changed if you were married?”
“I’m keeping my name,” Sam huffed. “It’s not so unusual. I don’t see how it has any significance to your case.”
James Munroe shrugged. “Probably doesn’t. It’s just another puzzler. I don’t think you two are telling the truth. Too much doesn’t add up. And since this is the only other occupied apartment on this floor, it’s an unexplainable coincidence.”
That was weird, but Sam didn’t see how it entered into the investigation. She made a mental note to ask Jason, the Stay Andrew guy, about it at some point. “Detective, I can assure you we had nothing to do with the death of Mrs. Magruder. We have no connection to her whatsoever. If you insist on going down that road, we’ll have to ask you to leave or demand a lawyer.”
The detective stood. “I’ll leave. But I may be back. I’m not quite satisfied with your answers.”
Sam started to rise but Henry pulled her back down. “I’ll show the detective out.”
When they reached the door, Henry glanced back to be certain Sam would not interfere. “Look, detective, Sam and I, well, we’re not officially married yet. We plan on tying the knot real soon, but Sam thought it would be easier to find a place to buy if we presented ourselves as married.”
The detective nodded. “Then why are you sleeping in two different bedrooms?”
At the look of surprise on Henry’s face, the detective grinned. “You left the bedroom doors open. I saw both beds were slept in.”
Henry grinned back at the man—he could play this game too. “The mattress in one of the rooms turned out to be too hard. We moved to the other room in the middle of the night.”
“Very well. If that’s your story.” The tone of the detective’s voice made it clear he didn’t believe it.
Henry tilted his head. “If that’s all…?”