The Iron Ring

by Matty Dalrymple

  “And, when the fire spread from the house to the outbuilding,” said Theo, “that you had abandoned him.”

  “I didn’t know for sure that he was tied up,” she said stiffly. “The security cameras don’t show the area behind the outbuildings.”

  “No, but that was really the only logical conclusion as to why he didn’t emerge from behind the outbuilding once Ballard and Pieda had gone into the house. That, or that he was still unconscious and therefore helpless.”

  Louise kept her eyes on Theo’s and her face impassive, but under the table her knuckles whitened as her fingers closed on her linen napkin.

  Theo waved a hand. “I don’t blame you for doing what you did. In fact, I admire it. I have always admired your ability to keep your eye on the prize regardless of distractions along the way. But it’s important for us to know that Mitchell Pieda has reason to dislike you. Perhaps even to hate you.”

  Louise gave a single, curt nod.

  “And what is the prize for Mr. Pieda?”

  “Money,” she said promptly, then considered. “Not so much money itself, as what it can provide. Status. Access to the finer things in life.”

  There was a knock at the door and Maja and her assistant entered and served the entrées.

  When they had withdrawn, Theo asked, “What do you know about Philip Castillo?”

  “Castillo?” She shrugged. “He styles himself a new age counselor. Ballard saw him several times, and obviously they formed enough of a bond that she and McNally were able to convince him to come out to Pennsylvania from Arizona and break into my home.”

  “What do you think motivated him to throw his support behind Miss Ballard?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  “Do you think he and Miss Ballard are romantically involved?”

  “George thought not, and his assessments of such things were usually reliable.”

  “Did you know Castillo had been in prison?”

  Louise raised her eyebrows. “No.”

  “For second-degree murder.”

  Louise stared.

  “He was nineteen,” continued Theo. “He stabbed another young man.”

  She drew her eyebrows together. “I would have expected George to have discovered that.”

  “His name was Casal when he went to prison.”

  “Still.”

  “Casal. Castillo. Is he Mexican? Or perhaps Native American?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Does he look Mexican or Native American?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Any family?”

  “I haven’t any idea. Why are you so interested in him?”

  Theo swirled his glass of wine. “Over the last decade or so, I have been exploring some business opportunities in the Southwest that someone of Mr. Castillo’s appearance—and temperament—might facilitate.” He took a sip. “I can’t imagine that being a new age counselor pays very well,” he said contemplatively.

  Louise shifted in her seat. “Would you like to hear about Elizabeth Ballard?”

  Theo held up his hand. “I have plenty to consider for now.”

  The conversation for the remainder of the meal was about a paper Louise had presented at a conference the previous year. When Maja and the young man had cleared away the dessert plates, Theo stood, came to Louise’s side of the table, and pulled out her chair for her.

  “I will very much look forward to continuing our conversation tomorrow,” he said.

  She stood. “Theo, I know I’m putting you in an awkward position by coming here. Should we be making plans for my departure?”

  “Nonsense. I couldn’t be more pleased to have you as my guest, and I can assure you that you won’t be bothered as long as you’re here.”

  “But I can’t stay here forever.”

  “We must give you a chance to tell the rest of your tale,” he said. “Then we can decide how to proceed.”

  9

  The next morning Philip was moved from the ICU to a room. Philip suspected that the fact that it was a private room was thanks to Andy McNally’s influence. Just as the nurse finished getting him settled, a young man with cop written all over him appeared at the door.

  “Mr. Castillo? I’m Detective Brady Plott of the Lenape Township Police Department. How are you feeling?”

  “Not bad, all things considered.”

  Plott removed a small spiral notebook from his pocket. “We certainly haven’t given you a very friendly welcome to Pennsylvania.”

  “Just in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess.”

  “Can you describe what happened?”

  Philip gave him the story Andy had prepped him with: visiting Andy … hankering for Mexican … mugged behind the restaurant.

  Plott shook his head. “That’s a shame. I understand that Dr. McNally lives in Villanova.”

  Since Philip had no idea where Andy lived, he remained silent.

  “Kennett is quite a drive from there,” Plott continued.

  “I was in the mood to do some exploring.”

  “What made you choose that restaurant?”

  “I heard it was good.”

  “Oh, yeah? I’m always looking for good Mexican myself—do you remember who gave you the recommendation?”

  “Must have been McNally.”

  “So,” said Plott, “you drove to the restaurant and parked the car.”

  “Yup.”

  “Where did you park it?”

  Philip appreciated that Andy had no doubt been keeping the cover story bare bones in the hope of making it easy for him to remember, but he was wishing Andy had provided a few more details.

  “Parking lot.”

  “Do you remember which one?”

  “The restaurant parking lot,” said Philip, hoping the restaurant had a parking lot.

  “In back?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  Plott waited for a moment, evidently hoping Philip would elaborate, then said sympathetically, “The car’s not there now.”

  “Damn. Mugger must have gotten my keys and taken it.”

  “Too bad it wasn’t in front. Better lit out there.”

  “Yeah, too bad,” said Philip.

  Plott nodded encouragingly. When Philip didn’t say anything, he said, “Good thing that girl saw you back there.”

  “What girl’s that?”

  “White girl between sixteen and eighteen with very short red hair. She ran into the restaurant and let them know you were out back.”

  “That was lucky.”

  “Does she sound like anyone you know?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why did you park in back anyway?”

  Philip started to shrug, then thought better of it when his shoulder protested. “Can’t recall.”

  Plott nodded. “Yeah, a bullet wound can play havoc with the old brain cells.”

  Philip shot him a look, then decided he was being sincere.

  “Did you drive out from Arizona?” asked Plott.

  “No. Flew.”

  “Rented the car?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you can give us the name of the rental agency, we can get the license plate and keep an eye out for it.”

  “Great,” said Philip, wishing Plott were a little less the eager beaver when it came to helping out a crime victim. “It was Budget.”

  Plott nodded and jotted a note on a pad he pulled from his pocket.

  “Can you describe what happened to you?” he asked.

  “I can’t really recall anything after I got to the restaurant. Like you said, the brain cells.”

  The nurse stepped into the room. “How are you feeling, Mr. Castillo?”

  “Tired.” At least he didn’t have to make that up.

  “Brady,” she said to the detective, “that’s enough for now. He needs some rest.”

  “I can imagine,” said Plott sympathetically. He slipped the notepad back into his pocket. “We’ll do our best to get y
our belongings and your car back. If you do remember anything about the mugging, or think of anything that might be helpful, please give me a call.” He put a business card down on the bedside table.

  “Will do,” said Philip.

  “Especially that girl—I’d love to talk with her. She might have seen something that would help us track down the mugger.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I’ll let you know if I think of anything.”

  “Or maybe she was involved.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it.”

  Plott shrugged. “Either way, it would have been better if she hadn’t run off. But don’t worry—we’ll find her.” He gave a wave and left the room.

  Philip lay back. The police finding Lizzy was exactly what he was worried about.

  10

  Lizzy got a roll of quarters from the front desk of the hotel and found a pay phone in a largely deserted conference area. If she was going to Arizona to kill a man, a fake identity seemed like a good idea, and if she was going to call a number she had been instructed to memorize and not write down, it seemed smart to make that call from a pay phone.

  She picked up the handset, then returned it to the cradle. She was reaching for the handset again when she saw two maintenance guys coming down the hall toward her, talking and laughing. She glanced around, spotted a restroom a few yards away, and slipped into it. Maybe if she was calling a man to get a fake ID, she shouldn’t even be seen near the phone from which the call was made. It wasn’t like she had any experience with this sort of thing.

  She looked at her reflection in the restroom mirror as she listened to the men’s voices recede. Her face was more pale than could be explained by the week since she had last been in the Arizona sun. She reached up to run her hand across her brutally short hair and suddenly she missed the long blond hair she had cut off when she was on the run from Louise. When she was little, her mother had let her hair grow long because that was better than risking Lizzy getting angry with the stylist. After her mother had died, she had kept it long out of habit. When all this was over, she would grow it out again.

  When she could no longer hear voices from the hallway, she returned to the pay phone. She took a deep breath and picked up the handset. There was just one promise standing between her and this all being over. She would go to Arizona to take care of Tobe Hanrick, not only because she had promised Philip that she would, but also because if she didn’t, she knew Philip would try to do it himself, and she couldn’t think of a way that would turn out well for Philip.

  Lizzy pressed in the number Philip had given her, then fed quarters into the phone at the instruction of the automated voice.

  “Hello?” The voice was quiet, almost whispery.

  “Hello. I’m calling because Philip Casti— Casal gave me this number.”

  “Philip Casal? It’s been a long time since I heard that name.”

  “He said to call this number if I needed a new identity.”

  “How do I know you know Philip Casal?”

  “He’s medium height, kind of wiry build. Dark hair and dark complexion. Dark eyes.”

  There was no response.

  “He was at Williams,” she said. “For killing someone.”

  “Who?”

  “What?”

  “Who did he kill?”

  “A rancher’s son.”

  “What was his name.”

  “Um … I don’t know.” Lizzy’s heart was beating hard now. Maybe she should have done that search on Philip’s background after all. What if she wasn’t able to convince this person that Philip had actually given her the phone number?

  “Why did Casal kill the rancher’s son?”

  “He was doing something bad to an animal.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “I don’t know. That’s all he told me.” The heavy handset was slippery in her grasp.

  “You haven’t told me anything that anyone might not easily find out about Philip Casal.”

  Lizzy racked her brain. What could she say that would prove she knew Philip? “He was friends with a man named Oscar who was killed at Williams. Oscar told him the lesson of the Ruby Slippers.”

  Silence.

  “The lesson of the Ruby Slippers is that you have the power within yourself to help yourself out of your own problems, but sometimes you need help realizing it.” She was blathering now. “And snakes and ladders. The lesson of snakes and ladders is that the snakes are your vices, and they trip you up, and the ladders are your virtues, and they help you along—”

  She heard a quiet laugh at the other end of the line. “Yes, I see you do know Philip Casal.”

  Lizzy slumped against the wall.

  “I’ve owed Philip Casal a favor for a good many years,” said the voice, “and I’ve never been one to like owing a favor. I’ll be glad to finally pay off that debt. What do you want?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Driver’s license?”

  “Yes.”

  “Snap a couple of selfies. Don’t smile. Then I’ll give you an email address to send them to.”

  She took a couple of pictures and sent them off.

  After a moment, the voice was back. “I’m not going to be able to match the hair. What color is your hair when it’s not red?”

  “Blond.”

  “That’ll be easier. Hold on.”

  She heard the sound of the phone being placed on a hard surface, and then some sort of shuffling noise in the background. A minute ticked by, then two. The automated voice asked for more money and she fed in more quarters. Lizzy hoped the transaction could be completed before she ran out of coins. She felt a rivulet of sweat trickle down her spine.

  Finally the voice was back. “Okay, I got a good one. It helps that all teenage girls wear their hair long and straight these days. And because you’re a student of the Ruby Slippers,” there was a soft laugh, “it’s a premium product—it’ll pass a background check, like for a gun. But you can’t use it at a TSA checkpoint.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Where do you want it sent?”

  “Can you send it to a hotel?”

  “Sure.”

  “You could send it to the William Penn Hotel in Philadelphia. Let me look up the address …” she said, tapping on her phone.

  “Don’t bother, I’ll look it up. What name should I send it to?”

  Lizzy groaned internally. “Andrew McNally.” It was the name the room was reserved in.

  “Okay. I’ll get this in the mail to Andrew McNally today. You should have it tomorrow, the next day at the latest.”

  “Wow, that’s fast.”

  “Damn straight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You tell Philip Casal we’re even now.”

  “I will.”

  And the line went dead.

  11

  Philip was congratulating himself that the discussion with Plott that morning had gone about as well as the circumstances and his condition would allow, when more alarming thoughts began to sour his mood. Specifically, thoughts about what had been in the pockets of the jacket he had worn to Pocopson, which was likely now in the hands of the hospital—or the police.

  He hit the call button at the side of his bed, and in a few moments a nurse appeared.

  “Everything all right, Mr. Castillo?”

  “I was wondering—do you have my belongings?”

  “I can’t imagine they kept your clothes. They would have been quite a mess.”

  “How about what was in my pockets?”

  “I’m sure the police have that.” She must have noticed his worried expression. “I know it’s inconvenient, but I’m sure you’ll be able to replace anything that the muggers took as soon as you’re discharged.”

  As she turned to go, he said, “I need to speak with Andy—Dr. McNally. Can you call him?”

  The nurse looked at him critically. “You really shouldn’t be having visitors. If you ask me, Dr. McNally is taking advantage of his as
sociation with the hospital—”

  “Please,” interrupted Philip. “I was carrying something important and I’m afraid the mugger got it. It’s going to be a load off my mind if I can talk to Dr. McNally, then I can stop worrying about it and get some rest.”

  She sighed. “All right. I’ll see if I can track him down.”

  A haggard-looking Andy arrived an hour later. “Hey, Philip, what’s up?”

  “I realized there were a couple of things in my pockets that could cause us problems, depending on whose hands they fell into.”

  Andy shot a look toward the door, then sat down on the chair next to Philip’s bed. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

  “I took three papers from Louise Mortensen’s office. One was a list of jobs Millard did for Mortensen. Lizzy has that. I also found medical records for Lizzy and Pieda. I couldn’t take the whole file, but I took a summary sheet from both of them and put them in my jacket pocket. They have Lizzy and Pieda’s names on them.”

  Andy ran his fingers through his hair. “Shit.” He was silent for a few moments, then said, “If they really dig into that stuff—and it seems unlikely if they think you’re just some poor slob who got mugged on his way to dinner—maybe we can say that Lizzy and Pieda were clients of your counseling business. I suppose it’s plausible that you might have medical information about them on that basis.”

  “And what if they find out that they both live in the Philly area.”

  “You’re visiting to check up on them.”

  “And I haven’t bothered mentioning their names before now?”

  “Jesus, Castillo, I know it’s thin—let me know when you come up with something better.”

  Philip dropped his head back on his pillow. “Sorry. I’ve been thinking about it and haven’t come up with anything better.”

  Andy sighed. “Let’s hope they lose interest before we need to start explaining even more oddities.” He paused as a cart trundled past in the hallway, then continued. “If they find Pieda, he’s going to be just as interested in avoiding a connection with the Pocopson fire as we are. I’m not as worried about Pieda telling them what really happened as I am of him telling the cops a story that doesn’t match up with whatever we tell them. Of course, if they discover that Lizzy and Pieda were both Vivantem babies, that would be dicey, but it’s hard to see how they’d just stumble across that information.”