Читать книгу When Angels Fail To Fly - John Schlarbaum - Страница 7

Personal privacy is one aspect of a private investigator’s life taken very seriously. My driver’s licence lists the address of a private postal depot where I rent a mailbox. Even the telephone number for Cassidy Investigations does not list an actual street location in the phone book. If someone requests a meeting, I have it at a neutral location like a donut shop. All of these measures are to protect me from disgruntled clients or subjects knowing where I eat and sleep. Unfortunately, there are no safeguards against a neighbour calling the local television station about a SWAT-like situation next door. I glanced out the front window of my house and wondered when the media would arrive to stake claim to my yard. So far, they had either ignored the tip altogether or figured it wasn’t worth getting involved in dangerous police business. At least something was going my way.

Before calling Maria, I tried to get hold of my former best friend, Wayne “Doogie” Dugan, hoping he might know about her strange phone message.

After two rings Wayne picked up and stated quite forcibly, “I don’t know how you got this number but I’m not giving any interviews about that loser Steve Cassidy. So stop calling!”

“Mr. Dugan, please don’t hang up. We’re willing to pay $50,000 for your story.” My offer was met with a long, thoughtful moment of silence.

“You know, Steve,” Wayne began to laugh, “for fifty grand I’d give up details of my grandparents’ sex life.”

“Call display takes all the fun out of life, Doogie.”

“Tell me about it. It sure comes in handy though when Trudy is trying to track me down.”

We both let out a quick, awkward laugh, each knowing what was coming next.

“So, has anyone called you?” I began.

“Not yet.”

“I’m sorry about any inconvenience this will cause.”

“Hey, no biggie. I will only give ‘em my rank and serial number. Trudy on the other hand . . .”

“Does your lovely wife know yet?”

“She went to work at the flower shop early, so I doubt it.”

“But when she finds out, Maria will find out, right?”

“That’s the way it goes when you work side by side.” Another deadly pause. “What about Linda? How’s she taking this?”

“Not well,” I sighed. “She’s gone. Took everything belonging to her and left me a note.” I wanted to tell Wayne about the police visit but couldn’t find the strength. There was no use bringing up Linda’s apparent disappearance if she was just cooling her heels out of town for a while.

“You haven’t talked to her?”

“I didn’t have the chance,” I offered. “I’m hoping to though.”

“I don’t know what to say, Steve. I’m kinda in a rough spot—you’re my friend but I also like Linda a lot. My kids still talk about her since she left the library.”

“I screwed up, Wayne. That’s what I do,” I admitted. “Regrettably my moral breakdowns end up hurting a pile of innocent people, like Linda and Samantha.”

“Who’s Samantha?” Wayne asked, before it dawned on him. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened,” he added quickly. “From what I read, you were doing your job. Who knew that guy was going to go psycho?”

“That’s easy for you to say. If I hadn’t been fooling around, we would have left the motel as soon as buddy got in the taxi. That’s the way it worked in the past and no one got killed. Anyway, what’s done is done. I’ll have to live with the consequences. As for those reporters, tell them whatever they want to know,” I said. “And if they want to contribute to your kids’ college fund, go for it. There will be no hard feelings.”

“I wouldn’t rat you out.”

“Not even for fifty thousand big ones?” I kidded him.

“Trudy’d kill me if I turned down that kind of dough,” he admitted.

“Make sure you tell the Global Scoop reporter some of my good points, okay?”

“As soon as I think of one, I’ll pass it right along.”

“That’s all I can ask of you. Now . . . the real reason for my call is—”

“Maria.”

“Yes, Maria. Do you know anything about a phone call she received? She left a message on our—I mean, my machine.”

“You must be talking about the call from the penitentiary,” Doogie said.

“What penitentiary? Sandwedge?” I began to fear that somehow the killer from my celebrated missing person case was trying to threaten Maria from the big house.

“Too small. Think B-I-G. Think of sandy beaches and palm trees.”

“The Farmington Penitentiary?”

“Boy, you’re good,” Wayne replied. “You’ve been watching Jeopardy, haven’t you?”

“More like Court TV,” I said. “So who does Maria know at The Farm?”

“You mean who do we know?”

“Wayne, you’re slaying me here.”

“Okay, okay. Do you remember Max Feldberg, class of ’84?”

“Of course I do. We were like brothers,” I said. “The last I heard he was on the run for passing himself off as a shrink and disappearing with his patients’ cash. I guess they caught up with him then.”

“To the tune of seventy–four years.”

“For fraud? Isn’t that a bit harsh?” I recalled a conversation with my former Delta lawyer, Francis McKillop, who had updated me on my friends’ whereabouts since graduation. “Hold on—aside from being a thief, didn’t a disturbed woman jump to her death from his office window or some such thing?”

I heard Wayne laughing. “You’re half-right. He did milk his clients for big cash but the woman was pushed—she didn’t jump. The stolen money got him six years. The other sixty-eight was for the manslaughter conviction.”

“So, getting back to Maria’s mystery call, do you know why he contacted her?” I asked, growing more perplexed.

“No. She told Trudy there was a message saying Maxwell Feldberg had requested to speak with her and that she should contact the penitentiary.”

“Did they say if it was an emergency or anything?”

“Nope—just that she should call.”

“Has she?”

“I don’t think so,” Wayne said. “She wanted to talk to you first.”

“I’ll try her at work. The sooner the better. She may not want to speak to me after she hears what I did to Linda.”

“Your secret is safe with me but I don’t think it’ll be a secret for long, once a reporter or two or twenty descend on Delta.”

“You’d think they would have uncovered all my dirty secrets from the last go-round.”

“Then again,” Wayne said in a more serious tone, “you’d think you would have learned a lesson or two from the last go-round.”

Touché, I thought. “I wish I could be as good a friend as you, Wayne.”

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em. Anyway, give Maria a shout. I’ll get all the gory details during supper tonight.”

Before hanging up, Wayne told me not to be a stranger and asked if I was planning to visit Delta in the near future. We’d actually discussed going home for the next long weekend, however under the current circumstances, a trip didn’t look practical. I said he’d have a better chance of seeing Linda than me.

“I highly doubt the police would be too pleased if I skipped town, even though I haven’t been charged with anything.” I let out a laugh. “With my licence suspended and no new work coming in, it would be a great time for a mini-vacation, although there would be no point. Once this new scandal goes public, everyone in town will hate me.”

“Actually,” Wayne broke in, “don’t be so hard on yourself. The fact is most everyone with kids already hates you.”

“Why?”

“For making Linda leave her library job.”

“I didn’t make her leave.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“Thanks for that update, pal. I feel so much better now.”

“That’s what friends are for, right?”

When I got off the phone with Wayne, I felt depressed and pissed off with myself. Once again I had let my old friends down with my selfishness. Although no one in Delta knew, Linda and I had been having a difficult time adjusting to our life together. After years wrapped in the comfy warmth of a small town where everybody knew your name, Linda wasn’t prepared for the coldness of Darrien. She was also ill-prepared for my long days on the road and the ever-changing plans. And let’s not get into those overnight marital cases.

In a nutshell: Linda was living in a strange city with no friends and a boyfriend who may or may not be home for dinner.

Even then I think this new lifestyle arrangement was more stressful for me. You see, I loved having someone to come home to, but my job ultimately dictated my arrival time. This concept was foreign to Linda. As a librarian she was used to saying, “The library closes at 6:00, so let’s meet for dinner at 6:05, okay?” It’s for this very reason many police officers marry fellow cops. Both understand the fluid nature of the job; that the last call you’re dispatched to may involve hours of overtime filling out paper work. No huge deal. No guilt trips. (Of course, I had also managed to screw up that arrangement. More on that later.)

I should have stopped Linda from moving, but at the time I too was thinking with my heart instead of my head. Our ill-advised quickie engagement only made matters worse as we were still getting used to each other’s habits and personalities. Then came Samantha. When I hired her part-time, I’d actually convinced myself I was on solid ground and nothing would happen between us. She was in a committed relationship and proudly showed off her engagement ring to everyone, including our subjects, who thought nothing of bedding another man’s woman. With Linda now living at my place, we were also very serious. Sam and I had no plans of screwing things up—literally or figuratively.

For the first couple of months, we had a great employer-employee partnership and were a successful team. There was flirting involved; harmless verbal fun in the context of the sleazy work we were doing. Then things began to go sideways for us: Linda and I argued about my insane work hours, while at the same time, Samantha’s fiancé accused her of sleeping with me, which she rightfully denied. On a stake-out one day, I told Sam I had often accused my lover of cheating in order to cover up, or later justify, my own extra-curricular activities.

A few days later, Samantha arrived at the office in a very foul mood.

“Her name is Lucy and she lives in the east end on Myers Avenue.”

Having no idea what she was talking about, I asked, “Who is this Lucy person and why should I care?”

Samantha stopped in mid-stride and glared daggers in my direction. “You should care because she’s the little tramp Richard is doing behind my back!”

“As in, Do you take Samantha to be your lovely bride, Richard?”

“That’s the one,” she said, as she made her way to her desk, where she let out an angry grunting sound. “To love, honour and cherish—my ass! He’s a dead man.”

“I agree,” I quipped. “Any man who doesn’t love, honour or cherish your ass must be dead.”

“You got that right.”

It was this type of goofy flirtation which passed as typical conversation between the two of us. In the true business world, my comment would have landed me in jail for sexual harassment. My office however, doesn’t actually exist or operate in the real world; it’s located somewhere on the underbelly of the real world, out of sight and out of mind. When I hired Samantha, I did so for three reasons: she was smart, attractive and engaged to be married. It was only when we became more comfortable working together, her politically incorrect self emerged. To an observer, our constant sexually charged come-ons and put-downs meant only one thing: we desperately wanted to get into each other’s pants. I again state categorically that was not the case—at least not until Richard began to see other women and Linda began to hate me. (Note: Unlike Richard, Linda never accused me of shagging my work partner, although I’m certain the idea crossed her mind a time or two.)

“So, did you catch them together?” I asked.

“Not in the physical sense.”

“Then how can you be sure Richard is having an affair?”

Samantha opened her purse and pulled out a stack of papers. “You’re an investigator—investigate these.” She handed me a pile of e-mail messages written between Richard and Lucy.

“Did you find these filed under ‘Tramp’ in his desk?” I asked as I began to read the forbidden love letters.

“He’s smart,” Samantha admitted, “just not that smart.”

“Then how?”

“Ever hear of an e-tracker?”

“Enlighten me.”

“An e-tracker is a program that records every keystroke a person types when using a computer. They could be writing a letter to Grandma, playing a game, or working on a cost datasheet for their business. Regardless, this program stores every hit on the keyboard.”

“I’m impressed,” I said, looking up into Samantha’s now triumphant face. “And what government agency did you go through to get this top-secret software, which essentially bypasses every privacy law ever written? And what was the agent’s name? We might need to use him in the future.”

“The agency goes by the name of The Computer Emporium on Ouellette Avenue—next to the Burger King. As for the agent, I don’t know what his real name is but his little yellow nametag had ‘Willy D’ typed on it.”

“Probably his undercover alias.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“So let me get this straight,” I started, after a humorous beat passed between us. “Richard composes his little letter, not knowing that every key he taps is being secretly recorded?”

“Right.”

“You being little Miss Innocent then tell Richard there is a report you need to type up on his laptop.”

“Something like that.”

“But instead of writing up the Delphi case I’ve been asking for, you access your covert program and come up with these e-mails.” I waved the stack of papers in my hand. “Am I close?”

“Basically,” Samantha said with a grin. “I didn’t have much time as loserboy was having a shower, so I figured out his e-mail password and then shut everything down.”

“With his password you then broke into his mailbox later on and read everything, right?” She nodded her head. “Very resourceful.”

“If you like that, check out the last e-mail dated yesterday.”

I flipped through the pages and began to read the final message when Samantha stopped me. She pointed to the top of the page where the ‘To and From’ addresses were printed. As a computer novice it took me several seconds to realize what was different from the others I’d read.

“How is it your e-mail address is listed here?”

“You’re going to love this,” Samantha chirped giddily. “The beauty of free e-mail networks is they understand a person may have two or three different addresses—like a work one or one that came bundled with their internet provider. So, as a courtesy, they offer a forwarding option to send messages to a second address.”

“But wouldn’t Richard realize he isn’t getting his messages?” I inquired.

“No, because unlike a single letter which is forwarded to your cottage during the summer, in this case a second duplicate message is generated and sent out.”

“Which means Richard gets one and you get one, right?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m still a bit fuzzy on the details here. Again, won’t Richard realize or be notified his love notes from Lucy are also being sent to you?”

“Only if he decides to change his personal options—which no one ever does once their address is up and running. Anyway, by the time he figures it out he’ll be six feet in the ground.”

I looked at Samantha, in awe of her talent and cunning.

“You realize that when you confront Richard he’ll think I was behind this, as part of my plan to steal you away from him? Then he’ll come after me.”

“Not after I tell his Mom on him. She absolutely loves me and couldn’t wait until I became her daughter-in-law.”

“The news is going to break her heart.”

A week after kicking Richard to the curb, Samantha and I had to go out of town for one night on a case. After doing all the wrong things, our guy was busted and soon left, perplexed by the evening’s strange ending. After his departure, Samantha and I found ourselves alone in the hotel room. She was still provocatively dressed and lying on the bed, watching me pack up the camera equipment we had installed earlier in the day. Without warning, I realized she had gotten off the bed and was now standing directly behind me. Not knowing exactly what was going through her mind, I didn’t immediately turn to face her.

“Remember yesterday when you said now that Richard was out of the picture, all we needed was for Linda to find a new boy toy?”

“I was kidding around,” I said, slowly turning to face her. “Unless you know something about Linda’s love life I don’t.”

“All I know is this . . .” Samantha placed her hands on my cheeks and briefly pressed her soft lips against mine.

“I’ve never been much good as the rebound guy,” I offered. “And besides—”

“I know—Linda,” Samantha interrupted. “Here’s a news flash: she thinks you and I are getting it on already. So what’s the difference if we are or we’re not, right?”

“After what you’ve gone through with Richard, that’s quite possibly the most hypocritical statement I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“I realize that,” she replied, “but I also now know life is too short to be stuck in an unloving relationship. Richard and me. You and Linda. Being unhappy and sexually frustrated is not the kind of life I want to be living and neither do you.”

I was about to defend my position, when Samantha followed up her first kiss with an even more sensual one. She then took hold of my belt buckle and led me like a lamb to the bed.

There is no good reason for infidelity. Either you’re committed or you should be committed. It’s that simple. Like the yearnings for drugs and booze in a former existence, the fire that began to burn inside me was simply one of overwhelming desire for something that was forbidden for good reason. Sexy and single Samantha was only part of my downfall. Another female in another city would have caused the same reaction. As much as I cared for Linda, I wasn’t strong enough to say no.

There were a million reasons this arrangement wouldn’t work, yet somehow my brain was convinced there were a million and one reasons it could.

Fifty percent plus one wins every time.

Once an addict, always an addict.

Once a loser, always a loser.

Once corrupted, always corruptible.

What we could not know, or even comprehend on that fine spring evening, was the start of this misguided fling would in due course destroy our lives.

It would be Richard who would attend Samantha’s funeral and not the other way around.

As for Linda and me, it was now going on two days since she’d left our house and I still hadn’t heard a word from her.

Then again, neither had anyone else.