Sealing Fate Page 11

  Then she suddenly realized what she had done. Sheila had lost the connection to whomever Michael had been talking to. She had no number and no name. She stared out the office window into the darkness, unable to believe what she had heard and not knowing what to do.

  * * *

  Within a few hours after Barbara's reluctant agreement to leave while Brian dealt with the killer, Brian backed the rented car out of the garage. He had completed his preparation in less than two hours. It was like the script of a B movie. He had even rented the car under an assumed name, using nothing but a fictitious business card and cash.

  Barbara's suitcases were in the trunk. An Auto Club pouch containing maps of four states sat on the passenger's seat. Brian turned off the ignition and climbed out of the car. He walked to the open front door and heard the phone ringing. Barbara stood by the door, staring at the telephone as if it might explode.

  He walked slowly toward the telephone, knowing who was there. “Hello?”

  “Don't send away your wife,” the familiar voice said.

  “What?”

  “Don't even think about it. It won't work.”

  “You son of a bitch! Where the fuck are you?” Brian screamed.

  “Think of your friend, Bob. You sent him out alone. Don't do the same to your wife.”

  Brian threw down the telephone and ran out the front door. He stood on the sidewalk and looked around. A couple kids sat on the curb a few houses away. He saw nothing else. In the other direction, there was nothing at all. He looked through the front windows of the surrounding houses. Was the killer there, watching everything they did? Was he watching me right now? Brian could see nothing. He jumped as Barbara touched his arm.

  “What is it?” she asked gently.

  “That son of a bitch is watching. He knows what we're doing and when we're doing it.”

  “What?” She rubbed the outside of the arm in the sling with her good hand, as if she were chilled.

  “He said, 'Don't let your wife leave.' He reminded me of what happened when I sent Bob to track him.”

  “My God, Brian.” Barbara looked at him and waited. “What do we do?”

  “Maybe I tell the police everything I know and hope I'm believed and you go to Canada.”

  She shook her head. “I don't think I can live like that.”

  He nodded his understanding. There was a long silence as he reflected. “Or I could do it.”

  “Kill this stranger?” she asked incredulously.

  “What's the alternative? Someone killing you?” He paused for a moment and then grimaced. “I called Bob's house today. Then I called everybody I know who knows him. No one's seen him. If I don't do this, I think he's dead, and maybe you are, too. I'm convinced there's nothing this guy won't do to get what he wants. The amoral live without constraint.”

  She was silent, so he continued, “You can be my alibi. If anyone asks, I'll have been with you watching videos. But probably no one will. I don't even know this guy, so there's not much short of what I leave behind that could tie me to his death.”

  Barbara looked shocked as she said, “You're seriously thinking about doing this, aren't you?”

  “Maybe I have no choice. Just like he wants it.”

  “Bob could already be dead.”

  “I know. I've been thinking about that. But if he's not, I don't want to be responsible for his death too.”

  “What if you don't do it?”

  “Then I go to the police and tell them everything. Then I wait to get arrested, and you take cover.”

  “I'll make some coffee,” Barbara said. “It may be a long night.”

  Brian followed her to the kitchen and watched her put a filter in the basket. “Thanks, Barbara,” he said after a moment.

  “For what?” she asked without turning toward him.

  “For listening. For talking this through. For not leaving.” He walked to her and touched her cheek. “Whatever happens to you and me, thanks for being here now. I've been going crazy thinking about all this alone.”

  8She nodded. “Let's go over our choices again. Maybe there's something else we can try.”

  They covered every alternative, every nuance of every plan either could construct, as they sat in the living room drinking coffee. It never came out much different. Run, hide, and go to the police or go through with the murder.

  It was four in the morning when Barbara fell asleep on the couch. Even the three cups of coffee she had consumed since midnight couldn't keep her awake any longer. Brian put a blanket over her and kissed her cheek. Then he went into the kitchen and made a fresh pot of coffee. He stared out the kitchen window at the dark clumps that were trees and bushes in the daylight, turning the situation over in his mind. It was getting harder to focus. He sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. Within a few minutes, he fell asleep.

  He drifted into a dream and saw her face. He was at the same kitchen table looking out on a beautiful spring morning. Cathy stood outside the window. She looked in and saw him with that instant recognition and warm smile. She waved to him and then walked closer, reaching out and pressing her hand against the outside of the glass. Then the glass was in her hand, and she was bleeding. Her body was suddenly bruised and still, like the images broadcast after the murder.

  Brian stood up and ran to her. As he reached the window, the image was suddenly Barbara's, reaching out to him with tears in her eyes. He reached out to touch her, and she pulled away. Brian awoke with a start. He looked around the kitchen and felt the pain in his heart. It was just after six in the morning, and he had made his final decision.

  Chapter 15

  Through a veil of sleep-induced fog, Barbara heard the doorbell ringing. She looked around the room, feeling disoriented, and then remembered her all-night discussion with Brian and realized that she must have fallen asleep on the couch. She heard the muffled and distant sound of water running, which told her Brian was in the shower. She straightened her clothing and pushed back her hair, all as reflex, knowing it would make little difference in the way she looked.

  She called out, “Just a minute,” as she walked toward the door. She opened the door to find familiar, though not particularly welcome, faces. “Sergeant Merit, right?” she said politely.

  “Merrick, ma'am. And you remember Officer Palmer?”

  The uniformed man gave a brief nod.

  “Yes, I remember. How can I help you, gentlemen?”

  “We need a few words with your husband, Mrs. Madsen. Is he around?”

  “Well, he's in the shower at the moment.”

  Merrick nodded. “Fine, we'll wait.”

  “Come into the living room and have a seat.” She gave them the direction with the wave of her hand. “I'll let him know you're here.”

  “Thank you, ma'am,” Merrick said.

  Barbara turned to go upstairs and then hesitated. “Would you like some coffee?”

  Merrick almost smiled. “I was hoping you'd ask.”

  “And you, Officer?” She looked at the ever-silent Palmer.

  He nodded, keeping his record for silence intact. He looked at her in a way that made her feel self-conscious, as if he were studying her.

  “Please excuse my appearance. I fell asleep on the couch watching a movie last night, and I just woke up when the doorbell rang.”

  “You look fine, ma'am,” Merrick said, sounding sincere.

  Barbara gave him a half smile. He was a liar, but he was polite. “How do you take your coffee?” she asked in Merrick's direction.

  “Just black, ma'am.”

  “And you, Officer?”

  “Same, thanks,” said Palmer.

  Barbara nodded and then turned and walked from the room.

  After Barbara left the room, Palmer looked over at Merrick. “You think the guy's going out the backdoor while we stand here waiting for caffeine?” He looked around the room, the way people always do when left alone for the first time in someone else's house, looking for somet
hing in the decor that would provide insight about the host. Or the way cops do when they're looking for evidence of something.

  Merrick shook his head. “Not a chance. He's a politician. I'm sure he'll be quite diplomatic.”

  Palmer wrinkled his brow to convey his skepticism. “Yeah, right. Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat.”

  Brian walked into the kitchen, buttoning his shirt. “Where are they?” he asked Barbara as she finished pouring two cups of coffee.

  “In the den.” She gave him a look of concern. “Don't worry,” he said reassuringly. “I can handle it.” He glanced at the cups. “I'll take our guests their coffee.”

  Barbara nodded slowly as he picked up the cups. “Be careful,” she said with concern as he left the kitchen.

  Brian walked into the den, and both men stood.

  “Good morning, officers,” he said cordially.

  As always, Merrick was the one to speak. “Good morning, Mr. Madsen.”

  Brian handed each a cup, and the officers took a sip of the coffee. Merrick looked at the cup and nodded approvingly.

  “Please sit down and be comfortable.” Brian motioned to the seats they had vacated. He selected a chair across the coffee table from Merrick and to the left of Palmer. “So what gives rise to this early morning visit?” Brian asked.

  “Well, sir, we're very concerned about the attack at the video store.”

  “It concerns me too, Sergeant. Somebody almost blew up my family.”

  “That's just it, Mr. Madsen. It wasn't just close to your family. It was aimed at your family. The bomb was put in your car.”

  “Yes, sir. I've been told that.”

  “So it seems clear that someone was after you or your family. Or maybe after your family to get to you.”

  Brian nodded and waited.

  “First it was Ms. Jenkins. Now someone seems to be after you,” Merrick said.

  “What do you make of it?” Brian asked, fishing for information.

  “Little bit too much of a coincidence for me, Mr. Madsen. What are the odds of two people who have paths that cross being under attack from two different and unrelated sources in such a short period of time?” Merrick didn't wait for any attempted response to his rhetorical question. “Pretty remote.”

  “Go on,” Brian said, anxious to see where all this was leading.

  “I'm thinking there has to be some connection,” Merrick said.

  “Meaning?”

  “I'm not sure yet.” Merrick scratched his chin, and Brian felt a sense of relief that the big build-up stopped where it did.

  Merrick furrowed his brow. “Maybe a disgruntled employee. Someone with an ax to grind.”

  Brian nodded.

  Merrick leaned forward in his seat. “Now you said you never saw Ms. Jenkins socially, didn't you, sir?”

  Brian felt his pulse race. “Yes, I did.” He tried not to show any reaction to the question.

  “Then the common ground might be where you worked together. That would be in your election campaign, right?”

  “Right.”

  Merrick nodded thoughtfully. “And we've looked at that. We just haven't found much there.” He paused. He seemed to be watching Brian closely when he spoke again. “Can you think of anything else you and Ms. Jenkins had in common? Maybe places you went or things you did?”

  Merrick had a way of honing in on sensitive areas that made Brian blanch inwardly. Once again Brian found himself wondering if Merrick knew something he wasn't letting on.

  “Not that I can think of, Sergeant.”

  “Anyone at campaign headquarters who had an ax to grind with you or Ms. Jenkins?” Merrick asked.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Anyone you had to let go? Anyone who got into some kind of trouble for something they did? Anyone with a reason to be upset with the campaign or you?”

  “I can't think of anyone.”

  “You see, Mr. Madsen, that's the real troubling thing,” Merrick said, frowning.

  “What's that?” Brian asked almost inaudibly.

  “Well, we've been looking at Ms. Jenkins' life rather closely, as you can well imagine.” He paused for effect. “Can't find anyone out there who had any dislike for her. Seems that the same is true for you, right?” He didn't wait for an answer. “Yet someone killed her, and now there's someone after you and your family. Doesn't make sense, does it?”

  “I agree,” Brian said. “And?”

  “And we thought you might be able to shed a little light now that you've had time to reflect on things.”

  Brian shook his head. “I can't think of anything I haven't already said. What about the bomb? Won't that tell you something about who's doing this?”

  “Maybe,” Merrick said. “The lab is working on it, but we won't have results for a couple of days.” Merrick stood up suddenly. “Thanks for your time and the coffee.” He raised his cup and then set it down on the coffee table.

  “Our pleasure, Sergeant,” Brian said.

  The officers walked toward the front door. Brian followed to show them out. As he opened the door, Merrick turned back to Brian. “One more question, Mr. Madsen. Have you been getting any unusual phone calls lately?”

  Brian tried not to wince openly. He hesitated, maybe too long. “No, sir. Why?”

  “Just a thought. Sometimes an attacker makes contact with the intended victim.”

  Brian nodded. His throat was constricting and preventing the passage of words.

  “Let us know if anything like that happens, will you?” Merrick said.

  “We will,” Brian said, forcing out the words.

  The officers left, and Brian closed the door behind them. Then he leaned against it. He was shaking, feeling like his legs might give out under the weight of the lies he kept telling.

  Brian made his way to the bedroom. He didn't see Barbara, but he heard the shower running. He walked to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. The gun was still wrapped in the weathered and water-stained paper. He opened the paper and took out the handgun, leaving the crumpled paper in the drawer. Taped to the gun was a folded piece of paper Brian hadn't seen before. He tore the note from the gun and unfolded it. The message was typed. It read, “6'2”, one ninety-five. Closely cropped brown hair and a mustache, graying. Car is a late-model Lexus 400, dark green.”

  That was it. There were no names and no license plate numbers. Brian held the gun in his palm. He examined it closely. It was small, black, and absent any identifying features. He flipped open the chamber and looked inside. It was loaded. He closed the chamber and placed the gun in his briefcase. Now he was ready. He could almost feel himself beginning to sweat.

  Chapter 16

  Brian left his unopened briefcase on the worktable in the corner of his office. Whenever he looked in the direction of the case, the grim reminder of its contents quickened his pulse. He could think of little else. Nothing in the office could hold his attention for more than a few seconds. Every time his thoughts returned to the gun, the emotional upheaval seemed to worsen. The only reason to be in the office was to maintain some semblance of normalcy in his life before he went to do what had to be done. He couldn't help wondering if the others in the office could sense that something was wrong. The veneer seemed to wear thinner as the day wore on and Brian drew closer to the event.

  Brian had left the house without telling Barbara of his decision or that he had even taken the gun. There was no point in both of them facing the horrendous expectation that lay only a few hours ahead. He would spare her what he could.

  At six o'clock, Brian called Barbara. She answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, Barb. It's me.”

  “Brian, I'm so sorry I fell asleep last night. How are you doing?”

  “I'm okay. Listen, you and I are going to watch a video tonight.” He allowed time for the message to penetrate.

  “Oh my.” Brian could hear the concern in her voice. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I think so.”<
br />
  “Are you really sure, Brian?”

  “No, but I have no choice. I love you, Barbara.”

  “I love you too. In a way, I feel like you've come back to me.”

  “I know. Me too. I'll see you soon.”

  “Take care, Brian. Hurry home.”

  Brian slowly returned the phone to its cradle. All that was happening had a dreamlike quality to it. Brian felt as if he were watching his life from a distance and without control. It was a sense he had felt since the nightmare morning he first learned about Cathy's murder.

  Brian took a look around the office, as if viewing his surroundings for the last time. He told himself that, whatever happened, there was no turning back.

  * * *

  Bob had no idea how long he had been out. He knew only that his head hurt like hell and another rope was in place around his wrists. Slowly he felt around the interior of the closet. He felt hanging clothes. A couple of cardboard boxes were in one corner, but they were weak and gave way the moment he applied the force of the ropes. He made his way to the back of the closet, where he found a long, flat piece of metal that he could only guess was a ruler or yardstick of some kind. He pinned the metal between himself and the wall and began to work his ropes against it.

  In less than an hour, the rope had weakened to the point where its last strands broke and Bob's arms were free. He removed the blindfold and the ropes that bound his legs. He listened carefully at the door for a full five minutes. Deciding that his captor was not there and that he had better move before that changed, he threw his shoulder into the locked door and waited for a reaction.

  There was no response, so he slammed into the door again and then waited. Nothing happened, so he struck repeatedly at the door until it finally gave after ten minutes. He fell on top of the door, his now-tender shoulder the point of impact. He grimaced as a shooting pain exploded in the shoulder and down the arm. He held the injured right shoulder with his left hand and quickly glanced around him. He was alone.