Sealing Fate Read online

  For that infinite moment, Cathy's world was all it could ever be. Happiness and love moved over her and filled her with the deepest contentment she had ever known. Then it all began to change. The ocean was gone. Now she and Brian were walking faster through a jungle. What had been sand was now trees, vines, and thick vegetation. They were trying to get away from something. There was a pounding in the background, like a native drum. She looked at Brian, and his expression had changed to concern. He held onto her hand, and they began to run. The pounding grew louder. Something was getting closer.

  Brian's face had changed again. The concern had become fear. He clutched Cathy's hand tightly, and they ran faster. The pounding was deafening and seemed to be directly behind them. Cathy looked over her shoulder. There was nothing.

  Then through a fog, Cathy began to realize that the jungle was a dream. She slowly awoke, realizing she was alone in bed. She was relieved that the fear was just part of a dream and then suddenly sad that the depth of love and devotion in Brian's eyes had been part of that dream.

  She looked over at the red digits of her clock radio. It was twelve after two. Brian had been gone just over an hour. She heard a knock at her door and recognized it as the pounding that had made its way into her dream. She slowly walked to the closet and put on her robe. She walked to the front door and peered out through the peephole. Then she unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.

  Chapter 7

  Barbara climbed out of bed and made her way to the bathroom, striking the doorjamb with her shoulder in her grogginess. She strained to see the digital readout on the bedside alarm. Seven o'clock, she thought.

  Brian was just beginning to come to. Through a veil of fog, he heard someone say “Dammit.” Then he heard the shower. He fell back to sleep, and the sounds became a waterfall in a lush forest. When he next awoke, Barbara was putting on makeup by the dresser. Brian made his way over to kiss her.

  “Morning, darling,” she said with a warm smile. “Coffee's on.”

  “Sounds great. Just a quick shower and I'll be ready.” He kissed her again and then made his way toward the bathroom.

  It was just before eight o'clock when they sat on patio chairs with hot coffee to take in the cool spring air. It was one of those mornings Brian loved. The sky was amazing, occasional swirling clouds so far apart as to look lonely against the uninterrupted light blue behind them. The air seemed extraordinarily breathable with a light breeze moving through the backyard. Birds chirped and sang competing melodies from every direction. Both Brian and Barbara were dressed in jeans and a sweater to take the edge off the morning briskness.

  “This is wonderful,” he said, glancing around at the view. “I feel like I'm a million miles away from everything.”

  She nodded and then looked at him thoughtfully. “It feels like it used to when we first started out, when we used to take every spare moment we could find to get away together. Remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember,” he said wistfully. “Good memories.”

  “And we went for walks and to some cozy, out-of-the-way place for breakfast. And there was nothing else but you and me.”

  “I remember.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he looked into her eyes. They were somehow alight. “Let's do it again. Now. Today. We'll take a walk and then go to Rosie's for breakfast. Just us for the whole weekend.”

  She smiled happily and touched his hand. “That's a wonderful idea. I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  As they stood up to get ready, the telephone rang.

  “I'll get it,” Brian said and ran into the den.

  “Hello?”

  “Brian?”

  He recognized Dan Anderson's voice. Dan was almost a caricature, short, chubby, and bald and never seen without a large unlit cigar hanging from his lips. They had been friends for years. Dan was a freelance journalist, and they had met in the early years of Brian's law practice. One of several controversial cases Brian had handled had caused the reporters to swarm. Dan had been the only one not to quote him out of context. From then on, Dan had been the first to get anything Brian had for the media. Even now, when Brian was much more frequently quoted in light of his newfound status, he still went first to Dan. Dan treated him right. Dan had even done some volunteer work for Brian's campaign.

  “Hi, Dan. What's up?”

  “You watching TV?” Dan asked, sounding out of breath.

  “No. We're sitting out back, enjoying nature and caffeine.”

  “Turn it on quick. Channel four.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it!” Dan nearly shouted.

  Brian grabbed the remote and pushed the power button. There was an electrical wake-up surge, and the picture took shape. He hit another button and had channel four.

  “At this hour, not much else is known,” was the first thing he caught.

  A woman dressed for the Arctic was standing on a sidewalk and speaking into a microphone covered by a big number four.

  “Her name was Cathy Jenkins. We know she worked for International Resource Corporation in marketing. We know that, sometime late last night or early this morning, she was brutally murdered, apparently by someone she let into her home. We'll keep you posted as this tragic story unfolds. This is Linda Morales, Channel Four News.”

  Brian stared at the television. “Oh my God,” he whispered.

  “Brian?” he heard as if the voice were far away.

  Brian reeled with shock and disbelief. It was all he could do to speak. “Yeah, I'm here,” he said, nearly choking on the words.

  “She was a good lady. I hope they get the son of a bitch who did this,” Dan said.

  There was silence while Brian tried to collect his thoughts and his composure. “You knew her?”

  “Yeah. I met her a couple times at your campaign headquarters. Likable woman.”

  Brian was trying to stay in the conversation. “Thanks for calling, Dan. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Dan said something, but Brian wasn't sure what. He just could not stay with the conversation. Brian hung up the phone before realizing he hadn't actually said good-bye. His chest was suddenly tight, and he was having a hard time getting air. Who could have done this? No one would want to kill Cathy, Brian thought hard. What time was it when I left? He pushed another button on the remote and found another news segment.

  “All we know about this brutal crime is that she was apparently struck in the head several times with a blunt object,” another female reporter was saying. “Police say there are no signs of forced entry and the murder weapon has not been recovered or, as yet, identified. Carla Dillon, ABC News.”

  Emotions swarmed over Brian—grief, fear, and guilt all at once. He suppressed a strong urge to panic. Cathy couldn't be dead. It just couldn't be. He had been with her only eight hours ago. She had held him close and told him that she loved him. She had been content, and everything was fine when he left her apartment. He remembered locking the door when he left. The news reports were baffling.

  No sign of forced entry. Did she open the door and let someone in? Brian thought about the dinner they had shared. The wine in front of the fire. Her sitting up in bed to ask me to stay as I was dressing. He found himself fighting off the urge to cry.

  Brian looked up and saw Barbara standing there, watching him expectantly. All of a sudden, it hit him with the force of a freight train. His fingerprints were everywhere in Cathy's apartment. They would have a suspect in no time. Maybe they had already identified him. They would be looking for him with questions. He would have to explain to Barbara and the whole world why he had been in Cathy's apartment.

  He opened his mouth to speak to Barbara about the call from Dan, but no words came out. Then the next revelation hit him. They would know that she had intercourse shortly before she died. They would ask Brian about that too. He felt a wave of nausea sweep over him, and for a moment, he felt that he would throw up. He put his head between his legs and waited for it to pass.

  “Wh
at's the matter?” Barbara asked with concern. “What can I get you?”

  “I'll be all right,” Brian whispered, raising his hand weakly. “I just felt sick for a moment.” He suddenly remembered there were condoms in her nightstand with his fingerprints on the box.

  Barbara walked over and put her arm around him. He knew she had seen part of the last news segment and his expression as he watched. Did she perceive the extent of the loss to me? Was she wondering about my overreaction?

  “I'll get you some water,” she said, turning toward the kitchen.

  Brian sat staring into the backyard, seeing nothing but Cathy's face and then the vivid image of the news clip, a blood-stained carpet in front of the couch where they had sat together last night, and where they had made love in front of the fire.

  His mind kept moving between the tragedy and the trail, the indelible path that clearly led to his doorstep. When and where had we been seen together? Neighbors would have seen me coming and going. Maybe they wouldn't remember me.

  His thoughts returned to the inescapable, his fingerprints. The police would soon find him and watch his expression while he tried to explain. They would learn that he had been there regularly and he was there shortly before the murder. They would conclude that he might have been there at the time of the murder. And they would learn about the affair. He would soon be the primary suspect in the death of his lover. There were lots of obvious motives, such as keeping his wife and maybe his constituents from finding out about the affair. He would have no credibility in proclaiming his innocence. It felt like the walls were closing in around him.

  Barbara was saying something to him. She was asking whether he was okay. How many times had she asked? Brian wondered. He was fighting the panic that seemed like it might overtake him at any moment. She had put down the glass of water some time before.

  “Yes, I'm starting to feel a little better.” He reached for the water and drank deeply.

  Barbara held his hand and smiled at him compassionately. “She worked with you at the campaign office?”

  He nodded. He didn't expect the emotion that came out when he spoke. “How could this happen? Who would kill her?”

  “Did you know her well?”

  It was hard to know what to say. “She was a nice person. She seemed to care about what she did.”

  Brian thought about how that sounded. What bullshit. He knew instinctively that there was really no choice. He had to tell Barbara, and it had to be now. Then he had to go to the police before they came to him. He had to tell them he had been to Cathy's apartment before they told him he had been there and then read him his rights. He had to tell Barbara first. He glanced over at the clock, as if it would tell him how long it would be before the police arrived. It was ten forty.

  The television flashed images of the outside of Cathy's apartment. A barricade of yellow police tape was winding its way around trees in the narrow front yard, a flimsy plastic line that the crowd of onlookers respected as they spoke in inaudible tones and pointed to the building. The camera panned the faces and then returned to the building, focusing on two uniformed officers who stood at the door. One stood with his arms crossed, staring at the crowd as if they might be readying to stampede him. The other shielded a match from the wind and lit a cigarette, looking visibly bored, biding his time.

  Brian tried to find the words. He looked down at the floor and then back to Barbara.

  “What is it, Brian?” she asked, frowning.

  “Barbara, there's something I have to tell you.”

  She nodded encouragingly. The look was warm and understanding.

  “I want you to know …”

  The telephone rang, and Brian jumped. He looked at it like it was about to explode. On the third ring, he picked it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Brian Madsen?” It was a male voice he didn't recognize.

  “Yes,” Brian said in a cracking voice.

  “You've seen the news, haven't you?”

  “Who is this?”

  He ignored the question. “Get rid of your wife if she's there. We need to talk.”

  “Who is this, and what do you want?” Brian knew he was getting louder. “I don't need this.”

  The voice became slower and more deliberate. “Don't hang up.” There was a brief pause and then, “You want information, or do you want to be arrested? Is your wife right there?”

  “Yes,” Brian said more calmly.

  “Find a way to send her out of the room.”

  Brian put his hand over the mouthpiece and looked at Barbara. He saw a worried look on her face.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “I don't know yet.” Brian made himself breathe deeply, trying to relax. He finished off the water and handed her the glass. “Would you mind getting me some more?” It was hopelessly lame, but whatever worked. She looked at him for a moment with her eyes questioning. Then she left the room.

  Brian put the receiver to his ear.

  “Have you told anyone yet?” he spoke in riddles.

  “Told anyone what?”

  “Don't waste time. You and I both know your fingerprints are all over her place. You were there just last night until after one o'clock.”

  Brian felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He was suddenly ill, feeling like he might vomit. He drew in a deep breath. Then it occurred to him. He was talking to the killer. How else would this guy know all these details?

  Brian was searching for words. “What do you want? Did you kill her?”

  “What I want is cooperation. I get it. Then you don't face murder charges and spend the rest of your life in prison … or worse. I want you to know that everything has been dusted. No fingerprints have been left in the apartment. All evidence of your presence has been removed.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you. I want your cooperation. If I get it, you're not implicated in any way. If I don't, you're in jail.” There was silence. Then he said, “The other thing you should know is that I have a number of things that came from Ms. Jenkins' home that still contain your fingerprints. One of them might just be the murder weapon. I'd say that leaves you rather vulnerable, wouldn't you?”

  Brian nodded slowly as Barbara returned with his water. “Yes,” he said, in a tone he hoped sounded calm.

  “There's no reason for any of these items to find their way to the police. If you cooperate, no one will ever see them.”

  Brian lost control and screamed out, “You son of a bitch. Why the fuck did you do it?”

  “If you don't cooperate, you'll have the opportunity to explain your fingerprints on the murder weapon. Think you can do that?”

  Brian clenched his fist but remained silent.

  “And let's not forget, you were the last one to see her alive, very soon before she died.”

  Brian ran a hand through his hair. It all had to be some kind of a nightmare. He looked into Barbara's eyes and saw the fear he felt. Then he returned to the voice on the phone. “What do you want?”

  “All in good time. Right now, I want you to know that there is no trail that leads to you yet, but that can change in a hurry. I'll call you back at two o'clock this afternoon. Until then, don't talk to the police. If you invite them in, you'll never hear from me again, and the evidence we spoke of will find its way to the authorities.” There was a brief pause. “One more thing. Don't tell your wife anything.”

  There was the ring of a dial tone in Brian's ear. Brian slowly put the phone back in its cradle and looked at Barbara.

  “What did he say?” she asked.

  “He said he'll call back at two o'clock and not to call the police.”

  “Did he kill her?”

  “I don't know.” Brian remembered the admonition not to tell her anything. He selected his words carefully. “I think so. And I think he might be working on trying to blame me.”

  Barbara's eyes widened. “How can he do that? You barely knew her.”

  “I know,
but he was very threatening. I'm not sure what he'll do.”

  “Someone you knew was murdered last night, and we may have just spoken to the killer. We've got to call the police,” she said as she began pacing in front of him.

  Brian was silent. To bring the police to the caller would be to guarantee he became a suspect. He thought about what the man had said about his prints on the murder weapon. He had to convince Barbara that it was best to wait.

  He shook his head. “And tell them what? That we may have just talked to an anonymous killer? If we do, we'll never identify this guy.”

  She stopped pacing and looked at him quizzically. “Why is he calling back at two o'clock?”

  “I don't know. He says he wants me to cooperate with him on something, whatever that means.”

  “Why would you cooperate with him on anything? He's a killer,” she said incredulously.

  Brian could feel perspiration beading on his forehead. He didn't know what to tell her. “Let's just wait for two o'clock. He'll call back, and we'll learn more.”

  “Why don't we call the police? They can have the line tapped by the time he calls back.”

  Brian's throat was dry. He grabbed for the glass of water. All he needed was a police bug on the line while the caller talked about his fingerprints being all over everything. It occurred to Brian that everything had changed. Before the call, he had made up his mind to tell Barbara and then go to the police. Now he wasn't going to do either. If he cooperated with this guy, he would never be a suspect. Barbara would never have to find out.

  Brian looked up at Barbara, and he knew what to say. “If we get in the police to tap the phone, he'll know. He won't call back. Let's just wait for two o'clock and find out more.” When she was slow to respond, he added, “There's no real downside to waiting. We can always call the police after he calls back.”

  She hesitated and then reluctantly nodded concession to the plan. Brian hugged her and told her, “Everything will be all right.” Even as he said it, he somehow knew better.