Sealing Fate Page 7

  Barbara shook her head. “This is crazy, Brian. Let's go to the police.”

  “Hold on just a little longer,” Brian said weakly. “I'll find out more and then we'll figure out what to do.”

  “Why do we have to learn more? Just give the whole thing over to the police.”

  He saw the worry in her eyes and held her hands in his. “Hang in there just a little longer.”

  She was silent. A tear was in her eye. Then she nodded gently. Her expression said she didn't understand. Brian kissed her and then stood to go.

  “At least let me come with you,” she said.

  “No,” he said. “I have to go alone. Besides, I don't know that it's safe.”

  “Of course it's not safe. None of this is safe.”

  “I'll be back as quickly as I can.” He kissed her again and then walked to the front door.

  Brian drove at top speeding, and then left his car in a spot left 'no-parking,' a couple of blocks from First and Main as he had no more time. He ran two long blocks toward the telephones at the corner of Main and Third. It was starting to drizzle. He glanced at his watch. He had two minutes. The run took three. He arrived at the bank of silent phones in time for the cloudburst. Within a moment, he was soaked as he stood watching and hoping that he hadn't missed the call, hoping it wasn't all over, and wanting something to happen that kept the evidence of his involvement with Cathy from the police.

  Two more minutes passed. Brian paced anxiously. When the phone rang, he jumped, startled by the expected. He picked up the phone on the far right on its first ring. He said nothing.

  “Hello, Brian,” the now-familiar voice said.

  “What now?”

  “There's an alley off Temple, south of Los Angeles Street. Go into the alley about thirty feet, and you'll see two trash cans on the left. Look underneath the second can. I'll call you at home.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight. And I'll know if you talked to anyone.” The line went dead.

  “Shit,” Brian mumbled as he slammed down the phone.

  He turned and walked toward his car, thinking about Cathy. The rain came down harder, and he was soaked. He didn't care. He wondered if she had let the killer into her apartment. He wondered how much he would miss her when all of this stopped long enough to let him feel her loss.

  Brian pulled a parking ticket from his windshield and stuffed it in the glove box. Then he drove toward Los Angeles Street. He parked in the mouth of the alley, blocking access. He wanted the car close.

  The alley was dark. Sheets of windblown rain assured that he could see only a few feet in front of him. He estimated that he had gone about twenty-five feet into the alley. The trash cans should be close. He moved to his left.

  “Hey, you!” The deep and loud voice came from his left.

  Brian turned toward the sound. An unkempt, frail man came into view as if he had emerged from the wall. Brian's heart raced. He raised his hands in a defensive posture.

  “What are you doing in my house?” the old man shouted.

  Brian dropped his hands. It was just one of the locals feeling territorial. “You scared the shit out of me, mister.”

  It was as if the man didn't hear a word Brian had said. “Get out of my house.”

  The man looked ancient. It appeared that, if the wind blew any stronger, he would be blown off his feet.

  “I'm sorry for the inconvenience, my friend.” Brian pulled a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and handed it to the man.

  The old man studied it closely and then looked at Brian. “It's okay. You can stay as long as you want.” The man turned and walked away from him, cackling as he clutched the money.

  Brian walked on and almost immediately saw the two garbage cans. He turned over the second can and found a large brown envelope, about a foot thick, taped to the bottom. He tore away the tape and held the envelope close to his midsection as he ran back to the car.

  He threw the envelope in the back seat and spun the tires as he moved away from the alley. The day's events reeled around in his head. It was all beyond his control. Whatever decision he made, he was fucked. The parking ticket was the best thing that had happened all day, and things only promised to get worse. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't have to be alone in all this; there was someone with the ability to help, a person he could trust.

  When Brian got home, Barbara met him at the door. He walked in, and she threw her arms around him. “You okay?”

  He nodded.

  “What happened?” she pressed with an anxious expression on her face.

  “I got what he sent me for.”

  He pulled the brown envelope from inside his soaked jacket. He opened the envelope and pulled out a large wad of paper. Brian worked his way to the center of it and pulled out a handgun. Barbara seemed to jump.

  “Your basic Saturday night special,” Brian mumbled in the direction of the gun.

  “Let's take it to the police. They can trace it.”

  Brian shook his head. “This guy's no fool. This won't be traceable.”

  “So what now?” she asked, staring at the gun.

  “We call Bob Galvin. He's the guy to help us.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Your private investigator buddy from your law firm days?”

  Brian nodded. Bob had done some impressive work in helping Brian prepare his cases for trial. More than once, he had come up with evidence that had turned a case Brian's way. “Maybe Bob can check out this Jason Ross guy and who might want to kill him.”

  She nodded toward the phone. “What if he finds out?”

  “He'll never know. Bob's real good at being invisible.” He could see from her expression that the doubts were still there.

  It was nine thirty when the phone rang again.

  “Hello?” Brian said, even though he knew who was calling.

  “You found the tool?” the deep voice asked.

  “I found it,” Brian said.

  “Any questions?”

  Brian had questions about all that had happened. There were no answers though. “No, I have no questions.”

  The man said, “I'll talk to you Tuesday night, Brian,” and then there was a dial tone.

  It was about six the next morning when Bob Galvin knocked on the door. Bob made a formidable appearance at six foot three and two twenty. He was broad shouldered and solid. The bulk was muscle without fat. His short blond hair, small nose, and rounded features made him look younger than his thirty-eight years. His sly grin enhanced the appearance of youth.

  Brian pulled him in quickly and then closed the door. He gave his friend a hug. “How have you been, Bob?”

  “I've been doing fine. Business is good these days. Everybody and their dog needs somebody found, followed, or served.” He grinned in his own friendly way. “Haven't heard from you since your elevation to political prominence.”

  “I know, buddy, and I'm sorry. We should be drinking beer together from time to time.”

  “Yeah, and belching. You were always good at that. Can you still do it now that you're a congressman?”

  “Better than ever. Now I have indigestion all the time.” Brian laughed nervously.

  “So what's going on, my friend? I have a feeling this isn't just social.”

  “No, it's not. I need your help.”

  Bob sat in the living room and listened as Brian told him about the death of Cathy Jenkins and the calls that had followed. He told Bob what happened with each call, the demand he kill Jason Ross, and the trip downtown to get the gun. Then he told Bob that he was being watched and that everything was to happen on Tuesday. He told Bob about all of it, except his relationship with Cathy. He was leaving that out again, still hoping that Barbara wouldn't have to know.

  Bob asked questions and took notes. Brian answered most and avoided others, like why he didn't go straight to the police. Some of his answers lacked convincing force, and he knew Bob sensed it. Maybe later he would explain it all, but just not yet.
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  At seven thirty, Bob announced he had to do something but would return in half hour. As they walked out to the car, Brian saw Bob observe the surrounding houses, in search of some clue. He gave no indications of finding anything. Bob slid behind the wheel of his Jaguar, gave Brian a wave, and drove away. Brian walked back into the house to wait. He looked around for strange faces, unfamiliar cars, or the subtle movement of drapes. He saw nothing.

  In forty-five minutes, Bob was pounding on the backdoor. Brian unlocked the door, and Bob came in carrying a large briefcase.

  “You came in through the backyard?” Brian asked.

  “Yeah. I parked a couple blocks away and came over a couple fences. Practicing being inconspicuous, you know. It comes with the job.”

  They walked into the living room, and Bob put the case down on the couch and opened it. It contained several electronic devices, each secured in indentations of soft foam the same shape as the object. Bob removed a short, wand-shaped device.

  He turned a knob near its handle and then looked at Brian and smiled. “We'll see if we can find out how this guy knows what you're doing and whether you've called anyone.”

  Brian nodded and watched as Bob moved around the room with the device, paying particular attention to lampshades, vases, anything with crevices, or something that might serve as a container. It took him thirty minutes to slowly cover the entire house in this fashion.

  When he was through, he looked at Brian and shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Bob then returned to the briefcase and took out another device, this one smaller than the first with a small gauge on its face. He flipped a switch, and a red light appeared on the base of the object. He then took the device to the telephone in the living room and pointed it at the receiver. There was no visible reaction on the gauge. He walked around the house again, repeating the procedure with each of the four telephones.

  The result was always the same. Bob put the device back in the case and looked at Brian. “The good news is that you still have your privacy. The bad news is that I didn't find any clues to help me identify this guy.”

  Brian looked at him quizzically. “You can find him from a listening device?”

  “Yeah, sometimes. I can trace the device. I have some contacts inside the industry I can call on to find out who bought what.”

  Brian nodded, impressed at his friend's abilities.

  “Doesn't help us much this time,” Bob said sadly.

  Barbara walked into the room at that moment. “I'm glad to hear it. I don't want to think that this creep is listening to the intimate details of our lives.”

  Bob nodded. “I can understand that. This may be one sick puppy we've got here.”

  “So what now?” Brian asked.

  “Now we have coffee,” Bob said. “I need a jump-start before I go looking for this crazy asshole.”

  Barbara smiled. “Yeah, let's go in the kitchen. A fresh pot is brewing. We've got some coffee cake too. You interested?”

  “I'm interested.” Bob stood quickly. “I'll have to put you guys on my regular breakfast circuit.”

  * * *

  As they finished a second cup of coffee and Bob had eaten his second piece of coffee cake, Bob shook his head. “Damn, this is good stuff. Looks like an extra hour at the gym to pay for this one.”

  They laughed as he slapped himself on an imagined belly.

  Bob checked his watch. “Well, time to get down to business, my friends.”

  Bob hugged Barbara and then Brian. “It's good to see you guys. Been too long.”

  “It's good to see you too, Bob,” Barbara said. “I had forgotten what a likable character you are.”

  “Aw shucks, ma'am,” he said, pretending to tip his hat to her.

  “Well, at least until we get to the John Wayne stuff,” she said, and they laughed again.

  Brian returned the conversation to more serious tones. “You think you can figure out who's doing this?”

  Bob nodded. “It's probably someone who's no stranger to Jason Ross. People usually don't care about strangers enough to want to kill them.”

  “Probably?” Brian asked.

  “Yeah, we can't rule out anything. We have a stranger calling you to get you to murder someone you don't know. Maybe some other stranger called him.”

  “Like some sort of a murder pyramid scheme?”

  “Something like that, or maybe a professional job. Perhaps this is a contract and our man isn't real close to Ross at all.”

  “That's crazy!” Brian exclaimed.

  “Damn straight. The whole deal is crazy. All I'm saying is that we can't rule anything out yet.”

  “I understand,” Brian said more calmly.

  “But this Ross guy is a good place to start. I'll check into his family and career and see what turns up. I'll call you as soon as I have anything.”

  Brian thanked Bob as he picked up his equipment and walked out the backdoor, again practicing being inconspicuous.

  * * *

  The private line rang twice and then stopped. Fifteen seconds later, it rang again. Michael picked it up on the third ring.

  “Yeah?” He listened intently and then sat back in his chair. “Oh, shit.” There was silence. Then he said, “We really have no choice.” The voice spoke again, and Michael replied in anger, “No fucking way! I'm not doing that.”

  The voice on the phone was calm and deliberate. “If you've got a better idea, I'd love to hear it.”

  There was silence while Michael ran a hand through his hair.

  “We have no choice. Think about it.” The voice on the phone was detached and logical.

  Michael calmed himself and then spoke again, “I'll take care of it. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  He hung up the phone and let out a soft whistle. He knew that every new variable increased the risk. Everything was in motion, and there was no longer a way back, like free falling before the parachute is pulled. After the first step, there was no turning back—no matter how fast you fall, no matter how close the ground gets, and no matter if the parachute doesn't open.

  He stood and walked to the closed door of his office. He opened the door quietly and looked out, just to be sure. Sheila was busily engaged on the computer. Michael closed the door and walked over to the window. There was little time to think.

  Chapter 9

  After twenty-five years of investigating everything from missing executives to disloyal spouses, Bob was good at what he did. He liked having the chance to help an old friend in trouble. It felt worthwhile, even if there were things his friend wasn't telling him, even if there weren't much to work with yet.

  As he drove north toward his house in Gold Hills, Bob reflected on his conversation with Brian or, more accurately, the things Brian hadn't told him. There was something more that Brian knew but wasn't telling him about how he got dragged into all of this. There were always things that friends kept from one another, and that was usually okay, except in his business. Bob had learned a long time ago that what he didn't know was the most likely to get the shit kicked out of him or worse. Hopefully, he would talk Brian into telling him the rest of it sooner rather than later. He sensed that whatever he had withheld had been based on Barbara's presence. Bob would have to speak to his friend alone, let him know that he needed the missing parts, and affirm that he wouldn't tell Barbara. Then he would learn more.

  In the meantime, he was working on the missing pieces. It had something to do with money, a bad business deal, or a woman. It almost always did. Bob had already called into the office and put his secretary to work on learning as much as possible about Jason Ross. Within a half hour, she had called him back with the basics, the identity and descriptions of family members and business associates. He knew what Ross did for a living and whom he did it for. He was a heavyweight at International Resource. He was a good choice for a target. Money and power, Bob thought.

  Bob pulled into his driveway and climbed out of the Jaguar. He walked up the driveway, st
opping to grab the mail from the pelican-shaped mailbox by the curb. He loved the sea and vowed that one day he would live within steps of it. Until then he would have to settle for distant images like seagull refrigerator magnets and a pelican-shaped mailbox. He stopped momentarily to listen to the sounds of birds singing out their greetings as they jumped between branches. He smiled at the spring scene and the beautiful day and then walked up to the door.

  He unlocked the door and walked into the house, distracted by the envelopes in his hand. He looked up just in time to see a man standing in the hallway. The man pointed something at him, and before Bob could move, he felt the jolt as the electricity coursed through his body. The sudden pain was followed by an overwhelming blackness as Bob fell to the floor.

  * * *

  At noon, Brian sat in his office, feeling renewed confidence now that Bob was on his side. He made notes on the Senate legislation that would require insurance companies to reimburse premiums when profit levels were deemed unconscionable.

  The short, sharp sound of the intercom caught him off guard. “Yes,” he said curtly into the speakerphone.

  “There's a man on the phone who won't give his name, but he says you'll know who he is and you'll want to talk to him. Shall I tell him you're unavailable?”

  Brian's voice cracked as he forced a response. “I'll take it. Thanks.”

  Brian stared at the phone for a moment, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. He snatched up the phone. “Brian Madsen here.”

  “You betrayed me.” Brian knew the voice. This time it was angry.

  “What do you mean?” Brian asked nervously.

  “You betrayed your friend Bob. I told you not to talk to anyone, Brian. Now you've hurt your friend.”

  “Oh my God.” Brian involuntarily put a hand over his mouth and leaned forward in his chair. “What have you done to him?”

  There was a pause. When the man spoke, it was in measured, angry tones. “Apparently you haven't taken me seriously, Brian. I've been trying to help you avoid murder charges, remember? Maybe I'll just send all the evidence to the police now and we'll be done talking. Maybe you'd rather face the death penalty than cooperate. Is that your decision?”