by Eden Sharp
Inside the bathroom, I flicked on the light and saw a bloodied piece of tissue by the basin. No doubt a CSI team with Luminol would have a field day with minute blood spatter readings. I picked up the tissue by a clean corner and stepped on the pedal bin to drop it into. On a pile of old detritus inside sat a used needle. I suddenly didn’t have the stomach to clean it up. My own apartment, my sanctuary, felt alien and dirty.
For the first time in a very long time I didn’t want to be alone.
I found myself dialing Knox. I asked him how he was doing and he invited me over.
4
Tuesday May 2nd
I was aware of brightness in the room and started to come round. Realizing I was in Knox’s bed and alone I took full-advantage and stretched out each limb, reaching star-shaped for all four corners. I could smell coffee and something cooking.
I pushed away the crinkled sheet, stepped out of the bed and scrutinized the floor for my T-shirt and panties. A couple of moments later I saw them placed neatly in a pile, along with my other things on a chair, not strewn around the place like I remembered leaving them. I grabbed a couple of items and made myself decent while recalling memories of the chair from the early hours. It was a true multi-purpose item. Someone knowing your body inside and out and knowing exactly what to do to it is pretty, damn mind-blowing.
I followed my nose through to the lounge and pulled out a seat from the breakfast bar.
He looked around startled for a moment then smiled. He held an opaque bowl and was beating what I assumed were eggs. The smell of frying onions and peppers gave away the contents of the skillet.
He put down the bowl and poured a cup of coffee from the machine and brought it over to me, coming around to my side of the counter to plant a kiss on my forehead. He was grinning. Happy.
‘Sleep well?’
‘I guess I did.’
‘Usually you don’t.’
‘That’s years spent looking at back-lit screens into the small hours.’
I caught the disapproval in his face.
‘But not anymore.’
He skipped back around to the stove and poked at the skillet with a wooden spoon, annoyingly energetic for the time of day.
‘You’re a morning person Knox,’ I said.
‘You like eggs southwestern style?’
I did. ‘Sure, thanks.’
‘Good. You get the chance to taste the one thing I can cook,’ he said.
He stopped moving around the contents of the pan for a moment and looked over at me.
‘You do realize you actually stayed the whole night McGlynn?’
So I had. It was unusual for me to sleep so well but then again, we’d both had something of a workout. Still the domesticity of the situation made me feel slightly uncomfortable.
‘Don’t read too much into it John,’ I said. I hoped it hadn’t come across as harsh as it sounded. He shrugged his shoulders.
‘After breakfast I’ll rustle up some skip traces and show you how they’re done. Boring job but it sometimes works out good. A couple of hundred bucks for half an hour’s work. Only rudimentary computer skills required. Just as well with your machine and its seat to keyboard interface problem.’
‘Huh?’
‘You.’
‘Sounds like a plan. And seeing as how you came out on top four-to-two last night you still owe me. Maybe we could grab dinner later.’
He was still smiling, way too pleased with himself.
‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But after I get you set up I’ve got some errands to run. I don’t know how long they’ll take.’
‘So, you’re just gonna throw me in the deep end and bail? How come I get put to work by myself?’
‘I have stuff to do.’
‘Like what?’
‘I need to check up on an old friend I’m trying to help out and I have to go buy a new laptop.’
My cell rang. It was on the dining table along with my SIG. I went over, checked the caller ID, and hit answer before it switched to my service.
‘Paul, hi,’ I said.
I went and sat on the arm of the couch.
‘I have a meeting in town today. I’d like to talk to you about something after. Can you meet for dinner? It’s important,’ he said.
It had been a while and it always meant good food and great conversation. Plus, now my interest was piqued. Hanging out with an NSA chief meant an opportunity to yank his chain even if he was never going to divulge any secrets the nation was hell bent on keeping from its people.
‘Sure.’
‘Good. I’ll see you at yours around seven.’
I walked back to the kitchen area. Knox was dividing the eggs between two plates. The back of my throat caught with hot chili fumes.
I coughed. ‘Paul Harding’s in town. He wants to talk to me about something later, so I have other plans for dinner.’
I checked out Knox’s face. The smile narrowed a little. Maybe.
5
I spent the best part of the day doing the rounds in a fruitless search for Chrissie, while putting the word out to everyone I could that I was looking for her, then decided to cheer myself up by going to choose a new laptop. I could get as geeked out about processing speeds, screen resolutions and curved edges as I could about Japanese drift cars.
The shine had worn off my new purchase after getting caught up in traffic. I started to get antsy about making it home and getting cleaned up ahead of Paul’s arrival. I got a glimpse of the chaos up ahead.
It wasn’t a SFPD stop or result of the usual choked city snarl-ups, A protest was happening about housing according to the few words I could make out on the large black and white banners being held by around a dozen people blocking the road further up. Hubbell Street was on the outskirts of the Mission Bay district. Mission Bay itself was where all the latest tech companies were moving in and pushing up the rents, displacing traditional residents. I pulled a U-turn and took an alternate route back to SoMa.
Paul arrived with a large package of provisions. He liked to cook. Most every time he came over, which wasn’t often, we stayed in. I think he enjoyed being homely. He probably ate out a lot. Maybe he thought I needed some home cooking. I wasn’t complaining, he made great food. I wondered if it had been a talent he’d always had, his family having made their money in the condiment business and all, or if it was a skill he’d acquired in later life out of necessity after losing his wife.
He laid his coat over the back of a chair at the center counter, washed his hands and then started to pull a selection of good-looking ingredients out of the grocery bag. First up was a plastic tub of anti-pasti which contained a variety of roasted vegetables. I produced a plate and handed it to him. He tipped out artichokes, tomatoes, peppers and mushrooms on to it.
Next, he took out a good bottle of wine. A vintage Pinot Noir. Another of his hobbies was adding to the extensive collection in his house. I took out a couple of glasses from a cupboard and handed him a corkscrew from a drawer.
‘Do you ever cook?’ he asked.
‘Sometimes.’
‘This place never looks lived in.’
He poured the wine and handed me a glass. It was good.
He took out a carton of baby tomatoes, a head of garlic, bunched asparagus, a package of leeks and some broccoli. Next out was a pack of Serrano ham, a tub of black olives, a block of Parmesan cheese, and something wrapped from a deli. He unwrapped the wax paper. It contained chicken breasts. Finally, he produced an expensive looking bottle of olive oil.
I guess he didn’t trust that I’d have the rudimentary basics.
I opened a unit and took out a heavy wooden board and produced some chef’s knives.
‘What do you need?’ I asked.
‘Something to cook pasta in, a roasting dish, a saucepan and a skillet.’
I passed him the pans and an oven dish.
‘Got a couple of bowls?’
He ran a knife across the plastic the ham had been vacuum s
ealed in.
I gave him two steel cook’s bowls.
‘You have all the tools anyhow.’
He smashed the head of garlic with the heel of his palm and then put the loosened cloves into one of the bowls, topping it with the other. After around ten seconds of vigorous shaking, he separated the bowls to reveal peel-free garlic.
‘Nice trick.’
He was smiling, chopping garlic proficiently and with precision. Enjoying the work. Two men cooking meals for me in the same day. Not bad.
I sank some more of the wine. He was a very handsome man despite his age, someone who had always been and would always be good to look at. A classic strong jaw, movie-star cheekbones, steel-blue eyes, silver hair that had once been blond. In his youth I figured he would have compared favorably to James Dean and could have enjoyed the kind of carefree fun that young good-looking men are guaranteed to enjoy without any associated stigma.
Instead he’d married his college sweetheart and from what I had gathered, had remained true and faithful until her death. This only added to his attractiveness. That and the rarity of a persona full of strength and presence yet one which was humble and shy of any attention. He shot me a quick look. Uncomfortable at my prolonged staring possibly. Under different circumstances he would have been someone I’d have been prepared to fool around with except he was way too traditional and considered me dysfunctional.
He tipped the carton of tomatoes into a roasting dish, added the garlic and a glug of the oil along with salt and pepper. He handed the dish to me, instructing it was for oven-roasting, and providing the temperature and time. I switched on the oven, set the timer and put the dish inside.
‘I still hear Jo laughing,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘Me too.’
He stopped what he was doing.
‘When we lost Scott I never thought she’d smile again but you changed all that. Even at the end when I can only imagine what she was going through living with as big of a secret as she was, she’d phone me and tell me about this amazing young woman she’d met. You were the daughter she never had.’
The smell of leeks roasting gave the kitchen a homely feel. With the warmth of the wine relaxing me I was starting to enjoy the idea of domesticity at dinner time even though I knew the feeling wouldn’t last. He wrapped the now-flattened chicken breasts in the ham and asked me to add them to the tomatoes already cooking in the oven. I placed them on to a roasting tray and put them in alongside. He added the black olives to the leeks and put chopped broccoli and asparagus into my steamer.
‘I saw your friend Matt the other day on a detail at a function in DC.’
‘He’s been over this way a couple of times recently,’ I said.
‘Do you find it satisfying, running skip traces and background checks?’ he asked.
I wasn’t in the mood for the direction we were headed. It was covering old ground.
‘I like solving puzzles.’
‘You’re well-educated. You would have done better applying to the FBI, or something on the Hill.’
I lifted my glass in a toast and clinked it against his. It was much fuller than mine.
‘I appreciate you’ve always shown an interest and provided encouragement and I’m grateful for all the advice you’ve offered but I’m not Fed material. I don’t take orders.’
‘So, you’re happy?’
That was a question I’d always found difficult to answer. Happy with the important things yes, like being able to eat and having a roof over my head. Being healthy. But some people believed that happiness meant playing out some grand meta-narrative that I didn’t fit. Smiling couples with beautiful children and a summer vacation every year. Perfect lives, at least according to the pictures posted to social media.
‘Whatever that means. And if you’re about to give me the speech about apple pie and picket fences don’t.’
‘I think we’ve both been shaped by loss.’
I took a large gulp of wine trying to shore up my mood which was rapidly waning. It always niggled when others assumed I was broken somehow.
‘It’s my norm. It doesn’t make me sad or needy or vulnerable as people often seem to think it does.’
‘It’s made you detached.’
I appreciated the straight-talking. It was honest. But preferred the blunt force without the judgment. I got out plates as he started to slice slivers off the block of cheese. I felt the need to return the awkward back across the net.
‘And how’s your life? You dating anyone?’ I asked.
There was maybe a twitch at the corner of his mouth. He looked uncomfortable again, so I knew I’d achieved my aim in diverting scrutiny away from myself.
‘I have a friend for taking to the opera but nothing like you’re thinking.’
Maybe it was a generational thing. He was from a different era. Not one in my frame of reference. I knew better than to ask why he was in town, but I was interested to get on and know why there was an urgency for him to see me.
‘Okay. So, what’s this about?’
He took the chicken out of the oven and added the roasted tomatoes and garlic to my blender and pulsed them into a sauce. The steamed broccoli and asparagus got added to the softened leeks. After a cursory stir he began to put it all together on to the plates with cooked pasta.
‘I have a job for you,’ he said finally. ‘There’s a tech firm here I’m interested in investing in. I’d like you to do background checks on the directors and staff for me. As soon as possible. The stock price is about to go up.’
‘Isn’t that something you could easily do from your end?’
He looked up from what he was doing. Face serious. Hard to tell what was going on behind the intense pale eyes.
‘Contrary to what you read in the media that’s not what we do.’
I met his gaze. ‘Okay.’
I divided the remaining contents of the bottle between each of us.
‘I’m not sure it’s appropriate having my clients in my apartment cooking me dinner,’ I said.
He wasn’t playing. I raised my glass again.
‘So, to friends then.’
My mood had lifted either due to the wine or the rich smells emanating from the food or both.
He took a sip from his glass. It looked like it was going to take me the best part of a second bottle to get rid of that serious conservative face of his and get him to smile. I always believed I got funnier and more interesting the more I drank so buckled up to enjoy the rest of the evening no matter what.
6
Wednesday May 3rd
From my catch-up call with Knox the next morning I’d learned despite the rudimentary training I’d provided he’d failed to hit pay dirt. Sometimes tracking down debtors or witnesses by fleeting searches in databases reaped big bucks for light work. Other times it spiraled into a bigger job, the volume of information, or disinformation, the problem.
Knox had reported obtaining new and current points of contact for our subject which had amounted to identifying the third parties that might be able to assist the process. The job would likely go beyond research and might involve social engineering: getting known contacts to talk about the subject using false or misleading pretenses. Any extra hours would go towards the total he needed to be qualified to sit the investigator’s licensing exam, so it was a win-win. I told him to keep at it while I cleared up a quick job by myself.
As soon as I was done collating the data for Paul I’d figure out my next strategy for dealing with Chrissie. I was pretty certain she would have gone back to Lunnun even if sooner or later he was likely to kill her. Maybe I would literally have to kidnap her and hold her hostage for a few days until she was clean enough to persuade into rehab.
As a licensed investigator I subscribed to several cross-referencing databases and these are what I should have used for conducting background checks on the staff at Hudson Binomics which I’d discovered was an information technology firm in Folsom Street. But it would have been sl
ow and tedious work for what was a time-critical issue and I favored taking the easier route. My way was also more fun.
With Knox working on a legitimate task I had no concerns about compromising his training for what I was about to do. The firm’s HR department would have the majority of employee data I needed already on file, so I decided just to go ahead and take it.
I kept my head bowed, noting the positions of the cameras as I entered the firm’s lobby. It comprised angular and contoured sandstone veneers tiled with an attempt to convey modernity. I passed a glass and brushed steel coffee table surrounded by modular dark leather seating, which looked less like couches and more like three-sided coffins with the lids removed. Every stone, steel, glass, and leather surface had been polished and was minimalist and semi-modern, as though the future had arrived a couple of days early.
I headed for the shiny sandstone reception desk. It was busy being manned single-handedly which was good for my purposes. I balanced a coat and purse on my left arm. My left hand clutched a resume while my right carried a takeout cup of coffee. My heels clacked on the floor tiles making me feel even more self-conscious than I already did in a pencil skirt and silk blouse. In this get-up I was way out of my comfort zone.
The young blond woman glanced over at my approach while simultaneously talking into a telephone and signing a document for a courier who had just delivered a package. I could hear the switchboard ringing with another call.
I moved into the space the departing courier had just vacated and smiled trying to give off a patient vibe. The frontage of the desk was high, around five feet, which was convenient because it hid the clutter of the work area behind. I placed my coffee cup and resume down next to a visitors’ signing in book, moving in closer to scan as much information as I could before the receptionist devoted her full attention to me. The call ended. She looked at me apologetically and answered the next call in line by hitting a button on the switchboard and I gave her a smile that said not to worry, I had all the time in the world.
