Preservation

by Charles Lemoine

  Something had changed. He hadn’t spent much time with her, but one thing Wulf prided himself in was his ability to read people. Mariska was good. She was kind. She was genuine. For these reasons, he found himself thinking about her, more and more. Was she okay? Was she putting herself in danger? Should he stop her from risking her life? Risking it over what? A woman’s remains from thousands of years ago?

  It didn’t make sense to him what her obsession was with the remains…although he did understand being consumed by his job. Obsessing over details. Dreaming about the cases he was working on as if his brain was solving them in his sleep. Some people said it was admirable how dedicated he was to the job, while others worried about him losing himself in it.

  It hadn’t always been this way. There was a time when he loved more than his career and taking bad people off the streets and making them pay for their crimes. He closed his eyes and tried to push his memories away before they got the better of him.

  Too late.

  A memory flash of his wife, Julia. The heaviness he was feeling a moment ago grew ten-fold. He opened his phone and scrolled through the photo albums until he found the one labeled, Julia. Picture after picture of them together tore his heart in half. He stopped at an image of their prom picture. He was holding her in that goofy way everyone seemed to pose back then, his arms wrapped around her from behind. High school sweethearts, inseparable.

  He kept scrolling through the photos, the memories of their high school and then college graduations—purposely going to the same college, although different fields of study, so they could remain together. His heart sank even further when he stopped on the picture of her standing out front of Cedar Sinai Hospital. She was all smiles in her Nurse Practitioner’s white lab coat. They had a storybook relationship…but, unlike in the stories, nothing lasted forever.

  Julia’s smile flashed through his mind and tore into his heart. Oh, how he’d missed her over the years.

  The ever-tightening knot in his stomach pulled him out of his internal thoughts and pain. Mariska was in danger. He knew it, but couldn’t yet prove it. But to save her, meant he had to solve this case before it was too late.

  Wulf gulped down the last of the bitter, black coffee, and threw some money on the table. It was time to get back to work.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Theresa and Mariska pulled into the underground parking garage for the library. Theresa’s black GMC Yukon SUV barely fit into the parking space marked for full-sized vehicles. Their ride from Korea Town to downtown hadn’t taken long, but it was long enough to have filled the vehicle with awkward silence.

  “So, tell me,” Theresa said to her.

  “Tell you what?”

  “You said last night you were in an accident, but then said you had to tell me the rest in person. I’ve been fighting the urge to ask you about it the entire ride over here.”

  Mariska fully intended on telling Theresa everything as soon as she saw her, but became gun shy. Who could she trust? There were just a couple people in her life she was willing to open up to, let alone put at risk by full disclosure. Surely, she couldn’t talk to her parents. David and Theresa were all she had at this point.

  “Long story short, I went up to see Ingrid about my grant funding as well as to garner information about the La Brea Woman. I figured she would have the most detailed accounts that I could use to study her considering the fact that the remains are missing.”

  “So, Ingrid smashed your car? Please tell me that’s not what you’re trying to say,” Theresa said with an eye roll.

  “I wish it was that easy. Actually, I was run off the road on Mulholland Drive.”

  “Oh my god,” Theresa gasped. “Are you okay? Who did it and why?”

  “I’m not sure who or why, but I think it was deliberate. When I finally crawled out of the car and back up the ravine to the road, I looked ahead and saw them watching. They must have been looking to see if I was alive. I took out my phone and tried to get a picture of them, but they took off before I got a good shot.”

  “Damn. I was worried about you. I had a gut feeling something was going on,” Theresa said.

  What an odd thing to say, Mariska thought. “Why would you say that?”

  Theresa’s expression took a shyness that Mariska hadn’t seen before. “I had a pit in my stomach ever since we last talked. I sometimes get that when bad things are about to happen. Or, at least I like to think that. Anyway, it’s nothing scientific…women’s intuition, I suppose.”

  “Remember how I was going to meet up with that guy, Badger, regarding my computer?” Mariska asked.

  “Yeah, what about it? Did you hear back from him?”

  “I got a text on my phone at the time of the crash. It was warning me of danger.” Mariska looked through her phone to show her the message. She tapped the screen and held it up for her to read.

  “Wow, that’s strange. I wonder how he would have known…unless…”

  “Unless?” Mariska asked.

  “Do you think Badger is associated with the bad guys? Whoever they are?”

  Mariska thought about it for a moment. “That’s a good question. I can’t imagine he would have warned me if he wanted me dead. Plus he could have had me killed the night I met up with him at the rave. My god that place was crazy. No one would have heard me scream, I can tell you that.”

  “Maybe you should get a gun? No harm in protecting yourself.” Theresa tried to offer a smile, but Mariska wasn’t buying it.

  “I’m not the type to use a gun. First of all, I don’t know the first thing about them. I wouldn’t feel safe having one until I’ve been trained in using it.” Mariska put the phone back in her purse. “I do have this.” She pulled out a canister of pepper spray and pointed it at Theresa.

  “Hey, put that away.” Theresa backed away, pushing herself up against the door. “I think you’re right; you shouldn’t own a gun. But think about at least getting a Taser.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Mariska put the pepper spray back into her purse. “Now, let’s get going before the library closes. I’m not sure how late they stay open.”

  They got out of the vehicle and headed straight for the stairwell. Theresa locked the SUV remotely, with a confirming beep. Theresa reached the door to the stairwell first and pushed it up. The bang from the door echoed around them. The poorly maintained heavy metal door swung open with a screech of metal. They started up the stairs, as the door slowly closed behind them. Up to the first landing and around to the next set of stairs they continued to climb. Mariska heard the door come to close with a scraping sound, but then immediately the sound of screeching once again as it was reopened. As Mariska picked up the pace, taking two steps at a time, she stole a glance over the handrail down the flights of stairs. A black-gloved hand held onto the railing two floors below. It was moving quickly along the length of the bar moving up toward them.

  “What floor do we need?” Mariska said softly.

  “Fourth…right here.”

  They took the last two steps in one leap and opened the door leading out to ground level. The rush of fresh air hit her face and instantly dried the perspiration that’d covered her face.

  Mariska looked around for the entrance to the library. It’d been years since she’d been there. In fact, the last time she visited this library location she’d been in graduate school. This library had the Special Collections room. Only students and faculty of universities and local institutions of higher learning and research had access to the collections. Mariska hoped her museum ID was still valid so she could get inside. There it was, just ahead. Marked Library Entrance, the sign was partially hidden by a tree that’d been allowed to grow freely without being pruned into a compact column.

  Hurrying across the lawn toward the entrance, Mariska heard the door open from the underground parking garage. Without turning around, she pulled Theresa along by the elbow. “We should hurry.”

  “What’s going on? Are we in danger?
” Theresa’s eyes went wide. She turned her head and looked behind and to both sides. “Mariska?”

  “I’m just feeling a bit jumpy—I might revisit the idea of a gun. Okay, we should get inside while the library is still open.”

  Five more hurried steps and the two women entered the building that housed the library. Its multiple floors contained a vast array of books, offices, archival research repositories, and learning centers for people of all ages. A series of escalators brought visitors up or down to the various areas depending upon their needs. Her surroundings suddenly became familiar as a flood of memories came back from the many hours she’d spent in this building.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” Theresa asked.

  “If they haven’t rearranged things since I was here last, we need to go down two floors to the Special Collections area.” Mariska stepped onto the first escalator and began walking downward as it moved. Theresa followed close behind. “Ingrid said that her father’s things had been donated to the library. There would be no way something so old and important would be held in regular circulation. Plus, it has a direct tie to research being done in both university research, the L.A. historical society, and the Page Museum…maybe even the Los Angeles Natural History Museum.”

  Mariska and Theresa stepped off the final down escalator and turned left toward the entrance to the library research section. A quick glance behind them, Mariska didn’t see anyone following them. The escalators were all clear. In fact, the entire library was eerily quiet this evening. She hadn’t noticed before, but they were the only ones there, as far as she could tell. With a quick sigh that did little to calm her, she pushed the enter button to the library’s special collections section. The door automatically swung open, and they walked inside.

  The ambiance of the room instantly teleported her back in time. The awe and wonder of this place brought her back to the college years. So many hours were spent here doing research, looking up obscure information for research papers and presentations. The heavy silence of the room calmed Mariska’s nerves. Like a heavy blanket calms a child with sensory integration issues, this place immediately settled her, smoothed out the chaotic jumble of unanswered questions and problems banging around inside her mind. There were answers here, and it was time to do some real research.

  Mariska and Theresa approached the information counter where the woman wearing horn-rimmed glasses with a chain that looped around her neck. Her hair was tightly permed and dyed an unnatural bright blonde. The name tag read Peggy. Peggy looked like a by-the-book type of gal. Mariska screwed on a stewardess smile and said, “Hello, Peggy. We’re here from the Page Museum and would like to access the Special Collections archive to conduct some research. Would that be acceptable?”

  “Of course,” Peggy said. “I’ll just need to see your library card, museum identification cards, and driver’s license.”

  “Would a retinal scan be required today as well?” Mariska said. Security was tighter than she remembered.

  Peggy turned to her and with all seriousness said, “I have been wanting to implement such a policy for the past two years. I’m glad someone else finally agrees with me.”

  Theresa said, “You can never be too careful these days.”

  They produced all the required identifications and laid them out on the counter. Peggy took each ID and ran it through a scanner that entered it into the computer. Similar to checking out a book, a person accessing the Special Collections needed to check themselves into the room. The computer beeped. Peggy pulled out Mariska’s museum ID and reentered it into the scanner. Another series of beeps.

  Peggy took the ID and placed it on the counter in front of Mariska. “Seems that the ID is registering as being invalid.”

  “Invalid? How could that be?”

  “I’m not sure,” Peggy said. “There have been a few glitches in the system these days. I mean, just the other day a woman came in here and wanted access, and her ID was rejected. Come to think of it, she had a Page Museum badge.”

  Mariska and Theresa exchanged a look. Who could it have been? Mariska couldn’t think of anyone who had recently left the museum. Why else would the ID register as invalid?

  “Do you remember who she was? Maybe we know her?” Mariska asked.

  “Do I remember? No. But I wouldn’t be Peggy Peterson-Paulson, if I didn’t keep a record of it.”

  She rushed over to the other side of the counter and rummaged through a drawer and file folders until she found what she was looking for. “Here it is,” she said pulling out a yellow folder marked Rejects.

  Peggy flopped a photocopy of the ID in front of Theresa and Mariska. The badge photograph was Kathy, Dr. Snyder and Mariska’s assistant and resident Page Museum bitch.

  “Wait a second,” Theresa said. “Look.” She pointed to the name under the photograph.

  Bethany Jacobson. Why the hell was there a fake ID with Kathy’s picture and a fake name?

  “Did the woman who tried to use this look like the photo?” Mariska asked.

  Peggy took a closer look at the picture. “Yep, that was her. A real sarcastic little thing. I explained that her ID wasn’t coming up as valid under the Museum database. The museum and library have a direct link between them. She threw a real fit. Told me that she would have my job terminated if I didn’t let her in the room.”

  “I assume you stuck to your guns and didn’t let her inside?” Mariska said.

  Peggy’s face revealed a woman riddled with guilt. “I’ve been working for the library for twenty-nine years. If I can get through one more year, I’m eligible to retire. I really need that pension to survive.” Peggy clutched her blouse. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

  Mariska turned to Theresa. “I wonder what she wanted from in there? Could she be looking for the same thing we are?”

  Theresa shrugged.

  “When was she here?” Mariska pointed to the photocopy.

  Peggy flipped the page over and said, “It was two days ago. See,” she pointed to some writing on the back. “I wrote it on here myself.”

  “Do you know if she checked anything out of the archives?” Mariska asked.

  “Oh, no. We don’t allow people to remove anything from here anymore. Too much liability. The research in there is irreplaceable.” Peggy slipped the photocopy back into the reject file and put it back in the drawer. “Again, please don’t tell anyone.”

  “Your secret is safe with us,” Theresa said. “One more question…do you happen to know what she was researching inside the archives?”

  “Yes,” Peggy said. “That I do know. She left it a mess, and I had to put it all away. I can’t believe some people. Think they own the place…”

  “What was it?” Mariska asked.

  “Some very old handwritten research that had been donated from a private collection, years ago.”

  Mariska’s heart began to pound. She and Theresa exchanged worried looks. “Go on,” Mariska said.

  “It dated back to the early 1900s,” Peggy said.

  “Who donated it?” Mariska asked, holding her breath.

  “The Ashton estate.”

  Mariska wanted to vomit. Was this going to be another dead end? What the hell was going on?

  “We need to see what she was researching for ourselves,” Mariska said.

  “I’m sorry, you can’t go in there.” Peggy shook her head. “Your ID doesn’t work.”

  “Is there any way you can make an exception for me…just this once?” Mariska smiled and put her hands together like she was praying to the older woman. She looked behind the woman and noticed a donation sign with a sad-looking dog on the front of it. Save Homeless Pets—a great cause for sure. “I’ll tell you what. I see you’re doing a fundraiser for that charity back there.” Peggy turned her head for a moment and then nodded. “I’m assuming you get credit for anyone you get to donate to the cause?” Again, Peggy nodded. “Great. I’ll make a thousand-dollar donation right now if that’ll make my ID w
ork?”

  Peggy stepped back, eyes widening. “That’d push me into the lead for sure.”

  “Well, that settles it then. Can I use my credit card?”

  “There’ll be a three percent fee incurred.” Peggy pulled out the credit card machine and placed it on the counter. “I don’t like rich people coming in here thinking they can get special treatment, but,” she glanced back at the donation can for a moment. “This’ll be the first time I’ve won it since I started working here.”

  “I’d say you’re way overdue for a win, Peggy.” She pulled out her Visa and put in the chip. “Make it twelve hundred.”

  Peggy punched in the numbers, and the receipt started printing. “I’ll buzz you in,” Peggy said, a hint of guilt passing over her face. She picked up Mariska’s ID again and studied it. “Please don’t stay long.”

  “Thank you,” Mariska said. She and Theresa walked over to the entrance to the archival room and waited for the buzzing noise and then pulled the door open.

  “I wouldn’t have taken Peggy for someone who could be bought like that,” Theresa said.

  “The important thing is, we’re in. So let’s get a move on before she kicks us out.”

  They looked for the year 1914 and found the drawer marked 1900-1950. Mariska pulled the open the drawer. Inside, a series of large hanging folders that contained research from various scientists of the area. It didn’t take long to find the folder marked: Ashton. Mariska carefully removed the hanging folder and brought it over to the large examination table located at the center of the room. Flipping on the overhead lamp, she opened the file. There was a pile of notebooks, loose photographs, hand-drawn schematics, and various images of the tar pits.