Preservation

by Charles Lemoine

  Twenty minutes of work and then sleep, she told herself. First things, first. She unzipped the bag and opened it. In the back inside pocket, she’d stashed the tooth and beads. Opening the pocket, she reached in and felt the objects in her hand. With a sense of relief that they were still there, she closed it back up for safekeeping. Then, sliding the laptop from the bag, she turned it on and waited a minute while it loaded. On the screen she had two choices, the first was a folder icon labeled LBW, for La Brea Woman. There was no doubt it contained some recovered data that had been scrubbed from the laptop. The other icon was a folder with a skull and cross-bones on it. She double clicked it.

  The screen flashed bright white, and a storm of black pixels swirled into a vortex of white and black, slowly coming to stop, forming a list of names on the screen.

  Ingrid Ashton

  Katherine Wellington

  Robert Stevenson

  Peter Grassland

  Mariska wasn’t sure where to start. She knew Kathy was vying to become the face of the Page Museum, but what did she have to do with this mess. And, Mariska’s father? How did he fit into all of this? And who the hell was Patrick Grassland?

  She clicked on Kathy’s name. The screen filled with twenty-three different folders each labeled with a date and the word, Payment. Mariska opened the first folder and inside was an image of an electronic deposit into Katherine Wellington’s bank account. The amount was twenty-five thousand dollars. Twenty-five thousand dollars? She couldn’t be making that much as the office assistant, let alone the off chance she’d been made the face of the Museum. The institution relied on donations to remain open and functioning. A closer look showed the deposit came from an anonymous source, labeled only by a number-letter code: 9q5dptqjn. Each of the other folders had the same deposit amount from the same anonymous source letter-number combination.

  Mariska wracked her brain. What could this mean? Was Kathy involved with the La Brea Woman’s disappearance? If so, she could be involved in the attacks on her and the death of Jane. A surge of anger rushed through her. If she had something to do with this, Mariska would make her pay. Pay, dearly.

  Mariska’s hand trembled over the keypad as she prepared to open the file labeled with her father’s name. Did she want to know how he fit into all of this? How could she not look? She owed it to the La Brea Woman, to Jane…and to herself.

  Right as she was about to open the folder, her phone started ringing. She picked up the cell phone and saw it was an incoming call from her mom. A sick feeling in her stomach grew as she came to the realization that they must have been notified about Jane. She let the call go to voicemail. Seconds later, her phone began to ring again. This time, it was her dad. She ignored it and turned off the computer, putting it back into the bag.

  A series of beeps, as texts started rolling in, no doubt from her mom and dad. The knot in her belly tightened, but she turned off her phone, anyway. Not tonight. I can’t, she thought. Mariska turned off the lamp next to the bed and sank into the bedding. She hugged the pillow against her body, squeezing her eyes closed to keep the tears from falling. Another round of buzzing from her phone. She pulled it off the nightstand and looked—it was her mom.

  “Mom?” Mariska’s voice squeaked.

  “Honey are you okay?” her mom asked, her breaths coming quick and loud through the receiver.

  “No,” she said. “Mom, she’s dead. Jane’s dead.”

  “I know.” Her mom took a deep, audible breath. “Your father and I want you to come home.”

  “I’m safe. I’m with the detective.” How could she tell her mom it was too hard to face her? That somehow not being homemade this less real? “I’ll come by soon…I promise.”

  “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you too, mom.” She made a kissing noise, and her mom returned it. “I have to go…please hug dad for me.”

  Her stomach revolted as she disconnected the call and she lunged for the trash can next to the bed. Life wasn’t ever going to be the same.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Wulf had tried to fall asleep, but with Mariska a couple rooms away, he couldn’t get his mind to turn off. It hadn’t been more than a few days since he’d first started working on this investigation and it’d been an even shorter time since he’d taken her off the suspect list. And yet, he was drawn to her with more than his mind. He knew better than to let his feelings get the better of him. It wasn’t professional, and he was better than that.

  So why can’t I sleep?

  He got out of bed and started pacing his room. The floorboards squeaked every time he came within three feet of the bedroom door, and he’d turn around and head back in the opposite direction.

  There was something about this case that wasn’t adding up. He’d already met with a few of the key players, or at least he suspected them as such. But he hadn’t made much headway. Everyone he’d met, with the exception of Mariska, was hiding something. For him the question had never been why was the La Brea Woman taken, but why did someone want to kill Mariska?

  Squeak

  He stood in the doorway of his room, uncertain as to what to do next. Deep down inside he wanted to run into the guest room and scoop Mariska up in his arms. He wanted to ask her everything about her life, not as part of the investigation, but as a way to get to know her better. He shook his head.

  Stop being stupid. This can’t happen. This won’t happen.

  He walked down the hallway and stopped at her door. Her door was closed. Wulf put his ear to the door.

  Stop being a stalker.

  There wasn’t a sound coming from her room. She must have been asleep. Which after all she’d been through, was a good thing.

  Turn around and go back to bed.

  Wulf rapped his knuckles on the door. He waited a second or two but didn’t hear an acknowledgment of his request. He knocked again, this time a little louder.

  “Come, in,” Mariska said. Her voice was soft and had he not had his ear pressed to the door, he wouldn’t have heard her.

  He turned the knob, and pushed the door open, just enough to pop his head through the open space.

  “Hey were you asleep?” Of course, she was asleep. You’re such a jerk.

  She sat up and wiped the hair from her eyes. Were those tears in her eyes? Even half asleep, this woman was stunning. And the best part being, she didn’t even realize it. Mariska stretched her arms high above her head and yawned.

  “Is everything, okay?” she asked, wiping a tear from her cheek. She’s been crying.

  “Absolutely.” He paused for a moment. “Well, to be honest, I was having trouble sleeping.” Truth. “There’s something about this case that’s messing with my subconscious.” Lie, you just wanted to see her again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She nodded and then tucked her legs up out of the way and offered for him to sit on the bed in front of her. He wasn’t the only one telling half-truths. He took one tentative step and then hurried over to sit. He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a long sigh. Turning to her he said, “Things aren’t adding up. I’ve got a weird feeling about this entire thing.”

  “What part?”

  “Motive. I can’t pinpoint one. Or, at least I haven’t been able to find one solid enough to help me point fingers.” Wulf tapped his finger on his chin. “I mean, sure the La Brea Woman is a valuable piece of history…and to you maybe even priceless. But on the black market? I haven’t come up with much demand for her.”

  “Not much demand?” Mariska crinkled her nose. “How would you even determine that?”

  “We have people that work within the dark web, cyber trading…that sort of thing. Most black-market stuff is done online these days. Not like twenty or thirty years ago when people met in dark alleys and abandoned warehouses.” He snickered, but she didn’t find it as amusing as he did. “Anyway, we didn’t get any hits on our searches for her.”

  “None?”

  “None. There wasn’t anyo
ne looking to purchase her or sell her.” He shrugged. “It makes me think that whoever took her was planning on keeping her for themselves.”

  She didn’t say anything for a few moments. He could tell she was processing everything he just told her. Hugging her knees a little tighter she cleared her throat and broke the silence in the room.

  “I have something to show you.” Mariska swung her legs off the bed and padded across the room. Opening the top drawer of the dresser, she pulled out a laptop. “I don’t know what all this means yet, but it might be important.”

  After turning on the computer, she came to sit next to him on the bed. She smelled great, the soft scent of peach shampoo still breathed from her damp hair. The screen came to life, and the two sets of icons—LBW, and the secret files—came onto the desktop screen. One was marked LBW: La Brea Woman. And the other was marked as a secret set of files.

  Mariska double-clicked on the file to open it. A list of names came up on the screen.

  “What are these?” Wulf asked. “I see you dad’s name and Ingrid’s…who’s Peter Grassland?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mariska said. “I need to look into all that. But when you click into each of the names listed, there are bank accounts associated with them.”

  “Bank accounts? Hmm, I thought I ran a search for bank accounts…at least for the members of the IRB, and your father. Sorry,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I have to run background checks and search for things like this on anyone that could be a suspect.”

  She shook her head, “No, I get it. I say better to eliminate the innocent people so they can go back to living their lives.”

  “That’s exactly how I feel about it.”

  “So, I’m assuming I came back clean as a whistle…or, you wouldn’t be having me stay in your home?” Mariska said with a knowing look.

  “You’re wise beyond your years. I have cleared you from my suspect list.” He turned and faced her with a very serious look. “For now.”

  They had a stare off for an uncomfortable moment. But then she smiled, realizing he was kidding around…or, at least mostly kidding. Mariska yawned again. “I’m really getting tired. Would you mind putting the computer back in the drawer for me?”

  “Not at all.” He got up and went over to the dresser. When he turned around, Mariska was already curled up under the thick comforter. Her slow, shallow breathing, telltale signs she was already asleep.

  He turned to leave, clicking off the light as he went out into the hallway. But as he began to close the door behind him, a thought came to mind. Those accounts could be an important clue. Hurrying into his room, he grabbed a flash-drive.

  Wulf peeked around the door and looked into the guest room. Mariska was still quietly sleeping, her face partially covered by the bedding. He tiptoed across the room and with as much care as he could manage, slid the drawer open, and pulled out the computer. He looked back a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t being watched. Flipping open the laptop, he opened the files and moved them over to the flash drive one at a time until they had all been successfully copied.

  After replacing the computer, he slunk back out of the room, only stopping for a moment to whisper, “Goodnight, Mariska.” He closed the door behind him and went back to his room.

  Without even trying, this woman had him by the heartstrings. Whatever it took to keep her safe, he would do. But there was no way to be everywhere at once, and so he needed to solve this crime. He only hoped he’d be able to get to the bottom of it before it was too late—too late for Mariska and too late for them.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Mariska had thought about asking Wulf to come along with her today. She was going to meet Theresa for some lunch and conspiracy talk but still wasn’t sure how much she should tell him. First things, first—she needed clean clothes that fit.

  She parked her car at the mall and hurried inside. At some point, the police would let her back into her apartment, but Wulf had suggested it wouldn’t be until sometime this evening. The department store was busy, but she knew where her usual brands were displayed. Mariska made a beeline to the back of the store and started rummaging through the table display of shirts. It was a nice light blue that would make her eyes pop, or at least that’s what David had said in the past. Pants, she needed pants. As long as she could find the right shade of jeans, the shoes she was wearing would still work fine.

  Around the large upright display, Mariska hurried. She grabbed a pair of jeans in her size and went to the changing rooms, but stopped short of the attendant. Slowly, she turned around. The store was filling up with shoppers, but that wasn’t the problem. Something was off. She looked around the room some more, craning her neck to see over a display in the distance. She could have sworn someone was following her, she could feel it.

  “Ma’am?” the attendant said behind her.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you ready to try those on?”

  Mariska looked at the items in her hand and then looked back into the store. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but her senses were piqued. “I’m ready.” She handed the clothes to the attendant who led her to the changing room.

  The small booth was fully enclosed, the wall when from floor to ceiling, but there wasn’t a lock on the door. Usually, that wouldn’t bother her. The attendants knew their job well and kept track of which rooms were occupied and which ones weren’t. But without a lock, she felt extra vulnerable. No time to be picky.

  “Just try on the clothes and get out of here,” Mariska said to herself.

  She made quick work of the shirt. It fit okay. The jeans were perfect. She started to take the pants off when she heard the attendant come into the changing area. Mariska stopped and listened. The attendant shuffled through the room; her feet didn’t seem to clear the floor. Mariska hadn’t remembered that when she showed her to the changing room.

  Mariska put her ear to the door and listened. A soft, whimpering sound. What the hell? She bent down, low and tried to look under the door. She got down on all fours and put her face against the carpeted floor. Two sets of feet, one female, and one male. The attendant’s feet were touching the floor, only at the toes. She was being dragged. A flash of memory back to last night when Mariska was being choked made her suck in air.

  The killer stopped. He must have heard her. The attendant hadn’t told him what room she was in. He took another step and then suddenly threw the woman to the ground. Her head bouncing off the floor right in front of her changing booth. Mariska bit back a scream. The woman’s eyes locked with hers. The attendant started to cry out, her face contorted in pain. The side of her face swollen and red, her eyes puffy with streaks of makeup down her cheeks. But before she could make a sound, a crushing hand came down and snatched her by the hair. With a quick jerk, the monster smashed her head into the floor. Mariska watched as the woman’s consciousness drained from her eyes.

  Mariska put a hand to her mouth to keep from gasping. She saw the woman take in a breath and then another. She was still alive. But how long would Mariska still be breathing? She crawled backward away from the door and stood. The frantic search for a way out or something to protect herself yielded nothing. She buttoned her jeans and put on her shoes as silently as possible. A quick inventory of possible weapons produced very little. She opened her purse. Car keys, a nail file, and hairspray. On the floor, there were some wire hangers and small metal pins in a pin cushion on the wall. She was going to die.

  The sound of the first booth door being kicked in sounded. There was little she could do now. She turned in a full circle looking for something. Anything. That’s when she saw it. A pair of flip-flops under the bench. A plan formed. She dove for the sandals and cushion of pins. One by one, with shaky hands, she pushed the pins through the top of the rubber soled flip flops. First one and then the other. Until they were two thinly spiked porcupines. She tucked her purse in the back of her waistband and then put the sandals on her hands like a pair of
gloves.

  Slam. Slam. Her door was next. She stood on the bench at the back of the booth and widened her stance. Perched like a predator ready to pounce. Her heart was racing, and her muscles shook. Without options, it was kill or be killed, time.

  Slam.

  The door to her booth slammed open at the very moment she threw herself toward the killer. With both hands up above and in front of her, she slammed them down on the side of his face and the other across his eyes, nose, and mouth. She felt the pins tear through his flesh, some of them pushing back into her hands as they hit the bones of his skull. He cried out in shock and pain. He stumbled backward as she used her shoulder to shove him. Take steps back, she tripped over the unconscious store clerk and fell to the ground. Without a second thought or a look back, Mariska bolted for the emergency exit, dropping the sandals as she went.

  She hit the door with both hands as an alarm sounded. She kept going. At least, the attendant will get some immediate help when the security runs into the back room to find the source of the alarm. Around the side of the building, she kept going. She needed to make it to her car. If she could make it without anyone stopping her, she’d be fine. Pulling the purse out of her waistband, she increased her speed. Two more rows of cars to go and she would reach her destination. With a quick check behind her, she was relieved no one was following.

  She fished her car keys out of the purse and clicked the unlock button and the car beeped, five vehicles away on the left. Slowing to a speed-walk space, she visually swept the parking lot. A smattering of people, parking, walking to and from the stores, and standing around talking with each other was all she saw. She jumped into the front seat and immediately locked the door and turned on the car. Her hands shook violently as she reached for the steering wheel. A couple of deep breaths. In, and out. In, and out. Making a fist and then opening her hands again multiple times, she felt the trembling ebb.