SAGE: AN ADAM STONE MYSTERY (THE ADAM STONE MYSTERIES Book 1)

by D. L. EVANS

  Uncle Rick was indifferent to perishable beauty but insisted on the smell of flowers to cover the medicinal odours that surrounded him. The Monet painting that hung above his bed and not in his line of sight spoke volumes about his philosophy. He didn’t own things for their beauty, only for the power and wealth they represented. She felt no affection towards him knowing he existed in an emotional limbo, relating to no one. Their conversations were spare and absent of any intimacies. For a few moments, he gathered his thoughts and Annie felt the room swell with his unspoken frustrations and insecurities. She guarded her face from expressing the pity that he would not forgive. Finally the words came. His voice was dry and shaky but his thoughts were clear and distinct. His former assistant, Winston Lucas had been for his weekly visit, and had discussed a personal report from reception about his two previous visitors. He identified one as a cop. Detective Mack Mackenzie had posed as Adam Stone's literary agent and her uncle now wanted his head on a plate. He was completely rattled that he had been tricked… questioned by the police without his permission or the presence of his lawyers. Annie silently thanked Alma for the warning. Thank heavens she had thought to call her before Uncle Rick pulled his strings and caused trouble. Alison would have a fit if any bad publicity came from his blustering and bullying the police and it got to the papers. Annie spent the next hour calmly explaining her worries about the Gallery and with the death of their featured artist, Morgan, and that there were legitimate reasons for the police to investigate.

  He watched Annie with his granite expression very interested in the fact that she genuinely didn’t know who was responsible. Had her incredible perceptions been exaggerated? She had caused him all kinds of grief when she’d spotted his brilliant Picasso forgeries as a teenager. But if she was so perceptive, why didn’t she just read his mind and see what he was planning at the time? Maybe his skill at blocking his thoughts from her mother worked on Annie too. Were they fading as she matured? Were there limits to her abilities? He found it a comforting thought. She continued to patiently explain that Alison, through a friend, had asked Mr. Stone to privately look into the matter, as the police weren’t getting anywhere. Richard Stanford agreed that the Gallery had to be protected from potential scandal at all costs. He could not, however, remember what questions they had asked or what he had said but they shouldn’t have been there anyway, he complained. That much was true. What possible help could he be? He was out of it. Yes, she soothed, it was unfortunate that they had been less than honest about the interview but it shouldn’t be a problem, as he had nothing to hide. Wasn’t that so? They probably just wanted some background information about the take-over for their reports. He seemed mollified but continued to grouse about questionable police techniques. By the time she left, Annie was reassured that her uncle had lost his anger and had accepted her rationale for the unorthodox ‘interrogation.’ Nurse Alma would be greatly relieved. Uncle Richard dozed as she left the room. Alma Thompson met her in the main lobby and Annie reported (to the nurse’s visible relief) that he was better and seemed to be quietly sleeping. She thanked Annie profusely for settling him and apologized for having to call for her help. Annie wondered what the old man was paying her, because whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. She thought Alma was a saint to put up with his abuse.

  Annie kissed the grateful nurse on the way out of the building. She explained that she would take care of the police complaint that Uncle Richard had filed and not to worry.

  Annie watched the evening sun set fire to the benign clouds as she drove back to the city. A spectacular end to another afternoon and she hadn’t accomplished a thing. But why did Adam and Mack go to such lengths to see Uncle Richard? What could they possibly suspect him of? Did they even know what kind of a risk they were taking by lying to him? He has an office building full of lawyers on expensive retainers who would just love to earn their keep by hauling Adam and Mack over the coals. One word from him and Mack’s career on the force would be toast. She could only hope that she had defused the situation. She pulled into the police-parking garage, parked in a spot available for the public, and locked the car door.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  THE WATCHER:

  God had blessed him with many gifts. It was well past midnight before he finished work and sat down at the console with his steaming mug of Earl Grey tea. It was his favourite time. No one could bother him in his private room. No one else knew it existed. The thought amused him. During the day, he lived under a microscope, with the highest level of security given to civilians, answerable to various authorities for every thought and action and yet he found time to do God’s work with impunity. In the evening he existed in some densely private space of his own and allowed no physical or emotion clutter to distract him from his mission. Because it was God’s work, he was blessed. Through technology he’d found the method to sink into the shape and texture of someone else’s life. Fortunately, he didn’t require more than three hours of sleep a night. It gave him plenty of time to review the secret recordings from the hidden cameras that his team had installed. He relaxed into the chair, content to view snippets of her day as he fast-forwarded through the discs.

  God had elevated her by the power of the gift, just like himself, and he was blessed to have her in his care. It gave meaning to his life although he was aware of her imperfections. No one but God was perfect. She did not love wisely but this was a small sin, and forgiveness, he reminded himself, was divine. He thanked the Lord every day that he was able to identify the walking corruption on the Earth and destroy it. But it had been a heavy burden for many years, until she appeared and gave him a new purpose. God had sent him his own Angel. She had arrived at the lowest part of his life, when he had given up. If only he could tell her how purely she was loved, how proud he was to guide and care for her. He would tell her how he understood the loneliness and fear that comes with the gift to the angels, for he too, he would explain, was an angel. The power of God flowed through his veins and demanded his energy. But they were tricky, these devils. They posed as normal people and were not always easy to identify. He had to be careful when he did God’s work. If they found him, his life would be over and so much would be left undone.

  The studio tape showed Annie at her usual place, at the easel quietly working on the latest masterpiece. The rest of room was in shadow and the work light glowed, reflecting her porcelain skin as she concentrated. A face to light candles to he thought. Occasionally she stood back to view the results of her cleaning, no doubt lost in time, experiencing the original sensations that inspired the master, whoever he was. He was familiar with those feelings. When he sensed that she was focussed, he allowed himself to share her vision. He knew her so well. There was such joy and comfort in her presence, even once removed on the two dimensional monitor. He could be watching a living painting by Rembrandt as she worked in the halo of golden light, loose hair softly framing her head. The dreamy, ethereal voice of Brian Ferry sang to her of distant magical places on her music system.

  The stresses of the day evaporated. The evil ones were getting closer but that was predictable. Soon, even with their limited intelligence, they would come to the correct conclusions and would find out about the secret room and maybe even guess at his divinely inspired intentions. Still, he was safe for the moment and everything was on schedule. He turned on the recorder to listen to Annie’s phone calls for the day. Various conversations passed until Alma Thompson, the busybody nurse of that vile old man, caught his attention. He fast-forwarded the tape to see Annie speaking with the nurse on the speaker ‘phone; pick up her coat and leave. The next tape he inserted showed Richard Stanford’s room at the nursing home. He watched the crumpled face and olive black eyes, not with interest but as if examining a different species. Disgust dilated his nostrils. Pressing the time ahead to mid afternoon, he watched as Annie and the nurse exchanged greetings and the old bastard sent Alma packing. From her placating tone, it was obvious that she was there once again in her rol
e as peacemaker, smoothing things over so the swine-uncle didn’t cause any trouble for big sister or Neanderthal boy friend and nosey cop. At least the old man would listen to her. For all his rotten and filthy nature, he was afraid of Annie and that gave her the power to calm him down. Anyone who didn’t have the gift could be intimidated. As she spoke in her wonderful deep voice he wondered why the old man didn’t just do the right thing and die. He had been a stone around her neck, probably all her life, at least as long as he himself had the honour of being Annie’s guardian. He would do the deed himself except he could not bear to cause her any unhappiness and the good Lord knew that she had suffered enough. But she could never know the truth. He would protect her from that with his life. It was the least he could do.

  He watched as Annie said good-by to her uncle and left. The tape continued. Just as he reached to turn it off, another figure entered the room. He was wearing a long white coat and pulled a professional medical mask over his mouth as he looked around. In the second before the intruder covered his face he recognized who it was. An evil one, servant to another disciple of Satan. Richard Stanford had drifted off to sleep. Something caused him to open his eyes, some sound or movement. Perhaps a premonition of what was in store for him. The fear of death filled his eyes as he started to feel beside him for the buzzer cord. Some deep instinct must have surfaced in his ravaged body. His desperate hand never found it the buzzer. The stranger in white wrapped the cord around the old man’s neck as he stared up in silent shock, shallow with fear, without resistance. Saliva ran down his chin and his breath rattled. In a few seconds he was dead. Why has the devil ordered this death? This peasant would hardly kill without direct orders from his vile master. Was there a reason that he failed to see? Was it just convenience? Another trial for her? Didn’t she have enough to overcome in this ugly world of hate and evil? The figure moved out of range of the camera, presumably leaving the room as quietly as he arrived. He switched to the exterior building cameras on another monitor that recorded the same man now dressed in some sort of blue overall, getting into a van and pulling away.

  The watcher chanted his mantra of curses controlling his anger. Forcing his eyes closed, he had a vision of fire. It was fitting. It had started with fire and that’s how it would end. The devil would be consumed. He opened his eyes relieved that he had the answer. As the tape continued he watched as the stupid nurse found Richard Stanford strangled a few minutes later. The outcome was predictable. The place turned into a circus with the whole management team of idiots crowded into the room pressing around the doctors who knew that it would be useless to try and revive him. Dead was dead. He glanced over the bank of monitors and saw that the legitimate camera, mounted outside the rooms of the nursing home was not in position. It only showed half of the hall and missed the entrance to Stanford’s suite. Intentional of course. This murder had been well planed. Without this very tape he was watching from a tiny, illegal transmitter camera mounted in a wall fixture, without anyone’s permission or knowledge, Annie would be accused of murder. It would happen quickly to head off any scandal. Summerhill Glen had too many important clients to answer to. As much as he hated to alter his plans, he would have to intervene on her behalf. The tape he was watching was critical. They probably couldn’t prove Annie killed her uncle but her life was bound to be humiliating with police harassing her at every opportunity. The privacy she desperately needed to live and work would be a memory. Cold rage surged over his nerves. He liked to be angry; it got the adrenal glands working. His eyes blazed with conviction and vision. The devil will be consumed. The tape ran out and he stared at the blank screen, past the fizz of electrons as they bombarded the screen. The schedule would have to be revised. His senses sharpened. Years of work, years of planning and schemes, everything he had shaped and controlled, was narrowing down to the next few days. He calmly put the tapes in order on the shelf, pressed a button on the control panel and disappeared through a hidden door that led to a private back entrance to the elevators.

  Where was she? Knowing Annie’s conscience, there was only one place she could be.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  MACK MACKENZIE:

  Annie, her Porsche safely parked in the police-parking garage, entered the station. She asked to speak to the detective in charge of the Jack Hennesey murder and was escorted to an office where she waited to be interviewed by Detectives Martchenko and Elphick.

  Several offices away, on the same floor Mack Mackenzie sat at his computer entering his notes and filling in the mandatory reports that seemed to take up more and more of his day. The desk clerk, Mark Lieberman stopped and poked his head in the door. “Have you heard the news?”

  “What are you talkin’ about kiddo?” Mack replied without looking up from the screen.

  “Old man Stanford is dead.”

  “S’about time.” Mack said. “The old fart looked two hundred years old. What’s the big deal and... how did you hear? Was it on the news?”

  “No,” he replied. “It just happened an hour ago. The director of a place called Summerhill Glen called it in. He was murdered in his bed and his granddaughter or niece, whatever she is, must have done it. She was the last one to see him, moments before they found his body, strangled apparently.”

  “Do you mean Annie Stanford?” Mack asked, suddenly paying attention.

  “Yeah, that’s her. She’s being interviewed now.”

  “What?" Mack said, suddenly very interested. "She’s here? Already?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “They didn’t even have time to put out a bolo on her. She drove straight here from Summerhill Glen. Maybe she just had to confess.”

  Mack jumped from his desk and ran down the hall to the interview rooms. “Which one is Annie Stanford in?” he asked a passing policewoman who worked in the department. She indicated with a nod of her head at Room Three. Just as Mack was about to knock on the door and interrupt, Chief Lewis grabbed his arm and swung him around.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing Mackenzie? Martchenko and Elphick are right in the middle of an interview. You know better than to open that door unless there’s a fucking earthquake!”

  Mack looked at him with such malice that Lewis withdrew his hand from Mack’s arm. Before he could reply Alison Stanford and three very well dressed men in expensive suits that said ‘billable hours’ pushed between them and opened the interview room door. Mack realized that he was so angry with Lewis that he hadn’t even seen her approaching.

  Annie was sitting comfortably across from the two detectives. Teacups were on the table. The oldest and obviously the most important of the three lawyers informed the seated detectives, “This interview is over, gentlemen. Either charge Ms. Annie Stanford or release her. She has nothing further to say.”

  Annie was totally surprised. She stood and started to explain to her sister and the lawyers that there was no ‘charge’ in question. She had information about a previous investigation and was being questioned voluntarily. They had no reason to interfere. Alice took Annie by the shoulders and whispered in her ear that their uncle Richard had just died. Annie’s face registered shock and she sat back down hard on the wooden seat.

  “Dead?” She said. “How can that be..? I just left him. He was fine...” she glanced down at her wristwatch, “less than two hours ago. He died?” She looked up at Alison. “Was it his heart?”

  Martchenko and Elphik noticed that the air seemed to be full of static electricity. They felt the hair stand at the back of their necks. The arrogant lawyers also registered some sort of discomfort as they proceeded to slowly edge out of the room to wait discretely in the hall. Alison calmly told her sister that Mr. Solda at Summerhill Glen had called her twenty minutes ago and she immediately arranged their lawyers to meet at the Station. Uncle Rick had been strangled, obviously after Annie had left him asleep and these incompetent officers would eventually be charging her with his murder until or unless the real killer was caught.

  “H
ow did you know she was here?” Mack asked one of the lawyers

  “Not that it’s any of your business, Detective Mackenzie, but Annie told our nurse that she was going to stop in at the police station to sort out the complaint that Uncle Richard had filed against yourself and Adam Stone. I personally thought your superiors should throw the book at you for questioning him under false pretences. What did you possibly think you’d gain by badgering a sick old man?”

  Before Mack could answer, all the lights went out leaving the small room and hallway in semi-darkness. A constable in an adjacent office called out in a slightly panicked voice that the computers just shut down. Several voices started talking at once as the reaction spread through the building. Mack picked up a phone on a nearby desk and commented that there was no dial tone.