Layover

by David Bell

  I continued to read the phone as I moved to the empty bed, letting the mattress take my weight. If it hadn’t been there, I felt like I would have fallen through the floor and kept going, my arms flailing.

  “You see what the issue is?” Simon asked.

  I did. Clearly.

  Morgan admitted to me she’d been to Giles Caldwell’s house to talk about the bonus. And she’d admitted to stealing the ring from him. But the information online added a disturbing element—the man had disappeared. Without a trace. A grown man vanishing into thin air.

  “This doesn’t mean Morgan did it,” I said. But my voice was low. I was unconvinced.

  Simon laughed. Maybe he did so out of discomfort or misplaced anxiety, but it sounded more than a little strange when we were discussing the disappearance of his brother.

  “Like I said, I don’t know what kind of story she told you about Giles. What matters is she held a grudge against him. When bad things occur, you have to ask the question—who benefits from this? Who stands to gain? And who stands to gain from something happening to my brother?”

  “Not Morgan,” I said. “No bonus if he’s dead.”

  “But she got no money before he disappeared either. Maybe frustration set in. Maybe anger. And rage.”

  When I first saw the headlines, a buzzing sound started in my head. A low thrumming, like faint static through a radio. As the news sank in, as my bearings gradually returned, the noise began to diminish. Some clarity slipped back into my mind.

  “A grown man . . . How could Morgan have killed or kidnapped a grown man?” I asked.

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “The police have no evidence. They don’t mention Morgan as a suspect in any of these stories. You’re grasping.”

  “I’m not. I went by my brother’s office yesterday and chatted with a few employees. I know some of them, even though I’ve never worked in the company. It turns out Morgan was e-mailing and calling my brother in the days leading up to his disappearance. Asking about this bonus she thought he owed her. Hell, my brother hardly talked to anybody else. He didn’t have enemies. He barely had friends. But this one person, Morgan, was hounding him about money she thought he owed her. She wanted to meet with him. And now they’re both gone. Isn’t that too neat?”

  “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

  “Yeah, right.” Simon stood up. It felt like his shoulders filled the room. He walked back and forth, swinging his arms, even stopping once to slam his fisted right hand into the palm of his left. “I tried to tell them about all of this. I tried to tell the cops Morgan should be a suspect. But they’re not returning my calls. They’re afraid of saying the wrong thing or violating someone’s rights. Giles is gone and then she’s gone. What else can you conclude?”

  He asked the question in a reasonable tone of voice, making it seem as if no normal person could fail to agree.

  If Morgan had done something to this man, Giles Caldwell, if she was responsible for his disappearance—or worse—then it explained her secretive behavior. The rushing away and not wanting to talk or be followed.

  Her taking off before I woke up without the benefit of a note.

  It explained everything.

  I tried to move my mind in a direction so the facts didn’t all point me toward an inevitable conclusion. But no opening showed itself. I could see things only one way—Morgan had done something to Giles.

  And Simon had reasoned himself down the same path.

  He resumed his perch on the edge of the bed. His pacing seemed to have bled some of the nervous anger out of his body, which made me no more at ease in his presence. His face relaxed, became almost friendly. He forced another smile, which still didn’t look natural. But he was trying.

  “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice, normal guy,” he said. “Good job. Clean-cut. Now you got yourself wrapped up in something you didn’t understand when it started. It happens. To everybody.”

  I wanted to say—No, it doesn’t. Not every guy finds himself with a strange man accusing the woman he just slept with of murder in a hotel in Wyckoff, Kentucky.

  Nope. I was likely the first. Which made me a trailblazer of some kind, right?

  “I don’t even care about this Morgan so much,” Simon said. “The police, well, someone is going to find her, and they’re going to arrest her. And she’ll be taken care of the way she needs to be taken care of. You know what I mean?”

  I fought off a shiver. He seemed gleeful when he said the phrase “taken care of the way she needs to be taken care of.”

  “There are other considerations,” he said. “Now that the deed is done, that Giles is . . . Well, for all intents and purposes, what are the odds he’s alive? Where else would he be if he isn’t hurt or in danger?”

  “There’s no body or evidence of foul play. Maybe—”

  Simon shook his head. “We both know the odds, okay? After a couple of days . . . forget about it.”

  “Isn’t that just the case with little kids?” I asked. “Maybe he ran off? Maybe he owed someone else money?”

  “No. No way.” He adjusted his glasses, moving them up and then back down on his nose. “My mother, our mother, died about a year ago. And she left something very valuable behind, something meant for me that’s been in the safekeeping of my brother. It’s a certain family heirloom, something I want to see passed on to my daughter when she gets married. It has sentimental value as well as . . .” He raised his hand and wiggled it in the air. “As well as financial value.”

  My heart rate accelerated, and I itched all over, but I didn’t move.

  “It’s a ring,” he said. “My mother’s ring. A ring she wore for fifty years. Until the day she died. A ring they removed from her hand in the funeral home before they closed the casket. That ring. It was supposed to come to me to be passed down to my child. But it didn’t. You see, Giles and my mother were very tight. I think he convinced her to give him the ring before she died, to keep me from having it. Like he needed the damn money. My brother had that ring in his house. And I want it back. It’s a family treasure. And it’s supposed to be mine. Not his. Mine.”

  “How do you know your brother doesn’t have it in a safe-deposit box? Or somewhere else—”

  “He doesn’t.” Simon raised an index finger as he made his point. He looked like an angry god ready to call down the lightning. “He doesn’t. I know where he kept it.”

  “How? You don’t seem to be on the best of terms with him.”

  “We’ve had to meet and talk about the estate,” he said. “I was just there a few days before he disappeared. I saw the ring in its place. He hadn’t moved it since he got his greedy hands on it.”

  “Maybe you took it,” I said.

  “Don’t be simple. It’s gone. And I want it back.” He shrugged. “Plus, I also want to know the location of my brother’s mortal remains, assuming he’s dead. I hate to think of him in a ditch somewhere, covered with blowflies and maggots. A crow pecking at his eyes. He deserves a proper rest, next to my mother. In the cemetery in Laurel Falls. That’s what I want, even if he is a bastard and a shit heel.”

  I had to hand it to Simon. He possessed a rare gift. He managed to seem off-kilter and perfectly reasonable at the same time. His wishes concerning his family made complete sense. Who wouldn’t want to give his loved one a proper burial? Who wouldn’t want a missing family heirloom?

  And something else turned over in my mind as I sat there listening to Simon. A new perspective on Morgan took shape. She’d lied to me more than once and she’d bolted on me more than once. Was I supposed to protect and defend someone who’d been so dishonest with me?

  “It sounds to me,” I said, adopting a reasonable tone, “like you need to let the police track her down. And if you want me to call them, or even go to the cops right here in Wyckoff, I will. I have no
problem with that.”

  But Simon’s head was shaking, his eyes closed. It looked like he couldn’t stand to see my face as I spoke those words.

  “The Laurel Falls cops are slow-witted,” he said. “They didn’t know where she was. I did.”

  “And how exactly did you find out she was here?” I asked, truly curious. “You were here last night. I saw you in the lobby. But you didn’t say anything to Morgan.”

  Simon kept shaking his head, but this time he directed his disgust at himself. “Foolish, foolish. If I’d been just a few hours earlier, if I’d put it all together sooner . . .” Again he thumped one meaty fist into the other palm, the impact making a splat. He opened his eyes. “I talked to people in Laurel Falls, where she worked and still had some friends. Sometimes I got there right before the cops did. And I went down to Nashville too. A consensus emerged—if she was in trouble, she might retreat up here to Wyckoff. No one had any better guess, and I had to take a chance. It’s where she grew up. Where she went to college at Henry Clay. I didn’t know with certainty she’d be in this one-horse town. I hoped, though. A wild hope.”

  “So how did you choose the right hotel?” I asked.

  “I didn’t.” He reached over and slapped me on the knee. Apparently we were becoming allies. I found it disconcerting. “I just checked into a hotel. This one. I’d been looking all over town since yesterday, and not finding a damn thing. I was going to leave this morning. I was ready to go, packed and everything. And then you came into the lobby. Like manna from heaven. There you were, asking the clerk about a woman, describing Morgan to the letter. Maybe, I thought. Maybe . . .”

  “So you followed me up here?”

  “I did. And what do you know? I was right. I found the very guy who was with her last.” Again he looked overly satisfied, a shark with a taste of blood. “So it’s on you now. Tell me where she went. Tell me why she isn’t here. Did she see me? Did I spook her?”

  “She didn’t say anything about you,” I said. “How well does she know you?” I asked.

  “Oh, she knows who I am. In fact, I may have forced her hand back in Nashville with my nosing around. And I fear I may have pushed too hard. I can do that sometimes. So can Giles.”

  “Look, she didn’t tell me where she was going,” I said. “She left this morning without saying anything to me. No note. Nothing. I have as much clue as you do.”

  “Don’t do that, Joshua. Don’t block me because you think you like this girl.”

  “I don’t know about that.” He started to say something else, but I talked over him, cutting him off. “Look, all of this just landed on me. This is all new to me as of . . . right now, okay? I mean, my God, you’re telling me I spent the night with a killer. That’s what you want me to believe?”

  Simon considered me. “Yes, that’s what I believe.”

  “Let’s call the police, and I’ll tell them the whole tale. I passed a police station on my way here. It’s right up on High Street. You can’t miss it. Or just call them. Bring them here, and we can talk.”

  Simon looked pained. He lowered his head, his chin nearly touching his chest, his eyes closed again. He spoke without looking up. “I don’t like these delays. You know the clock is ticking. She’s getting farther and farther away.”

  “You don’t really know that.”

  He looked up. “I don’t know what?”

  “That she’s getting farther and farther away. You don’t know where she is. And neither do I. But why would she come to Wyckoff if there wasn’t a reason? You said yourself she’s not here randomly. All you know is you’re sitting in the one place she isn’t.”

  “What are you driving at?” he asked.

  “You should go look for her.” I stood up, hoping he’d get the hint. “I need to shower. I need to put on clean clothes. And then . . . I don’t know.”

  “I’ll wait.” He folded his arms.

  “No,” I said. “You don’t need to wait for me. Do what you want.”

  Simon looked up, his eyes widening. “I want to wait for you.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re my best hope. So I’ll wait.”

  I felt like I was dealing with a stubborn child. A large, stubborn child.

  “Can’t you wait down in the lobby? Look, I’m in the same boat you are. I’m trying to understand what’s happening with Morgan.” He continued to stare at me. “I slept with her last night. I followed her here from Atlanta. I almost got thrown off a plane. Do you think I don’t want to know what’s going on? You’re the first person to make any sense about this whole thing.”

  Simon rocked a little, his arms still folded.

  “Go down to the lobby,” I said. “Think about calling the police. If you don’t want to, we can decide what else we might do. But . . . can I please just get ready alone? Seriously, I don’t know you.”

  Simon waited. And waited, rocking a little.

  And then he stood up. He came close to me, so close I could see the hairs in his nose, the capillaries in his eyes. He took his index finger and poked me once—hard—in the chest, knocking me slightly off-balance.

  “I’ll be in the lobby, then.” He pointed to his watch. “Twenty minutes.” He went to the door but looked back once before he stepped through to the hallway. He pointed to his watch again. “Twenty.”

  37

  Kimberly held her travel mug in her right hand, resting it on her knee. She lifted it and took a long drink of the warm liquid, then looked across Steven Hatfield’s uncluttered desk. No papers, no notes. No pens or paper clips. How did people work in such a sterile, organized environment?

  “You’re telling me Simon is dangerous,” she said. “A threat to Morgan Reynolds or whoever he thinks may have harmed his brother. That’s why you told me the story about the dead rat.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any reason to think that besides something that happened more than twenty years ago? Are the two brothers close?”

  “Giles refused to go into business with Simon. When we were starting the company, Simon knew about it. Like I said, he was around for some of our initial discussions. I could tell he wanted in. I was willing to bring him on board because he was Giles’s brother. I thought Giles would want him, so I was prepared to swallow my doubts.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “I brought it up with Giles once. Casually. About Simon. Giles got very angry. He wagged his finger at me and told me in no uncertain terms that Simon was to have nothing to do with the company, that the whole thing would be off if Simon got involved.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “He said he didn’t want that kind of volatility in the company. That was it for me. They knew each other better than anyone else. He was happy to have Simon on the outside, so I was too.”

  “Did that lead to bad feelings between the two of them?” Kimberly asked. “I mean, this company is doing well. So if Simon was cut out of the loop on that, he missed out on a nice amount of money. That can make someone angry, right?”

  “I don’t think they were ever very close. They didn’t spend a lot of time together as far as I knew. Whether Simon resented being cut out of TechGreen, I don’t know.”

  “Okay. Siblings sometimes get closer as they get older. Sometimes they drift apart. What happened with them? Did they have other problems?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Hatfield paused. He took a deep breath through his nostrils. “I sensed they didn’t agree on everything when their mother died. Giles was very close to her, and he was the oldest. Simon was close to her too, but Giles . . . He was a little . . . I don’t know. Close to his mother for a middle-aged guy. Too close? I suspected he might have gotten first crack at some things Simon wanted. It’s just the two of them, and neither one is a shrinking violet.”

  “Was there a lot of money?”

 
“A decent amount, but, of course, I’m just guessing. But it put a strain on Giles when the estate was being settled. He became withdrawn, moodier than normal.”

  “But didn’t say why?”

  “Giles? Hell, no. He wouldn’t discuss a personal problem. The day his mother died he came to work. Around three he casually mentions to me that he has to leave early because his mother died that morning. That’s how he told me.”

  “And Giles doesn’t have any kids?” Kimberly asked.

  “No.”

  “So . . . who gets his share of all this if he’s . . . if the worst happens?”

  Hatfield looked surprised by the question. He rubbed his forehead. “I guess I don’t know. I really don’t. Simon?”

  “Could be,” Kimberly said. “No kids for Giles. No other siblings. Parents dead.”

  “Crap. You’re not thinking . . . I mean, would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know somebody went in there and took the ring. And that’s all they took.”

  “Okay. Sure. But that doesn’t make sense. If Simon inherits from Giles, then he gets the ring. So why kill for it?”

  “Maybe we made the wrong assumption. Maybe Simon doesn’t inherit Giles’s estate. Maybe someone else does. We’ll have to get a copy of the will at some point. That requires a subpoena and could take days or even weeks.”

  “Why did Simon come in and push you to look for his brother if he killed him?” Hatfield asked.

  “It would make a good diversion. You said yourself how crafty Simon is.” Kimberly sipped her coffee. Something crossed her mind. “I’m just curious. You’re expanding, right? Where?”

  Hatfield looked cagey, like he didn’t want to reveal his business plan to her, like she might leak it to his competitors. “We’re thinking of a few places.”

  “Have you worked with a commercial real estate developer named Joshua Fields?”