Red Solaris Mystery Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Bourne Morris

  Wynan coughed vigorously to clear his throat. “Nell has been telling me about this Simon Gorshak. I don’t like the idea of you contacting a man who once threatened your life.”

  “If I hadn’t seen him myself, I wouldn’t trust him either.” I looked at Nell, who was frowning. “But I honestly think he has changed and his remorse is genuine.”

  Nell folded her hands on the table, pressing her palms tightly together. Her disapproval was palpable. “He’s a hateful man, Red. Have you forgotten he tried to destroy you and the reputation of the school? He didn’t just leave those notes in your mailbox, he wrote a letter denouncing the entire school and sent it to all the journalism deans in the country.”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything about him, Nell. And he still gives me the creeps. But he lives in the area where I think Joe’s targets live, and he may know something or someone…”

  Wynan interrupted, “Let’s meet him for coffee. You and me. I’ll scope him out and see what I think.”

  “Wynan, you’re terrific. Thank you.”

  Nell’s face was full of protest. “Oh, Wynan. Simon’s a terrible man, the devil incarnate.”

  Wynan took his fiancée’s hand and held it tightly. “I can deal with the devil when he has useful information.” He looked at me. “Any cold beer in this house tonight?”

  I slept better that night even with Charlie’s warm fur pressed against me. Charlie in bed was absolutely against the rules according to Joe. Joe would say, “Now I have to retrain him,” when he came home and found out.

  But until Joe came home, and until I knew he was still alive and able to come home, I chose to break the rules. All of them, if necessary. Contacting Simon again would be strictly against the rules under normal circumstances. So would going into a bad neighborhood. So would asking Wynan to help me with a mission that could be dangerous. All against the rules of common sense.

  But I was damned if I was going to go about my regular routines and wait. The man’s child grew within me. Of course, that was also against the rules, but what the hell.

  I sat in my office for most of the morning before I worked up the courage to call the number on the little card Simon had given me. He answered on the second ring. “I have to say I’m amazed to hear from you. I figured I’d never see you again.”

  “Simon, I haven’t had a chance to talk to Edwin yet, but I do have a favor to ask of you. I’d like to see you again for coffee and bring along a policeman friend of mine.”

  “Not that Morgan fellow, please. He was very rough on me.”

  “No, not Joe. Another policeman. I need help with something.”

  “Well, I do owe you a favor. But I’m tied up with doctor’s appointments today.”

  We agreed to meet the next morning at the same coffee shop.

  My head was spinning. The prospect of seeing Simon again made me dizzy and my stomach didn’t much like the thought either. I needed some fresh air and once again decided to walk outside in hopes of clearing my head.

  “You leaving us again?” asked Nell as I marched to the outer office door. I felt a twinge of guilt. I had spent a lot of time out of the office and still hadn’t told Nell I was pregnant.

  “Fresh air for a few minutes,” I replied. “Run the school for me.”

  “I can, you know,” she said with a raised eyebrow.

  The grass on the quad had just been mowed. Probably my favorite scent, but not that day. I had to plan carefully for the meeting with Simon. An idea was forming in my mind about how to help Joe, and I needed clarity. The concrete walks behind the College of Science did nicely. Rows of neatly trimmed and odorless boxwood punctuated the paths.

  About five minutes into the walk I slowed down and began to notice the posters pinned to streetlamps and kiosks. “Danica Boerum,” they announced in three-inch high letters. A large photo of her face separated her name from bulleted text below: “We are a Christian Country” and “Send non-Europeans home.”

  I didn’t bother to read more. As I passed the third poster, I spotted a Hitler-like mustache drawn on her face and the words “Nazi Bigot Bitch” scrawled over the text.

  Still a few days left before her appearance and already the ugliness was manifesting. I tucked away my plan and kept on walking. I knew the former fraternity house that the student Purists had purchased was another hundred yards down the path, and I decided to pay a visit.

  A banner announcing Boerum’s speech ran across the full width of the upper balcony, concealing the elegant lines of the three-story white house. It had been one of the first buildings on campus and home to three successive university presidents in the early part of the twentieth century before being sold to a fraternity who let it run down and then sold it again.

  The Purists had cleaned it up. Fresh paint on the front steps and new dark green shutters on the tall first-floor windows. Primroses planted in huge pots flanked the large mahogany front door. This was not just for Danica Boerum. The house had been pristine ever since the Purists took it over. Whatever one might say of them, the Purists were a tidy group. Maybe I could persuade them to take down the offensive posters, limit the publicity and the size of the crowd.

  A slender boy with a face as smooth as porcelain opened the door. He was dressed formally for a student: white shirt, dark striped tie, navy trousers. Elegant shoes, expensive oxfords, not sneakers. “Can I help you?”

  “I was wondering if the president of your group was in.”

  “He’s still in class. But our vice president is here. Would you like to speak to her?”

  “Thank you. I would.”

  The boy ushered me into a front hall dominated by a massive staircase carpeted in red, the bannister dark and shining. He led me down the hall into a sitting room at the end. The furnishings were traditional and immaculate, two leather sofas and four wing chairs upholstered in dark green velvet.

  The boy indicated a chair and then stood in front of me, one pale white hand folded neatly across his abdomen, the other behind his back in the pose of an English butler. Very Downton Abbey. “Would you like something to drink, ma’am? Coffee or water?”

  “Water would be great, thank you.”

  He disappeared. I sat in one of the chairs and ran my hands over the thick fabric. Horsehair velvet. Very expensive. Hardly typical for a student living room.

  “Nice to see you, Dr. Solaris.” A tall girl with perfectly highlighted long beige hair walked toward me, a glass of water in her hand.

  “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

  “I was enrolled in your ethics class two years ago, but I left after two sessions.” She handed me the water glass and sat perched on the arm of one of the sofas, her pleated dark skirt fanning nicely around long slim legs. “I’m Alexandra Pickering.”

  And I’ll bet a month’s salary you don’t tolerate a nickname. I sipped the cool water. “Nice to see you again, Alexandra. You’re the vice president of the Purists?”

  “There are three VPs. I’m VP of events.”

  “So you’re in charge of Danica Boerum’s appearance here?”

  She paused for a sweet smile and a fluttering of eyelashes. “I am. Are you here to lecture me about that?”

  “No. I’m here to ask you about all the posters on campus. And I heard a radio commercial driving to work this morning. Why all the advertising? I thought her appearance was a private event for your group alone.”

  Another eyelash flutter. “Not really. We rather hope some others from the community will want to hear what Leader Boerum has to say.”

  “I see. Don’t you think that so much publicity might draw trouble to your event?”

  “More water, Dr. Solaris?”

  I shook my head.

  She rose and walked to the window, tossing her hair so it caught the sunlight, a move so deliberate I was sure she practiced it.

  “
We are used to trouble, Dr. Solaris. Just as we are used to being misunderstood.” She turned back to me. “But we are not deterred by trouble. We welcome it. Trouble attracts sympathizers to our mission and our mission is essential.”

  “Your mission?”

  A dazzling smile. “To restore our country to the greatness it enjoyed in 1776.”

  I nearly choked, but regained my control. “Our country was a collection of struggling colonies in 1776. Our original leaders fought each other almost as ferociously as they had fought the British.”

  Alexandra turned back to the window.

  I pressed on, “We didn’t get together as a nation until some years later, and the Constitution wasn’t written until 1787. Is that the kind of struggle and uncertainty you want us to go back to?”

  Smugness replaced cordiality. The smile turned to the pouty lower lip and defiant eyes I had learned to associate with twenty-year-olds who are certain they know everything.

  “I think you understand what I’m saying, Dr. Solaris.”

  I stood up and turned for the door. “Oh, I understand what you’re saying, Alexandra. Although given your curious reading of American history, I am not altogether sure you understand what you’re saying.”

  Chapter 13

  My walk back to the journalism school was speedier. My head was not much clearer but my resolve was stronger. Alexandra had tipped her hand, although I’m sure she wouldn’t have seen it that way.

  I called the provost. “Manny, have you met with the student leaders yet about this Boerum speech?”

  “A small group. I plan to meet with a larger group later this week.”

  “May I join you for that meeting?”

  “Love to have you. What’s on your mind?”

  “I’ll put it in an email tonight, but I have some thoughts on how we might help our students keep the peace.”

  “You expect new kinds of trouble?”

  “Not new trouble, but I now have a feeling the Purists welcome discord and violence. I suspect they believe it helps disseminate their ideology.”

  “Well, it certainly gains them publicity.”

  “I think they want more than publicity. I think maybe they want martyrdom.”

  “Shit. So they’re setting us up. I’ll look for your email.”

  Later that afternoon, I drove to the hospital. I knew I should see Rosie again, and I wanted to make sure her room was still well guarded and safe for her. She was awake, propped against pillows eating soup. A touch of color in her cheeks made her look much healthier.

  “Hi, Red.”

  “You look one hundred percent better than my last visit. Is the food really that good?”

  “The food’s moderately acceptable, what I can eat of it, but hardly good.”

  I sat on the edge of her bed. “And how’s the stomach?”

  “Still painful but not agonizing. My spleen was nicked but the docs say no other vital organs were injured.”

  “But they’re watching the spleen for bleeding?”

  “Yup. They watch me all the time. So do the cops assigned to guard me. Last night’s Officer Donovan was kind of cute.”

  “Remind me to tell you someday about the pitfalls of flirting with good-looking cops. But more important, have you and Norm made any headway on identifying your attacker?”

  Rosie shifted in bed, wincing slightly. “I’ve wracked my brain trying to describe the man. I know he was white because I saw his hands. I know he was tall and very strong, but he said practically nothing so I still have no idea what he came for, except to hurt me or kill me.”

  “Well, as long as he doesn’t show up here.”

  “If he does, I have an army of uniforms hanging around. In fact, here’s one now. Good evening, Officer Donovan.”

  I turned to see the youthful cop Norm had brought over right after Rosie’s surgery. Donovan’s expression betrayed a special interest in Rosie. He actually blushed at her greeting.

  I got up to leave.

  “Come back tomorrow night,” said Rosie. “Danica Boerum’s going to be interviewed on Las Vegas television. They’re going to re-run it here. We can scope her out together.”

  “I’m going to be in Reno part of the day, but I’ll do my best to get back here.”

  “Red?”

  “What?”

  “Thanks for being such a good mom. These last few days I’ve needed one.”

  I must have still been smiling at Rosie’s remark when Helen Ferguson and I met in the hospital corridor, because she greeted me with an uncharacteristic grin of her own. “You look a good deal happier than you were in my office the other day.”

  “I’m starting to get used to the idea of motherhood.”

  “Have you told your guy yet?”

  “Not yet. He’s still out of town, and I want to tell him in person.”

  Helen planted her feet in front of me. Her eyes were full of merriment. “Well, when you do tell him, you can also prepare him for a due date the last week of October or, if you’re late, early November. The tests came back and you are in superb health and should ready yourself for a complex holiday season.”

  Late fall. What was happening in late fall? Nell’s wedding, but that would be here in Landry. Any important foreign conferences? Any airplane trips I had already scheduled to take and would now have to cancel? What difference did it make? Sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving, I was going to have a baby. Wow. What else could possibly matter?

  The next morning, Wynan arrived at my house promptly at nine and settled into a kitchen chair as if he had lived in my house all his life. That made me feel good, since Wynan had been very formal and ill at ease with me when we first met.

  “I’ve done a little checking on your Simon Gorshak since we last spoke,” he said, sipping his cup of coffee. We were due to meet Simon at ten.

  “He’s not my Simon.”

  “In any event, he seems to have kept his nose clean since leaving here. He does have a gun permit, but so far he’s never used the gun that we know of.”

  “He claims it’s for protection because he lives in a bad neighborhood.”

  “Well, he does live in an area where there are gangs and a number of seedy motels. But that may be because he doesn’t have much money. The background check I did tells me he doesn’t seem to have income other than Social Security and whatever he gets from his pension, so I would guess he needs a cheap apartment.”

  “Simon forfeited a lot when he left Mountain West. His retirement savings went to care for his alcoholic wife in a hospital. I think there’s a high probability he was in deep debt by the time she died.”

  “Unlucky bastard.”

  “He was a bastard to me, but maybe he’ll take this chance to make amends and help us out.”

  “Let’s go see.”

  Simon was waiting for us at a table in the back of the coffee shop. In spite of the warming weather, he was wearing a shabby tweed overcoat. He stood when we approached the table and held out his bony hand to me and then to Wynan as I introduced him. He was reserved and polite, displaying none of the savagery of his former days.

  We ordered while Wynan sat quietly sizing up Simon. The older man sensed he was being scrutinized.

  “I’m not any danger to her, you know.”

  Wynan nodded. “Not with me around.”

  Simon turned to me. “You said on the phone that you might need my help. What can I do?”

  “Thank you, Simon. I appreciate you taking this time. Deputy Chief Congers and I are looking for a man who’s involved in sex trafficking here in Reno. We need a contact, someone who knows the area and the traffickers and would be willing to help us out.”

  “Regrettably, that would not be me.” He sipped his tea and his eyes took on a squint. “I make it a point to avoid such people. Why not call
on the Reno police?”

  “We’ve tried them and think we’ll do better on our own.”

  Wynan leaned forward and employed that friendly smile cops sometimes use to get information. “Dr. Gorshak, perhaps you know someone who could provide us a contact.”

  Simon stared at the table. “Perhaps.”

  “Please, Simon.”

  “Never thought I’d hear you say please to me, Meredith. After the way I treated…” His voice thickened.

  “This is really important. It involves a child. And for the child’s sake, we cannot use police,” I said.

  Simon’s chest heaved. “I do know a woman who might still have someone she knows in that world. She’s a former prostitute. No longer in the game, but she lives near me. We have the occasional meal together. Nothing between us, mind you.”

  “Just a friend.”

  “Right, just a friend.” His voice was steady, but somehow I doubted I was getting the truth about his relationship to his woman friend.

  Wynan’s look hardened. “Could you give us her name and address?”

  “Not just yet.” Simon rubbed his thin gray hands together. “I’ll have to talk to her first and see if she’s willing. She’s not too fond of police, but she might be willing to talk to Meredith.”

  I pulled a card out of my handbag and gave it to Simon. “Will you try to contact her today and call my cell phone as soon as you know if I might see her?”

  He fingered my card gingerly and then looked at me with watery eyes. “I want to help, so I’ll do my best. But no guarantees.”

  Wynan pulled out his notebook. “Mind if I get your address and number?” Simon reached into his pocket and handed Wynan another card like the one he had given me.

  “This still your current number and address?” Wynan asked, a flash of fierceness in his eyes.

  “I don’t dissemble, Chief Congers,” said Simon, drawing himself up to look Wynan directly in the eye.

  “Let’s hope not,” said Wynan with pretended cordiality. “Dissemblers don’t do well with me.”