Always Love a Villain on San Juan Island

by Sandy Frances Duncan

  “No. Sorry. Wish I knew. But I don’t. That’s why I was asking around for her.”

  This young man was looking decidedly uncomfortable, thought Noel, taking over. “Do you know Ms. Rossini well?”

  “Don’t know her at all.”

  “But you’re looking for her.”

  “Not really looking for, I just want to meet her.” Leger shifted his body as if to move to a standing position, then thought the better of it. “Look, our few minutes are up. As I said, I’m busy.”

  “What’re you busy at?”

  “Okay, that’s enough. You’ve invited yourselves in, I’ve been polite, and now it’s time for you to go.” Now he did stand.

  Kyra and Noel remained seated. “Busy at what?” Noel repeated.

  “Look,” Leger glanced at the card still in his hand, “Mr. Franklin. That’s none of your business.” He stuck the card into his shirt pocket.

  “Tell us why you want to meet Ms. Rossini, please. And then we’ll go.”

  Leger sighed dramatically. “Because she’s supposed to be a hot chick and I like my chicks hot.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “What?”

  “That she’s hot.”

  “I was told.”

  “By?”

  “For chrissake, what kind of interrogation is this?”

  “Who told you about Susanna Rossini?”

  “A friend of a friend of her cousin.”

  “His or her name is?”

  Leger marched to the door and opened it. “Go.”

  Now Kyra and Noel followed but let Leger stand between them and the door. “The cousin’s name.”

  “Your last question. Trent.”

  “Trent what?”

  “Get out or I’m calling the police.”

  So Kyra said, “Very well, Mr. Leger. Thank you for your time.” She walked past him, followed by Noel. The door closed hard behind them. She thought she could hear the chain rattling.

  They reached the car. Noel started the engine. Kyra said, “A nervous liar.”

  “Why’s he lying, do you suppose?” Noel glanced behind, backed the car onto the road, and slowly drove down the hill.

  “Well, either he knows Susanna and doesn’t want to say, or he doesn’t know her and really wants to meet her.”

  “But why lie? We know from Beck that Leger knows she went to Reed. Why the extra fabrication?”

  “Course there’s the other possibility,” Kyra added.

  “Yeah?”

  “That he’s the kidnapper.”

  “And he’s just hanging around the island trying to duplicate Larry Rossini’s visualizing technology in that house?”

  “So there’s more than one kidnapper. I wonder,” Kyra mused, “what’s on the second floor of that house? Is there a basement?”

  “Either a basement or just a large closet under the stairs.”

  “Except if he is the kidnapper, why’s he hanging around Thor’s asking questions about Susanna?”

  Noel rubbed his brow. Thinking about this case made his head hurt. “Want to drive for a while? Sit by the ocean? I need to hear waves. I need to think.”

  Raoul had to make the call right now. He’d put it off too long as it was. The boss would expect the orders to be carried out already. Those faked algorithms had to be punished. He picked up his phone and hit the code for Fredric’s cell. It rang. He waited. It rang some more. Come on, Fredric—

  “Hello? Raoul?”

  “Who’d you expect, your mother? Where the hell were you?”

  “Uh, taking a pee. Outside.”

  “Something wrong with the plumbing?”

  “Uh, just wanted to get out for a few minutes.”

  “I told you to keep the cell with you all the time.”

  “Yeah, I just—it gets heavy. In my pocket.”

  What, a few ounces? What was wrong with Fredric? “Walk with a limp then. But have it right there for when I call.”

  “Sure, Raoul. Will do.”

  “Okay, you’ve got to do something for me.” How to tell Fredric, keep him aware. “We’ve got a problem. Those algorithms? Rossini gave us fake codes.”

  “Oh for shitsake—What’re you going to do?”

  “What we’re going to do. Make Rossini realize this is for real here. The girl, I can’t remember, does she have any rings on any fingers?”

  “Uhm, I think so.” Silence. “I’m pretty sure there’s a ring on one of her little fingers.” A longer silence. “Yeah. Right hand, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.”

  FOURTEEN

  BY THE TIME Celeste-Antoinette deBourg drove onto the ferry, her mind had split in two. In one half lived her anger, in the other her saddened lust. She would never have believed she’d find herself in such a circumstance. Her times with Larry had been exceptional. The notion that she at her age could have become so enamored with a man of minimal looks, little wealth, a paunch and only adequate manners came as a grand surprise. She loved him for his brilliance—it was literally that. When he spoke of his work, when she’d seen him at work, he’d shone like the scientific star he was. And her anger? Yes, caused by Larry as well. Why had he cheated her? How could he not have known she’d find out? But he must have known. What had he been trying to do?

  She sat in her car and watched islands slip by. When she debarked on Lopez she’d immediately have to turn into the departure line to board the already, she hoped, docked ferry to finish her trip on to Anacortes. Stupid ferry system—from Friday Harbor to Lopez, on to another ferry that went only between Lopez and the mainland. She’d read the schedule with incredulity. Five times a day it took two ferries to get from San Juan onto the continent. Stupidest way to organize a transportation system.

  Her cell phone rang. The screen said, L. Rossini. She let it ring a dozen times. She’d get a new phone, new number, the next time she came to the States.

  His conversation with Fredric had left Raoul with a feeling of deep discomfort. He had explained what needed to be done, where Fredric would find the midazolam, how to make sure it got into the girl. How long to wait for it to take effect. Where to find the tools he needed. He tried to visualize Fredric, understanding all he had to do. He’d expected some resistance. But Fredric had listened, no objection, acquiescent: yes, he could do all that. Not the Fredric he had known half his life. Fredric didn’t strike him precisely as a hero, but he could be feisty. He’d argue when he disagreed, which happened often. But now he’d been passive, accepting. He never even asked why it had to be done this violently. As if he’d taken a dab of midazolam himself. Simply said yes, sure. Hadn’t asked questions, just agreed: he was part of the team.

  But the more Raoul relived their conversation, the more his apprehension grew. Would Fredric carry out his instructions? He knew the consequences if he didn’t. Was such a threat enough? Raoul thought he knew Fredric well, but Fredric had never been in a situation like this.

  Raoul weighed it out. No, he felt no certainty. Did he personally have to go to San Juan? Yes, and immediately. Make sure Fredric did it. If necessary, Raoul would do it himself. With Fredric’s assistance—he had to be fully responsible.

  He called three airlines. No flights scheduled could get him from Seattle to San Juan today. Float planes. Not till morning. A charter? That could be arranged. Oh, and he’d need a car rental when he got in.

  He already felt better.

  They had sat on some stones and stared out to sea. But only the wispiest of waves rolled in, far too calm for breakers. They had spoken little. After a while Kyra got up and walked along the shore. Noel let his mind wander. From the case. To Peter. A decent and pleasant man. Exciting? Likely not. But did Noel need exhilaration, agitation, elation in his life these days, in the future? He doubted it. The domestic pleasures of partnership were closer to his needs. A regular life, a person at home when he came back from the outside world. Conversely, spending the day at home preparing a fin
e meal, ready for his partner who had had a difficult day of institutional infighting, or a good day with valuable people, stories that would make Noel pleased for this man to whom life had been generous today, this week. After a while they’d be able to string good months together, and then a year, and another. Enjoying each other’s company in whatever happiness came along. Even in times of difficulty; problems shared are easier to bear. Could he recreate the kind of life he’d had with Brendan?

  Wait a minute. Hadn’t Peter said he’d pushed his red Mazda to 180? And that’d be miles per hour, not kilometers! A velocity way more than decent and pleasant.

  Okay, Noel, back to Leger. What was going on there? What—

  First of all, get to know Peter better. Not that simple—geographic divisions don’t ease relationships. But suppose there came a point when they did agree they’d give it a try. Would he drive two hours down from Nanaimo to Sidney, one ferry a day leaving for Friday Harbor? Do this, say, every other week? Could Peter come up to Nanaimo regularly? No. Peter was bound by schedules and responsibilities. Noel was freelance, no regular ties. He’d end up in Friday Harbor more often than Peter would in Nanaimo. Of course they’d have summers together. He’d loved the trips he and Brendan had taken. Could Peter be as loving a companion as Brendan? Would he, Noel, forever be comparing Peter to Brendan, measuring him against a dead lover? Hard, all hard.

  Onward to Susanna and Leger.

  As she walked along the shoreline, Kyra too had been thinking about Peter. A perfectly gentle man, smart, fine of feature. Generous? She figured she’d find out. In a curious way, she needed to think about him as she would a man she might take as a lover. Most likely any number of guys would do, but at this moment in her life she knew virtually none. Of course she didn’t have to know the man; all she needed from him was his semen. But she realized she’d prefer to have met the father of her child—fewer surprises nine months, six years, two decades later.

  Was she giving up on Noel? She should let him know she wouldn’t harass him any longer; he didn’t need that from her. She turned and headed back. Okay, to the case.

  Fredric hadn’t moved since taking Raoul’s call. Partly he still felt the shock of the conversation; partly he knew that if he moved, he wouldn’t be able to think with any clarity. Partly he knew the cost of not doing as Raoul requested. Demanded.

  He would wait till he found self-control again. It was returning slowly. He might have to wait till dark. He looked at his watch. Barely 12:30. Hours until evening. Meanwhile he had to bring Susanna her lunch. He wasn’t sure he could face her. Their lives were about to be changed dramatically.

  Still, she had to eat. He hard-boiled an egg, peeled and crushed it, added mayo and chive, toasted the bread lightly, set the egg salad sandwich on a plate. Boiled water for tea, cup and saucer, all on the tray. A peach. He put the cell phone into his pants pocket. He noted the Arlechino mask on the side table. No.

  He braced himself and carried the tray downstairs. Set it on the cart. Knocked, checked out the peephole, saw her in baggy jeans and overlarge shirt amble to the bed and sit on it. He unlocked and unbolted, entered and relocked. “Hi.”

  She stared at him. “What’s wrong?”

  He forced a grin. “Why should anything be wrong?”

  “I only know you a little, but I can tell when something’s gone wrong.”

  “No, nothing.” But he couldn’t meet her eye. He rolled the cart to the table, busied himself shifting sandwich, tea and utensils over. He felt her standing, walking over to him. He felt her arms around his waist, her fingers light against his shirt, her head against the back of his shoulder.

  “Tell me,” she said, turning him, forcing him to look into her eyes. “You’ve never been so—so distant. Not even with those masks on. As if you’re, I don’t know—scared?”

  He thought about scared and brought his arms over her shoulders. Instantly he felt better, her here with him. Scared? Yes, past tense. Mostly. An immense sense of things gone by came over him. He knew, clear as daylight, that something else had ended with Raoul’s phone call: twenty years of friendship. So-called friendship. Gone, with that one request. Which meant the friendship had been gone for a while. Couldn’t disappear with just one call. But that it had disappeared, no question. Upstairs he’d decided not to tell her about the call till evening. Now it didn’t matter—he could tell her and they’d wait till evening. “Susanna? I was scared. Until you touched me. Then the fear sort of flew out of me.”

  “Tell me what’s happened.”

  He took her hand and led her to the bed. He sat on the edge and drew her down to sit beside him. He looked at her. “I have, as you’ve guessed, a partner. He answers to the one who set up your kidnapping. He learned from his boss that your father didn’t do as he was told after we snatched you.”

  “What? Something to do with the three weeks, right?” She squeezed his hand hard. “What didn’t he do?”

  He stared at their hands together. “Your ransom was the process Professor Rossini was working on, the program and the algorithms. He had to turn it over to us. To my partner, really, and his boss. I’m just the lowly guard; I don’t know anything more.”

  “And he didn’t give them—you—that?”

  He looked her full in the face. “My partner says he gave them—us—the wrong algorithms.”

  A smile took the whole of her face, from brow to chin. Her eyes sparkled. She licked her up-curled lips. “Good for him.”

  “Maybe good for him. Not good for us. Nor my partner nor his boss. Not good for me. Not for you.” He watched her eyes. The joy they held shimmered. “Not good for you and me.”

  She heard his final you and me with great clarity. He and I. A new entity. Spoken aloud. “Go on.”

  “They’re not going to let you go now, Susanna. At best it’ll take another three weeks. But they need to present your father with a major threat so that this time he’ll give them all the correct information. They have to make it clear to him that he’s got to stop playing with them.”

  She grinned. “I don’t think he’ll give them anything.”

  His shoulders drooped. “Susanna, they want me to do something to you. So that your father will follow orders.”

  She set her left hand under his chin and raised his head. “What?”

  He took her right hand and held it, his thumb and index finger touching the gold ring. “This ring.”

  “They can have it!”

  “They want more. They want me to put midazolam in your drink and—”

  “What’s that? Mid-what?”

  “It’s a date-rape drug, Susanna. It would knock you out.”

  “Like the ether when you brought me here.”

  “Same effect.”

  “But why knock me out?”

  He brought both his hands around hers and held them very tight. “Because they want me to—to cut off the finger with the ring on it.”

  “Oh god . . .”

  “Then lay it in a box, set the box in a bag, and in the middle of the night bring it to your father’s house and pin the bag to his front door.”

  “Oh Frank—!”

  “Which I am not going to do, you’ll be pleased to know.”

  She had gone limp. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Instead, when it’s dark, I’ll take you back to your father.”

  “And you? What’ll happen to you?”

  “I’ll disappear. Into the void.”

  “But—if they track you down?”

  “They won’t.”

  “And—what about us?”

  “I’ll find you again.”

  “But won’t they come back to grab me again?”

  He considered that. “You and your father and whatever help you can find will have to figure that one out. Maybe he can do something about his programs and algorithms that’ll make them less important to Ra—my partner and his boss. I don’t know.” He stood up. She still looked frightened. He raised her to st
anding as well.

  “You’re really going to let me go?”

  “Really. Soon as it’s dark.”

  “Can’t we go now?”

  “I don’t know who’s out there. And I don’t want people to see you with me. Someday I’ll explain what my role in this has been. But it’s got to be the right moment.”

  She glanced at her watch. “It’s a long time till dark.”

  “A few hours. I’ll wait with you.”

  She kissed him. “We might go to bed to pass the time.” She gave him a seductive smile and kissed him again.

  “Susanna, I—I don’t think I could.”

  “Could?”

  “Get hard.”

  Another smile, tongue wetting lips. “I could help.”

  “Susanna.” He took both her hands and held her away from him. He let out a long exhale. “Susanna. I—I think I’m in love with you. And now I’m scared again.”

  She resisted his straight arms and set her head against his chest. “Let’s go now.”

  He shook his head. “It could be a mistake.” He held her to him. “We can be together, privately, just us, till then.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “Okay.” Together, for the last time?

  “Susanna?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Fredric. St.-Ange.”

  “What is?”

  “My name.”

  She smiled against him so he couldn’t see her. “Good.” She almost laughed. “Fredric.”

  Kyra kicked Noel’s toe gently. He started, glanced at his watch. “Get rid of your headache?”

  Noel realized he had. “It was good, sitting in place.”

  They walked to the car. Kyra leaned against the front bumper. “Too much wrong.”

  “Go on.”

  “Give me a minute.” She stared ahead. “First of all, the cousin. Or lack of a cousin.”

  “Story he made up.”

  “But why? And the painting stuff. What’s Leger doing here?”

  “Says he’s on vacation. He came here to do that. Paint.”

  Kyra said, “You have painter friends?”