Stalking the Phoenix

by Karen Woods

  A long moment later, I eased myself out of his arms. “Thanks, Phil. I needed that. Thanks for being my friend.”

  “I’ll always be your friend, Al,” he pledged. “Always.”

  “I don’t know what I did to deserve all the friends whom I have.”

  “Saddled with us all for your sins, perhaps?”

  I laughed until the sound became harsh and tears rolled down my face.

  Sitting at the small, antique oak kitchen table, drinking cinnamon and rose hip tea while Phil enjoyed his coffee, I asked, “Has any progress been made on catching Hernandez?”

  “None at all. We’ve circulated his photo to all the motels and boarding houses in the county. He’s not checked in to any of them. There is no record of his having flown into any of the close by airports.”

  “But, then again, no one would have really expected him to have been traveling under his own name. Not especially after he went to all the effort of faking his own death.”

  “I put out some inquiries into that,” Phil said.

  “And?”

  “Seems that Hernandez managed to take out almost two million dollars in life insurance about four years before his death in Mexico. From what I can gather he bought quite a few of those term policies which are offered over the television and issued through the mail. Most of the companies paid the claims without batting an eye.”

  “Four years. He was obviously planning this for quite a while.”

  “If he had staged his death during that first year or two, all sorts of red flags would have gone up at the head offices of the insurance companies. But, by waiting, the claims went through with no problems.”

  I sighed. “Who was the beneficiary?”

  “His mother.”

  “I don’t suppose that someone could subpoena her financial records to see if she still has the money?”

  “Might be able to, if she was still alive. But Maria Hernandez died seven years ago.”

  “Then who collected the checks?”

  “Maria Hernandez.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense, Phil.”

  “Someone posing as Maria Hernandez cashed all of the checks.”

  “I don’t suppose that anyone remembered what she looked like?”

  Phil just looked at me with an expression that asked, “What part of the galaxy did you say that you hailed from, anyway?”

  “Quite a scam. So, even counting his living expenses and overhead, he’s wandering about with well over a million dollars in his war chest. That’s an awfully large amount of money for a man bent on vengeance,” I stated as a wave of pure misery spread over me. “That kind of money can buy an awfully lot of silence and looking the other way.”

  Phil sipped his coffee without comment.

  I uttered an uncharacteristically coarse epithet as I rose from the table and walked over to the kitchen window to look out on the sunny spring afternoon.

  I stood looking out the window. I knew that he had to almost feel the anger radiating from me. Already, the Hernandez had harassed me unmercifully, possibly killed a girl for whom I had taken responsibility, probably stolen my car, become the chief suspect in the demolition of my house, and definitely put my fiancee in the hospital.

  The anger I felt, and which was threatening to overwhelm me, was a much healthier emotion than the emptiness I had been feeling earlier.

  He rose from the table and came to me. He lightly touched my shoulder. “Al?”

  Only then, did I realize that I was crying.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “I’ll just go take a rest.”

  Gently, he turned me around to face him. Then he took me in his arms, allowing me to sob into his chest.

  But this time, I stepped away from him. “I don’t mean to be such a watering can,” I said as I dashed the tears from my face. “I can’t imagine what came over me.”

  “Can’t you? You’ve been through more stress than a person should have to take. On top of that, you are pregnant. Either of those would tend to make a person tend towards being weepy. Both of them put together are a combination designed to render the most stable person a little out of control.”

  “I almost want him to make an open move. I want to come face to face with him. Yet, I know that if that happens, I will probably do my best to kill him.”

  “Al, I understand.”

  “I know that you do. I’m not going to let him get off easily this time, if I come face to face with him. He’s hurt too many people.”

  “Go take a nap. Use the same room that you had last night.”

  “Thanks. I think that I will.”

  I awoke to the sound of the doorbell. I looked at the clock at the bedside. 7:30 p.m. I looked at the clock again. I hadn’t meant to sleep that long. Still, I had needed the sleep.

  Pulling myself out of bed, I made my way to the bathroom. Quickly, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and straightened my hair before I started to make my way downstairs.

  Phil was on the stairs. “I was just coming to get you.”

  “Why did you let me sleep so long?”

  “Didn’t you need the rest?”

  “I guess that I did. Thank you.”

  Phil sighed. “Al,” he began.

  “What?”

  “There are two FBI agents downstairs wanting to talk with you.”

  “FBI. What do they want?”

  “To talk with you. Will you come down?”

  “On my way.”

  Geoff sat in the living room in a recliner. The two FBI agents, a man and a woman both bland enough looking to be virtually nondescript, were seated in wing chairs near the fireplace.

  “Good evening,” I said quietly as I entered the room. “I am Alicia Jenkins. I understand that you want to speak with me?”

  “Yes, Miss Jenkins,” the brunette female agent stated.

  “Miss Jenkins,” the man agent said quietly. “I am Special Agent Ellis Matthews. This is Special Agent Grace Hulme.”

  “What can I do for you?” I asked as I took a seat on the long sofa.

  “You don’t have to speak with us without legal counsel,” Agent Hulme warned.

  “Am I to understand that I am being charged with something?”

  “Not at present,” Agent Matthews said with the clear implication being that I could be charged with something serious at any time.

  Geoff spoke up from his recliner. “I am Doctor Jenkins’ legal counsel.”

  “Should you be up, Geoff? Are you feeling well enough? You’ve only been out of the hospital for a few hours.”

  “I am more concerned with you than with my little discomforts, sweetheart,” Geoff replied firmly. “I came out of my little encounter with Hernandez with only a bump on the head, a black eye, and some bruised ribs.”

  “A mild concussion and a two ribs with hairline cracks are nothing to take lightly, Geoffrey. Neither is the break in the orbital bone. You are lucky that you have kept your sight. You should be resting.”

  Geoff smiled at me. “When I am tired, I’ll rest. But for now, you need to answer the Agents’ questions. And you need legal representation. I’m here.”

  “Promise me that if you get tired, or feel badly, that you will go to bed?”

  “I’ll take care of myself,” Geoff assured me. “Now, you need to address the agents’ questions, sweetheart.”

  “Fine. What is it that you want, Agents?”

  “I understand,” Agent Hulme said, “that you are acquainted with a young woman named Joan Houston.”

  “Joanie,” I responded as a feeling of dread overcame me. “Why are you asking about Joanie? What’s wrong?”

  “How well do you know Miss Houston?” Agent Matthews asked.

  “Just tell me what is wrong,” I replied far more sharply than I had intended.

  “How well do you know Miss Houston?” Agent Matthews repeated his question.

  I shook my head slightly. “Not well. I know more about her than she knows about me. But, that was
a matter which Clay, Maggie, and I discussed and decided many years ago when I signed the papers allowing them to adopt her. Now, please tell me why you are asking about Joanie.”

  “Miss Houston has been kidnapped,” Agent Hulme stated flatly.

  “Holy Mother of God! Clay and Maggie must be beside themselves. They love that child.”

  “When was the last time that you saw Miss Houston?” Agent Matthews demanded.

  “Eleven years ago when I relinquished her for adoption. I don’t even know where Clay and Maggie are living these days. They correspond with me through my attorney, keeping me up to date on the child.”

  “Saint Louis,” Agent Hulme informed me. “The Houstons live in Saint Louis.”

  “I had no idea that they were so close,” I mused aloud.

  “Didn’t you? Mrs. Houston says that she saw you in St. Louis on 30 April,” Agent Hulme continued.

  “I was in the city, yes. I had a doctor’s appointment late that afternoon. I taught my morning classes, drove down to the appointment, and came right back in time to go out for dinner with a group of friends.”

  The Agents looked at one another.

  “I suppose that you can substantiate that,” Grace Hulme challenged.

  “Yes. I can substantiate that,” I replied with more than a hint of anger in my voice. “But, I resent the implication that I have need to do so. If you have a point, I do wish that you would make it.”

  Geoff cleared his throat. “Where is this leading, Agents? I can’t say that I particularly care for the tone that this line of questioning is taking on.”

  Agent Matthews looked at Geoff for a moment before he turned his attention back to me. “You still contend that you had no idea that the Houston family had located to St. Louis?”

  “I had no idea of their location. My only contact with them over the last eleven years has been through an attorney who passes on letters from them.”

  “Why did you go to St. Louis to a doctor?” Agent Matthews demanded.

  “I believe that is my business, and none of yours.”

  “It just seems to be an awfully long way to go in order to see a doctor,” Agent Matthews continued.

  “Highly skilled specialists are rather thin on the ground in rural areas.”

  “What sort of specialist are you consulting?” Agent Matthews asked strongly.

  “I believe that is none of your business.”

  “Sweetheart,” Geoff chided. “If you have to document your time, they will need to know.”

  “If I have to document my time, I’ll tell them. But until then, my private life is private. It’s none of their, or anyone else’s, business.”

  “Your hostility is not helping us resolve this matter,” Agent Ellis Matthews said. “In fact, it makes me wonder what you are hiding.”

  “Why don’t you just go out and find whoever it is who took Joanie, instead of wasting your time harassing me,” I suggested with a large measure of saccharin in my voice. “Just go out and find the criminal and stop harassing me.”

  “Where were you two days ago, Doctor Jenkins?” Agent Matthews asked.

  “In Chicago. Visiting my fiancee’s brother, Monsignor William Samson. I have a number of witnesses to that, as well as the ability to confirm my location by the use of airline records.”

  When neither Agent replied, I demanded of them, “Surely, you don’t really believe that I had anything to do with Joanie’s disappearance?”

  “Easy, Al,” Phil said.

  “Easy? Take it easy? When they are here suspecting that I may have been involved in the kidnapping of my own daughter? That is so insulting a suggestion that I. . . .” My voice trailed off. “Hernandez. It’s got to be Hernandez.”

  The agents looked at one another. “Hernandez?”

  I closed my eyes and leaned back on the sofa. “If he’s got her . . .” I forced the words out. “She may be dead or-or he may be wishing that she were . . . O Merciful God . . .”

  “Take it easy, Al. Don’t go borrowing trouble,” Phil said.

  “Borrowing trouble? Borrowing trouble?” I replied in disbelief, as I turned to face him. “I don’t have to borrow trouble, Philip. I’ve got a surfeit of it, just now, thank you.”

  “Why would this Hernandez fellow want to harm the child?” Agent Matthews asked in a tone which was anything except casual.

  I looked at the male FBI agent. “Why? Because he hates me. He has been trying to take from me everything that I care about. He’s sworn to destroy me.”

  “That’s a bit melodramatic, don’t you think?” Agent Hulme countered.

  “The whole situation’s been melodramatic, and it’s not getting any better. No. It’s getting absolutely no better. Excuse me, I am not feeling well.”

  I rose too suddenly from the sofa. My head swam just before everything went black.

  “‘Licia . . .” Geoff said quietly, as he knelt beside the couch. He ran a cold cloth over my face. “‘Licia, sweetheart.”

  I came to consciousness slowly. I looked at Geoff.

  “Good. Honey, you scared the hell out of me.”

  My feet had been propped up with cushions. “What happened?”

  “You fainted, Al,” Phil said from where he stood next to Geoff.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never fainted in my whole life.”

  Phil raised the one eyebrow in reaction to my statement.

  Geoff smiled at me. “You’ve never been thirty-seven and pregnant, either, darling. How are you feeling?”

  “Embarrassed, but otherwise fine.”

  “You make an appointment with Connie Yerke, tomorrow,” Geoff ordered.

  “I’ll call her office. Now, stop worrying.”

  I sat up slowly. The FBI Agents were still seated across the room from me.

  Chapter 26

  GEOFF

  With bodyguards dogging our every step, ‘Licia and I returned to my, to our, home on the morning of May 12.

  Dark circles lined her eyes, attesting to her lack of sleep.

  Of course, I didn’t know how she had expected to be able to sleep well after the bombshell which the FBI agents had dropped. Joanie. Poor Joanie. Her only hope had to be that Hernandez wouldn’t harm the child. But, even though Joanie was a Hernandez by blood, neither ‘Licia nor I could count on Joanie being returned to her adoptive parents unharmed, or even alive. Neither of us had voiced that thought to the other, but we both knew that was the truth of the situation.

  Because of the shock, last night, I had insisted that she sleep downstairs in the room Phil had given to me so that I could keep an eye on her. That wasn’t something that she had wanted to do, because she was afraid of keeping me awake, but she gave in, anyway, under protest.

  When ‘Licia had managed to fall into fitful sleep during the early hours of the morning, she had awakened after nightmares obviously so vile that she could not, would not, relate them to anyone; not even to me. ‘Licia hadn’t even wanted to think about the dreams. Yet, they quite apparently continued to fill her mind.

  It bothered me that she refused to confide in me.

  A large stack of parcels blocked the front door of the house when we arrived home.

  I took my fiancee’s hand. “Wedding gifts. It’s only a matter of days, now, my sweet.”

  ‘Licia sighed. “You should be resting. I know that you didn’t get any more sleep than I did. I’ll bring the packages in after I get you settled.”

  I laughed slightly, wincing at the pain in my ribs. “That’s my ‘Licia, always thinking of other people first,” I told her gently. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “I’m just so frightened.”

  “Come sit with me for a few minutes.”

  “I’ll bring in the packages,” ‘Licia replied.

  “Like a kid at Christmas. Sometimes, I think that you only agreed to marry me for the gifts.”

  ‘Licia glared at me for a moment, then laughed it off. She teased, “How perceptive of
you, my dear.”

  After seeing me settled in on the long sofa in the living room and putting a CD of Chopin nocturnes on stereo, ‘Licia brought in the numerous packages from the porch.

  She placed the parcels on the floor beside the sofa. Then took a seat on the floor right beside the sofa next to where I lay my head. Before sitting down, she had retrieved a notebook and a pen to record the gifts.

  “You ought to get some rest, yourself. These will keep.”

  “Nonsense,” she dismissed with a smile. “You know that I can never keep my hands off presents. You said it. I’m like a kid at Christmas.”

  I smiled at her, as much of a smile as I could manage considering that my face was still a painful technicolor nightmare. “I know, sweetheart. Go ahead.”

  ‘Licia peeled the brown wrapper from the first box. “It’s from your Aunt Margaret in Salt Lake.” Then she broke the tape that was holding the lid of the cardboard box together. A slightly smaller, gaily wrapped, box was within the outer box. Unwrapping it, she found that gift was a silver serving platter.

  “That’s Aunt Margie for you. Her standard gift is something silver.”

  “It’s lovely.”

  “Of course it is. Aunt Margie has wonderful taste for an old bat.”

  “Margaret is a very nice lady.”

  “Grandmother would have confined Aunt Margie to her room for the rest of her natural life, if she had been less than a nice lady,” I said with feeling.

  ‘Licia looked at me curiously. “I thought that you liked your Aunt Margaret?”

  “I do. But, you have to admit that she is a bit eccentric.”

  “When she came for a visit last year, I thought that she was absolutely charming,” ‘Licia responded lightly.

  “I’m not denying that. But, Aunt Margie has more than one cog loose.”

  “Geoff, how can you say that? She’s still active, still working, even though she must be all of ninety.”

  “Even you have to admit that Aunt Margie is a little strange.”

  “Must I?”

  “Why are we fighting?”

  “Are we fighting?”

  “Felt like it to me.”

  ‘Licia sighed. “I think that it is just the strain of the past few weeks coming out. I’m sorry.”