Runner

by Thomas Perry

  Richard had always had trouble with women. What man hadn't? But his trouble was always peculiar. Richard had inherited Ruby's eyes and facial structure, so he was a very good-looking man. He had inherited Andy's physique. He looked the way Andy had forty years ago—flat stomach, broad shoulders—and he was reasonably light on his feet. He was very good at attracting women, but terrible at keeping them once he had them. After a short time with Richard they always left. Andy wondered if women were taking advantage of Richard.

  Andy had called a woman private detective named Grace Kandinsky, just like the painter, to get in touch with a few of Richard's old girlfriends and a few women who had dated him, and see what they had to say about him. Andy had even listed a half dozen who had merely worked in the office. The project had taken Miss Kandinsky months, and when it was over, Andy asked her to give him the short version.

  She was a difficult young woman to shock. She had begun as a police woman working vice, and later, narcotics. She said, "Summary?"

  "Yes."

  "He's not a nice man."

  "I'm paying you thousands of dollars for that?"

  "No, for wasting countless hours of my time asking questions. If you'd like to listen to all the recordings I made, you're welcome to them. I spent so much time talking to women in bars, my boyfriend asked me if I was a lesbian. What I found out is what you'll find out—he's not nice to women."

  "Tell me something specific. One thing."

  "He tells them he'll love them forever, but forever means until he gets tired of them. In the meantime he controls everything they do. He checks up on them and spies on them—runs in your family, huh?"

  "I'm not paying extra for comedy."

  "I'm sorry." She looked at him sympathetically. "I really am."

  "You're sorry for me because what you're telling me is that my son is a creep."

  She cocked her head. "I think that's true. I'm also sorry for making jokes. It's just because I'm nervous. It's a serious situation for you, and for him, but he doesn't know it, or care, or something. I guess that's the common theme of what I found out. He just doesn't care about other people."

  Andy had paid Grace Kandinsky and gone on with his life as though he had never met her. He had never said anything to Ruby about the detective when he had hired her, and he didn't say anything afterward.

  Ruby still cared very much about Richard. But she cared for Richard the way she would have cared for a mangled toe. She had no high expectations for what it could do, but it still hurt like crazy, so there was no question that it belonged to her.

  Ruby had begun to yearn for grandchildren at that time. She had said, "Andy, I want Richard to find a wife as soon as possible, and get started making grandchildren. That's the best we can do now—get as many of them as possible and start teaching and training and guiding. I'd hate to think that the culmination of our two family bloodlines was nothing but Richard. We can't let that happen. We'll spend a lot of time with his children, pick out a couple of the best ones after a few years, and see if we can do it right this time."

  He had thought about it. Ruby had worked a lifetime beside him and hadn't asked for much in return. While he was building the real estate business she was working, too, first as a waitress and then as a nurse, keeping each of her paychecks only long enough to verify the amount and the deductions and then signing it over for deposit to their company, so Andy could use the money to buy more property. She had spent her evenings and weekends during most of those years working beside him on the company bookkeeping and paperwork. The rest of her time had been devoted to Richard.

  Andy Beale was willing to do a great variety of things that people didn't anticipate. The only thing he couldn't do was turn down a serious request from Ruby. Their only child, Richard, had been a disappointment to her, so if she wanted another chance with the next generation, he would try to give it to her.

  When he reached the office, he almost drove into the reserved space at the end that belonged to Richard, but thought better of it. There was no point in irritating him just for the sake of irritating him. Andy pulled his Lexus around the building and parked in the back on the far side of the Dumpster, where it wasn't easy to see.

  He went into the office, sat at Richard's desk, and began examining the files that contained the notes and reports on current operations. He happily occupied a half hour that way, and then Richard came in, looking harried.

  When he saw his father at his desk, he froze, trying to hold his temper. "What are you doing here? Is this going to be a habit?"

  "I doubt it," said Andy. "I've got better things to do than sit in an office."

  "Oh, that's right," said Richard. He took his coat off and hung it on a hanger in a high, narrow space in one of the teak cabinets that covered the far wall of the office.

  "I've noticed you've been doing a lot of work." Andy closed the file he'd been reading and tossed it on the desk with a flop. "Cut it out."

  "What?"

  "I said cut it out. Stop it."

  "I thought you were always worried that I wasn't running the business properly. Not enough profit to fill the gas tank of your flagship."

  Andy Beale pursed his lips, and congratulated himself on having the presence of mind to recognize that his irritation proved he really was too defensive about the boat. He said cheerfully, "I've built a good business, and over the past five years or so you've done pretty well with it. The rents are coming in, and the last developments are built and selling very well. But it's time to turn all your attention to what I asked you about last time."

  "Christine?"

  "Yes, Christine. It's important to your mother, and that makes it important to me."

  "I thought you were going to solve the whole thing for me. Didn't you say that? I'm not sensitive enough to handle it, so you were going to."

  "Not sensible enough is more to the point. It's a situation that calls for some understanding of women. If a girl will move in with you and let you get her pregnant, then you were the one she wanted. They all walk around looking at each man they meet and asking themselves, 'Could this be the one?' and she decided you probably were. Whatever else happened afterward that made her leave can be gotten over. Women have an infinite capacity for fooling themselves about men."

  "Apparently."

  Andy kept himself from blustering, "What the hell does that mean?" and said, "Speaking of women, I just heard that the woman who helped Christine leave you has been to visit Christine's father in Lompoc."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I knew your Mr. Demming and company were watching for her, so I hired somebody to watch your people watch."

  "Jesus Christ," said Richard. "You paid Demming to report to you before me, didn't you?"

  Andy Beale shook his head sadly. "Richard, we're on the same side. We're a father and son. And since I'm assuming the pay for Demming and his people isn't coming out of your personal salary, I'm their real employer. But I didn't do what you think. I hired a detective. Period."

  "You're interfering and getting in the way of what I'm trying to do."

  Andy stared at Richard for a second, and couldn't help thinking what a fine-looking man he had grown into—and what a fool. He shrugged. "I didn't interfere with your people. What they were going to do, they did. They were watching the prison parking lot. When the woman came out, who did your Mr. Demming have there to see her and take advantage of the opportunity? One lone woman, who proceeded to follow her a few miles and then lose her in Lompoc, which was not, last time I looked, a huge and complicated metropolis."

  "What you're saying is they made a mistake. If they didn't get her, then you're right. It happens. There are only four of them at the moment, and all four can't be in one place waiting for a woman who isn't even Christine."

  "Exactly," said Andy. "So I'm changing the way we go about this, as of now. I want you to put business aside. Most of the money is invested in undeveloped land that will keep passively growing in value as long as we
don't set off a nuclear weapon on it. The rental properties are pretty much the same, and we have people for maintenance and bill collection. The real estate sales people work on commission. So let it go."

  "I think you're underestimating what it takes to run this business now. It's grown a lot since you retired."

  "I'm not as out of touch as you wish I was. If we both died today, the property would still keep making money for years. I want you to concentrate on getting your girlfriend back."

  "You know I've been doing that."

  "Your girlfriend is at least six months pregnant, and she's been gone at least a month. It's time to stop waiting for spontaneous changes of heart or your half-assed crew of security people to come through. It's pretty damned clear that your people have had chances and blown them all. It's time to make an emotional appeal, which is what you should have done in the first place."

  "How do you suggest I do that—put a note in a bottle? Hire skywriters?"

  "This is a twenty-year-old girl. Kids don't read newspapers anymore, so you put what you want to say into your computer and find a way to be sure she'll find it. You could start a Web site and type your appeal into it. You tell her you love her and want to marry her and raise your baby together. Find other ways to get into her computer. See if she has a Web site under another name, or a MySpace page or YouTube or whatever else they do. Do it today. I'll want to see what you've done tomorrow night when I get back."

  "Get back from where?"

  "Lompoc. I told you I was going to see her father. You may have to see him, too, after I've made my visit. We'll see. I needed to write and get the man to agree to see me, and then get special permission from the prison authorities. I'm going tomorrow morning."

  "All right," said Richard. "I hope it's not a waste of time."

  "But you think it will be?" said Andy. "Just get your stuff done, and you won't need me."

  The old man left, and Richard walked out of his office to the lobby window to see the Lexus pull out of the driveway and down the street. The last time he had come, Richard had devoted six hours to searching his office for cameras and microphones, but had found nothing. His father had been in here reading over the files on Richard's desk, and might have had time to do just about anything.

  It was hard to know what the purpose of his visit had been. Maybe he had hidden cameras and microphones in here before, but had known that when he'd started bragging about how much he knew, then Richard would search for hidden devices. He might have come in during the night and removed them. Today's visit might have been to read what he could no longer see on a monitor. Or it could have been to reinstall the cameras and microphones now that Richard had completed his search. In spite of his crudeness and bullying, the old man was very cunning. He had always been particularly good at predicting what Richard would think and feel, and making pitiless use of it against him in these battles. If he hurt Richard's feelings it seemed to be a bonus for him. He was capable of putting bugging equipment in just for that purpose.

  Richard took a quick look around the office, paying particular attention to electrical outlets, where some permanent bug could be planted. He examined the telephones and the computer to see if their shells had been opened. Then he looked under the furniture and stood on his desk to lift a ceiling tile and look around in the empty space above the frame. He heard a noise coming from outside the door, so he hastily climbed down and waited, but nobody entered. He leaned against the door. Nothing happened. He walked out into the lobby past Marlene, the pretty receptionist he had hired to take Christine's place. Or had he hired her? He had selected her, but who was to say why she had applied? She could easily be working for his father. Richard felt sick. Having his receptionist spying on him would be a thousand times worse than being bugged.

  The thought made Richard feel panicky about Christine again. She knew too much about him, had been present for too many transactions, whether she had enough experience to know how to sort out what she knew or not. She was like a bomb, hidden somewhere and getting ready to go off in less than three months and obliterate him. Richard went outside to the parking lot behind the building and used his cell phone to call Demming.

  "It's me," he said. "I hear one of your girls saw the woman who's been hiding Christine."

  "How the hell did you hear that?" Demming said. Demming's surprise and annoyance made Richard feel in control. He was almost grateful to his father for a second.

  "My father told me. He had somebody watching your person at Lompoc. I hear the woman got away."

  "What do you want me to say?"

  "Then it's true."

  "Yes."

  "Well, my father is going to visit Robert Monahan tomorrow."

  "How is he going to do that? When you're sent there you have to give the warden's office a list of the people who might visit you—family and no more than three friends. He sure as hell couldn't have put down your father."

  "My father says he wrote letters to Monahan and the prison people, and got permission."

  The silence told Richard that Demming felt humiliated and angry. After a few seconds Demming said, "Does he know what to say?"

  "I think he does. He's going to try to get Monahan to tell his daughter to come and see me. You know—that I can't wait to marry her and all that."

  "Look, Richard. The woman got there first. If she said anything to him, it will be that he should tell his daughter to stay out of sight. She will have told him everything we did to try to grab Christine and bring her back. Maybe it's not such a good idea to have your father do this."

  "I can't stop him."

  "Do you think he'll accomplish anything?"

  "I don't know anything about this woman who's helping Christine. I know my father has sold a few hundred houses and dozens of square miles of land over the years. He's a good salesman."

  "Well, then, let's hope he's having a great day tomorrow."

  "Maybe," said Richard. "I was wondering. Who was it that was watching the prison today?"

  "That doesn't make any difference. If she lost this woman, then anybody would have."

  "Who? Claudia?"

  "No. It happened to be Sybil. You would have lost the woman. I would have. This is a person who played chicken with us on a dark highway in upstate New York at like ninety miles an hour, and she never swerved or touched the brake pedal. She's shown us a couple of times that she's ready to die to keep us away from Christine. She's a fucking crazy person and I think we've got to recognize that and work around her. It's not a wonderful situation, but it's the one we're in. Now, if we can trust your father to do this right, maybe he'll get Christine's father to tell him something, or pass his daughter a message."

  "Uh, Steve?"

  "What?"

  "Can you have whoever is watching the prison tomorrow pay special attention to my father?"

  "Of course. We were going to put Claudia there. She's already on her way to Lompoc. That woman might have come just to see if it would be safe for Christine. If she doesn't see Sybil she may think it's safe. But we can make sure she doesn't harm your father."

  "No, I meant something slightly different. I'd like you and the others to get a look at him, get used to his clothes, his movements, the car he drives. And try to spot the person he's hired to watch the prison."

  "Just what are you planning, Richard?"

  "I'm not planning anything."

  "Of course you are."

  "I'm asking you to keep an eye on my father for a couple of hours, and you have someone there anyway."

  "You're putting him under surveillance like somebody who might become an enemy."

  "All right, all right. I'm in trouble here. I'm under terrible pressure. What I want most is that you find Christine before she has the baby and bring her back here to see me. That's all I really want, and it's what I hired you to do. If I had her now, there wouldn't be any problem. Since I don't have her, I have to start worrying about what happens if I don't get her."

  "What ha
ppens?"

  "My mother wants that grandchild. If I don't get Christine by the time that baby is born, my father is going to give up on me. It's what he's wanted to do for years. He'll take control of the company away from me, fire me, and evict me from my house. I'll be out on the street with no job and no place to live. I'm thirty-eight years old. I've never worked anywhere but the family business, so I wouldn't even have anything to put on a résumé. Meanwhile, Christine will be out there somewhere. She's twenty, but she won't be twenty forever. At some point she's going to understand everything she saw while she worked and lived with me. She'll either hold it over my head for money or just flat out turn me in. Are you starting to get the picture?"

  Steve Demming's tone changed. "If I were you, I'd be setting aside a lot of cash, pulling it out of the businesses as fast as I could, and hiding it."

  "What do you think I've been doing? But I don't know how much my father knows. I don't know who works for me, and who works for him."

  "So you've decided to prepare for the chance that things don't go right."

  "Yes," said Richard. "For all I know, everything is going the right way, and he'll get what we need from Christine's father. But if he doesn't, and Christine doesn't turn up where you're looking, then I've got to have a way to save myself."