The Covenant Of The Flame

by David Morrell

Trask leaned forward, considered her, then ordered his thoughts. 'That all depends. Quick-buck mail-order outfits for one. The kind that advertise in the back of supermarket tabloids and sex magazines. You want a genuine World War Two Nazi bayonet or an inflatable, life-sized, anatomically correct female doll? What you do is send your check to such-and-such an address. The creep who placed the ad picks up his mail at one of those services, lets the scam last three or four months until he figures his customers are impatient enough to call the police, and then he skips town with all the cash. Of course, there were never any bayonets or inflatable dolls.'

  'But…' Tess gripped her thighs. 'Why make it so complicated? Why not just use an official post-office box?'

  'Because' – Trask raised his shoulders – 'I know this is hard to imagine, some people who read those ads in the tabloids and magazines are smart enough to smell a scam if the company they're tempted to send the check to doesn't have a permanent-looking address. Besides, those con artists risk being charged with mail fraud. The last thing they want is to go near a post office, where a clerk might wonder about hundreds of letters addressed to vaguely suggestive names. World War Two Collectibles and Home Anatomical Education.'

  'Okay.' Tess frowned. 'In a sick way, that makes sense. But surely there are other reasons to use these places.' She suddenly remembered what the frizzy-haired woman had told her. To stay away from process servers?'

  'You figured that out? You bet,' Trask said. 'A guy who's afraid of being served with a summons to testify in court, or who's running from a lawsuit, or who hasn't been paying his child support and doesn't want his wife to know where he lives.'

  Tess considered and shook her head. 'I still don't… Wouldn't a process server merely wait around until his target came in to get his mail?'

  'Process servers get paid for results,' Trask said. 'They know a mail drop's trouble. I mean, they could wait around for days, maybe weeks , and still not… If someone's really nervous about being found, all he has to do is pay to have the service forward his mail to another address. Mind you, there are legitimate reasons to use a mail service instead of a post-office box.'

  Tess waved her hands for Trask to continue.

  'Why is this so important to you?' Trask asked.

  'Please!'

  'Okay, so maybe your job takes you out of the country a lot, and you don't want to depend on the post office to forward your mail. Or maybe you live in another state, but for legal reasons, you need a corporate address in New York City. Or maybe you own a legitimate mail-order business, but you're well aware of the resistance that potential customers have to temporary-looking post-office-box numbers. There are many legitimate reasons. But basically, in my experience, seven times out of ten someone uses a mail service because…"

  'They don't want anyone to know where they live.'

  'You got it,' Trask said.

  Tess stared at her gold Cross pen. 'Thanks.'

  'Whatever your problem is… Listen, kid, I don't want to pry, but I hate to see you looking so dejected. Since I've answered your question, return the favor and answer mine. I might be able to help. Why is this important to you?'

  Tess slumped, shaking her head. 'I… It's just that… Well, I found out a friend of mine… at least, sort of a friend… uses one of these services.'

  'A friend?' Trask assessed the word. 'Are you saying this friend's a man?'

  Tess nodded glumly.

  'Oh.' Trask's voice dropped.

  'I was supposed to meet him on Saturday, but he didn't show up, and he didn't report for work this week.'

  'Oh.' Trask's voice dropped lower.

  'And now I'm trying to find out why.'

  'Be careful, Tess.'

  'I can't help it. My pride's involved. I need to know what happened to him.'

  'Well, maybe…' Trask sighed.

  'What?'

  'This is just a guess. But it could be you don't want to hear.'

  'Tell me.'

  'Maybe, if he didn't want someone to find him, whoever he didn't want to find him – an ex-wife who hasn't been getting her alimony, for instance – might have gotten too close. It's possible your friend was forced to move on.'

  Tess shoved her pen in her purse. 'I'm sorry I interrupted you. Thanks, Walter. I've taken too much of your time. I'll let you get back to work.' She stood.

  'No, Tess, please, wait. I told you I might be able to help. Perhaps you didn't know, but before I founded Earth Mother Magazine, when I worked for the Times, I was their expert in tracking down reluctant sources.'

  'Then how do I find him?'

  'Top line first. Given the implications of the mail service your friend used, are you absolutely sure you want to find him? Think it over.'

  'Yes, I'm sure.'

  'Should I take it that means you're in love with him?'

  Tess hesitated. 'Yes. No. Maybe.' She swallowed, despite a constriction in her throat. 'I'm so confused. God help me, what I do know is I'm worried about him and I want to be with him.'

  'A clear enough answer. Okay, my friend, I could write down a list of people and places for you to check. But you'd find it exhausting and time- consuming, not to mention a pain in the ass, to go through them all. Besides, you're a good enough reporter that you've probably already thought of them. So I'll save you the hassle and cut to the bottom line. I'm going to let you in on a secret. Because you confided in me, I'll confide in you. But just as I'll keep your confession in confidence, I take for granted you'll keep mine. Word of honor?'

  'Yes.'

  'I know I can count on you. This is the reason I was so legendary at the Times for being able to track down reluctant sources.' Trask wrote two words on a piece of paper.

  tess frowned at them. '"Lieutenant Craig"?'

  'He works for Missing Persons. Central division. One Police Plaza. Just mention my name. If he doesn't cooperate, tell him I said to remind him of nineteen eighty-six.'

  'Nineteen eighty-?'

  'Six. I doubt you'll have to remind him, though. He owes me a favor he's well aware he can't ever completely repay, and unless he's had a lobotomy, he'll stop whatever he's doing and give your problem his full attention. But if he doesn't, let me know. Because in that case, I'll send him a copy of a letter – along with some audio tapes – that'll give his memory one hell of a jolt, I guarantee.'

  ELEVEN

  Lieutenant Craig was a tall beefy man, late thirties, with tousled hair, a ruggedly handsome face, and sharply creased cheeks that gave his mouth a pinched expression.

  When he heard Trask's name, his dour look intensified. 'Swell. Just swell. The finishing touch on a crummy day.' Craig wore a rumpled suit that matched his haggard features. That leech is a… Never mind. You don't want to know my opinion of him. My language would ruin your day. So what's that bloodsucker got in mind this time?' Squinting toward Tess, Craig gestured toward a stout wooden chair in front of his cluttered desk.

  Tess sat, trying to ignore the phones that rang constantly at desks behind her, detectives answering the calls while pecking at typewriters and computer keyboards. 'Well, actually' – she tasted bile, ill at ease – 'Walter, I mean Mr Trask, doesn't want anything.'

  Craig closed one eye and squinted more severely with the other. Then why did he tell you to mention his name?'

  'I guess because' – Tess clutched the arms of the chair, needing to steady her hands – 'he figured you'd give me extra help.'

  Craig laughed, a crusty outburst that sounded like a cough. 'Hey, I'm here to serve the public. No kidding. I'm really a devoted civil servant. Rich or poor, young or old, male or female, white, black, Chicano, Christian, Jewish, or Muslim – did I touch all the bases? – regardless of race or creed, etc., everyone who shows up in this office gets my full and complete attention. Unless of course they're relatives of politicians, and then I really snap to attention.' The lieutenant laughed again and abruptly did cough. 'Damned allergies. So, fine, you need my help and Walter sent you here. So what can I do for you?'
/>
  Tess glanced toward the ceiling.

  'Look, whatever it is, don't let it embarrass you. I've heard it all before and then some, believe me.'

  'It's not that I'm embarrassed exactly,' Tess said.

  'Then…?'

  'It's just that… Now that I'm here, I'm not sure… I mean…'

  'Hey, it's almost six. I'm supposed to be off-duty. Why did you want to see me?'

  'It seemed awfully serious a couple of hours ago, but involving the police…'

  'Sure, I understand. There's serious, and then there's serious,' Craig said. The thing is – count on me – it's my job to tell the difference. So as long as you are here, you might as well explain why you're clutching the arms of your chair so tight. Hey, lady, take advantage of the taxes you pay. Unburden your soul. What's the worst that can happen?'

  'You can make me think I'm wasting your time.'

  'Not likely,' Craig said. The truth is, I love it when people waste my time. It gives me enormous satisfaction to tell the taxpayers they're worried for nothing. Think of it this way. After you talk to me, I could reassure you enough – it's possible – that you might even get a good night's sleep.'

  Tess felt her stomach harden. 'But suppose what I tell you gets a friend of mine in trouble with…'

  'The law? Look, the way we do this is, first we discuss your problem. Then we decide what's next. But if I understand the reason Walter sent you here, it's not to make waves but to smooth the waters. So if it's possible, let's keep the law out of this. That's not a guarantee. What I said was, if it's possible.'

  Tess nodded, surprised that she'd grown to like this man. 'All right, I'll give it a try.' Amazed, she released her hands from the arms of the chair. 'There's a man I know…'

  It took her a while.

  'Don't stop. Keep going,' Craig said.

  With delicate prompting and a welcome cup of coffee, Tess finally finished her story.

  'Good.' Craig set down his pen. 'Better than good. Impressive. An excellent description. But after all, you work for Walter, so I take for granted you're a skilled reporter with a wonderful memory.' The lieutenant studied his notes. 'Yes. Gray eyes. Extremely unusual… And the last time you saw him was Friday?… And he uses a mail service?… And his employer doesn't have his home phone number?… And he has a habit of glancing nervously around him?'

  'Yes.'

  'If you don't mind, I have one, no, two more questions.'

  Tess felt exhausted. 'What are they?'

  'Your home and work addresses. And your telephone numbers, both places.'

  Tess wrote them down.

  'A day or two, and I'll be in touch.'

  That's it? You'll be in touch?'

  Craig coughed again. 'What do you think, I use a crystal ball or a ouija board? For starters, I've got to phone the hospitals, the morgue.'

  'Morgue?'

  'You mean you never…?'

  'I've been trying not to think about…'

  'Well, it's always a possibility. That's where we start. Of course, there are other possibilities, other reasons why a man would disappear. You put me in an awkward… Hey, there's always…'

  'What?'

  'Always hope.' Craig straightened the files on his desk. 'But in conscience, I ought to warn you…'

  'About?'

  'A man who keeps checking behind him?' Craig stood. 'Never mind. We'll talk.'

  'All of a sudden' – Tess stood as well – 'I don't want to.' 'Yes, that's what my former wife used to say. But you and I will talk. Soon. I promise. In the meantime, I suggest you see a movie, get drunk, whatever'll help you relax enough to sleep.'

  TWELVE

  Tess seldom drank, and this hardly seemed a good time to start to rely on alcohol, but a long swim and a fifteen-minute sauna did relax her, loosening her tension-knotted muscles. At nine, when she returned to her loft, she felt exhausted enough that, after a salad, she went to bed. But her mind wouldn't shut down. She kept recalling, re-experiencing the troubling events of the day. Joseph? What had happened to him?

  Why had he guarded his privacy so much?

  When would Lieutenant Craig phone?

  Tense again, she tried to read but couldn't concentrate on the new Ann Beattie novel. She turned on the TV and frequently switched channels, impatient with the forced cheery conversations on what seemed an endless stream of talk shows. It wasn't until after two that she finally managed to sleep, but her dreams weren't restful.

  At work Wednesday morning, she had a headache that aspirins did nothing to soothe. Regardless, she strained to focus her thoughts on her new assignment, an article about the overuse of herbicides and pesticides on Midwestern farms and the recent discovery that those poisons had passed through the soil and now were present in alarming quantity in the water supply of various cities. Each time the phone rang, she lunged to pick it up, hoping to hear Joseph's voice, simultaneously dreading what she might be told if the voice wasn't Joseph's but instead belonged to-

  'Ms Drake?'

  'Speaking.' Tess winced, recognizing the gravelly voice.

  'This is Lieutenant Craig.'

  'Yes?' She squeezed the phone with one hand while using the other to massage her throbbing forehead.

  'I promised I'd call as soon as possible,' the lieutenant said. 'Are you free to take off work and go for a drive?'

  Tess felt dizzy and closed her eyes.

  'Ms Drake?'

  'Call me Tess, please.' Yesterday, Craig hadn't commented on her last name, apparently not associating it with her father. To simplify matters, she didn't want him to make the connection, which he might if he repeated Drake often enough. 'Have you found something?'

  'Why don't we talk about it in the car? Is fifteen minutes too soon? I'll pick you up outside your building.'

  'Fine.' Tess's throat cramped. 'Sure. That's fine.'

  'Don't look for a cruiser. To keep you from feeling self-conscious, I'll use an unmarked car. Just wait at the curb.'

  Tess set down the phone and shuddered.

  Outside, on the busy, noisy, exhaust-acrid sidewalk, she paced. Ten minutes later, exactly when promised, a brown Chrysler sedan stopped in front of her, the lieutenant waving for her to get in.

  The moment she sat beside him and buckled her seatbelt, Craig steered out expertly into a small break in traffic.

  Tess studied his face, trying to read his thoughts. 'Well?'

  The husky lieutenant coughed. 'Rotten throat. My doctor says I might have asthma. No wonder, this crummy air.'

  'You're avoiding my question.'

  'Just making conversation. It never hurts to be pleasant. Okay, here's the thing. What I've got is good news and maybe bad news.'

  'I believe,' Tess said, 'that my line's supposed to be I'll take the good news first.'

  'Right. That never hurts either.' Craig turned off Broadway, heading east on Thirtieth Street. 'I checked all the hospitals. You never know – your friend might have had an accident, been hit by a car, maybe had a stroke, a heart attack, whatever, and be in a coma. If he wasn't carrying a wallet at the time, the hospital personnel wouldn't be able to identify him.'

  'And since this is supposed to be the good news,' Tess said, 'I gather you didn't find my friend at any hospital.'

  'Plenty of coma patients, but not anyone who matches your description of him.'

  'Well, that's some reassurance, at least.'

  Craig raised a hand from the steering wheel. 'Not necessarily. I checked only the hospitals in the metropolitan area. If your friend took a trip this weekend, to New Jersey, let's say, or Pennsylvania, or up to Connecticut, and if he did have an accident that put him into a coma, I wouldn't know about it yet. These days, almost everything's in computers, but it still takes a while to get access to those other states' hospital records. I've got someone working on that, incidentally. But my hunch is, gut-feeling, we'll come up negative. That's not a promise, mind you. Just a-'

  'Hunch. I note and appreciate your qualification.'
r />   'Simply being cautious,' Craig said. 'Long ago, I learned the hard way: seldom affirm, seldom deny. People often don't pay attention to what I'm telling them. They hear what they want to hear, and later they claim I was more positive than I…'

  'This reporter understands cautious statements. Please, get on with it,' Tess said. 'I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. The possible bad news.'

  'Yes, well…' Craig stopped the sedan in a blocked line of traffic on the narrow confines of Thirtieth Street. Ahead, at the crowded intersection of Lexington Avenue, a policeman waved cars around a stalled pizza truck. 'My next choice was the morgue.'

  'Is that why we seem to be heading toward First Avenue?'

  Craig frowned in apparent confusion.

  'If we keep going in this direction,' Tess said, 'we'll reach the New York University Medical Center, and next to it, across from Thirtieth Street, is the Medical Examiner's office.'

  'So. I was hoping to prepare you. Yes, that's where we're going. Over the weekend, then Monday and Tuesday, there were several unidentified guests of the Medical Examiner.' Craig peered ahead and resumed driving as the traffic cop on Lexington Avenue supervised the removal of the stalled pizza truck. 'Most of the corpses didn't match your description of your friend. But a few, though…"

  'What about them?'

  'A floater in the Hudson River. Same height. Same apparent age. Same body type, with allowance for bloating. I hate to add graphic details.'

  'I don't shock easily, Lieutenant. I was in Ethiopia during the recent famine. I've seen my share of… too many… corpses.'

  'Sure. No doubt that was bad. I'm just trying to prepare you. It's possible you haven't seen corpses like these. The problem with floaters is the water clouds their eyes, so we can't tell whether the color was green or blue or in this case what we're looking for, gray. There's also a junkie we found in an alley. Overdosed on heroin.'

  'Joseph isn't a drug addict.' To keep her hopes up, Tess insisted on using the present tense.

  'That might be, but it's not always easy to tell, and as you explained, your friend has a habit of keeping secrets. The point is, this junkie's description is the same as your friend's. Except for his eyes. No help there, either. Rats ate them out.'