“You’re crazy, mate! Are you actually listening to yourself? Do you really think I’m involved in this stupid mess?”
“All I know,” Timothy said, loosening his grasp, “it’s that ever since you came to visit a couple of weeks ago, only bad things have been happening. It looks as if you opened Pandora’s Box when you arrived. People started to die around me, the woman I love was attacked, I’m bombarded almost every day with vulgar, threatening emails… Moreover, I received a mysterious phone call on my cell phone today, seconds probably after the incident here. Whatever happened to Vee tonight it’s because of me! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”
“You were called on your personal phone?” Clark asked, visibly shaken all of a sudden. “By whom?”
“How the hell would I know?” Timothy exploded. “It’s a phony number. You can’t call back. All she did – if it were a she, the voice seemed distorted on purpose – it was to remind me that I knew how the burned body of a woman looked like. This person knows everything about me, for Christ’s sake! My life it’s an open book for her!”
“And paranoia got such a good grip of you! Now you’re ready to believe that that low-life psychopath is me!” Clark uttered, extremely disappointed.
“Am I so wrong?”
“You’re making a huge mistake, Timmy! I came here because your name popped up on a suspected hit list. I came to defend you against someone. Someone who hates you and perhaps wants you dead. All I know is that this person doesn’t act alone, but has an entire organization behind her. For one reason or another, this maniac is on your tracks.”
“Talking about paranoia,” Timothy chuckled in disbelief.
“Watch out, Timmy! I’m not joking, mate! I only hope I can accomplish my mission with none of us six feet under at the end of it.”
Vivien appeared right behind them.
“Hey, guys! What’s going on with you two? Holy crickets, you look as if you’re in a boxing arena, ready for a fight.”
“Let’s go, Vee!” Timothy urged, taking her by the arm. He picked up the luggage bag from the bedroom’s threshold. Vivien went back and grabbed all the house keys from the little board where she kept them labeled.
Clark walked quietly around his brother and exited the house.
“Clark,” Vivien called him. “I want to thank you again for everything you’ve done for me tonight. For being here, whatever your reason…”
“I’m always happy to help a woman in dire straits,” the man answered with a sad smile. He waved his hand without saying goodbye and walked downhearted toward his car. Vivien’s surprised gaze followed him for a few seconds.
“Did I say something wrong? Did I hurt him without knowing?”
“No, my sweetheart, you did not such a thing. You, Vee, can’t hurt a man like Clark. He’s too morally calloused for your most caustic remark.” Timothy changed the topic of conversation immediately. “Let’s go out and have dinner, and then we can beat a retreat to the warmth of my bedroom.” He leaned closer to her scented ear and whispered softly. “I miss you. I want you, Vee… I can’t wait to have you in my bed tonight.”
Vivien laid her head on his chest and let out a light, almost inaudible moan. Then she said quickly, as if she remembered something.
“Let’s invite Clark to the restaurant too.”
Timothy didn’t have time to voice his disapproval. Vivien was already calling Clark.
“Clark, would you like to dine with us tonight?”
Clark threw a questions-filled glance toward his brother and instantly formulated the adequate response.
“Not tonight, Vivien,” he refused politely. “Thank you though,” he said and climbed inside his car.
Seconds later, his Ford Mustang drove away roughly.
The two lovers got into the Mercedes. Starting the engine, Timothy caught a glimpse of his brother’s sporty car executing a sharp and quick U-turn at the first intersection. The Mustang passed them like a thunder and vanished on one of the perpendicular streets. It polluted the air with its roaring noise, as Clark blatantly over-accelerated its engine.
CHAPTER 25
Clark turned around and stopped in the empty intersection. He checked to see if other cars were coming, and then he switched off the headlights. Soon, he noticed his brother’s Mercedes heading toward Camino Real at a snail’s pace. In the yellow light of the street lamps, he thought he saw the lovebirds kissing in the car. He bit his lip. His mind started to play Rod Stewart’s song, “Some guys have all the luck”, and for an instant, he speculated about how it would be like to have a loving woman beside him. The feeling seemed so unfairly foreign to his senses. He pushed the tormenting thought aside and steered the wheel to the left, following his brother’s Mercedes at less than a mile behind. He continued to keep his lights off. The sound of a police siren somewhere in the neighborhood convinced him to reconsider his initial decision. He turned on the headlights.
“Let me guess,” he muttered alone. You’re going to Bella Italia, am I right? He knew that this was Timothy’s favorite restaurant in town. They served the best pasta, the best pesto sauce, and managed to make the most delicious desserts in the Bay Area. His mouth watered as he recalled his last dinner at Bella Italia. With a little bit of luck, maybe I can solve all the problems before the restaurant’s closing time, he thought optimistically.
For his peace of mind, he followed them to their destination. Another light wave of envy washed through him as he watched them when they strolled embraced toward the entrance of the restaurant. He had to admit that they looked stunning together – the perfect couple.
“Damn it!” he mumbled alone and grumpy and left Bella Italia’s parking place. If they hadn’t made a reservation – and they hadn’t – they would be caught up in here for two or three hours. That gave Clark enough time to solve a few stringent issues.
The next stop would be Timothy’s firm – more precisely, his secretary’s desk. She was the only person who knew a lot about his younger brother, and Clark had not checked her computer yet. With Timothy under Vivien’s charm tonight, he was sure that, for anyone else he would encounter at the firm at this hour, he would be able to process a plausible excuse for such a late visit.
Menlo Avenue was chock-full with cars at that hour. Swearing and honking nervously, engaging in reckless and dangerous passing of every vehicle around him, and partially driving through the red light a couple of times, Clark achieved the unbelievable performance of reaching the destination in one piece and without any ticket. He easily remarked the lights on up in the window of Timothy’s office. He acted on instinct and left the parking place immediately, giving the impression that he had taken a wrong turn and had ended up at a wrong address. He stopped across the street at the patisserie and pulled his binoculars from the glove compartment.
Through the huge window of his brother’s office, he saw the tough, manly profile of his secretary. She was talking on the phone. Such a stupidity! How the hell can you hire an ugly woman like that as your secretary? If I hadn’t known you better, Timmy, I would say that you either lack taste in women very badly or – worse! – you’re twisted! As none of them applies to your case, your act remains an enigma to me. That was the first thought that effloresced in Clark’s mind as he adjusted his binoculars well enough to count the hairs on Miss LaFontain’s moustache. Or maybe you’re afraid of sexual harassment trials, he chuckled. Not a chance in hell with this hag!
Just as though she felt she was being followed, the woman left the receiver on the desk, walked to the door, and turned off the lights. Damn it! Clark ground out an oath. In the same time, his stomach grumbled desperately in the total silence of his car.
“Ok, mate! Let’s give you something to work on then,” Clark said aloud. He threw the binoculars onto the passenger seat and got out of his rented Ford Mustang.
The cold and humid breeze made him gather his black wool jacket closer around his body. He lifted its collar and buried his hands into i
ts pockets.
He entered the patisserie and ordered two cheese turnovers, two chocolate croissants, and an extra large coffee.
“Here, or to go,” the chubby young man at the counter asked him politely.
“To go, please,” Clark answered preoccupied. His eyes were glued on the lonely car stationed in the parking lot of his brother’s firm.
The sales guy wrapped that improvised dinner scrupulously. He packed a few napkins and straws in the paper bag, and then he handed Clark the entire order, announcing with a huge smile the amount he owed. Clark paid and retired quickly to his vehicle.
He was just savoring the last mouthful of delicious croissant, licking the chocolate cream from his fingers, when the light in Timothy’s office was switched on again. Miss LaFontain’s big head vanished behind the door that she left cracked open.
Clark abandoned his dinner, cleaned the croissant crumbs off his pants and jacket, and prepared to start the engine. In only a couple of minutes, Miss LaFontain’s used Honda entered the crazy traffic on Menlo Avenue reluctantly.
Shortly after that, Clark was standing in the doorway of Timothy’s office. He fought the impulse to enter, and first, he stepped behind Miss LaFontain’s desk. He turned on her computer. Clark knew the starting code. He had been well inspired one morning and had darted glances at her fingers when she had entered the password. He sailed easily through her files. She played Solitaire and kept track of her score, and she had a huge collection of sugar-free recipes on her computer. She was either suffering from diabetes, or she simply didn’t like sweets. Not a sweetie, our Miss LaFontain! Clark concluded. Maybe that’s the reason of her permanent display of sour disposition!
It didn’t take him long to discover that she had an account on Google. Her mailbox was empty. She had no “received” or “sent” mail. The woman had been over cautious and had deleted everything. On the other hand, that move made her look very suspicious. Clark clicked on “Account activity”. The account had been accessed only once from that computer. The remaining of its activity had been registered at another computer in the same city. From what had reached his ears, Clark knew that Miss LaFontain was living in San Jose, about twenty miles south of Menlo Park where his brother’s firm was located. Therefore, Miss LaFontain had never accessed the Google account on her home computer.
A daring inkling popped up cheerfully into Clark’s mind. It gave him thrills of anticipation like the guessing of the unique solution of a difficult math problem.
He pushed the door open and entered like a bolt in Timothy’s office. His computer was on. Thirty seconds and… “Bingo!” Clark exclaimed. She created a charade of Machiavellian inspiration. It appeared that, using his own computer, Timothy sent those disgusting, and lately threatening emails to himself. “You old and ugly bitch!” Clark hissed. “I got you! I’m smarter than you!”
He needed to let Timothy know all about it. I must talk to him tonight! Who knows what that psychopath is up to? Clark thought. He started to leave the room, and all of a sudden, he stopped in his tracks. What if she’s not alone in this? he wondered. He returned to Timothy’s desk and picked up the receiver. He pressed the Redial button. The voice on the other end startled him. He had no doubt about the identity of its possessor.
“Stupid cow! What did you forget this time? I pay you to do what I ask you to do. I’ve specified clearly that you shouldn’t call more than once a day from this telephone!”
Clark hung up brusquely. “Now I know for whom you’re working,” he said aloud, with hatred.
CHAPTER 26
Police officer Alberman stormed inside Stanford Hospital in Palo Alto, California. The news that Igor Schenk had recovered from coma had prematurely ended a memorable, make-up dinner date for Nick. His girlfriend had cooked! In fact, the urgent phone call had saved him from a serious indigestion. Because never in a million years, Nick would have dared to tell his girlfriend that her dinner tasted of mold and dirty feet. That unwanted performance being achieved, courtesy of the dubious combination of imported cheeses that Nick found purely disgusting. He couldn’t wait to stop at McDonald’s and indulge himself with an enormous, mouth-watering Big Mac. He licked his big, fleshy lips imagining the appetizing layers of cedar cheese, salad, onion, tomato, pickle, and mayonnaise. And in the middle, the most craved for item - the burger - generously topped with ketchup. Divine!
“Mr. Alberman!”
The high-pitched voice of a woman pulled him out of his reverie.
The young man swirled about instantly and came face to face with a well-built black woman who was at least as tall as he was. A couple of inches over six feet, Nick rarely encountered women of his height.
“Yes, Ma’am,” he barked politely.
“You came for Igor. Am I right? The boy is very weak. You have only two minutes to ask him whatever you want. I’ve been given the green light to force you out of his room if you’re a trouble maker. But I trust that we understand each other, officer, and there won’t be any issues,” the nurse concluded, sugarcoating her sour speech with a benevolent smile.
“Of course, there won’t be any problems,” Alberman assured her cooperatively.
“I knew that we two could work hand in glove,” the nurse patted him on the shoulder.
He knocked gently and entered that tiresomely white room that smelled strongly of medication and rubbing alcohol. Igor welcomed him with a boyish grin. A sickly pallor was covering his face, and bluish shadows seemed to have been painted under his kind eyes.
“You’re a police officer, aren’t you?” the young man inquired feebly.
“Yes, I’m officer Alberman from Menlo Park Police. But you can call me Nick. I hope you understand that I have to be very expeditious. I’ve been given only two minutes with you.”
“Then, fire away!” Igor encouraged him with a broader smile.
“Do you remember anything regarding your accident?”
“Yes, very clearly,” Igor said confidently. “In fact, I can give you the name of the woman who hit me. And I suspect she did it intentionally. Her name is Laura, and she worked for Vivien’s grandmother.”
“Vivien Hopkins?” the police officer interrupted him.
“Yes. One and the same.”
“I always knew Miss Hopkins wasn’t the clean, dainty, goody-two-shoes she plays.”
“No, no, no,” Igor precipitated. “Don’t get me wrong, man. Vivien has nothing to do with my accident. Actually, I’m afraid that she might be in danger too. I was trying to get in touch with her before the accident. You see, this woman, Laura, she was following me...”
The door opened, and the gigantic nurse headed toward them like a furious, fighting bull.
“That’s enough, Mr. Alberman! The visit is over. The patient has to rest now.”
“Igor, you’ll have a police officer guarding your door. That’s starting in five minutes,” the cop announced as he retreated.
Alberman reached the exit. Right then and there, it occurred to him that Igor had no relatives. He turned around and asked him affectionately.
“Hey, man! Do you need anything?”
“Food, real food,” Igor pleaded with a boyish smile. “They feed me only water and different colors of jellies.”
“How does a Big Mac sound like?” Alberman suggested.
“Heaven on earth, mon ami!”
The nurse frowned. She made a couple of steps toward Alberman.
“Out! Get out of here right now!” she demanded angrily.
* * *
Laura Stone’s house was lost in anonymity in a poor neighborhood in Redwood City. Shortly after localizing her address, Alberman noticed that the lights in the different compartments of her house were switched off one by one. The woman was either saving energy, or getting ready to pop out for dinner. Nick got the bag with his McDonald’s meal from the passenger seat, and he began to gobble with great appetite. He only managed a couple of bites from the huge, juicy hamburger, and unfortunately, he had to po
stpone the moment of sheer culinary indulgence. As the garage door was lifted open, Laura’s pastel-rose Cadillac emerged as a primary piece in a dubious, trashy collection. That badly illuminated enclosure was cluttered with things thrown into total disarray.
The Cadillac passed Alberman’s Ford with the haughtiness of an enormous bug that seemed to want to provoke him. A single look was enough for the policeman to remark that the woman’s car had been recently involved in an accident.
He followed her closely, noticing annoyed the way she took each curb with exaggerated care at every intersection. Laura deliberately ignored all stop signs she encountered. Nick fought the urge to stop her and serve her a fat ticket that would have matched her size. He abstained from turning on the siren and rather drove quietly after her, curious to discover where she was heading at that late hour. Not to the gym class, Mrs. Stone. I’m sure of that!
He gasped perplexed when the woman entered Vivien Hopkins’ street and reduced the speed considerably. He knew that the young piano teacher was not home. He had been informed earlier about the strange incident at her house. Maybe that was the reason of the fire started at her doors – to scare her and drive her out of the house, Alberman speculated. What the hell could Miss Vivien have in her possession that would present such interest for Laura Stone? Money? Jewelry? Or maybe she’s working for someone. At her age and with her morbid excess weight, she should spend more time at home, baking cookies for the neighbors’ children, Nick concluded his monologue.
Laura Stone passed Vivien’s house. She didn’t stop, and Nick started to think that she was only going to do her shopping at Safeway store. But instead of making a left, she made a right turn at the first intersection and entered the parallel street. Then she came back on Flowers Street and parked a few yards farther than Miss Hopkins’ address. That’s a cheap trick! the cop remarked.
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