Blood Lies

by Daniel Kalla

  Scanning my brain as he loped nearer, I dug up his name only when he reached me. “Hi, Ray.”

  “Peter, you’ve checked out of the Y,” Ray announced like it was news to me. “I did, too. I found a cheap rental in this ’hood. Are we neighbors again?”

  Ray smelled like an ashtray that hadn’t been emptied for too long, but I forced a grin. “No. I’m on my way out of town.”

  He looked down at my basket doubtfully.

  “Road trip.” I shrugged. “I’m heading east. To Alberta. I needed to fill the car with supplies.”

  His inane smile widened. “I thought you rode a bike?”

  “Only in the city,” I said. “For longer hauls, I have an old beater of a Buick that gets me from town to town. Barely.”

  He nodded, looking pleased. “You’re environmentally friendly, like me.”

  Except for the three packs of cigarettes you burn into the ozone layer every day, I wanted to say but bit my tongue. “It’s good to see you, man, but I got to hit the road.” I turned toward the other checkout.

  “Did your friend ever find you?” he asked.

  I stopped dead, but managed to stop myself from whirling around to face him. “Friend?” I asked, as casually as I could muster.

  “Yeah. Some guy came by the Y asking for you. Your last name is Horvath, right?”

  I turned slowly. “That’s me.”

  “Thought so.”

  I clenched my jaw, fighting back the surge of adrenaline. “I haven’t heard from any friends lately. Did he happen to give you a name?”

  “Nah.”

  “When was this?”

  “Couple of days ago. I tried to tell you that morning, but you were rushing off to work.”

  I nodded. “I’m not from here, so I don’t have many friends in Vancouver. Maybe if you describe him, I could figure out who we’re talking about.”

  “I’m not so good at that.”

  I gave him my best what-have-you-got-to-lose encouragement. “Give it a shot.”

  He scratched his smooth head. “Kind of short brown or black hair, I couldn’t tell. Guess he was around your height. Skinny like you, too.” He laughed, patting his large belly. “To me, anyway.”

  “Hmmm.” I shook my head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Anything else stand out about him?”

  “Can’t think of much.” He scratched his barren scalp. “Well, he was a dapper dresser. I’d bet his suit alone was worth more than I see in a couple months.”

  “Don’t know too many rich people.” I laughed and then made a point of looking at my watch. “I better get on the road. Thanks, man. Maybe I’ll see you back at the Y someday.”

  I rushed over to the free clerk at the other checkout and dumped my groceries onto the rubber conveyor belt.

  A bag in each hand, I walked back to my room mulling over the possible identity of my “friend.” It had to be someone smart and determined enough to case the downtown for cheap lodgings where I might be staying. Someone my height, thin, and a “dapper dresser.” I knew it could have been an undercover cop or one of Maglio’s men, but two prospects loomed large in my brain. Rick Sutcliffe always dressed to the nines. I knew he’d been conducting solo interviews with my contacts in Seattle over the past few days, but Vancouver was less than a three-hour drive; he could have snuck up in between them. Still, the timing would have been tight. That left Marcus Lindquist, who, as I knew from the castoff clothes I now wore, was another snappy dresser. Emily’s former lover had shown an inordinate interest in my whereabouts. If it were Marcus, why would he try to track me down by himself like a private investigator? Not a skill set common to most hematologists.

  Hematologist! I almost dropped my bags. Not only was Marcus a blood specialist, but he made his living preserving umbilical cord blood. He had the expertise and the facilities to keep blood cells alive indefinitely.

  My heart pounded in my throat. Marcus wouldn’t need Aaron alive to frame me for murder. Hypothetically, if he had a sample of either Aaron’s or my blood from any time, he could have kept it fresh enough to spray on Emily’s wall.

  I remembered the blood tests to check my hepatitis immunization status three years earlier at St. Jude’s, the same hospital lab where Marcus used to work. I had no idea how often and where Aaron might have given blood for testing, but as I now believed that Aaron was diagnosed with HIV before his disappearance, he must have had at least one blood test, too. Presumably, Marcus could have got his hands on either one of our indistinguishable blood samples.

  I had nothing to substantiate my hypothesis, but the idea gave me a second wind. Hands full with weighty bags, I bounded the rest of the way home and tore through the lobby and up to my room. Stuffing the groceries into the fridge, I thought more about the possibility of Marcus framing me for Emily’s murder. Was he capable of such violence? Like most womanizers, Marcus had struck me as having a misogynist edge—as if his extramarital flings were only about possession and conquest, nothing to do with emotion. The more I considered his cool oily personality, the more convinced I grew that murder wasn’t beyond him. But I had to concede that my visceral dislike of him was clouding my judgment.

  The excitement of a new lead stirred my appetite. As I walked through various scenarios in my head, I swallowed two salami sandwiches and a bag of baby carrots. I was eager to learn more about Marcus’s blood-preserving business, but I realized that it would have to wait. My first priority was to track down Drew Isaacs.

  At ten P.M., I put on the baseball cap that I’d picked up at the store and assessed my appearance in the bathroom mirror. With a thicker beard and hair hidden under the cap, I was pleased to see that my reflection had begun to look vaguely foreign even to me.

  Forgoing my helmet, I headed out the front door and grabbed my bike. I rode the two miles downtown to Club Vertical at a leisurely pace. I circled the block twice before locking up my bike a block away and approaching the nightclub on foot. A short, swarthy bouncer in tinted glasses stood at the front entrance. His nylon jacket strained to hold in his overdeveloped shoulders, and I didn’t need to see the results of a urine test to know he was on anabolic steroids. The once-over he gave me was disquieting, but his expression drifted to disinterest as he nodded permission to enter.

  Inside, the club was even less crowded than during my last visit. Squinting to adjust to the dimness, I scanned the bar for any sign of Isaacs’s long mane, but saw none. The same blonde I’d seen flirting with Isaacs sashayed up to me and offered me a drink. If she recognized me from the last time I was there, she didn’t acknowledge it. I ordered a bottle of beer and headed for a seat at a raised counter in the corner.

  My beer arrived moments after me. I was developing a real taste for the Canadian beer, thanks to its higher alcohol content and extra kick, but the nine-dollar cost aside, I imposed a strict one-drink limit on myself. Sitting at the bar sipping the beer, my vigil for Drew Isaacs passed much as it had at the Saigon Palace with a few near-misses but no sighting. The prolonged exposure felt uncomfortable, though the dim lights gave me some sense of cover, like hiding in the shade. By 11:30, I gave up again on Isaacs and headed for home.

  I managed to sleep much of the night but I awoke early, determined to dig deeper into Marcus’s involvement.

  On the road by seven, I cycled over to another coffee shop on Fraser Street with Internet access. Walking by the countertop at the window, I stopped to pick up an abandoned copy of The Province. My heart froze when I saw the page-three story with my photo framed underneath along with the caption DR. BENJAMIN DAFOE WHO HAS BEEN POSING AS DR. PETER HORVATH.

  My cover is blown! Panic welled as I gleaned from the quick read that the police had confirmed I was staying at the YMCA under the alias of Horvath. Feeling as if the walls of the coffee shop were sliding toward me, I fought off my instinct to run. Instead, I pulled my cap lower on my head and headed to the counter. Speaking to my shoes, I ordered a large coffee.

  Hand trembling, I paid in exact change and th
en took the coffee over to the corner where the free computer terminal thankfully faced the wall. Within a minute, I’d found the official Web site of Marcus’s company, Hope Bank Cryogenics. I scanned the site, learning that more than 40,000 parents had already banked blood from their newborn’s umbilical cord with Marcus’s company. Hope Bank Cryogenics had become the leaders in the Pacific Northwest with the profits for the previous year running in the tens of millions. And the site described their storage facility as cutting-edge, secure, and massive. Easily big enough to hide a vial of Dafoe blood for later purposes, I thought bitterly.

  Exhausting my research into Marcus, I logged on to my e-mail server and scanned my messages. Alex had sent me four e-mails that grew sequentially more insistent, demanding to know where I was and how I was coping. I responded with a quick note telling her that the pressure was mounting but the trail was getting warmer.

  The last email on the list was from JJ99. With an empty subject line, I almost deleted it as spam, but I opened the note on a hunch to discover that “JJ” was Jozef Janacek. In the first paragraph, Joe provided me a contact phone number for “MD” (Malcolm Davies). The next and final paragraph intensified the shake in my hand: EXPECT COMPANY SOON. NO PROBLEM. I REMAIN A GOOD JUDGE OF CHARACTER. JJ.

  Company? What the hell are you getting at? I wanted to yell at the screen. Who did you tell, Joe?

  I took note of the e-mail’s time stamp and realized that he’d sent the message about fifteen minutes earlier. Leaving the rest of my coffee on the table, I hopped to my feet and ran for the door.

  I jumped on my bike and sprinted back to the apartment. Joe’s e-mail aside, I presumed Dotty would see my photo along with my alias in the morning paper. I had to get out of her complex before she notified the cops. But I needed to pick up the knapsack with Horvath’s identification, the rest of my clothes, and my cell phone.

  Ensuring with a quick ride-by that there were no police outside, I locked my bike out front and hurried in. I rounded the corner and almost slammed into Dotty, who looked enormous in a fuzzy pink housecoat and slippers. My chest banged when I noticed the rolled-up copy of The Province tucked under her arm.

  She gaped at me. “Dr. Horvath!”

  I stared back silently, wondering anxiously if I would have to become physical with the hobbled old woman.

  Then she broke into a smile. “Oh, you gave me a fright. Have you had breakfast, yet?”

  “Yeah, just ate, thanks.” I mumbled. “Listen, Dotty, any chance I could borrow your paper for a few minutes? I wanted to catch up on my football scores before I race back to the hospital.”

  She tapped the paper under her arm. “Soon. Won’t take me but a half an hour to get through it and finish the crossword.” She laughed. “I’ll drop it off, right after.”

  “Okay, great.” I swallowed. “I better go get ready for work.”

  As soon as I got into the stairwell, I dashed for my room, knowing I had little if any time to escape the building. I stuffed the clothing and toiletries haphazardly into the knapsack. Grabbing my helmet and giving the room a final scan, I slung the bag over my shoulder and rushed for the door.

  I made it to within two feet, but my hand froze halfway to the doorknob. Three loud raps came from the other side.

  Chapter 30

  I stood absolutely still, afraid to breathe. Seconds passed. Nothing.

  My eyes darted around the room and fixed on the small window across from me. I had no idea if the hinges would shriek or if the window would even open at all. Even if it did, I would face a ten-foot jump to the cement below.

  What choice do I have? I thought.

  The knuckles rapped harder on my door. The banging propelled me into action. I ran across the floor on tiptoes, sliding to a stop at the window. My hand shot out for the latch, prepared to smash the glass if need be. As I touched the cold metal, a voice from the other side of the door stopped me. “Ben.”

  I froze again.

  “Ben, it’s me.”

  Alex?

  I ran back across the floor, unlocked the door, and threw it open. Alex Lindquist stood at the doorstep, her face creased in a look somewhere between shock and relief. “Ben, I didn’t know how else to reach you—”

  I cut her off with a bear hug. I’d forgotten how tiny she was. I lifted her off the ground and swung her effortlessly inside the apartment. Closing the door quickly with my foot, I lowered her to the ground and kissed her cheek, drinking in her familiar vanilla-scented perfume. “Alex, thank God!”

  “That new beard tickles.” She laughed. “I take it you’re not mad I came.”

  Reluctantly, I freed her of my embrace. “I am. You shouldn’t have come. What about Talie?”

  She glanced away. “She’s with Marcus this week,” she said quietly.

  “Alex, I’m not safe to be around.”

  She pursed her lips, and her eyes lit with amusement. “This is not news to me, Benjamin Dafoe.”

  “But the manhunt for me is getting hotter by the second.” I grabbed her hand. “We have to leave. Now. Did you drive?”

  She nodded. “I’m parked out front.”

  “Great.”

  I led Alex down the stairs and onto the main floor. Scurrying past Dotty’s apartment, I brought a finger to my lips. With relief, we reached the front door without running into anyone.

  Outside, I stopped where I’d chained my bike to a tree. I looked over my shoulder at Alex. “Don’t suppose you have room for—”

  “Plenty.” She pointed the fob she was holding to the SUV parked on the street and clicked the remote to unlock it. I wheeled the bike to the back of her car and tossed it in through the hatch.

  I climbed in beside Alex. As she pulled away from the curb, I sank into the heated passenger seat. Feeling the smooth quiet hum of the car’s engine, my heart rate settled for the first time in hours. I looked over to Alex. “Joe told you where to find me?”

  She nodded. “I had to call twenty clinics in Vancouver before I found where Dr. Peter Horvath was working. Then it took me another day to reach Dr. Janacek, but he wouldn’t speak to me on the phone. We met early this morning at his office.”

  I smiled at Alex’s ingenuity. “How did you convince Joe?”

  “I said I was your best friend in the world,” she said, reddening slightly. “And that you needed my help.”

  “Right on both counts.” I reached out and squeezed the back of her hand on the steering wheel.

  She glanced at me. “Ben, I get the feeling he knows you’re not Peter Horvath.”

  “It’s all over the news in Vancouver.” I let go of her hand. “Besides, Joe knows the whole story.”

  She nodded and turned back to the road. “As I was leaving, he said something to me that I didn’t understand. He wouldn’t explain it, but he said you would understand.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He told me you could use an ‘Eliska’ of your own right now.”

  Giddy with relief and Alex’s proximity, I burst into laughter.

  Alex reached over and punched me on the shoulder. “What’s an Eliska?”

  “I guess you could say Eliska is Joe’s muse.”

  Alex shook her head and sighed. “As Talie would say, whatever.”

  The reality of my situation crept back to me, as sobering as the storm clouds that now threatened the previously blue skies above us. “Alex, they all know I’m here, and who I’m pretending to be.”

  She nodded. “Why don’t we leave?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “There are still questions I have to answer.”

  “Let’s find those answers in a hurry, huh?”

  I resisted the urge to kiss her. “I don’t even have a place to stay.”

  “I’ve got a hotel room downtown. Great view of the city—”

  “Alex…”

  “Come on, Ben, this is no time to act prim and proper,” she snapped. “What choice do you have?”

  “This has nothing to do with propriety.
What if the cops find me hidden in your hotel room? Or worse, what if Emily’s killer finds you with me? It’s too dangerous.”

  She dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. “I’m all grown up, Ben. I’m willing to take my chances.”

  “And Talie?”

  Alex hesitated, but then she shook her head. Slowing at the next red light, she turned to me with eyes afire. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same for me if our roles were reversed, Ben, and I’ll drop you off right here on the corner.”

  I swallowed the lump from my throat. “Let’s go see this supposed view of yours.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  We drove a while in comfortable silence. “What’s next?” Alex finally asked.

  “Not what, who.”

  “Okay, who?”

  “Malcolm Davies or Drew Isaacs.”

  She tilted her head. In profile, frown lines formed at the corner of her eye. “I remember you telling me about Isaacs, but who is Malcolm Davies?”

  “My brother’s former crystal-meth supplier. I think he dated Jenny before Aaron.” I went on to tell Alex about Jenny’s HIV, and how I suspected Aaron had acquired the virus from her.

  She sighed quietly. “It just keeps getting more complicated.”

  I nodded at the window.

  Downtown, we pulled into the underground parking lot of the Sheraton hotel a few blocks from the YMCA where I stayed. Leaving my bike in the hatch, we walked into the hotel and rode the elevator in silence to the twenty-ninth floor.

  Alex slid the card into the key slot in the door. The lock clicked and flashed green. She opened the door, and we stepped into the spacious bedroom. As advertised, the tinted windows offered a spectacular view of downtown Vancouver and the snowcapped mountains that stood guard over the northern border of the city. Turning from the window, I noticed the room had only one king-sized bed. Alex followed my stare. “I could ask to change for a room with two beds,” she offered.

  I shook my head. “That would only draw attention to the fact that you have a guest. Is this okay with you?”