The Esther Code

by Michael Danneman

  I had a beau for a little while. His name was Edvard. He walked me home from school for a whole week. Once, he stole a kiss when we sat on a rock, and Mary’s younger sister caught us. As expected, when the word got out, my mother and grandparents worked to end the little crush. I envied Mary. Her parents would allow any of the boys she liked to court her, unlike my family. They were much more picky about whom I could and could not be courted by. Sadly, there were hardly any boys in the town that I was interested in more than Edvard.

  One summer we traveled to Prague to see my cousin Edit. The ride on the train was quite an exhilarating experience. We did not have many modern advancements in our small town. I was amazed at how fast the train could go and the country scenes that flew by my window. Once in Prague, Edit and her family greeted us at the train station.

  Uncle Adolph owned a restaurant and cooked some of the best food I have ever eaten in my life. Edit and I enjoyed those summer days, giggling about boys, walking the streets of Prague looking through the windows of the shops, and imagining what it would be like to wear the beautiful clothes we saw inside. She showed me the wonders of Prague—the statues, fountains, and more. We shared a room during my stay and talked ourselves to sleep every night. That summer brought Edit and me closer than ever.

  By the time I graduated school, my concern for boys was minimal, as my grandparents had prepared for me to attend college. It was rare and a privilege for a woman to attend college in those days. I was so excited for this opportunity that I could hardly think of much else. Mary and I had drifted apart slightly, as she was dating to marry. By the time I was looking to start college in the fall, she and I were no longer best friends, but just friends. I could never imagine what she would do to me in the near future.

  Chapter 13

  The bank is fairly crowded on this particular morning. A medium-sized line winds between the stanchions. He patiently waits, trying to conceal his face from the cameras as much as possible. Although he knows there is nothing to worry about, Simon has a tight knot in his stomach. It is nothing serious. After all, it is his bank.

  “Next, please?” an Indian woman calls out.

  Simon walks up to the teller, who stands behind a tall counter. He says nothing, but hands her a check for two-thousand dollars, his driver’s license, and the banking slip.

  Looking at the slip, the teller asks, “How would you like it?”

  “Three envelopes, each with one-hundred dollars in twenties. One envelope with a hundred dollars in tens and fives. The fourth with sixteen hundreds,” Simon tells her quietly. No reason to share with the whole bank.

  The teller nods and prepares the cash.

  “Beautiful day today,” Simon remarks while waiting for the teller to fulfill his request.

  “Yes, it is,” the woman replies cordially. “Alright, here you are. Three envelopes of a hundred in twenties and one of tens and fives.”

  She counts each one while Simon watches carefully.

  “The last with sixteen hundreds,” she tells him, counting those as well. She looks up to see if Simon approves.

  Simon nods, and the woman holds the envelopes out to him. He carefully takes the envelopes, touching only one corner. Simon thanks her and leaves.

  “Have a good day,” the woman calls after him.

  He leaves the bank and walks to his car in the parking lot. Once inside his car, Simon has a large Ziploc bag waiting for him in the passenger’s seat. He drops the envelopes into the bag and closes it. He drives out of the bank parking lot and heads to the back of a strip mall. Simon pulls out a cap from the glove compartment. The cap sits on top of a dark red wig. Simon puts the hat on his head and adjusts it. The mirror reflects a red-headed man wearing a trucker’s hat. It looks perfect. Simon pulls his car out again and drives to his real destination. He parks his car in the lot of the local FedEx Office.

  He purchases time on one of the computers. He chooses the most secluded computer of the bunch and begins his work. Simon opens a word processor and starts typing out a paragraph, copied word-for-word, from one of the print shop’s circulars. Then he skips to page two of the document and types a couple of lines before scrolling down to the lower corner of page two and typing his real note.

  There is a method behind this odd behavior. The printing process requires one to first save the file in a certain folder, so the shared printer knows which file to print. A user cannot just print what you typed. Even though Simon will delete the file when he is finished, he does not want anything linking his printouts to the murders. If, for some unlikely reason, anyone did open his file, the person would not see his note right away, but merely a random excerpt from a brochure, which would probably not arouse suspicion. It would be even less likely that the person would continue to page two and see his note. To Simon, it is just another step in covering his tracks. He stops to think about how crazy this might seem, but he nonetheless takes every precaution, every time.

  When the paper leaves the printer, Simon again takes care to touch it only by the corner. He takes the paper across the room to the large guillotine paper cutter. He meticulously cuts it so that the square that contains his message remains on the surface of the cutter, and the scraps fall away. He removes a pair of tweezers from his shirt pocket and a plastic bag from his jeans pocket, then uses the tweezers to gently slide the note into the Ziploc. Satisfied, Simon puts his utensils back in his shirt pocket, along with the closed sandwich bag.

  Now it is time to buy a silk flower arrangement.

  Simon returns to his car and uses the main roads to get to the nearest craft store. He had originally planned to use a tiny, mom-and-pop florist located an hour from his home, but Simon fears that the arrangement could then be traced. They may have imported some rare flower with pollen that might have ended up on his arrangement, which would allow the Feds to determine where it was bought. There is no reason to give the FBI a point on the map, even if it is an hour away. He decided against the small family business and will instead use a national chain store. It would be more difficult to discover from which store the silk flowers originated.

  Simon still wears his disguise while browsing in the craft store. He finally discovers a silk flower arrangement in a decorative porcelain bowl. The bowl could be traceable to this large retailer. Since this chain has stores across the country, it would not necessarily point to him, but he does not want to give the FBI any leads. Simon carries the arrangement to the employee who is assembling them in the back of the store.

  “I really like this arrangement, but I would like it in a simple glass vase,” Simon tells her. He puts on a desperate-yet-hopeful face.

  “I’m sorry, but it is already priced, as-is. I can’t change this one, but I could make you a custom one if you would like to come back in an hour,” she informs him, an apologetic tone in her voice.

  “An hour?”

  “You could try aisle nine. I think there are some silk flowers in vases over there.”

  “Okay, I’ll try that. Oh, and can you spare one of those pitchfork note holders?”

  “We sell them. Aisle fourteen.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  On aisle nine, Simon discovers numerous silk flower arrangements in glass bowls and vases. He returns to his car to fetch a cardboard box, along with a new pair of leather driving gloves in a plastic bag. He reenters the store and puts the box down in aisle nine. He dons the gloves and carefully places his chosen arrangement in the box. Once this is done, he takes off the gloves. He will carefully wipe everything down later. He cannot guarantee that the employee who arranged the flowers does not have a criminal record. A good fingerprint will lead the police to this store. He obtains a pack of ten plastic pitchfork note holders from aisle fourteen, then heads to checkout.

  At the register, Simon places the box on the counter. The clerk raises an eyebrow at the box before looking up at Simon.

  “My own box,” Simon explains calmly.

&nb
sp; The male clerk shrugs and pulls the hand scanner from its holder to scan the arrangement without removing it. The young man states the price, and Simon gives him cash. At his car, he opens his trunk and carefully places the box inside a larger box, leaving both open, so he can still see the arrangement.

  Simon seals up the box with packing tape. I can't have any carpet fibers from the trunk getting into the box and clinging to the silk of the flowers.

  He slides into the driver’s seat and looks at himself in the mirror. He sees the face with the red hair and cap. “Who have I become?” he asks himself softly. The knot in his stomach feels a little tighter. I can’t worry about that now, he decides. Got to keep going. Simon decides that it is about time to tell his staff at work that he is finally going to have that root canal he has been postponing. This Tuesday sounds reasonable.

  Chapter 14

  Despite the heavy traffic and high volume of noise at the airport, Jamie can still hear her cell phone. She fishes it out of her coat pocket and answers it.

  “Hey Jamie, how’s it going?” Seth’s familiar voice addresses her from the other end.

  Jamie looks around and spots a less-crowded corner of the airport, so she makes her way over. “Doing well. And yourself?”

  “Not bad at all. So when will you be back in town?”

  “I should be at my apartment about seven-thirty,” Jamie replies. She hears the relief in her own voice even as she tells him.

  “Ah, so you are already in town. I was just checking on you—I want to hear about your trip.”

  “Okay, I’ll call you later.”

  She shuts the phone and rejoins the throng. She passes through the terminal and walks past the baggage claim. Jamie is surprised to see so many people standing at the carousels. Checking a bag is expensive these days. She has only her small, rolling suitcase behind her as she exits the airport. Jamie stops the first taxi she sees and hops in. Her stomach growls unexpectedly. Now she realizes why the airport pizza place smelled so good. It is too bad that Chris will not be waiting for her with dinner at her apartment. It is going to be lonely without him. Well, Jamie does not want to think about that problem either.

  The taxi pulls up to her complex. Jamie punches in the code to open the front door, then takes the stairs up to the third floor. She walks down the newly dark red-carpeted hallway to the door bearing the golden numbers 325. The door is already unlocked and slightly ajar. She pulls her Glock .40 pistol from her purse and slowly pushes the door wider. She enters silently. With her pistol aimed straight ahead, she creeps into her living room, all the while scanning the room for movement. She makes her way down the hall toward her bedroom, stopping and listening before she enters. She hears a noise in the kitchen. She follows the sound with her weapon at the ready. She hears the refrigerator door close.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi! I’m in here,” Seth’s voice responds.

  Not long after she moved into her apartment, she exchanged keys with Seth. It actually comes in handy quite often. Although some notice would lower the chances of Jamie shooting him. She slides her pistol back into her purse and returns to the front entrance.

  Jamie doffs her coat and drops her keys on the small table next to the door. She sighs with relief when she sees Seth with two subs on the kitchen counter.

  “I knew you would be famished. I hope you don’t mind the surprise. I got your favorite,” Seth says, welcoming Jamie with a hug. She hugs him tightly back.

  “Thanks a million. I’m going to jump in the shower real quick. I’ve been traveling all day,” Jamie tells him, pulling away.

  “That’s fine. I can warm it up for you when you are done.” Seth picks up both subs and puts them in the microwave.

  “I’ll be quick,” Jamie assures him before she disappears into her bedroom. She leaves her bedroom door half-open so she can hear Seth, in case he needs anything. She jumps in the shower and washes her hair. After she dries off, she pulls on her comfy, oversized t-shirt. After running the brush a few times through her wet hair, Jamie looks in the mirror and is satisfied with her reflection.

  “Much better!” Jamie declares as she exits her bedroom and joins Seth in the living room. He has been flipping through channels on her television.

  Seth looks over at her. Then he takes a second, longer look. Her tan legs are shapely and long. A huge white t-shirt covers much of her thighs, but it is clear that the shirt is all she has on. The color also brings out the richness of her dark, shiny hair. Seth can hardly shut his gaping mouth as she comes into the room and slumps down on the couch next to him. Even as she sits, the t-shirt slides further up her thigh.

  Jamie does not see that Seth is eyeing her closely. She is totally comfortable around him. She is wrapped in her own thoughts, but she is also accustomed to Chris, who usually does not look away from the television.

  “Anything interesting on?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, I’m starved. Let’s get those subs.” Jamie stands up and heads into the kitchen.

  “Sure,” Seth answers as he follows her.

  “Thank you so much for getting these! You really are a lifesaver.” Jamie pulls one of the subs out of the microwave and offers it to Seth.

  “I do what I can,” Seth quips with a wink, accepting his sub.

  She grabs the other sandwich and unwraps it on the grey granite counter top of her kitchen island. She pulls up one of the stools and offers the other to Seth.

  “Wait, this one is yours.” Seth slides the sub across to Jamie.

  “Good, because I can’t say I’m fond of jalapenos,” Jamie laughs, looking with disgust at the contents of the sandwich she unwrapped. She trades with Seth and rips into her roast-beef-and-provolone sub.

  “Wow! This is delicious!” Jamie exclaims with her mouth still full.

  Seth grins. “You must be really hungry.”

  After swallowing, Jamie affirms, “Starving.”

  Seth takes a bite of his own sandwich, chews for a while, then asks, “So how was your trip?”

  “Sometimes I cannot believe what a pain it is to travel,” Jamie replies in between bites.

  “I hear you. By the time you get home you’re always tired and hungry. That’s why I brought food,” Seth says, then removes a jalapeno from his sandwich and eats it alone.

  “How’s the lab? Everyone behaving?” Jamie asks, getting up from her seat and crossing the kitchen.

  “Not really. Having to be Shap’s supervisor is hard sometimes.”

  “You mean Barry Shapiro is the one giving you the hard time?” Jamie wonders, obviously shocked. She stops in front of the counter.

  “Yeah, it’s weird. He’ll be fine for a while and then suddenly he starts missing work, or coming in late and looking like hell.”

  “Poor guy, must be having a rough time. I wonder what’s up. I should call him—find out what’s up. I haven’t talked to him in a long time.”

  “So how was Chicago?”

  “Not a great start. Came away empty. You want some water?” Jamie offers as she takes a glass out of the cupboard.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “Anyways, I talked to everyone I could there. No real evidence, no witnesses, no leads of any kind. I feel like that is becoming all-too common with this case,” she laments as she fills up one of the glasses with water. She brings it to Seth.

  “Thanks.”

  Filling up her own glass, Jamie continues, “I could not believe how fast the detective in Chicago was willing to hand the file over. It was like a grenade to him. I could almost hear him saying, ‘Tag! You’re it!’ when he dropped the file in my hands.”

  “Sorry you couldn’t turn up any leads. I’m sure you will find something soon.” Seth’s eyes continue to follow Jamie as she moves to resume her seat on the stool across from him.

  “You know what is really a strain?” Jamie continues without pausing. “This case has me traveling across the country practically all week long. I won’t even b
e able to see Chris this weekend because he is on call. I was totally hoping to get some special time with him. And I may need sex to let go of all this stress from the case.”

  I can take care of that for you, Seth allows his mind to reply, keeping a straight face, so as not to give away his thoughts.

  “I guess some extra running will have to do the job,” Jamie concludes.

  Seth adopts a sympathetic attitude. “Yeah, things with Margie and me are not going so well. She has been giving me the excuse of being too busy.”

  “Chris totally thinks I’m doing the same thing to him. You might want to give Margie a break. She could actually be as busy as I have been. I bet what she needs is a bit of patience,” Jamie responds thoughtfully. She takes another bite of her sub.

  “So have you talked to Chris?” Seth probes, testing the waters.

  “Not exactly. He sent me a really rude text,” Jamie growls.

  “What happened?” Seth encourages her to explain. He sets aside his sub, so he can give her his full attention.

  “I tried to call him to say that I couldn’t make our dinner date Monday night, but he didn’t answer. So I texted him, thinking that was better than forgetting to call him later, since I’m so busy with the case. Several hours later, I get a two-word text that reads, ‘It figures.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Here I go again. Dying to make a move but afraid to pull the trigger.

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” She throws her hands up in defeat. She takes a vicious bite of her sub and chews angrily.

  “It seems pretty hostile to me.”

  “Exactly! Like I would rather be alone in a hotel room than eating a nice dinner with my boyfriend? And, for once I have to travel for work, and he can’t be understanding? I am always understanding about his work schedule. I mean, seriously?” She takes a gulp of water and a deep breath to calm herself down.