The Spellman Files

by Lisa Lutz

  More silence passed as I trained my eye on the front door of Martin’s home.

  “I’m bored,” said Daniel.

  “We’ve only been here an hour.”

  “But nothing’s happening.”

  “Nothing happens most of the time, I’ve discovered.”

  Daniel sighed. More silence.

  “I have to pee,” he said.

  “At least you’re a man,” I replied.

  “What does that mean?”

  “The world is your toilet.”

  “You want me to pee outside?”

  “Most of our guys pee in jars. But I don’t imagine you keep a pee jar inside your recently detailed BMW.”

  “In jars? That’s disgusting,” Daniel said as he exited the car.

  While Daniel searched for a place to relieve himself, I spotted Sheriff Larson parking his black Jeep in the driveway of Martin’s home. Larson knocked on the front door and a moment later Martin greeted him.

  Daniel returned to the car. “Did anything happen while I was gone?”

  “One guy dropped by another guy’s house.”

  “That’s suspicious,” Daniel said sarcastically.

  It was suspicious. I just couldn’t say why.

  As the year came to a close, I took a brief respite from the Snow case, mostly because I didn’t want to trouble anyone during the holiday season. But once the dried-up fir trees began making their way onto the sidewalks, I began making inquiries once again. Against my parents’ wishes, I phoned Martin Snow to arrange another interview. However, it was not Martin who called me back.

  It was Abigail who called. Four days after the new year. I remember the date because earlier that night I had gotten a phone call from a bartender at Edinburgh Castle, a pub in the Tenderloin. Uncle Ray had fallen asleep in the booth, and when they briefly woke him, Ray handed them a card he kept in his breast pocket.

  FOR REMOVAL, PLEASE CALL ISABEL SPELLMAN, or Spellman Investigations, 1-415-287-3772.

  After I drove Ray home and my dad helped me bring him inside, my cell phone rang. The screen said “blocked number.” I let the phone ring a few more times as I unlocked the door to my apartment. Once inside, I answered it.

  “Hello.”

  “Ms. Spellman, this is Abigail Snow.” Her voice had grown rougher in the weeks since we’d met and I hardly recognized it.

  “What can I do for you, Mrs. Snow?”

  “You can stop pursuing my son’s case.”

  “I’ve tried to be respectful of your privacy,” I said.

  “Listen to me carefully. My son is an attorney. If I discover that you’ve made any more inquiries into Andrew’s disappearance, we will file harassment charges against you and your family. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Mrs. Snow, I promise the case is closed now.” And the line went dead.

  That very moment, as I hung up the phone, I truly believed that the Snow case was over, that I would soon retire from my career with Spellman Investigations. However, I had little time to consider what that would mean, because what happened next changed everything. Instead of driving me away from the case, it brought me back.

  Months later, when I had time to reflect on the events that had transpired, I tried to find that precise moment in time that altered all future events, as if having this knowledge after the fact could have prevented us from making the same mistake again. I may have long since passed it, but for me this is the surest dot in my timeline.

  THE DOT

  A few days after Mrs. Snow called me, as I was leaving the house (through the front door), my mother asked me if I was going to see the dentist. Since I had given her no evidence that the dentist was back in my life, my suspicion turned in the obvious direction.

  I waited in Rae’s bedroom for her to return from school. I opted against snooping and simply flopped down on her bed and picked up her worn-out copy of The Catcher in the Rye. I wondered for how many years that novel would remain a staple of adolescent bedrooms and wondered why Rae’s teenage malaise had not yet kicked in. Then my eye caught a camera case by her desk and I unzipped the charcoal-gray canvas bag and studied the brand-new digital still camera that rested inside.

  A moment later, Rae entered her room.

  “How did you get in here?” she asked.

  “You’re not the only one who can pick locks,” I said as I zipped up the bag.

  “You have other business here?”

  “Just a few questions.”

  “Let’s have ’em.”

  “Have you been following me, Rae?”

  “I stopped that a long time ago.”

  “Does Mom know that you went to see Daniel?”

  “Don’t tell her. She won’t like it.”

  “Does she know I’ve been seeing him again?”

  “A week ago I heard her tell Dad that she was sure it was over.”

  “Who is David’s new girlfriend?” I asked quickly, hoping to throw her off and get an unfiltered response.

  “I’m not falling for that,” Rae said as she kicked off her shoes.

  “How much did that camera and the equipment cost you?”

  “I’d have to look up the receipts and do some calculations.”

  “Give me a rough estimate.”

  “Five hundred dollars—give or take.”

  “Give or take what?”

  “A hundred dollars.”

  “Were you raised by La Cosa Nostra?”

  “I don’t know. Were you?”

  “It’s blackmail, Rae. Blackmail is bad. Why don’t you get that?”

  “I’m glad this case is over.”

  “Who says it’s over?”

  “Mom says. The missing boy’s mother called and told you to stop.”

  “Did she?”

  “You know she did.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I got ears.”

  I grabbed Rae by the collar, twisted it three hundred and sixty degrees, and shoved her against the wall.

  “If you are lying to me and I find out, I will make your life a living hell.”

  “You already are!” she shouted.

  “HOW DO YOU KNOW HIS MOTHER CALLED ME?! ARE YOU SPYING ON ME?! WERE YOU LISTENING AT MY DOOR?! WHAT WERE YOU DOING?!”

  “I overheard Dad tell Mom that the guy’s mother called you and ended it.”

  “Dad said this?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “What time?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Try.”

  “At night.”

  “You sure?”

  “I wouldn’t testify under oath—”

  I tightened my grip and said, “Are you pretty sure?”

  “Yes. I’d like you to leave now.”

  She didn’t need to tell me, I was already out the door.

  I returned to my apartment and looked for the bug. In all my twenty-eight years, I never thought my parents capable of sinking this low. Even when I was Old Isabel, they refrained from breaching basic laws of privacy. In California it is illegal to record someone without at least one party’s consent. I began wishing I had dated those lawyers my mother set me up with, so I could use one of them to help me file a complaint against her. It seemed almost inevitable that one day we would see this poetic caption: Spellman v. Spellman.

  The original conversation that my parents appeared to have knowledge of had occured on my cell phone. They don’t have the technology to tap a cell line. However, I do recall mentioning, at a later date, my conversation with Mrs. Snow to Petra, on my land line. Tapping a regular phone is a piece of cake. Even though phone taps are illegal, they are not a recreational drug, and therefore I am not an expert on them. But to pull apart a room inch by inch, you just need patience, not expertise, which I have when I know for a fact that I will find something to incriminate my parents. I followed the phone line to the jack and tracked the same line along the wa
ll and outside. I climbed out the window and crawled down the fire escape, visually tracing the trail to the base of the house. Simple telephone monitoring devices can be attached at any point on the phone line and, when used in a conjunction with a voice-activated recorder, prove to be an excellent choice for monitoring a single phone line. I concluded, based on the information Rae presented to me, that my father had overheard my phone conversation and that is how he was privy to that information. However, reaching back, it appeared possible that he simply overheard one side of the conversation. Mine.

  When I couldn’t find any device attached to the phone line, I began looking for a bug somewhere in my apartment. At seven hundred and fifty square feet, wall-to-wall furniture, and seven years of accumulated clutter, finding a device that might fit inside your nostril wasn’t easy.

  I needed help. I needed the help of a neutral party. I thought about calling Daniel, but I couldn’t imagine in what universe “Wanna come over to my apartment and help me look for a bug?” would sound normal and I was working really hard at trying to be normal with him. I called Petra, but she wasn’t home. The only person who was home was Uncle Ray. He was always home, unless he was at a poker game or a bar. I asked Ray if he wanted to help me look for an audio surveillance device. Uncle Ray asked me if I had any beer. I did. It is rare that my universe presents me with such perfect symbiosis.

  Since Uncle Ray lives with my parents, I often forget that he has a beautiful sense of detachment. Unless the fight turns him into one of the warring parties, he stays out of it. Usually one potato-chip-munching line like “I’m watching the game here” says it all. Petty disputes between individuals mean nothing when teams of men have decade-long scores to settle. The only thing Uncle Ray knew was that he was looking for a bug. It never would have occurred to him that his brother had planted it.

  I tore apart the apartment in an unfocused, unsystematic search. Uncle Ray sat on my bed and drank three beers. Then he walked over to an outlet next to my bed, unplugged a lamp, then an alarm clock, pulled a three-way adapter out of the socket, and handed it to me.

  “Thanks for the beer,” he said and left the room.

  My instinct was to rage, to contact attorneys—maybe the ACLU—but my intellect told me to play it cool, to calculate my response. As it turns out, neither my instinct nor my intellect is really all that reliable. I took the adapter and relocated it to the file room. They’d figure it out eventually, but it bought me some time. I needed to get out of the house to clear my head. I needed to be in non-Spellman territory. I got in the car and drove to Petra’s.

  Petra met me at the door, wearing a strapless black satin evening gown with a lace shawl. Her hair was tied up conservatively and several of her extraneous piercings had been removed.

  She was taken aback by my presence. “What are you doing here?”

  “I just found an audio surveillance device in my room. Are you going to the opera?”

  “No. Just a function.”

  “With whom?”

  “Oh, this guy I met recently.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s a…doctor.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, I haven’t verified it with the AMA, but I’m assuming he’s told me the truth.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “What’s with all the questions?”

  “Usually you mention when you’re seeing someone new.”

  “Don Sternberg.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s his name.”

  “If you insist.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “No. I’m good. Have fun with the lawyer.”

  “Doctor,” Petra corrected me.

  “Doctors, lawyers. They’re really all the same, aren’t they?”

  “Not if you’re in the emergency room.”

  The conversation was going nowhere, at least nowhere near the truth. I looked at her arm and noticed another void where a tattoo used to reside. I believe it was the gravesite with “Jimi Hendrix, RIP” written on the tombstone.

  “Why’d you get rid of Jimi?”

  “People change.”

  “They do? I had no idea.”

  I left Petra’s apartment and drove to the one place where I knew I could get answers. I didn’t have to knock on his door. I didn’t have to ask any questions. All I had to do was wait outside David’s home and see if he left wearing a tuxedo and then I would know for sure: My brother was not only dating my best friend, he was buying the silence of a fourteen-year-old girl and catering to the whims of his fifty-four-year-old mother just to keep this one fact from me.

  I felt a surge of self-righteousness, a powerful need to prove that the measures they took against or because of me were wrong—or at least unnecessary. As I predicted, David exited his home in formal wear. I drove away before he could spot me. I would deal with the two of them later.

  Staged Dental Appointment #3

  My parents and I agreed on a temporary reprieve. The warring had taken its toll on both sides. However, the reprieve didn’t include Rae. After convincing my mother, I broke the news to my sister.

  “You have three cavities. Daniel will see you tomorrow at four o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”

  “Do you really think that’s necessary?” she asked.

  “You make that appointment or you will be very sorry.”

  Later that night, I walked into the living room and caught Rae and Uncle Ray watching television together. On the screen Laurence Olivier washed his hands in the sink and asked Dustin Hoffman, who was tied to the chair, “Is it safe?”

  I stepped behind the couch and stared at the screen.

  “Is it safe?” Olivier asked again as he unrolled a collection of dental tools.

  I turned to Uncle Ray, betrayed. “Do you think this is helpful? Watching Marathon Man the night before her dental appointment?”

  My sister shushed me and stared attentively at the television. Uncle Ray played innocent.

  “What?” he said. “It’s a good movie.”

  “Is it safe?” Olivier asked one more time, as I made my exit.

  The following afternoon, Rae sat in examination room #2, nervously awaiting Daniel. She could hear him saying his good-byes to Mrs. Sanchez, who was done for the day, and remembered at the last second to turn on her tape recorder. He was still a dentist, wasn’t he? Months later, I would discover the following transcripts with Rae’s visual commentary:

  [Daniel enters the room.]

  RAE: Dr. Castillo?

  DANIEL: I told you, it’s Daniel, please.

  RAE: Are you positive I have three cavities?

  DANIEL: Positive. In fact, I’ve never been this sure of anything.

  [Daniel washes his hands.]

  RAE: Could I see the X-rays?

  [Daniel stares at Rae for an uncomfortably long time.]

  DANIEL: Don’t you trust me, Rae?

  RAE: Sure, I’d just like to see the X-rays.

  [Daniel picks up a set of X-rays, puts them up on a back light, and turns it on. He points to specific areas on her teeth.]

  DANIEL: One and two in your lower right second bicuspid and first molar. The third in your upper left lateral incisor.

  [Daniel takes out a syringe.]

  RAE: Don’t you need your nurse to assist you or something?

  DANIEL: She’s gone for the day. We’re all alone. Now open wide.

  [Rae doesn’t open wide.]

  RAE: How can I be sure those are my X-rays?

  DANIEL: You’re stalling, sweetheart. Now be a good girl and open your mouth.

  RAE: I asked you a question.

  [Daniel leans in close.]

  DANIEL: Are you afraid of me, Rae?

  RAE: I’m afraid of having unnecessary dental work.

  DANIEL: A little pain never hurt anyone. Personally, I think it builds character.

  RAE: Isabel said this wouldn’t hurt.

  DANIEL: Do you believe ever
ything your sister tells you?

  RAE: No, I don’t.

  [Daniel prepares the novocaine.]

  DANIEL: Is it safe?

  [Daniel says the last line with a stab at a German accent. Then he winks suggestively. Rae leaps out of the chair and races out of the office, discarding her paper bib just outside the front door.]

  In a fitting homage to the previous night’s film, Rae ran the entire two miles from the Market and Van Ness Muni stop to 1799 Clay Street. Her shaky hands unlocked the front door and she maintained her speed as she raced into the Spellman office. She stood before my parents, huffing and puffing, trying to catch her breath. My parents looked up.

  When Rae was finally able to speak, she said, “Daniel Castillo is evil.”

  My parents listened to an hour’s worth of thesaurus entry descriptions of her encounter. He was creepy, weird, sinister, eerie, unsettling. “And he winked,” she reminded them. “An evil wink.” But Mom and Dad were accustomed to Rae’s occasional bouts of hyperbole and took her rant with a grain of salt. The fact is, after acquiring Daniel’s statistics during their first meeting, Albert and Olivia conducted a background check that would have done the government proud. They still didn’t like him, but they had to admit that on paper he was as clean as they come.

  The parental unit came to the logical conclusion that Rae was merely frightened of the needle and a victim of the years of dentist mythology that circulated in our house. For maybe the first time in her life, my parents didn’t believe Rae. And so, alone, Rae knew that she had to save me from the dentist.

  As predicted, Rae began following me again sometime after her derailed dental appointment. Although for the first two days, all she ever saw was me sitting behind my computer, running criminal checks on every member of the Snow family.

  My mother, noticing the paperwork atop my desk, tried, yet again, to dissuade me from this endeavor.

  “Isabel, the job is over,” she said. “You’re free to work elsewhere. Be a waitress, a secretary, a bartender. I don’t care.”