Professor Downy, thank you for your consideration in this matter and should you ever need to speak with me in person I can be reached by telephone at our front office number, which is enclosed. If you should ever find yourself in the Parnassus region of Greece consider yourself a welcome guest with us. It would be my honor to receive a man of your talents and prestige as a brother.
With great respect,
Vigo Alfonse Gracchi
Head Prior of the Brotherhood of the Gracchi
π__
Downy laid the letter on the rug. Some reference indeed. He thought of the man’s overly polite demeanor and general awkwardness in class, which made more sense now. He was a goddamned monk.
He looked at his phone, which had fallen from his bag as well; two messages blinked. The first was a text from Samara:
I hope I haven’t spooked you. You doing ok? Your stunt double, Chad, is a barrel of monkeys…whole class seems highly disappointed…just sayin.
Sam
The second was a voicemail. It was Nazim’s number. So he had called back. Downy never had his ringer turned on because he could never remember to turn it off when class was in session. If his phone rang even once, he could look forward to an entire semester of listening to his students horrible ring tones, not to mention their incessant texting. Downy pushed the speaker button:
Professor Downy, I apologize for our last conversation. I have left a message with Mr. Charlie and his hotel assures me he has been there all this week without incident. I know the owner personally. I hope you are not angry and I would like to set up a conference call for the three of us as soon as I hear from him. I also indicated to the front desk person that Charlie might simply call you directly. I hope it will help calm your fears for his safety. I hope all is well and look forward to clearing up this matter soon. Thank you very much sir.
He poured much more scotch into his glass. He thought back to the funeral. Nazim had been distraught over Charlie’s loss, it was true. Could it have pushed him over the edge though? This far over the edge? He had fallen to his knees in fact, in private, when he and Downy had been alone with Charlie’s wife Sarah at the funeral. It did seem extreme, but he had always assumed it was a cultural nuance. Intense and visible grief in Middle Eastern countries was always treated more as an expression of the extent of one’s love and respect for the deceased. The suffering of the bereaved should be equal to the loss. Wailing, even self-flagellation wasn’t considered taboo. The ancient Egyptians had practically made a fine art of suffering in fact. Professional wailers could be bought if there weren’t sufficient family members or loved ones who could provide the necessary intensity at a sendoff. But this level of denial made no sense. There was something else though, that had always bothered him. Nazim always seemed excessively puzzled by how Charlie could have fallen overboard. He could only say, “We lost him. I do not know how.” He had pressed him for more details, but Nazim only hung his head repeating, “I do not know how.” The boat had been full of Charlie’s grad students as well, and yet no one could quite explain how it had happened. Charlie was there one moment and simply gone the next. Nazim clearly felt it was his fault nevertheless. “I have lost my friend, I have lost him,” he had said over and over again, banging his fists against his temples. He had wept so violently he had torn his shirt. Downy needed to talk to Diba Jan, Nazim’s wife, but it seemed that she too was somehow involved in this horrible charade. Why else would she turn Samara away and pretend not to know her. There was something truly amiss, possibly criminal going on. He could feel it. There was some unknown pressure at work here, something causing his friends to act in such a strange way. He felt their very lives might be in danger. Why else would Nazim deny him?
The light on his phone lit up and he looked. It was Naomi:
Late at work again!!! Sorry…thinking I’ll be home round 8.
He tossed his phone down against the table. Shit. He really did need to talk. He picked up his phone again and dashed off a text to Samara:
Coffee at 630?...Woody’s… then dinner with me and Naomi at 830? She’ll come late from work…
He hit send and walked out on the deck overlooking the bay. It was time to get Naomi and Samara in the same room, for everyone’s sake. Why did he get butterflies in his stomach every time he texted with Samara? He already knew the answer. He remembered her message and typed again:
Chad will be a great man one day…wait and see…I shall return in any case…
He watched the sun fade to a soft orange. The ocean looked endless, and glistened. He needed to get back in the classroom. The last few days had been completely frenzied. He always wondered if anyone understood how much his love for his job had to do with his need for escape. It was ironic, the notion of escaping in front of a packed room of absolute strangers, but that’s exactly how it felt to him.
His phone lit again.
See you in 30 min.…I promise no traps…no phone booths…
Sam
He was eager to share what had happened to him, even though he knew Samara wouldn’t be happy to hear it. He typed again:
Coffee at Woody’s with Samara in 30 and then meet for dinner at 830…? Short notice I know, but let’s do it…
Me
He hit send and went to the shower to get ready. It had been another stressful day and he needed to wash it off before his evening began. It had nothing to do with his meeting with Samara he told himself. Of course not, he just needed to freshen up and his wife was coming for God’s sakes. What could be safer than that?
Chapter 25
Sullivan watched through the double-sided glass of the mirror as Rodriguez took a crack at the boy. She sat very close to him, exuding almost maternal warmth. He had already said more to her in five minutes than he had to him in an hour. The boy claimed the man in the hat had given him a five-dollar bill to deliver a message to his friend across the street, that they were ‘playing a game.’ It annoyed him a little. He was usually very good at talking to children. This wasn’t the usual case though and the boy was clearly still in shock. His face was too closely associated with that shock probably. His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a number he didn’t recognize.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m calling from a safe line.” It was Tackett. “Tierney will be watching for calls between us. Meet me at Aero Club at 7 for a drink.”
“Ok, sure.”
Since it was going to be a social visit this clearly didn’t fall into Tierney’s warning against involving Tackett in the case. He still needed to talk to him about the professor, about the strange clue.
“See ya’ then--”
He looked at his watch. The big briefing was in only five minutes. He sat alone in the dark room just for a moment thinking of the professor. He had genuinely liked the guy. What was it that he could be lying about? Was it the blood sample? What were the odds it was another professor Jensen had written about in his notes? Or was it something else entirely?
Rodriguez broke his concentration opening the door. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”
“Yep, on my way.” He grabbed his stuff dashing out the door trying to catch up to her.
“So I heard you guys can get married now, out here anyway.”
“What?”
“Congratulations, I think it’s aweso--.”
“I’m already married stupid,” she said pointing to her ring. Man, you are just all kinds of awkward, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I didn’t know you could already--”
“And stop yelling.”
The pair walked into the conference room, which was already full. Tierney was at the head of the room going over papers of some kind with one of the suits from downstairs. Legal. You could tell by the grimace on his face.
“Everybody get situated please,” he said. “Nine blocks from here at 242 A Street at approximately 11:47am, a safe house, formerly managed by this department, was hit with explosives, which were most likely detonated remotely. Complicating this situation
, members of this department have continued using this residence for departmental purposes, in spite of the fact that we stopped paying rent on it more than eight years ago. We are still attempting to contact the owner, who now lives out of state apparently. One of your peers has been put on suspension pending investigation of his role in the illegal continuation of police activity at this location. In his place Detective Sheppard has been promoted to acting sergeant. Let me remind everyone that this is an internal matter and is not to be discussed outside the doors of this station. There is reason to believe that the suspect in this case has had contact with the department before. We have developed a sketch from testimony given by two eyewitnesses. One eye witness was a seven-year-old male who was paid by our suspect to deliver a message to one of our own detectives in the vicinity only moments before the blast occurred. That detective, Detective Sullivan, also made a partial ID, but was at such proximity so as not to be able to elaborate with any concrete facial details.” Tierney was now reading directly from his notes. “Both witnesses place our perp as a: 45-55-year-old male, slim or slender of build, 5’10”. He was dressed to blend in as a tourist, with a safari style hat, tan in color. He also has a long, prominent scar running across his neckline. There is some reason to believe that he was sending a message of some sort to this department, rather than trying to incur loss of life. Detective Rodriguez along with Detective Sullivan had also been in or near the house before the incident and was most likely observed by the perpetrator. This further corroborates our suspicion that the perpetrator or perpetrators wanted to destroy the residence only.”
There was mumbling across the room.
Tierney interjected more loudly to squelch it. “The Bomb squad is still analyzing materials from the scene for leads on who might have put it together and whether we are dealing with domestic or international style terrorism. Make no mistake the person or people we are dealing with are very dangerous and they must be caught before their already criminal actions escalate further. Their capture is priority number one for this department. Please know all overtime requests related to this case will be honored. Thank you. You are dismissed.”
Jesus, Sullivan thought, they made it sound like he and Rodriguez had been on a date. The other officers looked at the two of them and snickered. Sullivan could feel their eyes on him. Rodriguez walked out alone and quickly. Still no mention of case 1032 though. Tackett had it right; Tierney really was an angler.
Tierney suddenly approached him. “Now I get to go talk to the press, detective. You should watch it later on Channel 6, how they abuse me and how I just have to grin and eat every bite of shit they serve up.”
Tierney didn’t give him a chance to respond, walking away without a word. It looked like all their conversations were going to be like this: quick and one-sided. Oh well, it was a start.
Sullivan was feeling thirsty but knew he wasn’t meeting Tackett for another two hours. Maybe he would get there early and sample the wares. He walked past Sheppard’s desk on his way. Sheppard looked up.
“It’s going to be a real pleasure working under your direction, Sergeant Sheppard, sir.”
“Come on, let’s be civil,” Sheppard said sounding disappointed.
“I’ll bet your dear old dad was the football coach in high school and you started every game, huh?” he said leaning on the edge of Sheppard’s desk.
“Barely a week on the force and already banging another man’s wife in a secret flop house. I’ll give you another two weeks tops before formal charges are filed.”
“Wait, I thought Rodriguez wa--” He furrowed his brow.
“And I started because I could play. First team All-Conference.”
“Nooo shit?! I was only joking, but you really are daddy’s little superstar.”
“Look, bring me your reports and copies of all your casework by noon tomorrow and get your fuckin ears checked for God’s sakes, you’re yelling. I want to review with you in person at the end of each week as well. I know all about case 1032 and don’t want to see you make a mess of it. I would be interested in anything fresh you find though. Who knows? Maybe we can help each other?”
“Why Shep, I feel like we’re old pals now. Stop with the sincerity, please you’re breaking my heart.”
Sheppard waved his hand dejectedly and turned away. He felt a bit bad. He had been too harsh, a little. A beer would help ease his conscience, so he dashed past his desk picking up his things, map questing Aero Club driving directions on his way out the door.
When he arrived to his car he’d forgotten that the door was still off. It did little to damage the appearance frankly. A yellow ticket flapped in the wind. He pulled it out. It was a citation for “illegal operation of a wrecked vehicle.” On the ticket someone had drawn a picture of him with the caption “Iceman” written above it. There was also a likeness of Rodriguez on her knees. She was servicing him. Above her was written: “Investigating prostitution.” God cops were such assholes, he mused, like a gang of shitty middle school kids. A few cars down a group of them were laughing and pointing. He grabbed the ticket, throwing it in the air nonchalantly. Not having to open the door was actually an improvement. One less thing. He popped out the 8 track of Elvis and replaced it with Frank Sinatra speeding away in a plume of black smoke, with his middle finger extended for all to see.
Chapter 26
This time when Downy walked in Samara was already at a table with someone. A younger guy. She saw him and they both stood up.
Samara erupted: “Uncle Noah!” and threw her arms around him. “This is Mitch. He’s in our class. We were studying actually, sort of, we just bumped into each other,” she said making her eyes big.
“Man I had no idea you guys were related, but that’s awesome.”
“Yeah, hi Mitch,” Downy said squinting a bit.
“It’s ok, I sit pretty far in the back,” he said picking up on Downy’s unease, “but I love your class so far. I hope you’re back in time for the second half of that Caesar presentation though. All my roommates made me watch the miniseries and it’s practically why I signed up.”
“Yeah, I’ll be back for sure.”
“Hey, can I ask you a question about Caesar?”
“Sure.”
“Why do you think he sent his guards away? I mean he wouldn’t have been assassinated if they had been there, right.”
“Yeah,” Downy said, “The senate promised him by decree that he was safe in their midst.”
“Oh, ok, oh wow. So they tricked him?”
“Caesar wanted to show his faith in their word, I think.”
“That was dumb,” Mitch said abruptly.
“Yes, it sort of was,” he said smiling sympathetically and then he looked at Samara who looked unimpressed as well, but was laughing anyway.
“Have a great dinner. Thanks Samara,” Mitch said winking at her.
It made him uneasy. Why was he winking? Samara sat down and rolled her eyes.
“Small town, huh? Imagine me just bumping into the guy. His frat meets here once a week for some damn whiskey social or something. He was coming back for his hat.”
“No worries,” he said trying to seem at ease.
“I’m two beers in already. Sorry, talking to frat boys stresses me out. I always feel like they’re trying to sell me something. Just coffee would be nice, if it’s ok with you?”
“Yeah, sure--Uncle Noah?” he said with a grin.
“I didn’t really know what else to say, sorry. I hope you aren’t missing class on account me, because of last time.”
He laughed. “No no. I was worried you might think so. I’ve been up to my ass in admin stuff these last few days. Seriously, things that never come up, and all at once.”
“I can’t wait to see Naomi. Seriously.”
“Yeah, she’ll get here as soon as she can.”
The waiter came, the same one as last time. He smiled warmly, “It’s so nice to see you both again.” They nodded. He thought they were a coup
le then. Great. It actually felt oddly exhilarating and if they had been carrying on an affair, he knew this would be just the place to do it.
Tonight a piano player sat in the far corner, their regular guy. He was playing something by Dean Martin, but very slowly.
“Two stubby Greeks, one with a shot of espresso on top,” he said.
“Coming right up. Hope you will be joining us for dinner?”
“Yes, actually we’ll need room for a third.”
“The pescador tonight is straight from Coronado, came in this morning. It’s the chef’s signature dish in a calico and mango butter reduction.”
“Great.” Downy said.
“I could live here,” Samara said laughing.
“I used to,” he said laughing back. “I wanted us to have some time to chat before Naomi comes.”
“Ok,” Samara said, “until our third arrives.” She tilted her head a bit to the side, arching an eyebrow.
Downy hadn’t considered the way he had said it. It did sound rather impersonal. He chose not to react. “What?” he said finally shrugging.
Samara was dressed in faded blue jeans and a black shoulder cut sweater. Somehow she looked even more elegant than before. Her hair was pulled up off her shoulder in a simple clip. He tried not to stare for too long before speaking. The waiter put down their coffees.
Saboteur: A Novel Page 11
