Saboteur: A Novel

by J. Travis Phelps

  “I really do love you sometimes, you know. It’s rare to get a glimpse of--”

  The man was confused by the response. In the darkness he could hear the cloaked stranger now weeping.

  “Do we know one another? I admit your voice is familiar, but unless I can see you…”

  “You don’t want that.”

  He had seen the cloaked face already hadn’t he, but now remembered the sight had somehow horrified him. What had scared him so? A wave of unexpected terror overtook the man and without warning he began to vomit violently onto the floor. The man in the hood came closer.

  “It will pass. I have fresh food coming for you in a few hours.”

  The man dry heaved a few final gasps and sat up again. “Why am I so sick?”

  “It’s the medicine I have given you. I assure you without it you’d be much worse off. I put a fresh change of clothing over there, when you feel up to changing.”

  The man looked into the corner and recognized his own cloak and undergarments. “How have you come by my things? Where is my wife?”

  “They’re all safe, you needn’t worry about them.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Not far from home, not really.”

  “There will be a great riot over my disappearance, you know? Even now the whole city will be in a frenzy.”

  “Yes, I’d love to see it in fact, but that’s a part of this adventure we’ll both have to forgoe I’m afraid.”

  “So should I just lay here and be content?”

  “That would be wise. Later we can talk, but right now the less you know the safer you will be. I have but a little time left I’m afraid, but you have much, much more.”

  The cloaked man coughed suddenly, shaking his whole body violently. “You’re ill too?” the man asked.

  “Terminally,” he said with a sarcastic laugh. “But I’m not afraid. I know you aren’t a vengeful man, but you may one day feel a need for revenge. It’s up to you really. Maybe you will forgive everyone instead, as you so often do.”

  “Free me now and I will leave you with a day’s head start.”

  The cloaked man laughed now, a laugh so familiar that it quieted his building rage.

  “Are you from Bithynia? I have heard you laugh before, haven’t I?”

  “Perhaps you have,” the man said still laughing. The hooded face leaned in closer. “Do you remember the girls in Bithynia? What a night that was.”

  So they did know one another, he thought silently.

  “I have no doubt that if I tried to kill you, you would charm me out of it somehow and that if you hunted me, I’d be a happy prey.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “Not yet, though the thought has occurred to me of late.”

  “Then I will spare you my friend, if you will only let me go. That is a promise.”

  “Thank you for that kindness, but it’s unnecessary.”

  “It is I who has spared you.”

  And as he spoke the mysterious stranger pulled the cloak away from his face. His captive sat stone-faced on the floor suddenly speechless. His eyes glazed over and his pupils enlarged at the sight.

  With barely a whimper he spoke, “You!” before slumping again on his side, falling into deep unconsciousness.

  Chapter 32

  Downy and Naomi walked hurriedly into Woody’s. The place was empty and the morning crew could be heard still cleaning up from the night before. They raced toward the back. He hit his contacts button for Clellon his agent in London. From a real phone he could barely remember how to dial overseas, so he simply hit zero for the operator. He figured you could still make a collect call. Naomi sat nervously at the table. The night they had spent before now seemed like a cruel dream. He couldn’t help but think the worst from the bloodstain. The whole situation was too strange for words.

  The phone rang on and on, but finally a voice picked up.

  “Dear boy a collect call you must be lost in the jungle again. Is everything ok?”

  “Clellon, thank God you answered! I’m calling about Samara Patterson, she’s been taken I think by people connected to Charlie somehow, to Nazim. They said I should call you and ask about the pond? Can you please tell me what the hell is going on? What are they talking about?”

  There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

  “Clellon? Are you still there?”

  “I am, Noah, came the voice hesitantly, “I’m sorry, I’m a bit in shock. This is very bad news.”

  “Where the hell is this pond and why does Nazim think Charlie is still alive?”

  Another long pause ensued.

  “Dear god m’boy, I have no idea what to say.”

  “Clellon what do you know about all this, please fucking just say something?”

  “Noah, is Naomi with you?”

  “Yes, she is.”

  He looked out of the glass pane of the booth and could see Naomi, who was now talking with someone near the bar. They were looking at something together.

  “You must get her out of there immediately, get her far away from you.”

  He looked again but couldn’t see the man’s face. She turned and seemed to look in his direction, but then suddenly ran out of the bar, the man following closely behind.

  “Hold on!” he said throwing the receiver down.

  He chased after her, but as he ran he could see papers strewn about the floor where she had stood. He stopped to pick them up. He held in his hand a picture. It was of he and Samara in the phone booth locked in a passionate kiss. He continued running franticly out the door, but as he emerged someone knocked him to the ground. Then a swarm of men were upon him. It took him a moment to realize who they were.

  “You have the right to remain silent, douchebag,” one of them said.

  It was the detective from his office.

  “Looks like I’m going to have to pass on that coffee too,” he said, struggling to get the cuffs on. “Too bad, I love a good cup of coffee.”

  “What’s happening here?”

  “You’re under arrest for the murder of Samara Lee Patterson and two fucking cops you son of a bitch.”

  Naomi stood in the wings crying uncontrollably as they pried the picture of he and Samara from Downy’s shaking hands.

  “Naomi!” he shouted imploringly. “This is a mistake. I have to talk to Clellon. She’s still alive!”

  “You’ll get your phone call asshole. Calling the Pope won’t save your ass though.”

  “Samara can’t be dead; the kidnappers said she was at the pond.”

  “Yeah we found her there already. Did you guys go for a little midnight swim, professor? Kidnappers, huh? That’s original.”

  It was like a bad dream. He stopped talking realizing no one was listening. The staff of the bar stood looking on in confusion at the melee. Police cars were lined up around the block and as they brought him to his feet he could see into Woody’s to the second floor balcony. Smoke wafted down from above and a hazy figure stood in silhouette. Downy could swear it was…but his mind was now too far gone and he simply went mute.

  “Char…Charlie?” he muttered, before being led away.

  Part Two

  Chapter I

  Bob Tierney held what was perhaps the most triumphant press conference of his career after the arrest of Professor Noah Downy, announcing that the case against him was as air tight as they come, with mountains of physical evidence, not to mention motive and a soon to be found murder weapon, which had been taken from the college’s ancient weaponry collection. Accolades rained down from every quarter on behalf of the two vanished policemen and of course the beautiful college student Samara Lee Patterson, who’s lifeless, and partially mutilated body was discovered by teens skinny-dipping in a nearby pond on the night of her disappearance. In a rare move Tierney also announced the reinstatement of Sergeant Joe Tackett, divulging that Tackett’s suspension had all along only been a clever ruse to lure the killer into a false sense of security, since t
he department had long suspected he was closely watching them. Noticeably absent from the hat tips was any mention of Nick Sullivan, who now sat idly outside the interrogation room drinking an almost cold coffee from Donut Haven.

  “Cheer up kid, I told you my days are numbered here.”

  He looked up to see Tackett with a wide grin on his face.

  “You’ll be Sergeant in no time and good riddance to this place I say. I’ll leave the bottle of Jack in my desk for you when I go.”

  “I’m not leadership material.”

  “Have it your way kid.”

  “You should let the pros handle this interrogation you know. This guy is a cold, calculating SOB. They’ll write whole books about the fact that he used a goddamn Roman sword to slice up that pretty little co-ed.”

  “He’s asked to speak with me actually. I’d rather not be here at all.”

  “I know the feeling, man. It’s the hunt that drives guys like us and now look at you--blue as hell. There’ll be other cases.”

  “It was good work you did,” Sullivan said suddenly coming back to life.

  “Not really. We still don’t know who sent the photos. Probably someone tired of seeing him get away with it for all these years. They’ll come forward I’m sure. I’m still looking into it.”

  “Any word from the university?”

  “Oh the teacher’s union is quiet on this one actually, though as usual the goddamn academics are lining up from here to Fresno to support the bastard. I spoke to his school dean and he says Downy wouldn’t hurt anyone. Typical.”

  “Yeah, no one ever believes anyone they know is capable of this kind of shit.”

  “Why do you think he wants to see you?”

  “I don’t know. We bonded a bit, I guess when I interviewed him.”

  “Well, enjoy. Maybe you’ll get an honorable mention in the book. Hey, speaking of your fame, I was talking to Shepard, he and I were wonder--can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  The Redneck Killer? How did you find him? Really? I know you ain’t no supernatural phenom, that’s a crock. You never said in your big TV interview about any lie detecting.”

  He paused looking despondent.

  “Milk.”

  “Come again?”

  “Margie Wells had been buying one gallon of milk at Cut-Rate Supermarket since I was a kid, without fail. Her son, who had a rape charge on him from a few years earlier, was supposedly out of state, or so she claimed. On the day I ran into her at the market, she bought two gallons. Found him in her basement that night with one of the girl’s underwear.”

  “No shit.”

  “No shit.”

  Rodriguez opened the door to the interrogation room and yelled, “Next.”

  “That guy is awfully cute and nice for a goddamn butcher man. Tell you what, none of my teachers were like that.”

  Sullivan raised his eyebrows in seeming agreement. “None of your teachers used first century cutlery to disembowel college girls either, did they?”

  “Fucking A, right. Douche says he will only talk to you, so get in there.”

  “Yeah, so I heard.”

  He walked into the room silently. Noah Downy looked up from his cup of tea, still playing absentmindedly with the tiny piece of paper at the end of the teabag. All the color was gone from his youngish face and his eyes blazed hot with red. He’d been in the room now for nearly 48 hours, but had steadfastly refused a lawyer.

  “Hey man, the last time I saw you, I told you I wanted to meet under better circumstances. This sure ain’t it,” he said sitting down.

  “I didn’t kill Samara or those cops. The other detective said you have a kind of sixth sense. What’s it telling you?”

  “Look man, the teachers’ union is sending over a lawyer for you and if you want to avoid the chair I’d say my sixth sense says do it.”

  “Where’s my wife?”

  “She’s here, but she doesn’t want to speak to you just yet.”

  “I wasn’t having sex with Samara. That picture was just a childish mistake.”

  “Oh yeah, how about this?” he said throwing the pictures of Samara’s body onto the table.

  Downy threw his hand over his mouth. Tears raced down his cheeks.

  “She was like a fucking daughter to me,” he said bitterly, pushing the pictures away. Sullivan threw down the picture from the phone booth.

  “You always slip the tongue like that to your daughters?”

  “I don’t have any children, but I--”

  “Probably best.”

  “Please put those away,” Downy said grimacing. “You have absolutely no idea how it feels to see her like this. I loved her like a daughter.”

  “Is that why you dumped her in the water?”

  “My wife is only angry about the picture. I could explain it to her if I had the chance.”

  “Yeah, she was ready to talk actually until her drug screen came back positive for Darvocet. Fifty milligrams, which we also found in Samara’s system. You put it in their drinks, I presume?” You’re lucky she isn’t dead too with a dose like that plus the booze. But hey, at this point who’s counting? Is that so you could talk to them? Explain things?”

  “My wife takes those when we travel, she hates flying.”

  “Yeah, but she said she didn’t take them that Friday night and you’re really the only one with access to her drugs besides her, or so she says.”

  “She lying too, she in on this middle eastern kidnapping conspiracy boss?”

  Downy looked up again from his tea. “Why would I do a thing like this?”

  “You can tell me or not, man; it makes no difference really. That weapon you used is some medieval shit though, I gotta admit, I didn’t necessarily have you pegged as the type.”

  “The sword is part of a collection; I never used it for anything but research.”

  “Yeah, but the university says you checked it out just last week, rather unexpectedly. Some timing.”

  Downy went silent.

  “Hey, maybe you don’t need a lawyer after all. I mean you got an explanation for pretty much everything. Those cops do have families though man; don’t you think they deserve some closure? Tell me where their bodies are and you might even get some leniency.”

  “Can I ask you to do one thing?” he said ignoring the comment altogether.

  “I don’t know. I’m a pretty busy man, cleaning up after all your messes.”

  “You have to contact my agent Clellon Holmes in London, Wingate Publishing and ask him about Charlie Patterson, about the pond; that’s where they said she was being kept. They said she was still alive. I don’t know why they killed her.”

  “Yeah right, Patterson, that’s the dead guy you claim you saw when we arrested you. Somehow he’s involved in his daughter’s murder too?”

  “You know, I thought you were an awfully good cop when we met before. If you really do have a sixth sense, you’ll be able to tell that Clellon is lying. He knows something about all this.” Downy leaned in in exasperation. “You can see for yourself, on my cell phone, where they messaged me for Christ’s sake. Don’t you cops check evidence at least?”

  “Yeah, we checked it already. That’s pretty clever, texting us from your office computer like that. The I.T. geeks are still trying to figure out how you managed that trick, but I bet you got a lackey is all. Same one who tried to get rid of these pics for you by torching my first and only residence in California. Rude, man. Rude.”

  Downy looked stricken.

  “Still, hard to figure. You looked happy as hell to me, man; but I guess for some people nothing is ever enough.”

  “Clellon Holmes. Please. Do it for a fellow Southerner who has no other hope of clearing his name.”

  Sullivan frowned.

  “The number is in my phone. Just call him, I beg you. If you still think I’m full of shit after, you can just let me rot in jail or fry or whatever…”

  “That’s it then, you ain�
��t talkin?”

  “Samara kissed me, not the other way around. She thought her dad may have been involved with someone or possibly even still ali--never mind,” he said bowing his head in seeming defeat.

  He grabbed the pictures before turning to leave.

  “That’s not what she was wearing,” Downy muttered almost imperceptibly.

  “What’s that?” he said turning back around.

  “The night she disappeared, Samara wasn’t wearing that outfit. She had on a black sweater with the shoulders cut out.”

  Sullivan simply nodded and walked out without a word.

  “How did it go?” Tierney said suddenly appearing from nowhere, the way he always seemed to.

  “Mum’s the word. Any news on that murder weapon?”

  “They’re dredging the pond still. Look, Sullivan, you get high marks for initiative on this case. If you can learn to be more disciplined, you could go a long way around here.”

  “Thanks Bob.”

  “Don’t ever fucking call me Bob, ever you little shit.”

  Sullivan walked away without a word, already thinking about Tina from the Aero club.

  Surely she could help him decompress. He really did get down as hell after a case was solved. The chase was over.

  Tackett saw him on his way out. “Any luck?”

  “Negative.”

  “Where you headed?”

  “To the Aero Club.”

  “Got it on the brain already, eh?”

  He laughed. “See you tonight, ok? Make coffee for three, not the shit from the fridge either.”

  Sullivan walked past the evidence room on his way out. There was only the late shift person still working. He paused momentarily, but then walked on. Screw the bastard. He was tired of police work, tired of pretty dead girls and bad professors.

  Chapter II

  Noah Downy raised his head from the pillow and for a moment imagined he was still in his own bed. He thought first of his wife, but then the horrific images of Samara’s mutilated body intruded. Then he thought of the smoking man on the balcony. It couldn’t have been Charlie, and yet--He got a sick feeling in his stomach and writhed in agony. He heard a voice calling from down the hall. It was impossible from his holding cell to tell if it was night or day, but his body clock said it was probably early morning.