Of course, he was right. If they spent more time concentrating on real issues instead of reacting to fear, they would be a lot better off. Normal routine. Easier said than done. But they had to start somewhere.
Chubby knocked on the door before he called through it with an offer to make breakfast. Sebastian admitted him. Avy volunteered to do laundry, so she rallied the men to collect their things. She bagged the items, then headed out the door. She found the small motel laundry room by the registration office. She put her loads into the machines, counting just enough change for both cycles without having to go to the front desk for more. She sat on a Rattan bench that overlooked the front parking lot. A few cars passed by on the frontage road. The sun already had a blaze on the leaves of the largest walnut trees that sat in neat brick planters around the hotel. Tall weeds swayed with a slight breeze in an empty lot across from the hotel.
Something rose out of the weeds across the street. Avy propped her palms under her chin. She watched a misshapen figure rise straight up out of the foliage, then begin to move. It took her a minute to determine that the shape was human, bent over somewhat, wearing what looked like a blanket over his shoulders. She felt certain this was a male transient who’d slept overnight in the field.
The man wore a greasy hat, something that looked like a golf cap pulled tight over his head. He made awkward, drunken steps, flattening the shrubbery. He emerged onto the sidewalk, pausing to look in both directions. Funny, but she could have sworn he wore ski boots with metal buckles. She found that very odd. With no clear view of his face, she could not determine the age of the person. She assumed he was older with a possible alcohol or drug-related problem. It was hard to imagine anyone in that condition leading a sober life. Still, she found it difficult to hold judgment over such a person. His situation was not hopeless. Professional counseling, income opportunities, and decent housing were the proper remedies for such a condition. Yet, she knew that some of the homeless were self-inflicted castoffs, unwilling to change their lifestyles and outlook.
The homeless man stepped off the curb, again glancing in both directions. He took labored steps across the street. For a brief moment, she felt afraid that a vehicle might strike him down. When he made it to the other side of the street, she let out a pent up breath, her eyes glued to the poor man. He seemed perplexed about his next move. She lost sight of him for an instant behind a large tree trunk. He emerged, but somehow had walked toward her during that time. He shuffled across the motel parking lot, his head held down.
She knew where this encounter was headed—it was almost expected. She moved her purse onto her lap in case she had to dig into it for a handout. She couldn’t help but think that he was circling her like a shark, walking in one direction to put up a ruse, but having her under surveillance the whole time. Why make panhandling so complicated? She had no problem contributing a few bucks to ease his plight.
When he got close enough for her to discern the features on his face, she recoiled. His eyes were white blanks. The face, glistening of sweat in the sun, bore a roadmap of purple lines surrounded by open sores. She wondered if he was a burn victim. That face. She felt a terrible ache in her soul for this unfortunate being. His stench reached her on a slight breeze, causing her to put a palm to her mouth. For a moment, she thought she might gag.
The man stopped twenty feet from her, then angled his face to look up at the sun. Something hung from his jutting chin that looked like a streamer of discolored phlegm.
“It’s a grand day, eh?” he said, but his eyes did not meet hers. “The sun gives life to us all, lass. It does not care who or what stands underneath it.”
Avy gulped, shifting her buttocks. “I suppose so,” she answered. “It’s a pretty warm start this morning.” The words belied an awkward attempt at conversation. She looked at the tattered wool blanket that was festooned with foxtails, leaves, and twigs.
“Sol really doesn’t care who is down here,” he went on, “just that things are alive because of it. We are all alive, moving in the same circles on top of the same dirt. That’s what my pappy used to tell me. All creatures great and small.”
He waxed philosophic, she thought. James Harriot. It had to be part of his repertoire. He looked sick, smelled to high heavens, wore clothes worth no more than a few dollars. But he had the mind of a diplomat and the tongue of a poet—a true conman setting up his mark. Two could play at this mental shell game.
“The Lord helps those who help themselves,” she said.
“I help myself every chance I get, lass.”
“Not to take advantage, but to better your condition, I hope.”
“Who has taken advantage here? You cut a fine figure who displays the profile of one who has taken their share of advantage. I sit away from the table uninvited, waiting for scraps because you are the owner of the banquet. Are you not first, always?”
She found it astonishing that he could see her. Perhaps his blindness was not total. Nevertheless, she could trade barbs if that was his intention. “I didn’t need to be whipped from the starting gate—I took off on my own. I didn’t scratch because I refused to run the race.”
“Ah, then you owe your success not to you but to your trainers. Advantage before the starting gate. Good feed, grooming with plenty of care—that is the difference you see.”
“What is your name?”
“I’ve been called so many that I forget. Oh, wait. Harry works.” He hacked back something in his throat, then spat. A gray piece of flesh landed on the pavement, wiggling like larvae.
God, he had a gut full of pinworms, she thought. She began to feel the bile rise in her throat, bringing on a nauseous discomfort. She noticed something moving under his plastic coat. It was not clear if it was an arm or some other part of his anatomy. She stood up from her bench seat, prepared to enter the small laundry room. She hesitated, wondering if this man would follow and box her in.
A door slammed in the distance. She turned to see Sebastian walking toward her. When he reached her, he handed her a paper plate laden with pastry and orange slices. “I thought you would like to eat out here in the—” The words cut off when he caught sight of the man standing several yards away. Sebastian furrowed his brows, giving the man the once over. “Avy,” he said, “let’s go.”
She was morbidly transfixed, unable to budge.
“Now!”
He hurried her down the walkway. She looked over her shoulder, watching the transient cock his head puppy fashion.
The motel manager appeared a second later, jabbing a broom at the man. “No, you don’t!” said the woman. “Not today. No trespassing allowed. We’ll have none of this around here.” She beat the man off the property until he had backed up to the edge of the street.
Sebastian pushed Avy into the room before she could see anything more.
“What’s the matter with you, Avy?” Sebastian demanded. “Have you lost it or what? I can’t believe you were talking to that, that whatever it was.”
Chubby looked up from his plate, frozen in mid-bite. Gretchen scratched at the front door, then unleashed a mournful whine.
“I was just talking to that man, Harry,” she said. “I don’t know why. Maybe it was because he looked like he was dying or something.”
The stench of the man seemed to have followed them into the room. She looked at the food on her plate. Her eyes rolled in her head. In the next minute, she bent over and vomited on the carpet.
Chubby dropped his plate on the floor.
Gretchen titled her head back. The howl that escaped her was ear splitting.
Chapter 19
They clustered around the microfiche, reading the last of the newspaper archives on the Tom Labrador homicide case. For the last two hours, Avy had read the articles aloud for the benefit of the two, although Chubby knew most of it by heart. This time she recited the entire court transcript, the same transcript that Chubby had saved in his album that Avy never took the time to read.
Sebas
tian said, “We need to find a chink in the physical evidence. That’s not going to be easy to do.”
Avy pulled back from the screen. “What about Drake’s motivation for wanting the company? He knew he was first up in the will after my mother. With Tom and Mom out of his way, he would inherit everything, including any bank savings. No disagreement there. But listen, my mother was drugged—that’s what the BAC from the drug test results showed after she was taken into custody. From all witness testimony, my mother didn’t use prescription drugs or contraband substances. But they found Nembutal in her blood. Drake said he brought two bottles of champagne for the celebration dinner. I think he brought more than champagne.”
“What were they celebrating?” asked Chubby.
“Drake said it was something about Tom landing a huge foreign contract. It was brought out in the trial, but never discussed in detail.” She stared at Sebastian. “I think Drake might have gone to the kitchen to open the bottles himself. He laced Mom’s drink, but left Tom’s glass pure. It would look too suspicious if both had drugs in their system. Could we agree on that?”
Sebastian nodded. “That’s possible. More than possible. Your mom starts feeling woozy so her husband calls it a night. But Drake doesn’t leave the premises. Or he waits outside for a few hours, then re-enters the house. Go on, Avy.”
“He re-enters the house later, then creeps upstairs with a kitchen knife. Tom’s asleep. Mom’s drugged, out of it. The first knife wound is straight to Tom’s heart—the autopsy confirms that. The first thrust kills him. He rolls Tom off the bed, then inflicts multiple stab wounds while the corpse is on the floor. The extra injuries make it look like a rampage killing. There would be very little noise or movement to wake mom. He wipes the knife down, places my mother’s fingers against the handle, then lays it by her side. He smears my mother with blood splotches and castoff, making it look like she committed the crime up close.
“He drags the body downstairs, loads it up in my mother’s SUV. After getting the key from her purse, he drives off to dump the corpse across the state line. In an adrenalin-induced panic, he hits the jogging judge on the return trip. He makes it back to the house, parks the SUV, which now contains hair, fiber and blood evidence. He places the keys next to her on the bed, and slips out the front door, locking it behind him. Then he splits for home. All of this is done within a planned timeframe. Lizzy is asleep because she can’t remember the exact time he arrives home. She even testifies to this. So there we have it. The million dollar question is, where has Drake slipped up?”
Chubby bit his lip. “He would be covered with the victim’s blood. But we have a problem. Somebody would have to have see him like that—a witness. Then there’s the question of what he did with the blood-covered clothes. There were no eyewitnesses. Every security camera tape in the area was ordered into evidence, but none of them had an image of that SUV anywhere. They found one eyewitness to the vehicle on the road, but he couldn’t identify the driver of your mom’s SUV. No help.”
“Why wouldn’t Drake have left a bloody footprint?” asked Sebastian. “There must have been blood on his shoes.”
“Not if he dragged the body backward down the stairs,” said Chubby. “It was downhill most of the way until he had to load it. If he was careful he could have done it.”
“Was Drake a pill-popper back then?” asked Sebastian.
Avy shook her head. “No, never. His wife has several prescriptions. I don’t know if she took prescription drugs back then—not sure about Nembutal. It’s worth a look for pharmaceutical records or receipts. Drake could have pilfered half a dozen pills from his wife’s personal stock.” She flipped her hair back. “I can’t believe this is all we have! Is it that bulletproof? Are we wasting our time?”
“What about Lizzy?” asked Sebastian. “Maybe she’s covering up something.”
“My mother is spineless. She’s always been preoccupied with her social status. That’s all she’s ever cared about. Even if she did know something, she wouldn’t jeopardize that loyalty with her husband. Besides, a wife can’t be forced to testify against her husband, even if he is brought up on the charges.”
“Maybe if we leaned on her,” suggested Chubby, “so she gave up the information under pressure.” He blinked. “I can’t believe I said that.”
Sebastian frowned. “That’s a long shot. We’re aiming with a short barrel. There’s too much against it. She could tip off her husband, blowing the thing wide open.”
Chubby moved his chair closer, keeping his voice down. “Avy, I know you don’t like it, but what if you were to, say, take a trip back to watch the murder? You could look for something at the crime scene that might help convict Drake.”
Sebastian balled a fist. “You told him that much, Avy?”
She nodded. “He deserved the truth, so I told him everything.”
Sebastian slapped the tabletop. “I’d love to see you try explaining that to a jury. Sure, you saw him do it because you Gate Walked back to the actual scene. That’ll hold up in a court of law. Not.”
“I never said that I would try such a thing,” said Avy. “It’s too dangerous. I wouldn’t even know how to do it. I couldn’t bear to watch such a thing anyway. Janus wouldn’t approve.”
Chubby looked at her with those steel eyes again. “Then why did he give you the gift in the first place? There must be a reason for it. Maybe you could find what we’re missing here. Isn’t it worth a try?”
No one spoke for a tense moment. The conversation had reached an accusatory level. Some of the patrons in the small archives room showed signs of discomfort, having heard the raised voices.
Sebastian sighed. “He does have a point. We need one of Janus’s guidance seminars right now. He has a cosmic playbook that he goes by. He could tell us what’s allowed in a situation like this.”
“What if I go poof?” Avy looked at Sebastian, her brows raised. “I could screw things up by getting caught in a loop or something. Is that where you want me to end up, Sebastian?”
“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean it that way. Of course I’d want it to be safe for you. Jesus, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”
“You have to admit it’s the best tool you have in your arsenal to get to the truth,” said Chubby.
She pushed back from the table, gathered up her notes and tucked them in her purse. They walked out together. When they passed the front desk, Abigail Folger averted her eyes from the three.
“I need a place where I can think,” said Avy. “Can we go to the park?”
Chubby agreed to take them.
Avy looked out the window on the way, mired in a thick fog of confusion. It seemed she could see everything yet saw nothing. Enjoying a normal ride down the street seemed impossible. There were no sights, sounds, or colors due to a mind reeling from one conundrum to another. It was going to take a miracle to fit all the puzzle pieces together.
She had no permanent residence or job. Her uncle slash father, she felt certain, was a cold-blooded murderer. Her mother couldn’t understand that her own life might be in danger. Drake’s security force would stop at nothing until they destroyed her life or killed her outright. Sebastian had lost everything dear to him. If things got any worse, she felt certain he would be dragged down along with her. Chubby would follow, hanging onto to Sebastian’s cuffs, taking the same trip. To hell.
After arriving at the park, they strolled over a long grassy hill toward the lake. It was already uncomfortably warm from the noonday sun. A crowd had gathered by the water’s edge. Several people tossed breadcrumbs to the ducks and geese that jockeyed to get into position for the offerings. Several children tried to play keep away with a dog that insisted on stealing their Frisbee.
Avy sat on a patch of thick grass. For a minute, it all seemed so normal, a reprieve from the cave of her dark thoughts. It would be nice to relax for a while without a care in the world. Not that she could be that lucky. She thought about what Chubby had suggested a
bout going back. Back to another time and place where nightmares were real. To relive it in the flesh. To do so would require watching the events unfold minute by horrible minute. Avy shivered. She would have to witness a murder, all the while keeping her eyes peeled for evidence. If she did know how to get to that place, maybe it could be stopped. Would that mean stopping her own birth? If there had been no crime there would have been no Janus to set things right. Avy would not have been fathered. It was all so damn confusing.
She gazed up at a puffy cloud that looked like a bearded old man. “Why can’t you ever make things simple?” she asked the face. She looked to either side of her, embarrassed by her outburst. Both men were flat on their backs, eyes closed. Chubby already had a snore in full swing. She lay back, cocked her arms under her head. “Oh, why not?”
###
She yawned. Her face felt tight with an irritable burning sensation. Wincing, she realized she had been asleep. Checking her watch, she found that six hours had passed. The sun was an orange ember in the west—the same sun that had given her a nice little burn. Both men beside her were still asleep, their faces blotchy pink. She had an impulse to wake them but decided against it. “Let ’em rest,” she muttered.
She walked to the water’s edge. There were a few families left in the park. Some couples strolled hand in hand on the lakefront path. The waterfowl had retreated to the center of the lake. She put a hand in the water, bringing a cool palm to her face, making small pats to bring some relief to her burnt skin. It felt good.
Then her nose wrinkled.
A pervasive stench hung heavy in the air. The odor tweaked something in her memory. Sure enough, when she turned around, she saw the transient standing on the lake’s edge not twenty feet from her. He did not wear his blanket over his shoulders like he had before, but stood cloaked in a filthy raincoat that reached to his knees. It seemed more than a coincidence that this man would be in close proximity to her again in such a short amount of time. He looked ridiculous in a family park setting.
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