by V. E. Lemp
Mark opened the door and greeted her with a smile. “Hello, Karen. Please come in.” He looked very much the same, except for the fine web of lines about his eyes and the gray peppering his short brown hair. He was wearing dark-framed glasses now, with thinner lenses that rendered his eyes more visible. The advances of technology. Not surprising. After all, it had been ten years since they’d last met.
The front door opened directly onto a large room that obviously served as both a living room and dining area. There was a stone fireplace on one wall, and Mark directed Karen to one of the oversized armchairs flanking the hearth.
“But not that one,” he said, as she realized the seat of the chair was occupied by a very large, long-haired tabby cat. “I’ll have to move her. She doesn’t respond well to strangers. Come on, Kate, scoot.” The cat opened one eye and looked at him without twitching a muscle.
“She listens well,” Karen said.
“She’s a cat. They do as they please.” Mark scooped up the tabby and sat down, releasing the animal onto his knees. “One of their more endearing qualities.” Kate spun around his lap twice before settling down.
“I see.” Karen sat in the opposite chair. “A free thinker.”
Mark smiled. “Who, me or the cat?”
He was dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans. Karen studied him with her artist’s eye. It was the first time she’d seen him in anything other than a suit. Somehow it rendered him more attractive rather than less.
“Oh, the cat, of course. You still work for the government.”
“I see. A soulless bureaucrat couldn’t possibly be a free thinker?”
“Not exactly what I meant,” Karen said, although it was.
“Fortunately, like the cat, I'm not easily disturbed.” Mark surveyed Karen with a searching gaze. “You look well, Karen.”
“Thanks.” She ran one hand through her hair. “Older, though.”
“Aren’t we all?” Mark leaned back in his chair and absently stroked the cat.
“You have a lovely home.” Might as well recover ground lost by her earlier comment. “It has the proper Craftsman style, but the eclectic modern touches really set it apart. Did your wife handle the decorating, or did you hire a designer?”
“My wife? Oh, you mean Emma. No, Emma never lived here. This is my house, decorative touches and all.”
“Oh, sorry.” Karen was hesitant to ask what had happened to Emma Hallam. She knew only too well the pain of being questioned about someone no longer around.
“No need. Emma’s teaching out on the West Coast. She and I split up years ago. Not long after …” Mark hesitated, as if searching for the best phrasing. “… You went into the hospital. I was preoccupied with the investigation, and Emma didn’t like that. What she did like,” he added, with an ironic smile, “was a certain associate professor of sociology.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“As I said, that was years ago.”
“So now you live here with just a cat?”
“That’s right. And what about you?”
“I live by myself as well. But without the cat.”
“Pity.”
Karen shifted in her seat. Was he referring to her lack of a pet or the fact she lived alone?
“Well, Karen, what is it you want? Something to do with the Morpheus Project, no doubt.”
“Yes. I know it seems strange after all these years. I always tried to forget that time, but recently I’ve become obsessed with the inconsistencies in the story. At least the story I was told. I know I was out of the loop for a while.”
“You mean the story of how Alex died?”
“Yes. There are things that still don’t make sense to me.”
“They don’t make sense to me either. But then, as I told you, the whole Morpheus Project had a smell about it. Something was not right from the start.”
“You always had your suspicions. Did you ever find proof?”
“Not yet, but I’m still looking. I can see by your expression you find it odd for me to be investigating the project after all this time. But the fact is, I’ve never given up my quest for the truth. One thing I do know: what you were told, what I was told, what the whole world was told, can’t be right, no matter how many officials signed off on how many final reports.”
Karen leaned forward in her chair. “What’ve you found, Mark? Anything to do with the accident? With Alex?”
Mark gently lowered the cat to the floor and rose to his feet. He walked to the fireplace and leaned against the mantle, his face turned away. “What do you want to know?”
“Why Ian Vance was there, before the explosion, with that strange dark-eyed, dark-haired man. A man who could’ve been a twin of the odd woman I told you about—Alice, remember? The one who warned me off the Morpheus Project.” Karen frowned, searching her memory. “She was there that day as well. I don’t think I ever told you. She led me to Vance.”
“Then she also led you closer to the explosion.”
“Yes, but I don’t think that was her intention. I can’t explain why, but I’ve always felt she was simply showing me that Vance and that man were there.” Karen sighed. “What I can’t understand is why they were there before the accident, yet no one wrote that in any report. No one would believe me when I mentioned it, either. I also wonder why Ian Vance sent Alex to that building, on that day. That’s what I want to know, for starters.”
Mark turned to face her. There was mixture of anger and pity in his eyes.
“I don’t have all the answers, but I’ve asked the same questions many times, of many people. No one will talk, or at least not enough to confirm any facts. But I can tell you this—I don’t believe Alex’s death was an accident.”
Karen sank into the chair cushions. “What are you saying? You think he was killed? That he was … murdered?”
“Possibly. No, probably. And on my watch.” Passion flared in Mark’s voice. “That’s why I won’t stop until I have all the answers. Until someone’s brought to justice for Alex Wythe’s death. And for what happened to you, Karen. It was one of my projects. It was my responsibility. I knew something was wrong but couldn’t put the pieces together. I should’ve been able to figure it out before anything happened. Before it was too late.”
Karen stared at him, processing this information, which confirmed suspicions that haunted her for years. “Who do you suspect? Vance?”
“Yes, Dr. Ian Vance. I’m sure there were others mixed up in it, but I’m certain he was in charge.” Mark brushed his hand across his forehead, as if to clear his thoughts. “Does any of this make sense to you? Does it fit with what you remember?”
Karen nodded, frowning. “Do you know where Vance is now?”
“Yes. Or at least I know where he works. He and the other two.”
“Rebani and James,” Karen said under her breath.
“All three work for something called Exocorp. Some kind of research and development company. Privately owned, flying under the radar, very low-key. Not on the stock exchange, not listed in the usual business directories. Probably not,” Mark said, shooting Karen a look, “what it pretends to be.”
“You’re talking about some kind of secret company or organization? But what would they be doing there?”
Mark shrugged. “Who knows? I have some level of security clearance and can’t seem to find out much. I suspect it’s one of those places we’re not supposed to know about.”
“You can’t get to him through your contacts?” Karen asked desperately. “I assume you have quite a few. You haven’t been able to talk directly to Vance in all these years?”
“No,” Mark replied shortly. “I’ve actually been warned off several times. Told to back down by my superiors, who obviously have some interest in the matter. What, I don’t know. I do know,” he said, more softly, “Vance was there, in the middle of it, when all the reports were written about the explosion and Alex’s death. He had access to the information and to the people writing
the reports. I believe there was a cover-up, Karen, and I think Ian Vance must have had, must still have, some very powerful friends to pull that off.”
Karen sat in silence for a moment. She could feel Mark’s gaze on her as he waited for her next move.
She scooted forward in her chair. “Before he was killed, Alex was stressed out. He was thin, he wasn’t sleeping well. He seemed to be struggling with something in his mind. He didn’t discuss it with me, he wouldn’t, though he did admit some of his work was classified. Do you think he knew something? Something Vance didn’t want him to talk about? Could Vance have killed him, or had him killed, to keep him quiet?”
“Quite possibly. That’s been my suspicion all along.”
“But what could it have been? Why do you kill someone?”
“Oh, Karen, people have been killed over a paper clip. But I suspect Alex discovered some dirt on Vance, something related to the Morpheus Project. Perhaps Vance was embezzling grant money, or falsifying data, or abusing test subjects, or something equally reprehensible. If Alex decided to talk, to blow the whistle on the project, I could see Vance hatching a plan to stop him.”
“They argued,” Karen said, as the memory rose to the surface. “Remember? On the day he was killed, Alex and Vance had a terrible argument. I’d never seen Alex so angry.”
“Yeah, I remember. It’s one of the reasons I suspected Vance from the beginning.”
“But what can be done after all this time? You said you’ve been looking into this off and on for years. What more can you do? How do we expose the truth?”
Mark raised his eyebrows. “We?”
“Yes, we.” Karen crossed the room to stand before him. “Your theory brings it all together. Alex was murdered, and I’m not going to walk away and forget that. You say you’ll keep trying to uncover the truth. Well, I want to help you, any way I can.”
Mark shook his head. “It could be dangerous. If Vance was willing to kill Alex, he’ll be willing to kill you as well.”
“Or you. But he hasn’t yet.”
“I haven’t truly spooked him, I suppose.” Mark eyed her with interest. “There’s one thing you might be able to do.”
“What? I have the time. My entire summer’s free. I want to do something, Mark, I need to. As much for myself as for anyone else.” Karen couldn’t help but recall Thea’s recent comments.
“Well, there are the Morpheus Project students. Your group, I mean. I’ve always thought one or more of them could’ve known something. I realize it sounds like a long shot. That part of the project was over a year before Alex died. But you never know. Perhaps one of them overheard something, something they didn’t think important at the time. It always pays to pursue every thread, no matter how frayed, in an investigation like this.” He sighed. “But I’ve never been able to talk to them.”
“You’ve kept tabs on them, though, haven’t you?”
“Yes. I know where they are—just as I knew where you were, Karen. Well, all but one. But if I tried to approach anyone, in my position, it would draw too much attention. My superiors would be displeased. They don’t mind me asking a few questions or conducting a little research here and there, but they’d frown upon such hands-on meddling. Especially since, as I’ve been informed on numerous occasions, the books are closed on this case.”
Karen met his steady gaze. “You want me to talk to them.”
“It could be very helpful—or not, but at least we’d have examined all the angles. No one would necessarily question your involvement. Just someone looking up old friends, taking a nostalgia trip, or whatever. It’s a good cover.”
“Cover? Is this spy versus spy? Do I need to buy a trench coat?” Karen felt lighter. The thought of taking some real action to solve the central mystery of her life, after so many years, was liberating.
“Only if it’s raining,” Mark replied with a smile.
“Very well, I’ll talk to them. Maybe you can help me frame some questions that might elicit the best information, though.”
“I can certainly do that.” Mark laid his hand on her arm for a moment. “But don’t call my office again. I’ll give you my cell phone number. My personal phone. I don’t want this to be connected to work. As far as my bosses—or Vance, if he’s still interested—are concerned, we can be friends, reconnecting after losing contact for many years. Just two people getting together to chat over old times.”
“Okay. That’s what I’ll say, if anyone asks.” Karen studied his serious face. “Do you really think Vance or his companions are watching me? After all this time? They’ve never tried to contact me. I did receive a check from an insurance company associated with the project, but that was years ago.”
“I’m certain Ian Vance knows where you live, Karen. If I knew, then he knows. But, as you say, he’s never tried to contact you. Perhaps he doesn’t view you as a threat. Let’s pray that pattern holds.”
“It might not, if we start digging too deep and uncovering his secrets.”
“Hopefully we can expose the truth before he knows what’s going on. Now, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten my manners. You’ve been sitting here all this time, and I haven’t offered you anything to drink. What’ll you have?” Mark called over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen.
“Water is fine. I do have to drive home.”
Mark poked his head around the corner. “No white wine? I remember that’s your preference.”
“Well, maybe one glass. Can’t hurt.” As Karen sat down, she heard Mark moving about the kitchen and the clink of glasses.
“And while we drink we can talk over our plans,” Mark called out after a few minutes. “Just like old friends.”
“Or new ones?”
Mark walked into the living room with the wine. He handed Karen one glass and sat in his chair cradling the other. Kate, appearing out of nowhere, leapt into his lap. “Here’s to new friends, then.”
“And the truth,” Karen said.
“And the truth.” Mark saluted her with his glass.
On the drive home, it began to rain. Karen switched on the wipers and tried to slow her thoughts to match their motion. But all she could hear in their steady rhythm was one word—murdered. Alex was murdered. She wiped away tears with one hand and focused on the road. Alex had been killed, and the people responsible were still walking, talking, learning, and loving. And he—he could do none of those things. They had taken that from Alex, Ian Vance and his allies, just as they’d taken Alex from her.
It took several tries before Karen’s shaking hands could unlock the front door of the condo. How cold and sterile the apartment appeared, especially after the warmth of Mark Hallam’s home. Thea was right, the place needed redecorating. Or perhaps simply decorating, since the condo held the requisite amount of furniture and little more. Alex’s family had taken some of his personal items as mementoes, and Karen had gotten rid of the rest, except for his books and the watercolor of the falls. None of her other paintings hung on the walls. She always claimed she preferred to store her works in the studio. Or, better yet, place them in a gallery where they could be purchased and do her some good. But standing in the barren entry hall of her home, Karen admitted the real reason she’d never hung her own work in the condo—her paintings expressed feelings she’d suppressed in every other aspect of her life. Her subconscious, breaking through. Not something she wanted to look at every day.
Karen dropped her purse on the coffee table and slumped onto the sofa. She absently pulled a piece of paper out of her purse. It was covered with the names and addresses of the Morpheus Project students. Glancing over the list, she mentally calculated the route required to visit her former roommates. After a few minutes, she laid the paper on the table and reached for her cell phone. She started to press the speed dial for Thea’s number and stopped, her finger hovering over the button. It could be dangerous, Mark had said. Karen put down the phone. There was no reason to involve Thea, or Aaron, or the children, in something dangerou
s. She’d tell Thea about the visit with Mark another time, glossing over the details. Thea would realize information was missing, but she could stonewall her friend, at least for a while.
As for danger touching Karen—what did it matter? She’d already decided to expose Vance and his colleagues, whatever the cost. If Mark Hallam could brave such dangers to uncover the truth, then so could she.
Vance had used subterfuge and confusion to keep her in ignorance for far too long. The conversation with Mark had been like a cold shower, waking her from a long, dreamless sleep. All the questions she’d buried rose like skeletons before her. All her suspicions about that terrible day, about how and why Alex had died, crystallized into a determination to discover the truth and tell it to the world. Ian Vance would be foolish to think her easily cowed. He might threaten to kill her. He might even attempt to do so. But that was no deterrent. Karen gazed at the watercolor of the falls. Such threats were weak weapons against someone like her, whose heart had died long ago.
THREE
Since she didn’t plan to spend more than one day in each location, Karen packed lightly for her trip. She debated taking art supplies but decided against it. She wouldn’t have any time for that.
Mark called to make sure she’d received the additional information he’d sent. “And be careful. You don’t know who might be watching.”
Karen assured him she’d be fine. “I doubt Vance dogs my every step. I’m not as important as all that.”
“You never know what these people consider important. Just watch your back. And call me when you arrive at each location.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll file all the paperwork later. In triplicate.”
“Just call me.” There was no trace of humor in Mark’s voice.
When her cell phone rang as she was loading her suitcase into her car, Karen assumed it was Mark checking on her again.
“I said I’d call you,” she answered, without a hello.
