Dr. Wilson nodded. “Let me hear your range.” His fingers quickly ran through warm-up scales.
Chapter Seven
Chad was dressed in time for the eight-thirty limo taking him to breakfast with the New Zealand All Sports executives. From there he would attend the ribbon-cutting ceremony for a new sports shop opening, which, of course, carried his logo products. This afternoon he had box seats with some muckety-muck in the New Zealand government to watch a cricket match. Davis had given him a book of rules on cricket, but he had given up by Chapter Two, which seemed to contradict everything stated in Chapter One.
This evening he would attend an opera with the Prime Minister and his family. He only hoped they didn’t have any daughters to moon over him. As it was he was having trouble keeping Carla from his mind. The last thing he wanted was pretty socialites simpering about him, so he might compare their every action against his country girl.
“Davis. Get me the number of the Lake Taupo YHA.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked you to.”
The TV news channel showed a picture of a woman who made him think of Carla. He pushed the remote until the sound was audible.
“Ms. Simon wrote fictional stories that contained disturbing resemblances to real events. Several of her novels laid serious claims of misconduct against the Temple.” The screen cut from her lovely face to a craggy-looking professor. “This is a great loss, not only to the literary world, but to historians as well. Ms. Simon’s research efforts for her novels outshone some of the best historians of this century. The detail she discovered about the Temple was truly amazing. It is only after several years of independent research that we are determining just how accurate her assertions were. How she discovered these truths, buried so deep for so long, is inconceivable. With her death, we will probably never know.”
The screen returned to a news reporter standing before the crumpled remains of a red Toyota. The camera followed the reporter’s hand as he pointed up the mountain. “Carla Simon lost control of her car on the top of this mountain when taking a sharp curve. The car rolled three hundred feet, twisted into a metal ball, finally bursting into flames on this valley road. The charred remains will be shipped back to the United States for official identification.”
Chad felt ill as he studied the lovely face that once again filled the screen.
“Carla Simon, age thirty-six, was one of the most popular fiction writers of our time. She wrote twenty-three bestselling novels. However, rumors suggested this record was coming to an end. According to friends, she was struggling with her current work. In fact, she had come to New Zealand to get away from the pressure. She planned to raft down the twenty-three-foot waterfall of the Kaituna River. Instead, she took a longer, deadlier fall. Fate, accident or intentional? We may never know.”
Chad stared at the picture. It couldn’t be her! It couldn’t. Yet even as he denied the possibility, he knew it was true. It was Carla with makeup and her hair fixed. It was his country girl.
Davis reentered the room. “That damn woman. I knew she was going to be a problem.”
“What woman?” Chad asked, his mind still in a haze of disbelief.
He slammed down the Star with a front-page picture of Chad and Carla on the plane. The title declared “Chad Likes Them Big and Ugly.” The article went on to quote passengers claiming the two had become quite affectionate during the twelve-hour trip, at first pretending they were strangers but soon giving way to their passion.
“Were you seen talking to her?”
“Yes.”
“You see what happens? You say hello, and the next thing you know, the magazines are ringing wedding bells. The girl will probably sue for palimony.”
“I wish she could,” he whispered.
“Why would you want to be sued for palimony?”
“Because it would mean she was alive.” He picked up the picture and gently touched the grainy shot of her face. “That’s Carla Simon.”
“Are you sure?” Davis asked, staring again at the picture. “It doesn’t look like the picture on TV.”
“She wore no makeup and dressed like a college student so she could leave the plane incognito. She was driving to Lake Taupo. I was thinking about joining her on the river raft. She would have been so surprised.”
“My God, she looks so fat and ugly here.”
“I thought her beautiful,” he replied. “So clean and fresh. No wonder she understood the problems of being famous.”
***
Due to Davis’ persistence, Chad made it through his day’s events. That evening he shared every detail of his time with Carla.
“So she never said she was Carla Simon?”
“No, but it’s her. Same age, going rafting down a twenty-three-foot waterfall. It’s her.”
“Tomorrow you’re scheduled to be a judge for the International Choral Competition at the Chateau Tongariro Hotel in Whakapapa.”
“I can’t,” he said, remembering Carla’s sweet voice as she fell in line with the college students.
“…and after the singing contest is over, you can drive up to Lake Taupo—it’s only an hour away—and see if the girl from the plane is at the YHA.”
Chad nodded. He was certain she wouldn’t be, but going along with Davis was easier than resisting him.
Chapter Eight
Luke Gallagher studied the wreckage and site photos as he walked the sharp turn in the road that Carla Simon’s car hadn’t made. Pointing to the tire marks on the road, he said to the police chief beside him, “Could you ask your photographer to get clear shots of these tracks and those about a hundred yards ahead?”
The police chief gave the order and turned back to the FBI agent. “You think she might have been run off the road?”
Luke chewed his lower lip. It was always a hazy line when cooperating with law-enforcement officials outside his jurisdiction, and this time, he was way out of his jurisdiction. How much to tell and how much to withhold? “It’s a possibility. Ms. Simon’s books were controversial.” He thought about the death threats Simon’s editor had showed him. They were probably cranks, but he’d still have to check them out. He’d also need to investigate the people who had sued her, claiming she had damaged their lives by revealing their private secrets. And he’d have to talk with people at the Temple. Still his most likely suspect was here in New Zealand.
When going through Ms. Simon’s house for leads to those who might have wanted her dead, he’d discovered her latest novel on her computer. He had read it on his way over here. He’d found it a fascinating exposé on the materialistic nature of sports heroes and their corrupt managers. The focus of her research had obviously been Chad Tyler, renamed in her book as Jeremiah Taylor. While she might have altered his name, she had described him and the Cowboys to a tee. There would be no doubt to any reader who the subject of her book was. If this novel was as accurate as her prior ones, then his favorite quarterback was wandering into some very shady deals.
When Luke had received the manifest and discovered Chad Tyler and Carla Simon had sat next to each other on the plane to New Zealand, he moved the fellow up to the top of his suspect list. Had she let slip that he was the focus of her next book, or had he been alerted as her research was collected and joined her on the plane intentionally? Perhaps he’d come planning a last attempt to persuade her not to publish his book? An attempt that failed and led to murder?
Then there was the absence of her research. Luke had gone through her computer files and every nook and cranny of her office, but he’d found no notes or background information for any of her books. Had someone cleaned out her files before his arrival? He’d asked her editor, but the man seemed evasive on the point, claiming he’d never been privy to Ms. Simon’s research techniques.
“But don’t you have to verify the veracity of her claims?”
“God, no! I spend most of my time trying to prove it’s fiction, that any similarity to actual persons or events is purel
y coincidental.”
Luke smiled, realizing his mistake. Fiction. She called her works fiction, despite their accuracy and factual nature. He remembered the Temple’s outrage when her first book on Joseph J. Smith had come out. They’d decried the book as fanciful lies. Yet, over time, historians had proven her claims were true. Once pointed in the right direction, scholars found the warrants for his arrest buried within the archives of the New York City government that proved Joseph Smith had a very shady past. But the question no one could answer was how had Ms. Simon known where to point?
“I’ll get those photos to you this evening. Need anything else?” the police chief asked.
“No, thanks,” Luke replied. He should have a positive ID on the remains by tomorrow evening, which left him time on his hands. Time to rattle Chad Tyler’s cage a bit.
***
It was a beautiful day in Miami, but Gary Eder didn’t notice. He stared at the front cover of the Star tabloid and a most disturbing conclusion entered his mind. Beside the tabloid laid the manifest for Carla Simon’s flight. She’d been in seat 2A. Chad Tyler had been in 2B. Therefore, one must assume the woman in the grainy shot on the front page of the tabloid was her. But she wasn’t the woman he’d driven off the cliff.
He hadn’t notified the Temple of his error, nor did he intend to do so. He would return and set it right. He studied the grainy picture of the woman. She looked nothing like the photo on her dust jacket. She looked like one of the college students who had been on the plane. He couldn’t fault himself for having missed her—they should have sent him better photos—but that changed nothing. He had a perfect record, and he certainly wasn’t going to see it ruined by the likes of her.
He reached for the phone and booked a seat on the next flight to New Zealand.
Chapter Nine
The opera turned out to be more of an event than Chad had anticipated. There was socializing before, during both intermissions, and then afterward they were to return to the Prime Minister’s mansion. Chad managed to escape the last event by claiming jet lag.
It was only ten p.m. when he returned to his hotel, but it felt like two in the morning.
As he put the key in the door, a man who had followed him up in the elevator spoke. “Mr. Tyler, my name is Luke Gallagher—”
“It’s late and I’m tired. Talk to my assistant tomorrow,” Chad cut him off, being as polite yet firm as possible. Fans had no sense of reasonableness.
The man pushed a badge in his face. “I’m with the FBI, and it would be better if we talk now.”
Chad stared in confusion at the badge. Why would the FBI want to talk to him? “Come in,” he stammered, opening the door. “I’m sorry. I thought you were a fan.”
“You get a lot of fans showing up at your door at ten o’clock at night?”
“At home I get fans showing up in my pool, buck naked, in the middle of the night.” Chad took off his jacket and bow tie and tossed them onto a chair. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything? I’ve got Coke, Diet Coke…Sprite.”
“I’m fine.”
“So what does the FBI want to talk to me about?” Chad asked, sitting down across from Agent Gallagher.
“Carla Simon.”
Chad’s heart cringed at the mention of her name. How could he feel so great a loss from such a short time? “What about her?”
“How well did you know her?”
Chad smiled sadly, shaking his head. “That’s a hard one to answer. ‘Hardly at all’ and ‘better than most’. She sat beside me on the flight over here.” He smiled at the memory. “I didn’t know who she was, and she didn’t recognize me. It was a rare moment for both of us.”
“She didn’t know who you were?”
“No. She thought I looked familiar, but I gather she wasn’t much of a fan of football.”
***
Having just read her unfinished novel, Luke had to agree that Carla had been no fan of football, but there was no way she hadn’t known who Chad Tyler was, so either he was lying or she’d been playing a deception. “And you didn’t recognize her either?”
“No. She never told me her last name, and changed the topic every time I asked what she did for a living.”
“But surely you’ve seen her either on TV or the dust jackets of her books?”
“I have, but she was in disguise: No makeup, hair in a ponytail, baseball cap. She looked like a college student. In fact, I was a little concerned that she was younger than she looked, especially when she had the audacity to tell me she was two years my senior.”
“So you sensed she was lying to you?”
“Not lying, just careful about what she said. You learn to be that way. Careful—paranoid—because everything you do and say ends up in the tabloids.”
“So you thought she was setting you up for a gossip rag?”
Chad looked shocked by the question. “Actually, at first, I did. So we spent the first several hours ignoring each other.”
“Did you fear a story in the tabloid or a book about yourself?” Luke pressed.
“A book?” He seemed puzzled by the question. “Oh, you mean because she’s a writer. You have to remember— I didn’t know who she was.”
“You seem to know now. When did this enlightenment occur?”
Chad frowned. “When I saw the report of her death on TV. Thirty-six years old, planning a trip down a twenty-three-foot waterfall, her first name Carla. There were too many coincidences for me not to make the connection.”
“Yet you couldn’t recognize her?”
Chad handed the tabloid to the agent. “She really looks quite different without makeup. Could you recognize her? It’s obvious that the Star has no clue who she was, or the caption would have read something very different.”
Luke studied the grainy shot of the young girl, her eyes shaded by the baseball cap. She really did look like a young college student. He handed the picture back to Chad. “It must have been a shock when you learned who she was?”
Chad stared at the photo. “It was.”
“The woman who was about to expose your life, sitting beside you for all those hours. Tell me, did she get any additional information for her book?”
Chad looked up in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Carla’s current novel. It’s about you.”
The words seem to strike Chad hard. “No,” he whispered.
“Starts with a rather bleak childhood and stops with you involved in some very shady deals. Her source must have dried up because six weeks ago she stopped writing. Next thing you know, she’s on a plane next to you. Was she trying to get enough information to finish the book?” Luke leaned back. “Tell me, was she clumsy in her attempt, or did you already know about her book? Maybe you’d already stopped whoever was feeding her the information the month before…”
“I can’t believe this. She didn’t know who I was.”
Luke snorted his disbelief. “Oh, she knew who you were. She knew all your secrets. Secrets that no one would ever want to be revealed. Your sister’s rape by your cousin, her suicide attempts. Your mother’s drinking problem caused by your father’s frequent infidelities. Your gay roommate in college, who crawled into your bed one night when you had both drunk too much.”
***
Chad stared at the agent in shock as he felt his world crumble beneath him. My God! How could she have known those things? They’d been buried so deep within the family shame that no one, not even family members, spoke of them. He forced himself to breathe through the pain that gripped his heart. He’d thought her the woman of his dreams, but instead, she’d been his worst nightmare.
“May I see this book?” he finally asked.
“Sorry, it could be key evidence in your murder trial.”
Chad looked up, reeling from yet another blow. “You think I killed her?”
“She was going to destroy your life. What choice did you have?”
“You’ve got the wrong guy!”
&
nbsp; “I haven’t read you your Miranda rights,” Luke pointed out. “You can safely tell me the truth.”
“I didn’t kill her,” he insisted. “I didn’t even know about the book. Surely there must be other suspects besides me.”
“A few hundred, but you make the top. You have the best motive. You might have prevented her from revealing your secrets, whereas everyone else could only act on revenge since their secrets have already been exposed. Secondly, you and your assistant, Davis Grimes, are the only two we’ve found in New Zealand.”
“Well, it wasn’t me, nor did I hire someone to do it. In fact, I thought I might have fallen in love with her.”
“Betrayal is a strong motivator…”
“But I didn’t know her intent until now. I still can’t believe… She seemed so real, so sweet.”
“Do you remember where you were the night you arrived?”
“We came straight to the hotel.”
“Any visitors after you checked in?”
“No. I sent Davis away almost immediately. He was annoying me.”
“How so?”
“He had to fly coach, so he was in a pissed-off mood.”
“According to the counter attendant at San Diego, he was out of sorts before he ever got on the plane.”
“So?”
“I can’t overlook the possibility that he knew about the book.”
Chad shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe Davis would stick his neck out for anyone, much less kill someone to hide my dirty laundry.”
“I wasn’t thinking of your dirty laundry. If we can verify the accusations against your new assistant, he’ll be spending time in jail.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Money laundering, bribery, embezzlement—kid’s been busy.”
“How busy could he have been? He’s only been my assistant for nine weeks!”
“He has a rather long history that occurred before he became your assistant.”
“Wait! Are we discussing known facts or Ms. Simon’s book? She wrote fiction, you know.”
Public Secrets (Artificial Intelligence Book 1) Page 4
