“Odd fiction, when it’s all factual. Davis Grimes, alias Allen Cole, has an FBI file that would make his grandmother disavow him. You should have been a little more careful about who you hired.”
“And Carla knew his history?”
“Her character’s name is Allen Cole. His brother was Jason Womack, your prior assistant.”
“Is that true?” Chad asked in a panic. He had trusted Jason completely, even giving the man power-of-attorney in contractual matters.
“Took us a while to verify it. They were adopted out to different parents, but they evidently kept in touch throughout their lives.”
Chad looked up at Luke. “Do I need my lawyer?”
“For murdering Carla Simon?”
“For whatever is in the book?” Chad clarified.
Luke shrugged. “I’d be more concerned about the murder charge myself.”
“But I know I didn’t murder her, so I doubt you can prove otherwise.”
Luke stood. “For your sake, I hope you’re right. I would ask that you not mention this to your assistant. Unlike you, there’s a strong chance he’ll run if he realizes we suspect him.”
“Because of these other crimes, revealed in the book?”
Luke gave a slight nod of assent.
“Then why don’t you arrest him now?”
“We could, but extradition is a pain in the butt. We’d much prefer if you’d send him back to the States.”
“If you expect my cooperation, then I’ve got to read the book and your FBI file.”
“We can’t let you see the FBI file; that’s restricted. But the book covers everything we have and more.”
“You’ll let me read it, then?”
Luke reached into his briefcase and pulled out the manuscript, laying it on the coffee table. “You can read it now, in my presence, if you want.”
Chad would have preferred to read it in private, but he knew that alternative wasn’t being offered. The bastard no doubt wanted to study his expressions as he read the damnable thing. Fine. Let him watch, like a carrion vulture, as the woman he’d thought he loved dissected his life for all to feast upon.
***
Chad finished the ninety pages of Carla’s book near midnight. After returning it to the detective, he saw the fellow out and went to bed, where he stared at the ceiling, unable to come to terms with his feelings. He felt raped, violated by her words. She’d not only had the facts down cold, but the emotions, the actual words said at the time. How could she have uncovered that?
It didn’t seem possible. He had forgotten many of the events until he’d read her words, and then the memories flooded back. Just as she’d written them—same words, same actions. Even more incredible than how she could have known such details of his life was how the gentle woman he had met on the plane could be so cruel as to share his shame with the world. He wasn’t surprised there were hundreds of suspects for her murder. If she were here now, he’d be tempted to strangle her pretty little neck.
And you thought her wonderful, his mind taunted his heart. You thought her the woman of your dreams. Chad squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the tears that threatened to fall, tears of betrayal and loss. Never again would he let a woman get so close. Never again.
***
Where is she? Gary Eder wondered. Why hadn’t she come forward when her death had been announced? He leaned back in the plush first-class recliner and thought of nothing else for the entire flight. Was she somewhere with no TVs, or did she know that she was being pursued? The Temple assured him she did not, but her actions were too clever to be accidental. She’s running. He smiled at the thought. It only made the hunt more interesting.
Chapter Ten
Morning came all too soon, and being civil to Davis was nearly impossible now that Chad knew the truth about the man. If Carla’s novel was accurate, Davis had chosen him, not vice versa. He had even choreographed Jason’s departure. When read from the novel’s perspective, Chad looked like a puppet, without any will or sense of his own. It shamed him almost as much as the revelations about his family life. Even the name she had given him, Jeremiah, was his middle name. His grandmother always called him Jeremiah, never having cared for Chad, since that was his abusive father’s name.
“You’re quiet this morning,” Davis said as he drove them to Whakapapa for the International Choral Festival.
“I’m really not in the mood for listening to hours of choral music, much less judging who’s best. Why the hell am I doing this?”
“They needed an international celebrity. Someone they could point to and say, “See? Even football players like choral music.”
“That’s a laugh,” he muttered.
“It’s only four hours,” Davis consoled, glancing sideways at his boss. “Why is the death of that writer bothering you so much?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Chad replied, picking up a book and pretending to read.
Davis shrugged and turned his attention to the road.
***
Gary Eder wasted no time at the airport. He had replayed his memory of all the faces that had left the plane and was certain she had left with the choral group. He rented a car and headed for Whakapapa He would pick up her trail at the International Choral Festival.
***
When Chad arrived, an official greeted him and escorted him to the tables set up at the front of the auditorium.
“We were worried you weren’t going to show,” the man admitted.
Chad glanced at his watch. “When does it start?”
“In five minutes.”
“Sorry, my assistant had the time wrong.”
“No worries. All’s right now,” the man assured him.
Chad wished that were true.
After the third choral group had left the stage, Chad realized he couldn’t differentiate between one group and another, thus, he gave everyone a 9.9 so his vote would not insult any group yet would not sway the final ballot in any particular direction. Let the people who knew something about music choose the winner. By the time the Columbia Choral Singers entered the stage, representing the U.S., he was nearly comatose. Their first song jarred him awake. They had sung it when Carla had joined them on the plane. Again he remembered her pretty voice and sweet smile.
It was impossible to reconcile his memories with her cruel words. He studied the faces of the women, trying to find the girls she had joined up with. She’d looked so much like them.
He gasped as he located a familiar face. She was there, in the third row—it was her! It was everything he could do not to jump up and scream her name. She wasn’t dead. She was alive and singing like a sweet little angel in the third row. Jesus Christ! Fury suddenly raged through him. Was this some publicity stunt on her part to increase the ratings of her new book? To get the police to arrest him for her murder, to verify that everything in the book was true, then to pop up and say, “Here I am, alive and well—now come buy my book that’s been verified by the FBI. Read all the sordid details about Chad Tyler and the scum he gathers about him.”
***
He couldn’t leave to find her until after the last group sang. The swarming crowds made his task impossible. At least three groups had black robes with red trim, so finding her in the crowd was very unlikely. He knew better than anyone how easily she blended in. Instead, he made his way to the buses. There were only three. His chances of finding her there were much better.
His presence in the parking lot brought more attention than he would have wished. Within seconds, young people mobbed him with requests to sign their programs. As one of the girls pushed her way to the front, he recognized her as the singer who had been standing next to Carla. “You know Carla, don’t you?” he asked hopefully.
The girl beamed in response. “You know Carla? She’s my roommate!”
“I came out here to find her. Do you know where she might be?”
The girl’s grimace forewarned him that her news wasn’t going to be good.
“She’s not here. She caught a ride with a local into town.”
“When do you expect to see her again?” he asked as he continued signing other programs.
“Next semester.”
“What?”
“I’m supposed to see her at school next semester. But that doesn’t start for three weeks. We’re going back tomorrow, but since she didn’t actually come with us, she’s going down a twenty-three-foot waterfall somewhere. Just as soon as she gets more money, that is. Somebody stole her credit card, so she had to get a new one. Do you really know Carla?” she asked in amazement.
“Yeah, as well as anyone does. Still got her computer with her?”
“Oh, yeah. She takes that thing everywhere. She made one of the chaperones personally hold it while she was on stage. She refused to leave it with our stuff on the bus, afraid someone might break in and steal it. When your wallet gets stolen, it’s only natural you get paranoid.”
“Did she tell you what she does for a living?”
Claire scrunched up her face. “She’s a student. She studies computer programming.” Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you knew her.”
Chad gave his most charming smile. “I do. But she wouldn’t tell me what she did for a living. I was just curious what she’d told you.”
“Oh, because she was in first class, you thought she worked.” Claire shook her head. “She got upgraded using her dad’s frequent flyer miles. She’s a college student, like me.”
“What’s her last name?”
“You don’t know her!” Claire exclaimed.
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Then I’m not telling you either.”
“Come on, you’ll be my friend for life,” he cajoled.
“Carrington,” Claire replied.
“Carrington,” he repeated, now wondering if he had been wrong about Carla’s identity. “Have you known her for long?”
“A bit. Want to know if she has a boyfriend?” she asked coyly.
“I bet she does,” Chad replied, now thoroughly confused. Was it possible the girl who’d sat beside him was nothing more than the sweet charmer he had thought?
“Maybe. I heard her mumbling a name in her sleep. I think it started with a C.”
Chad reached into his pocket and pulled out a card. “If you hear from her, would you give her my number?”
Claire took the card and held it to her heart. “Sure.”
“Don’t share that with anyone else.”
“I’ll guard it with my life,” Claire assured him.
“Thanks.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. He then raised his hand out to the crowd. “I have to go now, but you were all great, and it was my pleasure to hear you sing. Keep up the good work!” With that, he broke into a jog and slid in beside Davis, who had the car running.
“Nice touch. I would have suggested it myself, but you didn’t seem to be in the mood for pressing the flesh this morning.”
Chad rapped his fingers on the paneling of the door. “The music cheered me up. In fact, I feel much better.”
“Good,” Davis replied. “Our flight’s at nine. We should still be able to make it.”
“I think I’ll stay here for a while. Take a short vacation. But you go on back. I promise not to do any work without you.”
Davis frowned. “You’re just going to take a vacation?”
“Yeah. While I was listening to that music, thinking about Carla, it occurred to me how short life is. I flew all the way down here—I should, at least, enjoy some of the sights.”
“Then we’ll see the sights,” Davis sighed.
“No offense, Davis, but you’re not invited. I have enough problems with rumors that I’m gay. The last thing I need is to have shots of you and me on vacation together. Go back to the States and clear my calendar for the next three weeks.”
“I need your power of attorney if you want to stay down here.”
“Nothing is coming up that’s so urgent it can’t wait three weeks. Stop fretting.” Chad replied, knowing there was no way in hell he’d ever give the scumbag his power of attorney.
***
Luke Gallagher stared at the phone in disbelief as he listened to Tom declare he’d just been promoted. How was that possible? Tom wasn’t half the agent he was. Sick of the fool’s gloating, he ended the message. Less than a minute later, the phone rang. He thought perhaps it was Tom calling back to say “April fools”.
When he answered, it wasn’t Tom, but Chad Tyler.
“I just saw Davis off on the plane,” Chad informed him.
“But not yourself.”
“I thought I’d stay a bit longer down here. Assuming you have no problem with that?”
“No. We’ve kicked you way down to the bottom of the list of suspects. Avoiding the press right now might be prudent,” Luke admitted. Since the DNA had come back, he didn’t know for certain who had died in that car accident, but it wasn’t Carla. The woman had used Carla’s credit card and driver’s license to rent the car, but the DNA didn’t match Carla’s. Someone else might have mistaken her for the novelist and murdered her, but not Chad Tyler. He had just spent the last twelve hours with the real woman. He knew what she looked like. “I would like a number so I can contact you if necessary.”
Chad gave him his cell phone number and promised to let Luke know when he returned to the States.
Luke hung up the phone. He released a heavy sigh and frowned. If the dead woman wasn’t Carla, where the hell was the real novelist? If this was some stupid publicity stunt to sell more books, he was going to have charges filed against both her and her publisher.
The phone rang again. He was almost afraid to pick it up.
“It’s Tom. We may have a lead. The credit card company received a call from Carla Simon yesterday claiming her card was lost. They FedExed a new card to the Bank of New Zealand in Taupo.”
“Great. Has anyone picked it up?”
“Don’t know. I figured I’d save the taxpayers a long-distance phone call and let you handle it since you’re still there.” Luke knew Tom envied his assignment, but not as much as Luke resented the fool’s promotion.
“I’ll get right on it,” Luke promised. “Oh, Chad Tyler just called. Davis is on the evening flight out. He should be arriving in San Diego tomorrow. I’ll let you handle that one since you’re stuck in the office.”
***
The festival was over when Gary Eder arrived, but it was easy enough to discover which rooms the U.S. choral group occupied. With journalist credentials hanging around his neck, he rode the elevator to their floor and began to interview the students in the rec room, all the time searching for Carla. By showing the picture of Carla, he was directed to Claire.
“Hi. Ralph Calistri. Reporter for the New York Times. Somebody said this girl’s your roommate.” He held out the tabloid picture.
“So?” the young woman replied noncommittally.
“I’d like to talk to her.”
“Can’t help you,” Claire replied, and started to walk away. She’d barely left the rec room when he slammed her against the wall, twisting her arm behind her back.
“You’re hurting me!” she cried.
“Where can I find your friend?”
“I don’t know.” She screamed as he twisted her arm harder. “I really don’t know. She left after the performance.”
“How’d she leave?”
“With some boy—he gave her a ride into town.”
“What was his name?”
“I don’t know. He was a local kid. I don’t know what his name was.”
“Did she give you a number, a name?”
“No.” Then as he twisted harder, she cried louder. “No!”
“If I discover you’ve lied to me…”
“I haven’t, I swear. She’s gone.”
“Let’s take a little walk to your room, shall we?”
“Please, no,” she begged.
“Walk!” He pushed her down
the hall.
They were only a few feet from her door when the voice of Dr. Wilson brought her to a halt.
“Claire, one moment, please,” Dr. Wilson commanded.
The man released her arm and turned to greet the director. “Ralph Calistri, reporter for the New York Times.”
“Sam Wilson.”
“Of course, the director of this fine group.”
“Yes,” Wilson replied, his frown never wavering. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Calistri?”
“Well, yes. I was hoping to speak with this young lady.” He handed Wilson the picture of Carla.
Upon studying the picture, he handed it back. “She left right after the concert.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“No. Nor would I tell you if I did.”
“I don’t mean any harm, Dr. Wilson.”
“Perhaps not, but I don’t want you around any of my students. Do you understand?”
Suddenly, a security guard joined them. “Everything okay here, Dr. Wilson?”
“No. Could you escort this gentleman off the grounds? He’s annoying my female students.”
Ralph Calistri didn’t argue, but he also didn’t go far.
He didn’t believe them. The woman was in that room, he was sure of it. Well, they couldn’t keep her in there forever.
Chapter Eleven
Luke was at the bank when it opened the next morning. After making a few calls to the police chief to verify the agent’s credentials, the manager of the Bank of New Zealand was most obliging. “I remember her. She came in yesterday afternoon, provided a passport as her ID. She asked me to charge a thousand dollars to her card and then she left.”
“Did you happen to see how she left? By car, by foot…”
“With a young man, by car.”
“A young man. Could you describe him?”
“Not really, but he’s probably on video. He came in.”
“I’d like a copy of the video if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” The manager thumped his fingers on the desk.
“Something wrong?”
“If I had only watched TV the night before, I wouldn’t have given her the card. But she did resemble the passport picture. She wasn’t nearly as pretty, but the facial structure was similar enough for me to assume it was the lack of makeup and hairstyle. Had I realized that the real Carla Simon was dead, I would have called the police immediately.”
Public Secrets (Artificial Intelligence Book 1) Page 5
