Second Life (Will Finch Mystery Thriller Series Book 4)

by D. F. Bailey

  When he finished his research he began to write the profile of Jayne Waterston. He decided to write a first-person, I-was-there piece. He began with the moment when he sat in her chair at her table in Klutch, less than a day after she’d been poisoned. Next he cut back to the telephone conversation he’d had with her. He suggested the possibility of collaborating on a story about Kali Rood. How she’d wanted a day—her last day, as it happened—to consider his offer to write as a team and share the by-line. He went on to describe her apartment on Seventy-third, the little table where she wrote overlooking the street where the bronze Cadillac stood parked at the curb in front of the Bohemian National Hall. Then he offered a glimpse into the moment that for some reason, as yet unknown, she’d photographed the Caddy’s license plate. It was the last picture she’d taken before she walked up to Klutch for her last cup of cappuccino.

  Finch wrote quickly, and as he worked he thought of Jayne’s twin brother. He felt an urge to protect Simon and didn’t mention him by name—or reveal that Jayne had any siblings or parents. The story was tightly focussed on her last day—and what must have transpired during her final hour. When he considered this, a title came to him, which he typed at the top of the page and set in uppercase: “WALK THE LAST HOUR IN HER SHOES.”

  Five minutes later the boarding announcement for the flight to Paris sounded. He decided to email the unedited draft to Jeanne Fix, the web master at the eXpress. He asked her to forward the copy to Fiona and added a note to Fiona: Sorry, rough draft: fix any typos and fill any holes you find.

  With the job done, he let down his guard and felt a tug of exhaustion ebb through him. If he was lucky he could sleep through the flight. And if he couldn’t sleep then he’d let himself slip into a long fantasy about Eve. A fantasy about loving her so long and hard that all her doubts about his love and affections would be forgotten.

  ※ — SIXTEEN — ※

  FROM THE MOMENT she’d arrived in New York City Kali Rood knew that she wanted to establish her foundation here. In 1993, the year following her graduation from university, she’d taken the train up to New York. After it pulled beside the platform in Grand Central Station, she walked into the main concourse, marveling at the marble walls and tiled floors, the arched ceiling, the light illuminating the broad space through the rooftop half-circle glass windows. When she dragged her suitcase onto Forty-second Street she drank in the city in one gulp. Everything sprawled before her. Here was the intersection of ambition, wealth, homelessness, dread, sex, and a million other obsessions and prohibitions—all of them bartered and traded, sold, stolen or ransomed—for more of the same.

  Or redeemed by the salvation she offered.

  She knew that in New York she could turn the spiritual void into something Reverend Jim Jones had barely glimpsed. Had he even sensed it? Did he really understand the great power that death offered to those who got away—and lived a second life? The door that death opened for survivors like her and Deacon.

  How different she was from the masses. The fears that obsessed them. The unrelieved anxiety that squeezed the feeble and lame. The loneliness they endured. Yes, she understood all this and knew that inside the gates of this great satanic city she could build her empire.

  For over twenty years she had done just that. From where she now sat in the corner office of her tower she occasionally looked down the avenue toward Grand Central Station and thought of the day of her arrival. She’d never been naïve. Never innocent. Perhaps that was the one childhood quality that Jim Jones had stolen from her. But it was a gift in disguise. She came to New York with nothing but righteous belief, intelligence and iron determination. And now she’d launched a new project. A program to remake the world based on the vision that came to her after her diagnosis. She understood that the natural order moved forward in exactly this way. From disease comes the cure. From death, salvation.

  Someone had to make it happen and she decided that no one other than Kali Rood could achieve what had to be done. She called it Revelation Now.

  ※

  When the agents appeared at her office door, Kali Rood betrayed no surprise. She glanced up from her laptop and with a look of expectation. Jerome Bennes, her receptionist, held a hand to his chest, a docile gesture to excuse his abrupt interruption, and took a step through the doorway.

  “Pardon me, Ms. Rood, these are FBI Agents John Vickers and Calinda Cruz. They insist on seeing you. I vetted them by calling the FBI regional office.” He shrugged as if he couldn’t do more to dissuade them. “It all seems legitimate, ma’am.”

  Cruz and Vickers stepped into the room and with a tip of her head Cruz dismissed Bennes from the room. When he departed, she closed the door. She stood next to Vickers and glanced at him. Kali recognized the look they shared, an air of scorn. As if on cue, they settled into the black leather chairs facing her.

  “Please, make yourselves comfortable.” Her voice prickled with irony. “However, I’m quite busy. If it’s possible, I’d prefer it if you’d make an appointment for another time.”

  Agent Cruz gave her an icy stare. “We could do that. In which case, the appointment will be ten minutes from now in an FBI interview room down on Federal Plaza.” She paused. “I hope that won’t be necessary. But you decide.”

  A moment of silence passed between them. Kali knew the agents were used to getting their way. To obstruct them now could only strengthen their hand. She nodded, closed her laptop and pushed it to the side of her desk. Then she paused to tap two buttons on her desk phone and turned her attention to the two agents.

  “All right. For the moment I’m prepared to do it your way.”

  “Good. I have to advise you that we are taping our conversation.” Cruz waved her phone in the air, set it on the polished desk, clicked the record icon and announced the date, the time and the other legal protocols required for a formal interview.

  “And what exactly do we need to discuss?”

  “We need you to examine a video recording. We’re trying to identify someone who is of interest to us.”

  Kali leaned forward without breaking eye contact with Cruz. “Of interest? Why do you assume that I know anyone of interest to the FBI?”

  Cruz ignored the question and pulled her iPad from her bag and set it on the desk. She cued up the video and adjusted the tablet so that the three of them could see it clearly.

  “Watch this,” she said and tapped the screen with her index finger. The CCTV clip from the San Francisco City Hall began to play.

  When the video ended Kali took a moment to consider how to respond. She looked at Vickers, then settled her attention on Cruz. “Sorry. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

  “No?” Vickers tipped his head with a look of doubt and leaned forward. “Have a second look, Ms. Rood. Focus on the third man.”

  Cruz tapped the iPad again and the video replayed the entire scene. When Jacob Bell emerged from the washroom, Vickers paused the clip, drew two fingers across frame until the expanded image of Bell’s face staring up into the camera filled the screen. Vickers bore an expectant look. “Recognize him now?”

  Kali smiled with a hint of contempt. Perhaps it was time to toss them a bone.

  “Maybe.” She paused. “Yes, now that you’ve enlarged the image. I think that’s Jacob Bell.”

  “Jacob Bell.” Cruz arched her eyebrows. “And how exactly do you know him?”

  Kali sat back in the chair and set her arms on the armrest. Her lips dipped at the corners of her mouth and she glanced away with a dismissive shrug. “I hired him two or three weeks ago when I was in San Francisco on business.”

  “Does he still work for you or your foundation?”

  “No. I fired him when he made some inappropriate comments.”

  Vickers leaned forward. “What kind of comments?”

  “The kind that I will not tolerate.” Kali narrowed her eyes. “Look, I think someone has misled you. I have no idea what you want or where this was recorded. Now please, I have work t
o do and—”

  “Misled us? Who do you think misled us, Ms. Cruz?”

  Kali let out a light chuckle. “Isn’t that your job? It could be anyone who duped you into thinking that I’m responsible for whatever Jacob Bell has done. Anyone who believes the foundation is engaged in a misdirected cause. And believe me, there are thousands of them. It could be a political operative, a member of the press, some socialist sympathizer. You tell me.”

  Cruz nodded her head as if she grasped the possibilities—as if she herself had been duped a hundred times before—but in this case she had considerable assurance. “We have a respected authority who claims he saw this man working as your assistant in San Francisco during your visit to debate Martin Fast.”

  “As I said, he was working for me. Then I fired him. End of story.” Kali rose from her chair with her hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. Then she turned away, walked over to the window and swung back to the two agents. “And who, exactly, is your so-called authority?”

  Vickers cut in again. “Ms. Rood, are you aware that lying to an FBI officer is a federal offense?”

  “I am.” She shrugged off the accusation. “But I have to say I’m surprised you’re bringing that up. And let me add that I’m pleased you’re recording our conversation. Just as I am”—she pointed to the red light glowing on her desk phone— “because I’m also aware of the federal laws about police harassment and intimidation. Now, for third time, I am very busy. If you want to speak to me again, make an appointment through my lawyer, Raymond Busman. Now leave.”

  “All right. You can count on it.” Cruz set her jaw and slipped the iPad into her bag. As she rose from her chair she clenched her phone in her fist and glanced at Vickers with a look that said, we’re not done here.

  After the agents left her office Kali realized that she would have to accelerate the pace of her program. Everything would have to go faster now. Move forward before her opponents could assess their predicament and realize how lost they already were.

  She turned back to her desk and pressed a series of keys on her telephone to save and store the recording she had of the two FBI agents. Then she touched the intercom button on her phone. Jeremy Bennes responded within seconds.

  “Yes, Ms. Rood?”

  “Jeremy, use a secure channel to reach Jacob Bell in California.”

  “Do you want video or voice only?”

  “Just his voice.” She knew the sound of her voice alone would be more assuring than a video link. The human voice had none of the distractions that come with body language and facial expression. Nothing exceeded the intimacy of the spoken word to a solitary mind.

  “Of course, ma’am. And your code?”

  “Tell him Revelation eight, verse seven.”

  ※

  With the phone pressed to her ear, Kali swiveled her chair toward the windows overlooking the city. When she allowed herself to relax, the view provided a soothing, almost hypnotic effect. More than any other tower in midtown Manhattan, she admired the Chrysler Building, an art deco masterpiece designed by William Van Alen. With its pointed spire set atop seventy-seven stories it appeared to puncture the sky. If you loved the world, this world, then you loved Manhattan. And if you loved the next world, the one that would follow, then you learned to despise Manhattan. No matter how magnificent they might be, she knew that one day all the towers of man would fall. The only wisdom to be drawn from this inevitability was complete acceptance. As Nietzsche said, Amor Fati. Love your fate.

  It was a test, she knew. To love the disease that held an unrelenting grip on her life. Last year she’d been diagnosed with multiple myeloma and told it was incurable. The oncologist prescribed a series of chemo treatments and after that, “Well,” he’d said, “let’s wait and see.” She never saw him again. She would deal with her disease with healing prayer. That and a rising dosage of pain medication.

  “Sorry for the holdup, but I have Jacob Bell on the line now, ma’am.” As always Jeremey Bennes spoke in a contrite voice. She liked his calm, unruffled demeanor. Over the past two years he hadn’t presented a moment of drama.

  The delayed connection to Jacob Bell didn’t surprise her. Over the last twenty-four hours Jacob would be shaken to the core as he absorbed the implications of the video that had been released for the world to see. His face, unmistakeable, staring into the overhead camera as he exited the washroom of the City Hall. Simply stated, he’d made an error. Consequently, a price must be paid.

  Despite the wait, she knew that he would take her call and accept everything the she had arranged for him. Like all the members of her inner circle, she’d prepared the path that led Jacob forward. Once a month she spent an hour with each devotee, a private session that she called “personal revelations.” Dozens of them opened their hearts to her, poured out their pain, confessed their failings and sins. No matter how depraved—or inane—their crimes, she embraced their suffering, cleansed their broken spirits and bound each one to her. They found redemption and she became their savior.

  Kali shifted the phone to her right ear and when she heard Jacob’s line connect, she swiveled around in her chair to face the office door. She wanted to ensure that it was closed. It was.

  “Jacob. How are you feeling?”

  “Shaken, Ms. Rood. I have to confess that. I had no idea that a camera was above the door in City Hall.” He released an exasperated sigh. “Or that the men who mugged me would tie me to Martin Fast’s death.”

  “Of course not. An innocent mistake,” she said in a near whisper, as if saying these words under her breath could almost erase the harm Jacob had caused.

  “But a mistake, nonetheless,” he replied.

  “Yes. You’re right.” When Kali heard this admission, she knew she had to seize the opportunity. It would be a huge error to relieve him of the guilt he now accepted as his own.

  “And have you prepared yourself, Jacob?”

  She could hear his breathing, and his voice emerged in a near whimper. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. This is a time that requires strength. Strength from all of us. We all entered this pact knowing that one by one we would cross over. The only surprise is that you have been chosen to lead us as we take our final steps forward. Did you expect that?”

  “No.” A breathy chuckle escaped his mouth. “No, I didn’t expect that at all.”

  “Well, you’ve been blessed with an extra honor now, haven’t you?”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “Well you should. Now is the time to embrace it, Jacob. Let me hear you say it. Say, I have the honor.”

  A silence filled the line and just as Kali was about to repeat herself, she heard Jacob’s voice.

  “I have … I have the honor.”

  “And the honor is mine,” she added. “Say it, Jacob.”

  “And the honor is mine.” His voice held steady and carried a measure of certainty.

  “Now do you have the code?” She waited a moment. “Revelation eight, verse seven.”

  “Yes.”

  “Repeat if for me.”

  “ ‘The first angel sounded,’ ” he recited, “ ‘and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood … and they were cast upon the earth.’ ”

  “And do you understand it? Understand that this promise will carry you to the other side.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I do,” he whispered.

  She imagined him sitting in his one-bedroom apartment with its bay window looking over the corner of Dolores and Fourteenth in San Francisco. She could see him staring into the floor, gazing at the grains of sand that had spilled across the worn linoleum, knowing that his time had run out.

  “Then I will see you there.” As she spoke a mild tremor rippled under her voice. She wondered if he’d heard it, this tremble of doubt. To cover her hesitation she pressed on. “And Jacob, I know you will be there to greet me when I arrive.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye,
ma’am.”

  She waited a moment, wondering if she should say more, tell him that he had been a dutiful and reliable soldier, but then she thought that more talk might dampen his resolve. She set the phone back in its cradle and pressed her aching forehead into her open palms. Jacob was the first to go, she thought. Just the first. Her turn would come soon enough.

  ※

  Jacob Bell stared into the open page of his Bible. Page 963 of the Gideon Bible that he had stolen from the night table in his room at the Motel Six near the Interstate 80 in Reno after he’d flushed out the last of his stake in the Saltmill Casino on a rainy night in November. He’d bet his last hand on three of a kind—sevens—but lost the gamble to a full house.

  The Gideon Bible was the one thing he’d salvaged from his final washout. It offered some kind of hope. Faith that something—who knew what it really was?—would follow the complete emptiness of his collapse. And it turned out that that something was Kali Rood and her foundation. A cause for soldiers of faith. A mission for those who’d lost their way. And beyond … well, soon he would understand that, too.

  After another moment he carefully tore the page from the Bible and set the book on the table next to his bed. He stared at the vellum paper and let the words enter his mind. Last year, when Kali Rood had told them of its importance, he’d highlighted the verse with a yellow marker to aid his memory. The first angel sounded. That was Kali Rood herself. And then there followed hail and fire mingled with blood. That was the shooting of Martin Fast. He himself—Jacob Bell—had done that: had delivered the hail of fire mingled with blood, as a human agent of the divine Book of Revelations. And they were cast upon the earth. This is the consequence that must now follow. The last step which would open the door to eternity. To his eternity.