by Cat Connor
Then Kurt said, “So it could be that she’s involved with Bleich in more than her job indicates. What I don’t get is why Campbell abducted her, or at least let it look as though he did. How stupid is this guy?”
“I have some concerns about the way he took her from her home. I could understand it if the threat against her was from someone she trusted and she wouldn’t believe it, perhaps.”
“Is this an abduction at all?”
I smiled. “She’s not free to leave. For whatever reason. He took her with force from her home and knocked out the boyfriend in the process.”
“That’s looking like abduction.”
“If I didn’t know who to trust and I knew someone was in danger and they wouldn’t believe me … I would do what Campbell did.”
Kurt pulled over and stared at me. I think it was horror etched into his face.
“Your mind is a dark place,” he said.
I shrugged. “It makes sense. The danger has to be from someone close to her. He left me a message which I was too slow in picking up. Lee knocked on her door and left a card which may have been the tipping point for the Unsub. I would imagine Campbell was watching, hoping that Lee was the cavalry but then discovered he wasn’t. His options must’ve been limited. He took her to keep her alive.” Postulating, speculating, and running with the crazy thoughts in my head.
As soon as I said it, I knew that couldn’t be right. He knew Maria. He knew who her brother was. Why didn’t he go straight to Director Doyle? Why didn’t he contact me again in a more direct manner? Why don’t we have any pictures of the mysterious John Brown?
“You seem very sure of Campbell,” Kurt said.
“It worries me that I think this man is some kind of knight in shining armor and that I can see his possible reasoning,” I confessed.
“Got evidence?”
“Nope, you?”
We smiled at each other. It was going to be fun finding out the truth.
To me it still felt like Maria was involved somehow and that Campbell was trying to protect her and maybe even knew of her involvement. It had to be more than just working for the company that organized the fundraising event. That wasn’t anything I considered dangerous.
“You want to put money on whether or not Campbell is the good guy in all this?” I asked Kurt as he turned the key in the ignition.
“I’m not stupid enough to bet against you,” he replied, checking the traffic then pulling out.
“Fair enough.” And true. He wasn’t stupid at all.
Twenty-One
What About You?
My phone rang, or more accurately, a song blared from my phone. I answered.
“It’s Sandra. I found something.”
“Go …”
“Iain Campbell was having an affair with Marika Bleich.”
“Whoa, Nellie, that’s a big something. You’re certain of this?”
That’s three connections to the Bleich family. Maria worked for the event company. Campbell was banging the wife. Marika was Quinn Sutherland’s lawyer. I dismissed the Sutherland issue for the moment. Campbell and Maria were front and center.
“It seems that way. I’m still working, will have more soon. Oh, and Misha called with the
flight number. I’ll have Caine meet him and Zachary.”
“Freaking fantastic. Thanks Sandra.”
Kurt looked at me and smiled. “Share?”
“Sandra thinks Campbell was banging Marika Bleich.”
“Now that’s a corn starch moment,” Kurt said.
One of my eyebrows rose. “Say what?”
“Corn starch, it’s a thickening agent,” he said with a grin.
“I know what it is and what it does. Smartass.”
Smartass he maybe but he was right about the latest news regarding Campbell. “Which makes me wonder … did he kill her?”
“That would explain why her death was so different from the other three.”
“Campbell is forty-four, Marika was fifty-nine,” I said.
That was a decent age gap but not ridiculous. My mind spun as it tried to understand why a man like him wanted an older married woman.
“Does that make her a cougar?”
“He’s not young enough to make her a cougar. I think it makes her an adulteress,” I replied. “But this puts a new spin on things. You think it was love or lust or something more sinister?”
We looked at each other and grinned. Sinister.
I made a quantum leap and called Cheryl. “Hey, it’s Ellie. Bit of a weird question for you.”
“Go ahead,” she said with a smile in her voice.
“Are Ephram and Jonah and Zachary brothers?”
There was a pause, before she answered, “It was assumed so …”
“But you had doubts about the twins’ parentage?” So do I.
“If someone asked me for an explanation I’d be hard pushed to come up with one, but I have doubts.”
“You’ve already done DNA, haven’t you?” My fingers crossed. I hoped so, then we’d be that much closer to an answer.
“I have and I’ll have the results soon. We will know for certain if the twins are Sigmund and Marika’s offspring. I’d like to run a DNA test on the surviving brother as well.”
“If he refuses have Sandra get a warrant.”
“Will do.”
“So why the DNA?” Curiosity got the best of me. “You must have seen something that made you suspicious.”
“Maybe I’m starting to think like you.”
“Now that’s scary.” A voice in my head laughed. You can’t be like me, so don’t even try.
“You’re telling me.”
“And the real reason?”
“I had both parents on tables and when I brought the boys in it felt like I was playing a game on Sesame Street. All of a sudden I’m Mr. Hooper and three of these things are kinda the same.”
I laughed. “You are becoming me. That’s spooky.”
“You find it spooky and I’m just scared,” she said with a chuckle. “Anyway, Sigmund Bleich doesn’t seem to fit. I thought it was worth investigating.”
“Let me know.”
“You take care out there.”
I hung up.
So, Marika may have played the adulteress game before.
And without any sort of encouragement whatsoever, a new song started up. ‘Carrie Anne.’ I was hearing The Hollies.
I groaned.
“You all right?” Kurt asked, glancing at me. I noticed he was checking mirrors too, preparing to pull over if necessary.
I sighed. “Sure. I’m just fine and dandy.” The song continued.
“Share?”
“I can hear The Hollies singing ‘Carrie Anne’, and I don’t know why. Hell, I don’t even like that song.”
“They’re doing what now?”
“Singing ‘Carrie Anne.’”
“No doubt this will get interesting later.”
I choose to ignore him. I don’t know how but I knew I was off base thinking Maria was involved in this Bleich situation. I couldn’t explain why I’d changed my mind apart from … it was my right as a woman. Mac grumbled inside my head as my mother applauded.
“I don’t think Maria is involved in this, apart from stumbling across information and calling in the tip-off.”
“Okay, expound on that …”
I couldn’t. I had nothing. My mind changed without rhyme or reason and I went along with it. All because the damn song wouldn’t shut up. I hoped I’d find something within the lyrics but there was nothing but an annoying song.
“All I have is a song that won’t quit and a gut feeling it was her who tipped us off.”
“Can’t wait to see how that theory pans out.”
Me too. Time to distract myself.
I pulled out my phone and signed into Twitter. I wasn’t looking for magical answers; I was checking up on the Foundation kids and creating some static in my mind. There were a zillion @ r
eplies to me and they all seemed to be from Butterfly Foundation kids. I’d been slack at tweeting all day. Some of the questions were funny, some disturbing. I sent replies to the disturbing tweets first, asking that the tweeters sign into the Foundation site and talk to a counselor.
I tweeted that I was on a case, that it was difficult and I mentioned that I hated being away from my daughter. Twitter hummed with replies. As I replied to a few of the kids, I saw an unrelated Twitter post. It made so much sense. I checked the name on the post twice because I didn’t quite believe it the first time.
It was Thaao Penghlis. There was no holding back a smile. My life became very Days of our Lives and he was Tony DiMera and here to prove it. I read the post several times.
It is in the darkest hour that the soul is replenished and given strength to continue and endure. And it is at that time that we finally see.
I tried searching the internet from my phone; the quote seemed to be from H.W. Chosa. I read it again. So much sense in one hundred and forty characters. I replied to Thaao Penghlis and thanked him for sharing. Twitter can be a good thing. If ever I needed to hear something that made sense, it was that moment.
Then I hit upon an idea. Why not harness the power of Twitter? I took my notebook from my bag and tweeted that I was looking for a car and included a description. My next tweet was that I was looking for Maria Doyle and I gave her description and last known location. I asked that the messages be retweeted and said it was urgent. I signed out of the Twitter application. I set Twitter to send any replies from people I followed to my phone via text message. For half an hour my phone went nuts with messages from followers who were re-tweeting for me.
“You’re smiling,” Kurt said. “What are you up to?”
“Eyes on the road, buddy. Mind your own business,” I said as a flurry of incoming tweets landed in my inbox. And to think I’d wanted to ditch Twitter after the Mailbox killer started sending chopped up bodies to some of the people, including me, who were using the #wheresmymail hash tag. An involuntary shudder rocked my body. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it might be a psycho mail carrier.
Yeah, my mind is a twisted place. Anyone looking in would be confused by my thoughts. Hell, my thoughts confuse me and I live in there.
“You all right?” Kurt asked.
“Yes. I. Am.”
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Conway?”
“If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck … it’s probably a duck.”
That did it. Kurt pulled off the road.
“We’re talking about ducks now?”
“No, Campbell.”
“Campbell is a duck?”
Well, better a duck than a psycho mail carrier.
I could imagine Kurt making a call to a secure psych facility on my behalf.
“No, Campbell is a soldier who works with Tierney, he’s got a plan. This is all part of it. He’s leading us somewhere. He’s planning on keeping Maria Doyle safe from whatever is threatening her life, and he’s going somewhere where he hopes he’ll have a tactical advantage.”
Tuesday, like Monday, was shaping up to be another day that wouldn’t end. Lack of sleep wasn’t making anything any easier.
Twenty-Two
Dear Doctor
A call came in as we were settling into a hotel room in Winchester. Why Winchester? I had no idea, but my gut said head west and that’s where we ended up.
Sandra was still at her desk, running down information about Maria and Iain Campbell, and working on the Bleich leads.
“He could be heading out to Harper’s Ferry,” Sandra said.
I put her on speaker.
“Say again …” I said. “… Kurt is here listening.”
“Harper’s Ferry. I found mention of a cabin there. No address. Nothing showing in property tax records. I called local police and they’ve never heard of Iain Campbell.”
Which could just mean he’d never garnered any police attention and didn’t stand out.
“Could have bought the property using an intermediary like a trust,” I said. “He could also be using another name.”
“That’s what I thought,” Sandra replied. “Needle in a haystack.”
Kurt stopped making coffee and joined me on the sofa. “Does he hunt?”
“He owns several hunting rifles and two hand guns,” Sandra said.
“Great, thanks,” I replied. “Go home and get some sleep.” I hung up.
We sat looking at each other for a few seconds.
“They’re just the weapons we know about,” Kurt said. “He could have anything stashed in a cabin in the woods.”
It wasn’t easy to ignore the song that burst from around the imaginary campfire, ‘In a cabin in the woods.’
“Harper’s Ferry,” I said. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone on the run ended up in Harper’s Ferry.”
Kurt smiled. “Nope, wouldn’t be the first time.”
“I don’t think he’s going to shoot at us or view us as a threat to Doyle. But he will try to keep Doyle safe from whatever threat is after her.”
“Which makes it just as dangerous for us,” Kurt said. “Bullets don’t stop mid-flight to ascertain if they’ve been fired at the wrong people or not.”
True. At least this time if I take a bullet I’ll be expecting it.
The Hollies started up again; I was pleased it wasn’t a scout troop singing by a campfire but not that pleased. I let the song play and this time I listened to the lyrics with care.
On the second run through, I fished around for a pen and my notebook and started writing the lines I heard repeated. Kurt moseyed out of sight. I felt him leave, and then heard the door shut.
My notebook page was filled with circled words. They must mean something. First up I needed to know who the hell Carrie Anne was.
I called Lee. “Hey, have you come across anyone called Carrie Anne while investigating either of these cases?”
“I’m almost afraid to ask why you want to know.”
“Me too, don’t worry about it.” I’m not ready to try to explain this just yet. “But have you?”
“As it happens, I have, and so have you … Maria Carrie Anne Doyle.”
“You’re fuc’n kidding!”
“Problem, O Genie of Pop?”
“Maybe.”
I hung up as Mac’s voice resounded in my head and spilled into the hotel room. “Maybe’s ass.” Another voice in my head replied to his comment, “Shut up or get shot again. Your choice.” Took a minute for me to realize it was my voice.
I turned on my laptop and pulled up photos of Maria. “So, Maria Carrie Anne, what game, if any, are you playing?”
She stared back at me from the screen. It wasn’t her game. It was his game. She was always something special to him. This wasn’t just Iain Campbell going rogue. He was intent on keeping her safe. I just wished I knew from what. Why couldn’t he go to her brother? Why not go to the police? Was it Campbell’s idea for Maria to add Sutherland to that invitation list? I doubt she would have added Sutherland to the list for him, the estranged spouse – but she might for a new boyfriend.
John Brown. What the hell did we know about John Brown? Very little and we still hadn’t seen a photo of the man.
Director Doyle seemed to have liked him. Maria was dating him. Did Campbell know him? What if John Brown was the threat? And Campbell knew that.
Lee’s card. I ran a new scenario based on Lee’s card. He wrote a note on the back of his card saying he wanted to talk to her regarding the autism function and stuck it between her front door and the doorframe. Anyone could have read that card.
Brown could have thought we were on to something.
We were, we just didn’t know it.
Holy crapdoodle.
A cold sinking feeling told me Brown was the one Campbell was protecting Maria from, and that Brown had seen the card, which triggered a response Campbell did not like.
It was dark a
nd cold. Rain pelted against the hotel windows. We weren’t moving on tonight. The search for Maria would have to wait until morning. I hoped she’d be okay and that I was right about Campbell being a good guy. No one was able to find Brown since he reported Maria missing. Was he the one who killed the couple? If so, why not hang around and take out Maria and Campbell?
Where were the hospital photographs of Brown’s injuries?
I made another call to Sandra knowing she’d still be at work. “Thought I told you to go home?”
“You did. I didn’t.”
“Did those photos from the hospital, of Brown, ever show up?”
“No, I chased them three times today. They have no record of photographs. The only thing saying he was treated is the open file on their computer system. The paper file started in the ED is gone.”
“How long was he in the hospital?”
“He discharged himself within an hour, against medical advice.”
“No photos, no current address, no idea where the man is?”
“Correct.”
“Thanks.” I hung up.
Nothing made much sense. I left my laptop on the coffee table and flopped down onto one of the beds.
The door opened. I turned my head and watched Kurt come back into the room.
“All right over there?”
“Yep,” I replied.
“I’m ordering pizza, anything special you want?”
“Nope.”
I stared at the ceiling and listened to Kurt as he ordered pizza and let Sam and Lee know dinner was in our room. The ceiling offered no intuitive insight about why Iain Campbell took Maria or why Brown, if it was Brown at the house, didn’t kill them both. Apart from both men wanting to bring down a special kind of hell onto themselves, there didn’t seem to be a logical reason.
“Kurt?”
“Yes.”
“What do we know about the boyfriend, John Brown?”
“Not much. He doesn’t seem to have existed prior to a year ago.”
“Legend? Could he be a spook?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it, more like an independent contractor.”
Independent contractor put a different spin on things. Why would someone want Maria killed? I let my mind mull that over.
