by Eric Wilson
Beelzebub.
“Say, how about I skip lunch? I could—”
“One day—that’s all I’m asking. Think you can handle that, Vince? I’ve seen evil take over when people refuse to make a stand. This is for Scooter’s and Josee’s sake. Let’s hear it. Are we in agreement?”
Turney pressed his head into the crook of his arm and forced out his reply. “Sure, John, I’ll give it my best shot.”
Slowly he emptied his cereal back into the box.
To Josee, seated in the living room shadows, John looked tall and dapper in his herringbone jacket. He was at the front door, balancing a syllabus and two books atop his horizontal briefcase, when she said, “Out of here already? Not eating this morning?”
“Josee. Didn’t see you there in the dark.”
“Your wife’s making Dutch babies. Says they’re delicious.”
“They are. Right now, though, Krissy and I have other things on our plates.” John winked as Kris stepped into the arched doorway, then pulled her into an embrace. “Should be gone most of the day, but we want you to feel free here in our home, Josee. Fresh towels, coffee, anything. If you want to call and let your adoptive parents know where you are, the phone’s all yours.”
“It’s long distance. Renton, Washington.”
“No problem. A couple loads of dishes, and you’ll be all paid up.”
“John, honestly.” Kris pushed her shoulder into him. “He’s kidding, Josee.”
“Hardy-har-har.” Josee wore a grin to dilute her sarcasm. “Anyway, I don’t know that I should call them. Moved out years ago. I had to find some space, probably the same as your daughter.”
“Annalise,” John and Kris said together.
“Not that they were to blame, not at all. Just had to figure out life on my own.”
“As a mother,” Kris said, “I can tell you that it’d mean a lot to them if you called. I understand the need for independence, but part of growing up is learning to operate under someone else’s rules. That’s true in college, on the job, in society—”
“Heard this speech before.”
“It’s not a popular one,” Kris admitted. “I’m of the opinion, though, that people can’t move fully into maturity until they come to terms with the influence of their parents. Not that parents don’t make mistakes, Josee, but the longer you try to escape their influence, the farther you run from the very things that make you who you are. Until you deal with it, the good and the bad, you won’t be comfortable in your own skin.”
“Explains what’s wrong with me then, doesn’t it? How can I deal with it when I don’t even know my real parents? Why do you think I came down here, huh? And now that Kara’s missing—kidnapped, abducted, whatever—guess I’m just sorry out of luck.”
“Oh, sweetheart—”
“I’ll figure it out on my own. Don’t worry about me.”
“Listen, we’re here to help in whatever way we can.” John raised an eyebrow, paused to consider a noise from the hallway. “And no matter what happens, you can find comfort in your own skin. Yes, parents are the soil, but you’re still the plant fighting the elements in order to bloom. Be who God’s made you to be.”
“Defective merchandise—that’s what I am.”
“You’re so much more than that. Look”—Kris stepped forward and set one hand on Josee’s shoulder and brushed the other over her cheek—“in less than two days, we’ve grown attached to you. Imagine how your adoptive parents feel. Surely, they’d love to hear your voice.”
“Hmm.”
“Remember, only a couple of loads of dishes.” John flipped the phone from its wall mount and extended it like a cure for her melancholy. Then he brought the speaker to his own ear and listened. “Thought I heard someone just hang up. Is Scooter awake?”
“That bum? I doubt it.” After last night’s encounter, Josee didn’t look forward to facing him. Would he act like nothing had happened? Would she? Only time could restore things to normal.
John flicked his eyes at Kris. “I would’ve sworn … Well, why don’t you two ladies sit and relax, and I’ll go rouse that sleepyhead.”
Before he’d taken a step, the phone rang, and John answered it.
“For me?” Josee asked, when he handed it over. “Hi, who is this?”
“Josee? Oh, my, but I’m glad to have contacted you. My name’s Rosamund Yeager. Rosie. I’m the Addisons’ household manager, the one you reached on Wednesday. Please, for your mother’s safety, allow me to explain. She had to postpone your earlier meetings—difficulties on the domestic front, I’m afraid. My apologies for any consternation this has caused on your part. It’s a delicate matter.”
“What’re you telling me?”
“Marital struggles,” Rosie said. “Kara regrets that you’ve been caught in the crossfire. She doesn’t want you to think less of her husband, but she simply could not go on in the stifling environment at the manor. She devised her own escape before things spiraled farther downward. You do understand, I hope.”
Josee’s heart was in her throat. “But I thought that—”
“Ignore the crackpot claims,” Rosie broke in. “She has not been abducted. Inevitable, really, that some deranged soul should try to take responsibility. No, Kara is well, don’t you worry. She hasn’t stopped speaking of you. She still wishes to meet with you and with you alone—she’s quite firm on that—this afternoon, if possible.”
“At the park?”
“Yes. Shall we say, oh …”
“One o’clock. Avery Park.” Josee felt hope rush back in as rejection rolled from her shoulders. Her mom wanted to meet with her. Yes, Kara was healthy. Alive. Relief squeezed a short laugh from her lungs, and she brushed her sleeve over her cheeks. “Okay, yeah, I can do that.”
“Splendid,” Rosie said. “She was so worried that you’d turn her away.”
“What, are you kidding? This is why I came.”
“She does have two requests, please understand. For sentimental reasons, she’d love to see your birth certificate if you could bring it along.”
“Sure. What else?”
“Strange as it may sound, she asks that you keep this discussion from Marsh.”
The stipulation struck Josee as odd, but she knew little about her parents. Perhaps they’d been struggling more than Kara had let on. She had said Marsh could be distant and unfeeling. Warned that he was not a creature of emotion. Why, though, had she chosen this week to make such a drastic effort to escape?
Figure it out later. This is my chance to see Kara. I can’t screw it up.
“I won’t say a word,” Josee confirmed.
“Settled then. We’ll see each other this afternoon.”
“We? Wait, I thought it was just me and Kara. And, Rosie, how’d you find me here? No one’s supposed to know where I’m staying.”
“I’m a woman of many resources. My age demands it.”
“Well, I guess I—”
“Kris!” John’s voice reverberated up the hallway. “Kris and Josee, I need to see you both. Come and take a look at this, in Scooter’s room.”
Scooter? Oh, no!
Josee barked a farewell into the phone and lurched from the couch.
“Stahli. What have you done? Why do you persist with your impetuous ways?”
“Professor?” Stahlherz untangled the phone cord and tossed aside his covers. He cleared phlegm from his throat. “What’re you talking about? I’m still in bed.”
“The morning news, haven’t you seen it?”
“I just told you that I’m in bed. Arrived home late last night.”
“Your driver, Son. Found dead. Don’t you see the attention this’ll draw to us?”
“I left him along the road,” Stahlherz confessed. “Left misleading information in his wallet as well, so as to deflect attention from our plans. No need to worry.”
“I hope you’ve not miscalculated, the way you’ve been known—”
“Trust me, Professor.”
>
“What foundation do I have for this trust? You’ve allowed hatred for your brother in arms to remove all reason from that head of yours. You’ve always despised Marsh for that which he has. Understandably so. But after your clumsy efforts, even my attempts have been doomed. Sometimes I wonder that I even call you my son.”
“Mother!”
Stahlherz felt bile rise like vinegar in his throat, like gall on his lips. How could she reject him? She had rescued him from Chance Addison’s abandonment. In his mind, words stolen from the Savior’s cross took on blasphemous form. My mother, my father, why have you forsaken me? Am I so wretched? So worthless?
“Channel that anger,” Rosie directed him. “Harness your dark thoughts, and use them to your advantage. Do not, however, become arrogant in your use of these forces. They’ll fight you, even destroy you.”
“And by giving them control, you believe you are safe?”
“Yes. For ‘when I am weak, then I am strong.’ ”
Stahlherz snapped his neck one way and the other, then hung up on her. Opening his blinds, he ushered in a wave of gray light. What a loathsome view. These bi-level homes and gleaming automobiles served as nothing more than suburban props, masking abuse and betrayal, lies and addictions. Humanity made him sick.
On his cell, he placed an exploratory call to an ICV cohort.
“He’s leaving the hotel this very moment, Mr. Steele.”
“Keep him in sight. If he notices you, let it rattle him a bit.”
“What if he tries to shake us?”
“Crash-Chess-Dummy? I know the way this man thinks: very linear in his reasoning, preferring the direct and tactical approach. Even if he does manage to elude you, we have alternative tracking methods. Keep me posted.”
Next Stahlherz phoned and maneuvered through American Express’s automated menu. After verifying Marsh Addison’s data for a female account manager, he requested a breakdown of the card’s activity. “From 4:00 PM yesterday to the present. I’ve misplaced my wallet with all my receipts in it,” he explained. “I’m looking to sort my transactions, so as to avoid any oversights when it comes to paying my balance.”
“Was the card in your wallet, Mr. Addison? I can put a hold on it, if you wish.”
“Won’t be necessary,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll find it. The recent activity—that’s really all I need.”
“Let us know if you decide otherwise.”
The lady detailed the card’s usage, beginning with a payment to Barkley’s Restaurant and ending with room charges at the Ramada Inn less than an hour ago. From the charges, Stahlherz deduced that Marsh had been to the golf course, conducted business, visited his mother in Depoe Bay, and spent most of the evening indoors.
Don’t take me lightly, Crash-Chess-Dummy. In chess, only one king wins.
Josee sprinted down the hall and arrived at John Van der Bruegge’s side. Scooter’s bedroll was gone. As was he. Josee took in the emptiness of the bedroom and the open window above the bed. On the floor, piled upon the open pages of a role-playing game manual, eggshells lay like torn scraps of parchment.
Leathery snake eggs. Freshly hatched.
32
Deflected
Marsh Addison’s suspicions took shape in the rearview mirror. He had checked out of the hotel early, and as the Bonneville carried him north of town, he spotted a nondescript Chevy Cavalier in the thinning traffic behind him. Was this the same car he’d noticed yesterday? He detoured. Meandered. Backtracked.
The Cavalier followed at a distance.
Okay, Marsh figured, they knew he had been at the Ramada, and they probably knew he lived up Ridge Road. Public info, available in any phone book. Let them follow. He hadn’t created a credit trail for nothing.
He turned, and his pursuer pulled into the Dari-Mart at the base of the hill.
Nice try. Soon as I’m outta sight, you’ll be back on my tail.
Marsh steered around debris that last night’s storm had scattered over the road. He slowed by mile-marker four and considered stopping but decided he did not want to relive yesterday’s anomalies. He was short on time as it was. Twenty-two minutes. Would Steele Knight be online for their regular chess match?
Henri Esprit and a university kid were waiting at the front pillars of the house.
“No cops, huh?” said Marsh.
“They’ve all gone home,” Esprit said. “Place is yours again, and your Tahoe’s in the garage. Meet Nick, my nephew.”
Nick’s anemic goatee could not hide the former acne battleground of his face. Stretched over his girth, a white sweatshirt boasted anachronous diagrams and proclaimed the annual da Vinci Days. More reassuring, Nick toted a sleek notebook computer under his arm.
“Hope I can be of service to you, Mr. Addison.”
“Me, too.”
“Friends and I went online last night, zeroed in on the Web site you provided, but couldn’t find a trace of anyone using a local Internet protocol under the name Steele. Might be an alias. We did verify the Steele Knight name in the gaming zone though. Ran a program to log every time he entered the zone so that, by process of elimination, we could home in on his address, maybe pinpoint his modem.”
“And?”
“He never logged on. Program’s still running back in my dorm, so if he shows up this morning, we’ll have a head start.” Nick pulled down his sweatshirt to cover a tuft of bellybutton hair. “Plus, I’m gonna check with this other dude who’s got connections with the Dead Cow Society—”
“The what?”
“A hacker thing. What’d really help is if we can get Steele Knight to give us his e-mail address. That’d be sweet, save us time in a big way. Not that I mind the challenge, but you’re in a hurry, am I right?”
“Could say that.”
“Let’s do this.”
Marsh led them up the flared steps into the vacant manor. He noted items that the crime team had moved, hints of footsteps in thick carpet, straggling yellow tape. A sense of violation formed a pit in his stomach. Despite the confession of Beau Connors, last night’s newscast had intimated the police’s initial suspicion of Marsh’s involvement in his wife’s disappearance. He felt dirtied by this whole affair.
From the parlor, The Lady in Dread spied on them.
Marsh thought of the art gallery’s thank-you message and the smaller note from his opponent. His desire to bless his wife had backfired, instigating further questions and suspicion from the officers on hand. Lansky had even asked if he was turning this empty space into a shrine. Somewhere out there Steele Knight was mocking him.
Rage coursed through Marsh. Fear for Kara’s life fueled his emotion.
“This is one pathetic joke!”
Swearing, he marched across the parquet and tore the painting from the wall. He smashed the frame into the floor. Brought it down with hammerlike force. Golden wood shards spat like sparks from an anvil. The canvas tore. Down! Craackk! Down!
His mother’s cautions blinked in his head: It will find that rage in you and use it against you … “Your anger can never make things right in God’s sight.”
Marsh flung the misshapen frame into the corner. He was bleeding.
He removed a sliver from his forearm and said, “Let’s go nail this lunatic!”
As they entered the study, his computer was launching itself onto the Internet.
“Give me a few minutes here,” Nick said, plopping into the desk chair. Marsh noticed that the black leather was scrubbed, devoid of yesterday’s evidence of blood. “We’ll enter the gaming zone,” Nick explained, “in a sec. I’m gonna hook in and run some software, try to track down this guy’s IP. Once you’re in the cell playing the game with him, I’ll try to finger his service provider.” The kid set up camp on the desk, running cables into Marsh’s computer tower beside the desk.
Esprit beamed at Nick, then at Marsh. “Brains must run in the family.”
“Esprit,” Marsh said, “I need some of that wisdom of yours.”
>
“I thought I’d never hear you confess such a thing.”
“Miracles never cease. Listen …”
While Nick made connections, Marsh drew his winemaker to the tinted window overlooking the vineyards and condensed the account of Kara’s abduction, the note from Steele Knight, the demand for his father’s journal, the threats regarding Josee.
Esprit remained stoic throughout, but sinews popped along his jaw.
Marsh said, “On the business end of things, Esprit, I’d like you to get ahold of the crew foreman and get everyone back up here ASAP. No more sloughing off. We have to catch back up in the vineyards. As for Rosie, she’s at our beach house, so when she’s done with her work there, tell her to come on back.”
“Consider it done.”
“Now, on the personal end, I have some ideas.”
Marsh expounded, then Esprit departed to his tasks.
“Ping … ping … pinggg.”
Nick’s imitation of sonar was inept, but his look of satisfaction brought Marsh back to the computer. He was in the gaming zone and had located Steele Knight. Nick jabbed a finger at the monitor. “Cell 522. Game time. Remember, try to snag his e-mail address, if he’ll let you. You ready to go in? Let’s finger this rapscallion.”
“Ready. So I should just play the game, make moves like normal?”
“You got it. Take your time, the longer the better. We’ll see what we shall see.”
Marsh directed his Crash-Chess-Dummy persona through the cell door. At the table, a hooded, brown-robed creature tapped his gauntlet on the wood. Marsh typed: “Surprised you actually came.”
“Came, saw, and conquered,” his foe replied. “Aren’t you the one who’s skipped out on me the past few days?” Without further ado, a king pawn advanced, and Marsh shoved his queen’s bishop pawn ahead two squares. Steele Knight keyed, “The Sicilian Defense revisited.”
“That’s right. Do you dare risk another Wing Gambit?”
“I enjoy the challenge.” Steele Knight offered his queen’s knight pawn.
“A patzer move. When will you learn?”
