The Vanishing

by Gary Winston Brown

  The telephone rang. Kelly answered the call. In her work as a literary agent, she represented many authors, and the last few weeks had been extremely hectic. One of her authors, Martin Belgrade, had recently released a new book that was quickly climbing the charts.

  Claire strolled into the kitchen, sat at the table, nursed her coffee, and listened to the one-sided conversation.

  “Yes, Martin, I’m excited too. It’s going to be quite a night. How many? We’re expecting about one hundred, mostly industry types. I’ll be sending a limousine to pick you up at 7:30. You don’t have to worry about a thing. That’s my job. Just have fun and enjoy yourself. I’ll see you around 8:00. Take care, Martin. Bye for now.”

  Kelly hung up the phone.

  “Sounds like you’ve got a busy night planned,” Claire said.

  “Yep,” Kelly said. “That was Martin Belgrade, my latest success story and one of the finest authors I’ve ever represented. Plus, he’s a genuinely nice guy. To tell you the absolute truth, if I wasn’t representing him, I’d jump his bones in a heartbeat. You wouldn’t be able to pry me off him with a crowbar. The man is totally hot.”

  “Single?”

  “Oh yeah. Tall. Blue eyes. Muscular. The athletic type. Wears a suit like a GQ model. And he’s got big feet.”

  “Big feet?”

  “Yeah. And you know what they say about guys with big feet.”

  Claire smiled. “I hate to ask.”

  “Why, they wear big shoes, of course. What were you thinking?”

  “Pervert.”

  Kelly laughed. “Hey, you got any plans for tonight?”

  Claire shook her head. “Not particularly. What did you have in mind?”

  “Martin’s book is going national tomorrow, so the publishing company is hosting an invitation-only party tonight. They’re pulling out all the stops, first class all the way. It’s at the Ambassador Room of the Harbor Plaza Hotel at 8:00. Very posh, very snooty. The full red-carpet treatment. Wine, champagne, caviar. The press will be covering the event. You wanna come?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “C’mon, Claire!” Kelly pleaded. “We both need a break. You and I work way too much. Besides, the dating scene of late has, as they say, rather sucked.”

  “I take it things didn’t work out with Tom?”

  “Tom Thornton? Absolute dweebsville. The only thing more exciting than being on a date with Tom is polishing my silverware. Besides, he lacks the primary criteria I look for in a man.”

  “Big feet?”

  “A pulse.”

  Claire laughed. “All right, I’ll go. But only on one condition. If I feel like leaving early, I will. No hassles. Okay?”

  “No problem. I know you’ll have a great time. Besides, Martin is a wonderful guy.” Kelly smiled mischievously. “I’m sure the two of you will hit it off.”

  “Kelly Patterson! You’re not trying to play matchmaker, are you?”

  “Moi?” Kelly replied innocently.

  “Yes, you!” Claire said. “I can get my own dates, thank you very much.”

  “Oh, please!” Kelly replied. “Face it, honey. The only guys you get to meet with any degree of regularity are through your work, and they’re usually psychopaths. You might want to give some thought to raising the ol’ expectations bar a notch or two.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course, I’m right! I’m always right,” Kelly chided. “That’s why I get paid the big bucks. And I’m right about tonight, too. You’re going to come home from work early, get that gorgeous self of yours all dolled up, and come out with me for a night on the town. Who knows, you might even get lucky.”

  “Kelly!”

  “Okay then. I might even get lucky.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Don’t forget cute.”

  Kelly gave Claire a light kiss on the cheek. “I gotta go. I’m already running late. I just wanted to wait until you woke up to be sure you were okay. I’m meeting with my assistant in an hour to review tonight’s agenda. Are you still going to the clinic today?”

  “I haven’t decided. I want to call police headquarters and speak to Inspector Maddox first.”

  “The cop from last night?”

  “Yes.”

  “You already gave him your statement.”

  “I did. But we have other matters to discuss relative to Walter Pennimore.”

  Kelly turned back as she headed out the door. “You sure you’re gonna be okay?”

  “Yes, I will. Thank you. You fuss over me way too much you know.”

  “Of course, I do. That’s what besties are for.”

  “You’re the best,” Claire said.

  “You bet your ass I am!” Kelly called out as she bounded down the front steps to her car. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  Claire smiled. “I’ll be there.”

  12

  CLAIRE RETRIEVED INSPECTOR Maddox’s business card from her purse and called the number.

  “Homicide. Maddox speaking.”

  “Inspector Maddox, this is Claire Prescott.”

  “Good morning, Doctor,” Maddox replied. “I didn’t expect to hear from you until later in the day. How are you feeling?”

  “Better, thank you. I need to see you this morning, if possible.”

  “Sounds urgent.”

  “It is.”

  “If this is about last night, there’s really no need for you to come down. Our investigation is wrapped up. The security cameras at the clinic caught the whole thing on tape.”

  “Do those cameras record audio and video?” Claire asked.

  “No. Strictly video. Why?”

  “Last night, before Mr. Pennimore was shot, he made a disturbing confession to me.”

  “Yes,” Maddox replied. “I remember what you told me. Pennimore said your parent’s death wasn’t an accident after all, that they were killed, murdered.” The inspector was silent for a moment, then spoke. “Look, Doctor Prescott. I know you’re an expert in forensic psychiatry, so I won’t for one second profess to having the same knowledge or expertise on how the criminal mind works that you do. But from my experience, I know this much. Walter Pennimore was an extremely sick man. He’d been incarcerated or institutionalized for most of his adult life. It stands to reason he may have wanted to shock you into believing something that simply was not true.”

  “Perhaps, Inspector,” Claire replied. “But I don’t think so. You said to me last night that you knew my father and that you respected his work.”

  “That’s true. You won’t find a senior officer in this department who didn’t have the utmost respect for him.”

  “Then I’m asking you for a personal favor. In his memory, if you will.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Re-open the investigation into my parent’s death, only this time approach it as a homicide.”

  “From accidental death to murder,” Maddox answered apprehensively. “That’s quite a leap you’re asking me to take.”

  “I know,” Claire said. “I’d prefer to go over the details with you in person. Would that be possible?”

  “Of course.”

  “Would 11:00 a.m. be too soon?”

  “That will be fine.”

  13

  BY TEN O’CLOCK Claire had showered, dressed, and called her secretary to cancel her appointments. There would be no point in seeing patients today.

  Though free of the fitful dreams that had haunted her throughout the night, she remained too preoccupied to concentrate on work. After her phone call with Inspector Maddox, she replayed the newsfeed article about the incident at the Mendelson Clinic. With each additional viewing, her need to know the truth grew stronger. She soon found it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

  In the remaining minutes of his tortured existence, Walter Pennimore’s confession had annihilated all that Claire had believed and accept about her parent’s death. The honesty in his voice as he spo
ke his dying words presented her with the possibility of a more frightening reality, one that drove a stake of torment through to the very marrow of her being.

  Inspector Maddox had left specific instructions with his secretary to announce Claire as soon as she arrived. By eleven-thirty they had spent half an hour elaborating on Walter Pennimore’s case history for Maddox’s report.

  “I kept thinking about the name you gave me last night, ‘Kre’,” Maddox said. “Unfortunately, it’s not ringing any bells. I’ll tell you what I can do for you though. I’ll run it through our database and see if we get a hit, either as a partial or a full name. I can’t promise you anything, but at least we can try it. If I find something, I’ll let you know. That’s about the best I can do for now.”

  “I would appreciate that, Inspector.”

  “I’ve got to be honest with you though,” Maddox continued. “If you believe Pennimore was telling you the truth, then it’s not me you should talk to. This is a case for the FBI. Their technology is much more sophisticated for searching this kind of information than what we have available to us. Our search will be statewide, but the boys at the Bureau can search federally. The problem is, I don’t have an active investigation to work from, only speculation. And I’ll bet my badge the Feds aren’t about to invest their time and resources on a hunch, especially when they realize the only lead is coming from a guy who was under your care as a psych patient. Let’s just say Pennimore’s credibility would be... suspect.”

  “I understand perfectly,” Claire said, “but I’d appreciate it if you’d check it out for me. Any information you find will be better than nothing.”

  “No problem. I’ll do my best. But we’re backlogged around here. I’ve already got a basket full of paperwork to get through. Give me a few days. I’ll make a few inquiries and see what turns up. I wouldn’t get my hopes up just yet. These things can take time.”

  “Thank you, Inspector.”

  Maddox hesitated. “You’re welcome.”

  Claire didn’t need to rely on her professional abilities to see that Maddox was trying to suppress his displeasure at the prospect of re-opening the investigation. “You seem troubled, Inspector,” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Maddox turned uncomfortably in his chair. “I pulled the jacket on your parents’ accident before you arrived.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, you may find the eyewitness statements made to police on the scene to be rather unsettling.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Maddox picked up the manila folder from his desk, removed the occurrence report, handed it to Claire.

  “It seems everyone we interviewed commented on the rapid speed at which your father left Zion Point. He was clearly not in control of the car. The consensus was that he was swerving and driving recklessly when he left the parking lot, apparently engaged in an altercation of some sort with your mother. He almost struck one witness. Based upon these statements, it seems your parents may have been arguing. When your father tore out of the parking area, he lost the ability to control the car at high speed. The accident ensued thereafter.”

  Claire knew this behavior was entirely out of character for her father. She also knew he had far more self-control than to have ever put her mother in such peril. He would have pulled the car over to the side of the road and they would have talked. Most likely, he would not have left the parking lot until they had resolved the disagreement.

  “Investigators on the scene were at a loss to explain mechanical failure as the reason for the accident,” Maddox continued. “As you know, the car was winched from the bottom of the cliff and taken to the vehicular investigation center, where a team of police and insurance investigators examined it. The braking, steering and acceleration mechanisms, what was left of them anyway, checked out. The skid marks where the car left the road served as a vulcanized fingerprint, which showed it jerked suddenly and violently, as if to avoid something in its path. Perhaps a small animal darted in front of the car and your father took his eyes off the road for a split second. Maybe he looked up at that very moment and tried to avoid hitting the creature, pre-occupied with the argument, too late to correct the vehicle before it went over the cliff. They found fragments of tire debris both on the road and in the gravel shoulder near the top of the cliff. The insurance investigators matched it to the melted rubber on the tires of the Porsche. An animal in the road is just one theory. The accident could also have been caused by something as simple as the car running over a nail or any sharp object which could have pierced the tire, caused a blowout, and sent it over the cliff. Tragic? Yes. Unfortunate? Absolutely. But an accident nonetheless.”

  Claire passed the report back to Maddox. “I’d appreciate it if you would keep an open mind, Inspector. At least until we can find out if your computers can tell us more than we know right now.”

  “As you wish,” Maddox said.

  “Thank you, Inspector. I’ll be in touch.”

  14

  AT ONE O’CLOCK Kelly called to check in on Claire and tell her that her name had been added to the guest list for the party that evening.

  “Wear your black dress,” Kelly insisted. “You'll knock ‘em dead.”

  Her excitement over the coming night’s festivities was infectious, and Claire looked forward to the party.

  “You sure it’s not too dressy?” Claire asked.

  “Honey,” Kelly replied, “if I had a body like yours, I’d be wearing that dress seven days a week.”

  Even before Kelly's phone call, Claire had tried on several dresses which she thought would be suitable for the evening. Kelly’s choice had also been her favorite. A full-length black gown, side-slit with a deep plunging neckline and spaghetti shoulder straps. The dress fell gracefully over her delicate frame, accentuating her long shapely legs and the fullness of her breasts. It had been one of Steve’s favorites. Whenever she wore it, he had always told her how beautiful she looked.

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me,” Claire said. “One black evening dress coming up. By the way, where will I meet you tonight?”

  “I’ll be in the Ambassador Room lobby around seven forty-five. Your VIP pass is in my name. I’ll have to sign you in, so meet me there. God, I’m looking forward to this! We’re gonna have an absolute blast! Just think about it. You, me, and a room full of the most eligible testosterone in town. What more could a girl ask for?”

  Claire laughed. “You’re something else, Kell. You really are.”

  15

  AT SEVEN O’CLOCK, Claire backed out of her driveway and left her apartment for the Harbor Plaza. She had put Walter Pennimore out of her mind.

  At the end of the quiet street, local boys played an intense game of basketball under dusky streetlamps, while their girlfriends chatted on the sidelines. Claire remembered how she and Amanda had passed countless hours in a similar playground on the other side of town playing softball or little league soccer while their parents cheered them on from the sidelines. The evening was beautiful, and the ocean breeze wafting in from the Pacific possessed a serenity Claire found relaxing and purifying. The muddy storm clouds that had threatened rain had long since dissipated. Twilight now dressed the sky with the radiant black hue of fine Japanese silk.

  The Harbor Plaza Hotel was awash in glamour when Claire arrived promptly at seven-thirty. Police officers on point duty directed traffic. Stretch limousines lined both sides of the street. Parking valets, attired in black tie and white glove, greeted guests as they reached the main entrance. Lovely young models in formal dress escorted VIP’s to the front door of the hotel. Miniature lights which adorned each tree and shrub glittered and sparkled. Commercial spotlights stationed on the boulevard swung pillars of brilliant white light up into the night sky and danced playfully across the clouds.

  A handsome young man opened her door and extended a gloved hand. “Welcome to the Harbor Plaza,” he said. “May I escort you inside?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” Claire repli
ed.

  The valet walked Claire through the hotel lobby, handed her key fob to the concierge, then presented her with a slip of paper. “Just return this ticket before you leave,” he said. “We will bring your car around for you. Enjoy your evening.”

  “Thank you,” Claire replied. “Perhaps you can help me. I’m meeting a friend in the Ambassador Room.”

  “The Janus Publishing party,” the young man said. He pointed. “Straight down the hallway, past the boutiques. When you reach the fountain, turn right. The Ambassador Room is straight ahead.” He winked. “Believe me, you won’t miss it.”

  The valet was right. As Claire approached the fountain and turned the corner, the receiving area of the Ambassador Room was ablaze in camera flashes. The entire wing of the hotel was themed to the night’s event. Large gold-framed portraits of Janus’ most successful authors and their biographies hung from the walls and ran the entire length of the reception hall. A gift table bearing copies of their latest releases stood outside the main entrance to the room. Reporters busily interviewed several of the more familiar faces. Janus was a heavy promoter, and the best-sellers in their talent pool were fortunate enough to receive national media exposure and television appearances on Dr. Phil, The Tonight Show, and CNN. Serving staff eased their way through the crowd, deftly balancing flutes of champagne and plates of caviar on silver platters. A classical string quartet played softly in the corner, barely audible above the cacophony of conversation surrounding them.