by A. C. Fuller
"You mean, you don't know? She's pregnant." Bice was smiling broadly, still staring off into space.
"No, she's not."
Finally, Bice looked down at him. "Oh, Alex. I really didn't believe that I'd be breaking any news, so to speak. I guess she thought it was more important to tell her mother than to tell the man who fathered the child. According to the e-mail, it's yours. But Greta is still concerned about whether or not you're fit to be a father."
He knew Bice was telling the truth, and he felt like he was going to throw up.
Bice waved at the two men, who trudged across the grass. The redhead stopped at the doorway as the bald man entered the shed.
Stepping toward Alex, Bice took a small envelope out of his back pocket, and held it out. "Take this," he said. "You're going to suffer quite a bit, but at least you will be able to break one last great story before you do."
Alex took the sealed envelope and turned it over in his hands. It was blank, and as he moved to open it, he heard the heavy footsteps of the man moving toward him. Dropping the envelope, he slid into the corner, shielding his head.
The last thing he saw this time was the bald man coming toward him with a crooked smile and a long syringe.
Part 4
47
Saturday, September 18, 2004
Alex woke up and blinked twice. His face was clammy and he heard rain, but didn't feel any. He rolled over onto his back, rubbed his eyes, and opened them. Cedar trees and a patch of gray sky. He knew right away that he was still on the island.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember something. Anything.
He had no idea how he'd gotten there, or where exactly he was. All he remembered was the huge man with a bald head and crooked teeth, lunging at him with a syringe.
He stood carefully, feeling out his limbs. He was wobbly, but able to stand with his feet wide apart and wedged into the bed of leaves he'd been lying on.
He was in a dense stand of trees, mostly cedar, but also some poplars and ferns. That didn't help him, because the island was full of forests. He slowly rotated three-hundred-sixty degrees, looking for anything he might recognize. The heavy branches of the cedars protected him from the rain, but he was occasionally struck by a fat drop that had gathered on a branch and dripped down.
Then he heard it. The sound of cars. Off to his left. Cars whooshing by on wet pavement.
He took two large steps in the direction of the noise, then tripped over a root and tumbled to the ground. His head felt heavy, and it was clear that whatever drug they'd used to put him to sleep was still affecting him.
He stood again, shook his head, and stretched his legs, one by one. He did a few circles with his arms, then stumbled toward the road.
After a minute, the sound of the cars was close, and he realized he hadn't been deep in the forest at all. He figured that Bice's men had just driven him to a different part of the island, then tossed him a few hundred yards off the road.
He stopped and felt in his back pocket. His phone. He took it out, but it was dead.
Then he remembered.
Greta.
Pregnant.
Something about an envelope.
The memories shot through him, but he wasn't clear enough to form coherent thoughts.
When he reached the road, he knew where he was. Highway 305, which led from the south end of the island, near the inn, all the way north to the other end. He was at the north end of the island, close to the bridge that led to the Kitsap Peninsula. Just a few minutes away from the Suquamish Reservation and the Clearwater Casino.
He turned right, and within minutes, he was walking across the Agate Pass Bridge, a two-lane steel-truss bridge with a narrow concrete walkway along each side.
Half way across the bridge, he leaned on the railing and watched a small fishing boat as it made its way under the bridge and east out into Puget Sound. He ran a hand across his forehead and found a lump above his right temple. It throbbed as he pressed it gently.
At the end of the bridge, he saw the Clearwater Casino. Growing up, he'd known that the Suquamish Tribe operated a bingo hall, and at around the time he'd left for college, they'd opened a temporary casino in a massive tent. There had been talk of building a full-sized casino and hotel for years, and the casino had just been completed.
It was bigger than he expected and appeared to still be under construction. But a wide banner over the entryway read "Casino Open During Hotel Construction."
As he approached, he grew self-conscious. His jeans were muddy and his shirt damp on one side. He figured he must look like hell. He stopped and tried to tidy his hair with his fingers, then walked through the automatic doors.
To his right, a tall woman with curly brown hair greeted him. "Welcome to the Clearwater."
"DeCoteau," Alex said. "Is Linda DeCoteau here?"
The woman was staring at Alex's forehead. "Are you okay?"
Alex rubbed the lump softly. "I don't know."
"Linda is here," the woman said, picking up a phone. "You want me to call her?"
He nodded.
The woman waited a moment, then said, "There's a tall guy here for you. Looks like he's been in a fight . . . no, he doesn't seem drunk." She paused, then addressed Alex. "She wants to know what you want."
"Bearon," he said. "Tell her I'm an old friend of her son Bearon. Alex Vane. She'll remember me."
"Alex Vane. Said he knows Bearon." She hung up. "She'll be right down."
He hadn't seen her since his parents' funeral, but Alex still recognized Linda DeCoteau's voice. It was deep and husky, but just warm enough to be inviting.
"What happened to you?"
He spun around to find her walking toward him wearing a white and teal Seahawks jersey bearing the number 80 in block lettering and tight-fitting black jeans. She had short, thin bangs and her straight black hair was gathered into a neat ponytail that was held in place with a teal ribbon.
Alex still wasn't thinking straight, and he didn't feel like saying the parts he could remember out loud. "It's kind of a long story."
"It's been years."
"Is there somewhere we can talk? Where I can use a phone?"
"Sure, honey. We'll go to my office."
She led him past rows of slot machines and card tables. It was late morning, so the casino wasn't very busy. In the back corner of the gaming room, she opened an unmarked door and waved him to a seat in a small office.
"What is it that do you do here?" Alex asked. "Something in marketing, right?"
"I'm the entertainment director. We haven't ramped it up yet, but once we get the hotel finished, we'll have concerts and entertainment here all the time. Now, we just do small events from time to time. Just another way to get people into the casino."
She sat behind a metal desk and handed him a cordless phone. "You need privacy?"
"Yeah, that would be great. Thank you."
She turned to leave, but stopped at the door. She pointed at something on the floor. "What's that?"
The envelope.
Linda picked it up, flipped it over in her hands, and handed it to him.
"Thanks," he said.
Holding the phone in one hand, and the envelope in the other, it was coming back to him. Bice had given him the envelope. Something about the real story that had led to the McGregor story being leaked. He tore into it and found a single notecard with a URL written in black ink and block lettering:
www.uploader2000.net/plutarchcapitalfiling/
The Web site address meant nothing to him, so he dialed Camila's cell phone from memory.
She picked up before he heard it ring. "Alex?"
He paused, not knowing what to say.
"Alex, is that you?"
"I'm okay," he said. "Get Endo and pick me up at the Clearwater Casino."
48
Inn on the Sound, Bainbridge Island
Alex opened his eyes, head throbbing. Camila sat at the foot of his guest room bed, holding the enve
lope Bice had given him.
"What's this mean?"
He sat up slowly, comforted by the sight of the gray sky and the rain as Camila opened the curtains.
She handed him a Styrofoam cup of coffee. "Drink this."
He sipped the coffee tentatively. "What happened?"
"You passed out in the car."
"What time is it?"
"Almost eleven, and Endo is on his way."
It was coming back to him slowly, then in flashes that felt like dreams, then slowly again.
The shed. Bice's gun. The envelope.
Then Greta. The pregnancy. He shelved that part far into the back of his mind.
Then he remembered Camila waking him up in Linda's office, leading him to the car. "How'd I get up here?"
Camila moved to sit next to him and put a hand on his forehead. "I woke you up, then you fell asleep again when we got up here."
When the memories came, they passed through like overwhelming waves, making him want to go back to sleep. Even so, he tried to slide his legs over to the edge of the bed so he could get up.
Camila stopped him. "You're really out of it. I'm surprised you made it to the casino. Adrenaline, probably. Just rest now."
"What did you do when…"
"When you didn't come back? I called Endo, I called Nors, Betty and I went to the storage center to look for the car, I canceled our flights. I did everything I could think of. After that, I wandered around town, hoping to see you but knowing I wouldn't."
"Did you . . . did James? Something happened with James."
"He's back. I mean, he's free. He got dumped in Seattle last night, but he's fine." She handed Alex his phone, which was now charged. "You have a bunch of messages from him, but you'll see him soon enough. He and Officer Nors are on their way over here right now."
Alex scrolled through the messages. He had four voice mails and twelve texts from Greta. The texts had progressed over the last forty-eight hours from flirty to concerned to accusatory to terrified. He couldn't bring himself to listen to the messages just yet.
"I called Lance and Greta," Camila said.
He looked up from the phone, relieved.
"I called them a few hours after you disappeared, and then I called them on my way over to pick you up. They know you're okay."
"Well, I'm alive. Not sure I'm okay."
Alex tapped out a message to Greta: Hey. I'm alright. James is safe. Gotta talk to police all afternoon. Will get home asap.
Camila produced another Styrofoam cup of coffee. "You're going to need a lot of this today."
"Thanks," he said. He waited until she looked at him. "Really, I mean it. Thanks."
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
"Not especially. I'm about to have to tell Endo, right?"
Camila dropped the envelope on his lap. "What's Plutarch Capital, Alex?"
He vaguely remembered handing her the envelope in the car. "I . . . I don't know." He tugged the blankets up over his head just as a loud knock came from the door. When he peeked his head back out, Nors and James were in the room, both staring at him.
Nors was dressed in the same short-sleeved blue uniform he'd been wearing in the conference center hotel a few days earlier. James appeared fresher than Alex had expected, wearing new-looking jeans, a white t-shirt, and a red-and-black flannel shirt.
"You look good," Alex said to James, smiling broadly.
"Bull," James said, leaning in and hugging Alex awkwardly. "But I do look a lot better than you do. Officer Nors was able to loan me some clothes from the lost and found. They've got my clothes in storage at the hotel."
"I can't tell you how good it is to see you."
Nors stepped toward the bed and stared down at Alex. "I don't have much time. I have to get back to Seattle. I've taken a statement from James."
"And now you need mine?"
"I do."
"Bice is here, on Bainbridge Island. He . . ."
Alex tried to think about the shed, the smell of the trees, tried to remember any useful details, but he couldn't.
Camila said, "Alex, Detective Endo has been searching the island for you since you disappeared."
"And we've been trying to bring Mr. Bice in for questioning, but no luck so far," Nors said.
"Well, I . . . shouldn't we be out looking for him?"
Nors said, "That will be up to the Island PD. For now, I just need to get the details down to see if I can connect James's abduction to your own."
For the next twenty minutes, Alex told Nors everything he could remember about the shed and his conversations with Bice. He explained the calls he'd received two years earlier in detail, and filled him in on the deaths of his parents, the letters from Bice, and the Bible quote.
Nors listened intently and took notes. "There's a lot to this," Nors said when Alex had finished. "Like I said, I have to head back to the city, but I'll be in touch. We will coordinate with Detective Endo. Camila gave me his number." He shook hands with everyone, tipped his cap, and departed.
Detective Endo arrived as Nors exited, and Alex walked him through the same twenty-minute version of the story he'd just told Officer Nors.
By the end, he was growing frustrated. "Look, detective. He's on the island, right now."
Endo said, "We've been looking. Since the hour you disappeared at the storage facility. We've been—"
Alex punched the bed. "Right. Fucking. Now."
"I'm sorry, Alex, but you don't know that," Endo said. "No one named Bice owns a home or any property on the island. I've called the rental agencies and no one is renting to a Bice, either. I have three officers calling around, asking if anyone has seen anything suspicious. I've got another knocking on doors in the remote parts of the island. I—"
He stopped speaking when his cell phone rang. After studying the caller ID for a moment, he answered. "Endo here . . . Yeah . . . You're sure. Island View Lane? I'll be there in ten."
"What?" Alex asked.
"I can't take you with me, and officially, I'm telling you not to follow me, but we may have found the house." He looked Alex in the eye. "Got that?"
Alex nodded and swung his feet onto the floor as Camila dug in her purse for the keys to Betty's car. He wobbled as he stood, but James offered him a steady shoulder to lean on as they hurried toward the door.
49
Northeast Bainbridge Island
Bad-bad-bad-bad.
Bice folded his socks one by one and placed them in a black suitcase. He removed a neat stack of underwear from a drawer and placed it on top of the socks. He surveyed the room. The bed was made, the beige carpet spotless. He was intensely focused on his packing, trying to drown out the sound in his head.
Bad-bad-bad-bad.
He zipped the suitcase closed. "Ready," he called through the doorway.
The bald man came into the room and grabbed the suitcase from the bed. "When do we leave?"
"Five minutes," Bice said, following the man out of the bedroom. "You've arranged the plane?"
"All set. Should have you back to New York for a late dinner."
Bice moved into the dining room, sat down at the table, and opened his laptop. "Okay, five minutes."
The bald man placed a hand on his shoulder. "Boss, we ought to get out of here. Dropped Vane over an hour ago."
"Start the car." Bice didn't look up. "We leave when I'm ready."
Bice logged onto his e-mail and scrolled down until he found a series that had been forwarded from the account of Greta Mori. First, there were a few from clients, confirming appointments in Boston over the last few days. He scanned, then deleted them.
Bad-bad-bad-bad.
Next, he read an e-mail from her mother in Germany. News about a cousin and a new smoked sausage recipe she was working on. He deleted it. Then a bunch of ads for shoes and purses and obscure personal care products.
He needed something back in New York. Something out in public. Something that would make him feel better.
He slid the computer into a small leather bag and walked to the kitchen, where he pulled his gun from an otherwise empty drawer. He placed it on the tile counter and stared at it.
"None of this is my fault," he said to himself.
He placed the gun in the bag beside the computer and stared through the kitchen window across the lawn. The small metal shed sat surrounded by evergreens across the bright green lawn. The grass needed to be mowed, he thought.
"Boss, the car's ready."
Bice walked past the silver SUV and across the lawn. He stopped at the door to the shed, then took a key out of his pocket, slid it into the padlock, and jogged back to the SUV.
Endo drove fast, but Camila kept up with him. Within ten minutes, they were driving down a long, winding dirt driveway with cedar trees on both sides and ferns growing so large they nearly blocked the way. At the end of the driveway, Alex saw it, a one-story cedar-sided house painted gray.
Endo stopped his patrol car behind another that was already in the driveway, and jumped out. He gestured for Alex, James, and Camila to stay put.
From the front passenger seat, Alex pointed at the shed across the lawn over a short wooden fence. "Is that it?"
"That's where I was," James confirmed. "And that's the house."
"I think he said you were in the house the first time I talked with him," Alex said.
"What do we do?" Camila asked.
Alex was about to answer, but then he saw Endo emerge from the house with the two other officers, talking on his cell phone. When he got to their car, Endo flipped the phone closed. Camila rolled down the window.
"Not there?" Alex asked.
"No."
Endo pointed across the lawn. "That the shed?"
"Yup," James said.
