The Path of Silence

by Edita A. Petrick

  “You’ve had time to wash your hands?” I looked up from my notebook.

  “Yes. It took the doctor and the security guard five minutes to arrive.”

  “Why didn’t you call 9-1-1? Why wait for the guard to arrive and then have him call it in?” Even as I looked at him, notebook ready, I perceived, out of the corner of my eye, a movement at the door. Someone was coming through.

  “Because I told him to wait.” The speaker emerged with those words. He continued, “The waiter was dead. This is a hotel. He was their employee. The hotel management should be informed about the situation, before the police are notified.”

  Twenty-one years of life swirled around me, as if those words had the power to raise a hurricane. Deep down, I always knew—feared—that this moment would come. I’d never had the courage to visualize it in detail. I should have forced myself to run through a scenario of “what if?” It would have saved me an attack of arrhythmia.

  “Detective Stanton,” he nodded at me and smiled. He turned to Ken. “Detective Leahman, pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Crossley Morgan Tavistock.”

  He turned and dismissed the bodyguards with a brisk nod.

  I remembered him as a tall, thin man, with a crooked shadow. He had always favored light colors, clothes and accessories but it didn’t make his shadow less ominous. Tonight, he wore taupe slacks and a pale blue sweater. I remembered him choosing these colors whenever he went to play a round of golf with the Chief Executive Officer of our country, or any one of the White House staff. He only wore the banker’s blue when terrorizing his many Boards of Directors, or being interviewed by the media.

  He was sixty-seven now. Other than the two wrinkles, above the bridge of his aquiline nose that had deepened with time, he hadn’t changed at all. His eyes were still blue, like mine. They were not impersonally still now but I knew he wouldn’t have lost that talent.

  He could stare at a person and convey the message that he was looking right through him. I had often heard his staff say, that the Chairman had the ability to erase with his eyes his entire Board of Directors. As a child, I used to wonder how one could erase people with one’s eyes. I had never asked what it meant. As I grew older, I learned—through experience.

  “Meg?” Ken looked at me. I exhaled slowly and thought of my daughter. It was the right tool, strong medicine.

  “How long would you say you were alone with the waiter in the dining room?” I asked.

  “No more than five minutes. My dining companion went to the kitchen, to make a wine selection,” he stared at the food cart that stood beside the table. Joe had already released the body. The paramedics had taken it away. He continued, “The one that the hotel sent was not suitable.”

  I could take notes without looking down. This time I kept my eyes trained on the notebook, as I asked questions. “Did you notice any discomfort in the waiter during that time?”

  “None.”

  “No unusual gestures? Balance? Facial expression signaling distress?”

  “He appeared fine, normal. He wheeled the cart into the dining room and proceeded to set up the table.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “The staff in this hotel is well trained, Detective.”

  “Service with a silence, as opposed to service with a smile,” I said, voice hardening.

  “If I want conversation, I’ll call a Board meeting,” he replied, mocking harder.

  I looked up—and met his steel-blue eyes. “Human voice is an excellent tool to convey a sign of distress, sir. People may drop dead in silence but it’s most unusual for a person to drop dead with an exploded chest in total silence.”

  He measured me coolly. “He didn’t make a sound. He didn’t know it was coming. He was totally unaware that anything like that was about to happen. Not even a sound of surprise. It simply struck him dead.”

  “Thank you,” I said dryly. “That’s precisely what I needed to know.”

  “Did you know the victim, sir?” Ken took over.

  “No. He was staff. One of three, I believe, who were cleared to provide service on this floor.”

  “How close were you to the victim when it happened?” Ken continued.

  “Five feet. His chest didn’t burst open. I was not sprayed with his blood, if that’s what you mean.”

  “It’s an internal reaction,” I murmured, looking at him. “Imploded would be a better description, than exploded.”

  “You do know who I am?” he addressed Ken. I saw Ken didn’t.

  “Yes,” I spoke up. “And we have no idea whether this is something that was meant to occur here—for your benefit—or simply an event that occurred out of turn, out of control.”

  He smiled briefly, mirthlessly. “I wasn’t harmed in any way. So it’s not an assassination attempt.”

  “Just a mere inconvenience,” I said.

  “A shocking inconvenience, Detective. I’m sure it is not a mere coincidence.”

  “Why not?”

  “Isn’t it your job to find out?”

  “It might make it easier if you gave us a hint of why you would think that it’s not just an unfortunate and bizarre incident.”

  “It could be just as you say, if it happened to someone on the street. However, when this sort of thing happens to someone in my position, I’m sure it can’t be dismissed as a mere coincidence. Like I said, this waiter was one of the three hotel staff who was cleared for this floor.”

  “So you think that your enemies had sent him to drop dead at your feet, to spoil your dining pleasure?” I asked.

  He motioned at the door. “I didn’t have to come out, you know.”

  “Why did you?”

  “Like any other citizen, I wouldn’t think of refusing to cooperate with the police.”

  “You thought about it for a long time,” I said.

  “I’m a banker. I have to consider all my decisions in great depth.”

  “Why would someone have sent a waiter to die at your feet?”

  “A warning.”

  I looked at Ken and saw that he was willing to consider this.

  “If you think it’s a warning, who has been threatening you?” I continued.

  “Not me, personally but my policies, business practices—functions and established procedures.”

  “Unfriendly foreign interests muscling in on the Tavistock banking stronghold?” I murmured. It seemed plausible but if that were the case, we faced a global army of hostile factions.

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted. It surprised me, because his voice told me it was true. He suspected something but wasn’t sure—or hadn’t figured it out yet.

  I sighed. “Intimidation by waiters who drop dead at your dining table—we’re dealing with people who can reach right into your…”

  “Chest and rip out your heart,” he filled in glibly.

  “We should leave this to Olsen and the rest and go help Joe tour the hospitals,” I turned to Ken.

  “Why would you want to give up such an interesting case as threats and intimidation in the banking circles?” he raised his voice. “I would have thought you’d like to find out a possible cause that may lie behind this new warning method.”

  “As you pointed out, sir, it’s an overwhelming case. We like to share our workload with our colleagues,” I said and moved to the dining room. “Thank you for your cooperation,” I spoke over my shoulder. “If you’re staying in Baltimore for any length of time, it might be a good idea if you appointed someone, a liaison, to deal with the police inquiries.”

  Ken moved after me. I was five feet away from the door when his voice sounded.

  “Detective Stanton, would you mind? I’d like to have a word with you, in private.”

  “I’ll wait for you outside. It’ll give me a chance to see what the rest have collected. I wonder what else there is that he hasn’t told us?” Ken murmured to me, as he walked out.

  Chapter 11

  It was an executive office, just like all t
he other offices he maintained. I’d never seen him use any of the hi-tech tools scattered around the room. Not even the phone. He had enough people to do such things for him. He merely gave orders.

  “You have a difficult job,” he said.

  “Is there anything else you wish to discuss about the murder?” I wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

  “How are you?”

  “Fine. Is there anything else?”

  “More than ten years of silence, invisibility, anonymity and hostility.”

  “Is there anything else, sir?” I repeated.

  “Ellie, you didn’t have to cut me out like that, throw away your degree and your future.”

  “I have my future. I saved it from you.”

  “I was wrong. I’m sorry. At the time, I believed it was the right choice.”

  “And since it was your choice, you wanted to carry it out quickly, without asking me.”

  “Your history is filled with questionable choices. It was my guiding principle.”

  “I settled my history and my head in the hospital. I spent all those months healing. I finished my law degree and continued with a Master’s. I was making right choices. Things would have worked out, regardless of the hardships.”

  “I wanted you to stay in school. I didn’t think you’d finish if you had other responsibilities.”

  “A child is not just a responsibility. She was my choice. My emotional commitment.”

  “That came through when I read the report about what you’d done. You could have killed yourself—and your child.”

  “My child was in danger. That gave me the strength to jump out of your limo. I was only physically bruised. The bruises healed. Had I not jumped out, I would still be in pain.”

  “You gave up everything you worked for.”

  “Willingly. It wasn’t that important to me to be a lawyer.”

  “Was it that important to be a single parent?”

  “These days, single parents are a majority.”

  “You didn’t have to be.”

  “It was my choice. I’ve lived with it happily for ten years. I intend to continue.”

  “Happily?”

  “Yes. I like my life. I like my job. I like who I am.”

  He shook his head. “You’re not like your mother or anyone else in our family. I used to wonder where your genes came from.”

  “Hell. But once I left it, my genes regenerated. Is there anything else you wish to discuss? My partner is waiting.”

  “Did you ever look for the father of your child?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “He disappeared. It was his choice. It left me free to define mine.”

  “Why didn’t you get married?”

  “I was busy raising my child and working on my career. Maybe I feared that I might meet someone like you.”

  “Unlike your child’s father, I never ran out on any of my wives and responsibilities,” he said, pursing his mouth.

  Ten years ago, when I jumped out of his limo, he was on his seventh wife.

  “It might have been cheaper than divorcing yourself from a portion of your assets every two or three years,” I smirked.

  “I’m not married now,” he said.

  I was surprised that he was not offended by a topic that was at the root of much of destructive behavior while growing up. As a child, I didn’t understand how he could have time for all those women who shared his company but not me. Once I heard my nanny say that he treated me like an appliance—something that was a costly purchase and that was the reason to maintain it. Perhaps because I was no longer a teenaged enigma, he felt comfortable discussing it.

  “So you’re not cheating on anyone with Ms. Alliston? That must be a novelty for you.”

  “I never cheated on your mother.”

  “But her death burst the floodgates, is that it?”

  “For a long time after she died, there didn’t seem to be any point in living.”

  “It came back quickly enough—Darlene, Cynthia, Jessica, Amanda, Erin—and a lot more. I lost track.”

  “Sometimes it takes a lifetime to realize that there is no replacement for what you’ve lost.”

  “As people get older, they become more philosophical and spiritual. Is that what’s happening to you?” I laughed and shook my head.

  “You’ve become cynical. You’re only thirty-two. Your brothers became craftier as they got older but not cynical.”

  “It’s late. I have a ton of work to do before I go home. Is there anything else you wish to discuss regarding this incident?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you were married to the father of your child?”

  “Had I told you would you have not sent that limo?”

  “I believed I was acting in your best interests, with the information I had. You never gave me a chance to think otherwise.”

  “Really? I thought it was just parental anxiety, not wanting to see me bear an illegitimate child. It would have harmed my political aspirations.”

  “I had hopes for you. I won’t deny it. Especially once I saw how well you did in school. You could have been Nellie Clarrington’s boss by now.”

  “Your sons have made you proud. Christopher’s in the House of Representatives and Tim is being touted as your heir-apparent.”

  I was never close to my brothers. I was four when my mother died. I was too young to remember her clearly. Christopher was thirteen and Tim was twelve years old. The age gap was too big for us to bond. Besides, they were the obedient ones, not rebels like I was.

  “I have three children and always will. You can’t change that, Ellie, no matter what you do.”

  “I’ve changed it on my side. I don’t have to worry about what it looks like on yours.”

  “That’s a pretty harsh decision.”

  “Your decisions were always harsh.”

  “A payback?”

  I shook my head. “I just walked away from the pain.”

  “So my granddaughter will not be allowed to find out about her family roots?”

  “She’s free to search once she turns eighteen. Until then, I control what she knows.”

  “You used to accuse me of control,” he said quietly.

  I turned. I could see that he wasn’t going to end this difficult meeting. The only way I could do it was to walk out.

  “No, Father. The only thing I remember accusing of you is negligence.”

  “Ellie,” his voice vibrated after me. “You’ve exiled yourself for more than ten years. Don’t you think that’s enough? You’ve proved your point.”

  I spoke over my shoulder. “I never set out to prove anything, Father. All I want is to be left alone and raise my daughter.” Leaving him with that painful reminder, I walked out.

  Chapter 12

  “Do you think Joe is right?” Ken asked, when we were in the parking lot. It was crowded with police cars and official traffic.

  “You mean about Jeffries not knowing he had the device implanted in his chest? It’s hard to believe but I suppose it’s possible.”

  “How can you not know?” He shook his head.

  “Joe will probably have a theory by tomorrow,” I suggested.

  “What about his other theory? Should we forget about the motive and concentrate on finding this mad scientist?”

  “Well, we’ve established Brick’s motive was money laundering but with Jeffries… What would they need a hotel waiter for?” I wondered.

  “It could be just like Tavistock said, a warning. By the way, his executives lectured me about the man when I asked them. Didn’t I know that he is the Chairman and the owner of the third largest private banking institution in our country? His name is spoken with reverence. It rings in the company of homegrown American royal lineages, such as the Vanderbilts, the Morgans and the Kennedys. The man’s our President’s golf partner, for God’s sake.”

  I could imagine Ken’s expression when the assistants had lectured.

>   “Someone who would use a human being to deliver a warning like that would have to be warped, not just ruthless,” I said.

  “He wouldn’t be bothered by conscience,” he agreed with a sigh.

  “If that device were improved and became explosive, he could place the bomb next to the target. Neither victim would be aware of anything,” I said softly, turning to look at him.

  He stared at me, with shock-widened eyes and whispered, “Joe’s right. The motive is not important. We have to find these criminal masterminds. Maybe Brick was a guinea pig. Maybe their real target was Jeffries.”

  I didn’t think so. “Brick was implanted to set up money laundering operations. That’s the motive. Jeffries was the alternate use—a deadly messenger. Brick was controlled. Jeffries was used. He was not just a warning. He was an example of what these people can do. They can target anyone, implant them and then either control them or use them as a warning.” I paused and shook my head. “Or, if they want to, they can just destroy them outright.”

  “It has to be a doctor or someone in the medical field,” he murmured.

  “The research that went into the device is medical but the application is terrorist.”

  “You said that foreign interests were trying to muscle in on the Tavistock banking strongholds? Do you know who’s behind it?”

  I shrugged. “I read the papers. It’s an old story—foreign interests, trying to muscle in on the US banking operations. There’s always someone, offshore, looking for new ways to launder money in the US. The banking system has many safeguards to track and discourage that kind of activity.”

  “Didn’t Brick write a smart program for a bank in Lima about tracking tax shelters or something?”

  “It wasn’t the same as money laundering but it was in the category. We’ll leave Creeslow for a while. We should visit the IMF tomorrow and then see where Jeffries lived. Did you get anything on his family, friends, girlfriends?”

  “He was another Brick. He didn’t even have a girlfriend. There’s no family. The security guard, Amato, was his only friend.”

  “Maybe that’s a requirement. They pick people with no family and few friends. I wonder if Jeffries had a part-time job?”