The Sarah Roberts Series Vol. 7-9

by Jonas Saul

  “Preparing a syringe to help you sleep and get rid of your headache.”

  He entered her field of vision again, a small syringe in his right hand.

  “You sounded like you were talking to someone when you were under,” he said.

  “Really?”

  “A full conversation. You asked questions, then I assume you received answers in your head, because you responded as if you had. I only heard what you were saying. It was like listening to someone on the phone. A couple of times you got quite angry. I was worried.”

  “How bad was the bullet hole? Is my brain okay?”

  “There wasn’t a lot of damage, which surprised me, but the bullet only started the injury. You have a second head injury on the back of the skull where you must’ve fallen after being shot. The two combined jostled your brain around, caused it to make contact with the inside of your skull, which knocked you out. There was some swelling, but you’re out of the woods now and by the sound of your speech, the only lasting issue will be a little memory loss, temporarily.”

  He plunged the needle into her thigh. She didn’t protest as she was already feeling drowsy again.

  “Who shot me?” she asked.

  “I was hoping you would know that.”

  “What’s my name? Say my name.” She forced her eyes open and found his face above hers. “Sorry, that sounded sexual.”

  He brushed the comment off. “Your name is Sarah Roberts.”

  At the sound of those two words she felt alive, rejuvenated. She loved her name and knew she lived that name with honor. It was a feeling she couldn’t deny.

  The fear of missing memories made her feel weak. She tried to remember what fear meant to her and how she lived with it day to day and all that she got was, False Evidence Appearing Real. That’s what fear meant. Then she recalled another one. Fuck Everything And Run.

  She smiled. It wouldn’t take long before her memories came back. And when they did, she would locate the people responsible and render consequences. The memory loss was a temporary situation. One that allowed her to heal.

  Then an image of the shooter floated to the surface, like it was buried under an ocean of sand and a tide of synapses pulled away and uncovered it.

  The man’s gentle face. His concern. The gun in his hand.

  She dove out of the way but it was too late.

  His name came next. That man would have to die for shooting her. She would burn his name in Hell and tattoo it on her memory so as to never forget her mortal enemy.

  His name became synonymous with pain. Even though something felt wrong about it, she shouted his name in her mind so she would remember it when she woke again.

  Never forget this name. Make him pay for what he did.

  Parkman.

  Chapter 17

  Violeta went to bed angry, displeased with her daughter and her husband, but she woke elated.

  Elias Kostas had agreed to the full deal. Later today, due to the time difference in Greece, which would make it evening for them, he would personally see to it that Oliver’s spine was severed in the lumbar section. He should retain movement of his upper body for the rest of his life, but he would be paralyzed from the waist down.

  That pleased her.

  See how it feels, Oliver, to have someone wipe your ass for the rest of your life.

  She made coffee, read the morning paper on her iPad, and waited for Tam to join her with reports on Caleb and Amelia Roberts.

  It had cost her a lot of money to manage this, but it was all coming together. Violeta was either a good manager or a bad manager. There was no in-between. Managing came down to delegating, organizing and meeting deadlines. She had delegated what needed to be done, found the right people to do the tasks, and organized everything to come in on time, therefore making her not just a good manager, but an exceptional one.

  Soon, everyone would be in Santa Rosa and she could get the signatures she needed from her soon to be dead ex-husband, watch as Parkman was arrested in Toronto, and finally deal with Sarah Roberts when she showed up in Santa Rosa.

  An uncharacteristic wide smile parted her lips before she sipped more coffee.

  Ahh, it’s good to be so in control.

  “What’s the smile for?” Tam asked. She stood under the alcove in the front foyer of the house. “It looks pretty on you, Momma. I’d love to see you smile more.”

  Violeta set her coffee cup down, adjusted her burgundy robe, crossed her legs, and looked up at Tam, the smile gone.

  “What have you discovered?”

  “Sarah’s parents live here in Santa Rosa like you said but I haven’t found an address yet.”

  “How long before you will acquire their address?”

  “I’m heading downtown to the government buildings where I will do my best.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  Tam moved further into the living room. “I’m sorry?” She frowned. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

  “I do.”

  “Then why did you say, I won’t?”

  “You won’t do your best to get an address. You will get one. Understood?”

  Tam nodded. “Understood, Momma.”

  “Good.” She sipped from her cup and extended it to her daughter. “Fill this up for me.”

  Tam walked across the room, grabbed the cup and left. Violeta waited, her iPad on her lap and counted in her head. The time it took to walk to the kitchen, pour the coffee and return wasn’t more than fifteen seconds. At seventeen seconds, Tam returned and set her full cup on the table beside her. Five seconds longer and Violeta wouldn’t drink it. That was enough time for her daughter to poison it. She always had to be watching, cunning enough to manage the people in her life, but also smart enough to thwart their efforts against her.

  “I’m leaving now,” Tam said. “To complete my task.”

  At the front door, she paused.

  “What is it?” Violeta asked without looking up from her iPad.

  “I just thought you’d say goodbye before I left.”

  “Fine, goodbye.” She looked up. “Just remember, you’re in a state of regaining your honor right now. As far as I’m concerned you’re no better than the man who vacuums our septic tank or cleans our pool. Not until you have located the Roberts’s house. Then, and only then, do you reenter this house as my daughter. Understood?”

  “Yes, Momma.”

  Violeta waved her hand dismissively. “Now off with you. Do your job.”

  Tam stepped out and closed the door behind her.

  Violeta smiled when she was alone again. Tam needed this. She had to earn her life. She had character to build and nothing good ever came easy. Nothing valuable was ever formed without extreme pressure and erosion. Break Tam down and build her up under pressure. Maybe, when Tam was in her mid-twenties, she would finally make it to womanhood and thank Violeta for all that she had done for her, the sacrifices a mother makes for their offspring.

  Violeta set her iPad down and picked up the cordless phone. She dialed the number by heart.

  The two men she employed had turned out to be reliable. She had found them on the street while out late at night with her bodyguards. Ex-cons with no place to live. She had given them an apartment, a phone so she could contact them, food and all the alcohol they wanted, plus a thousand dollars each. It boggled her mind how they thought a thousand dollars made them rich.

  A week after they were well situated, she had them do the Parkman job. It had been easy. Pick him up. Disrobe him. Drive to an empty warehouse she owned and do crazy things to him. She let them decide what crazy things they wanted to do. Their job was to take his gun and make him write the letter that would incriminate him in any court of law. If any of this saw the light of day, Parkman had been harassing her, she would claim. Even wrote a letter to make it look like she had authored it.

  And now a new job had come up for her two little ex-cons.

  After dialing, the phone rang on and on at their apartment.
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  They had better not be drunk or high.

  She hung up and tried again. No one answered.

  Leaving her coffee behind, Violeta headed for the kitchen where she used her cell phone to call her driver. Her bodyguards had an address on the edge of town they needed to visit with her.

  Bring extra security men. And bring brass knuckles.

  Two ex-cons may need a beating to remember who was in charge.

  Chapter 18

  Parkman waited outside the hospital with Aaron. Detective Joffrey was doing his own rounds as he met with nurses in surgery, doctors working on the floor Sarah was supposed to have been on, and several hospital officials.

  No one had seen or heard of Sarah Roberts. Joffrey had used his influence to hunt down all the ambulance drivers on staff before shift change but could not find the two who had attended the scene on Keele Street where Sarah had been wounded.

  The only four people who could confirm that a shooting actually took place were the two first responding officers, Parkman, and Joffrey.

  But now they had no victim.

  Detective Joffrey walked out the sliding doors and joined Parkman and Aaron. He shrugged and made a face.

  “I tried. Nothing. She either disappeared, or she didn’t come to this hospital.”

  “No, no, she came here.” Parkman shook his head. “Explain Doctor Jacob to me, then. No, they knew about her and Doctor Jacob was tasked to keep us away, keep us busy.”

  “I agree,” Aaron said. “We start here.”

  “It ends in Santa Rosa,” Parkman said. “It started there and it will end there.”

  Joffrey raised a hand to block the morning sun and squinted at Parkman. “I don’t have jurisdiction in the States. We aren’t going to California.”

  “The hell I’m not.” Parkman moved past him and stepped into the shade. “You don’t have a victim. All that talk about my bullet was bullshit. The note was in my handwriting, but none of that matters because Sarah isn’t here. All you have is me shooting at a Jaguar and no one got hurt. Cite me, take my weapon, charge me if you want, but I’m not a flight risk. When I’m free tonight or tomorrow morning after my arraignment, I’m going to California—”

  “And I’m going with him,” Aaron added.

  “And I suggest you come, too,” Parkman told Joffrey. “Take a week off. A leave of absence. Call in sick for a week. I don’t care, but come with us. Follow this to its conclusion so you can see for yourself what is going on.”

  Parkman could tell Joffrey liked the idea, but then he shook his head.

  “I can’t. I just can’t go to California to solve a Toronto case. I have too much going on.”

  “Bullshit. You want to see what’s happened to Sarah as much as we do. In fact, Sarah has done a lot for this city. I bet if you told your superiors what you wanted to do, they would call the Santa Rosa authorities to tell them you’re coming.”

  “You’re right about one thing, Parkman.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I really don’t have much on you right now. Finding that letter in your suit jacket pocket was an illegal search of a private citizen’s personal clothing. Sure there’s blood on you, but whose? At this point I don’t have a victim. And yes, you shot up a Jaguar, but that’ll have to be investigated further before charges can be laid, if any.” Joffrey paused to let a man pushing a woman in a wheelchair pass. When they were out of earshot, he said, “I could press charges because you admitted to shooting at the car—”

  “No, I didn’t,” Parkman interjected. He looked at Aaron, “Did you hear me confess to anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay, then I have to investigate further. You’re free to go, for now. But I have to advise you to stick around. I’ll need a number I can reach you at and where will you be staying?”

  Parkman gave Joffrey his cell number and Aaron’s home address.

  “You do know I won’t be sticking around, right?” Parkman asked.

  “I’m just doing my job.” Joffrey put his pen and pad away. “But if it was me, I’d go find out what happened to my girl. Then begin a massive lawsuit against the hospital or anyone else who had anything to do with this.”

  They shook hands and Joffrey departed.

  “Now what?” Aaron said. “We have to find Sarah. This is insane. I can’t lose her again.”

  “Do you have extra keys for Sarah’s bike?” Parkman asked.

  Aaron nodded.

  “I’ll drive you to the bike at the warehouse on Keele. You follow me in my car and together we’ll go to your place and lock it all up. You’ll get your passport. Then we go to the airport and get a ticket to San Francisco. If everything works out, we could be in Santa Rosa tonight or tomorrow morning. It’s time to break this thing open wide.”

  “What if Sarah turns up at another hospital or somewhere else in Toronto and needs me?”

  “She won’t. And if she does, Joffrey’s here. Worst case, she shows back up at your apartment and calls you. Then just fly back to be with her. But I don’t think any of that is going to happen.” Parkman shook his head. “Whoever took her will have no purpose but to move her to Santa Rosa to do Violeta’s bidding. That’s why they tailed me here. That’s why we were shot at. It all makes sense and Violeta has enough money to buy the mayor.”

  “No jokes about the Mayor of Toronto,” Aaron warned. “I’ve always loved Rob Ford.”

  Parkman nodded. “No problem.”

  “And you have to tell me everything about this Violeta person.”

  “There’s one thing to be prepared for.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Be prepared to fight. She is never without security guards. Often two or three flank her wherever she goes.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m prepared to have some fun. It’s been too long.”

  What Parkman didn’t tell him was to be prepared to never see Sarah again.

  Once Violeta was done with Sarah there was no way she would let her live. With enough security, the kind of criminals Violeta sent after Parkman, and the things they did to him, Sarah didn’t have much of a chance with a bullet wound to the head.

  Unless Parkman and Aaron got to her first, which Parkman doubted.

  All they would find in Santa Rosa would be Sarah’s body.

  Chapter 19

  Kostas knocked and opened the cell door. He had a metal bed brought in with a new mattress and a softer chair for Oliver. He had even located a couple of English books at a tourist store in Nafplio’s main square for Oliver to pass the time.

  “Enjoying the books?”

  Oliver grunted a yes.

  “The bed has to be better than the floor.”

  “It was.”

  Kostas held up the envelope in his hand. “Looks like we have everything we need to make this work.”

  The fat lip had split under Kostas’s fists. One of Oliver’s eyes had blackened and swollen nearly shut. He complained of two loose teeth, but Kostas assured him that dental care in America would be better than in Greece and to wait until he got home to deal with it.

  “I was at the hospital and got all the necessary documents. X-Rays, letters, legal transfers, everything. Even your passport is in here. You’re officially a paralyzed American male, on your way back to your home town of Santa Rosa, California, via the Los Angeles airport, from Athens, with a two-hour layover in Zurich, Switzerland. How does that sound?”

  “Like I’m going to be sick.”

  Kostas set the envelope down on the bed. “Why’s that? This is your opportunity to set things right and move on with your life.”

  “I know, but I never thought I would be going back to that place. Also, I have to ask. You had my passport all this time, didn’t you?”

  “None of that matters now as it seems to me this is the only way to handle your ex-wife. Your other plan wasn’t working out too well for you. Eventually, Violeta would find you in Britain or Argentina, or India, wherever you decided to go, and s
he would send men to paralyze you. A life on the run.” Kostas looked Oliver up and down and shook his head. “You’re not cut out for that.”

  “Knowing that doesn’t make going back any easier. But I will.”

  “In fifteen minutes, I want to set you up in the wheelchair, cover your legs and take the pictures. Then I will fax the hospital documents to your ex-wife and send her the pictures. Once the money has been transferred, I will freeze the assets in my personal account as evidence and contact the authorities in the States. By that time, you will already be in Athens, awaiting your flight. As long as everything goes as planned, you’ll be in Los Angeles in thirty-six hours.”