by Derek Murphy
She called, “Ike! What’s with all the light? Did you find something?”
No answer.
“Ike! Where are you?”
His car was still on the drive in front of the house and though he was a rascal that liked his practical jokes, he never fooled around with an investigation. Playing hide-and-seek just wasn’t his style when on the job. Walking into the house proper, she pushed the door shut behind her and snaked her Walther from its holster in the small of her back. She always wore waist-length jackets on the job to make it easier to get to.
Doing a walk-through of the house, she saw the scaffold in the library and surmised that he had gone to the next floor. Taking the stairs as silently as she could, she was gratified to find that the quality of construction in the house was such that the stairs just did not squeak at all.
Searching the second floor, she found the same thing that Ike had; there was no access to the ceiling of the library on the second floor. Then she found the open door leading to the attic and carefully ascended until she was in the attic. Her eyes scanned the expansive area until she saw the crumpled form in the area just above the library. She continued to flick her eyes into the corners and at the tidy forms of a few trunks and boxes that were arrayed around the space until she reached him.
She carefully rolled him over, noting that there was a lump on the back of his head with a little blood welling out. His heavy form rolled slowly till he was on his back and she saw the flashlight several feet away, its beam still bright. Good, he hadn’t been out long.
He sighed a bit and groaned as one hand came up to his head. Before it reached the bloody scalp, she caught his hand and held it.
“Don’t, Ike. You’ll only smear the blood.”
His eyes flickered open and shut a few times until they focused on her and he grunted, “Hell! Some son-of-a-bitch hit me!”
“Lie still a minute.”
She scooted over to the flashlight on her knees and grabbed it, bringing it back to shine briefly in his eyes. Noting that there seemed to be normal pupil dilation in both eyes, she sighed in relief. At least he didn’t have a concussion.
“What were you doing, Ike?”
He looked around the room for a few seconds until, eyes widening, he twisted to look at the ceiling under him and cursed.
“God damn it! The bastard took it!”
Frowning, she asked, “Took what?”
Ike lowered his head, his hand automatically going to the back of it only to jerk as his fingers touched the tender bump.
“A servo and a balloon attached to it by a wire.”
“What do you think it was?”
“I think the balloon was full of blood and was stuck to the ceiling. The servo must have been remotely operated and lowered the balloon to head height. Another switch attached to a small explosive charge on the balloon made the blood spatter and after it was done, the servo pulled the balloon up through the hole in the ceiling.”
“That means…”
Interrupting, he said, “That someone has been able to get into Webster’s house anytime he wants without the house staff knowing it. We need to investigate the staff.”
As she helped him to his feet, Julie said, “The prelim on all of them was pretty clean, Ike. It’ll take some digging.”
Wincing as he put his hand at the back of his head again, he replied, “Then we’ll dig.”
He fixed her with his eyes and said, “I don’t want to bring Carl in on this if I don’t have to, Julie. He’s just getting his feet under him again and he had bad news from South Africa.”
Taken aback, she asked, “How do you know?”
“DeeDee called me earlier. Marta died.”
She felt an immediate sense of sympathy for Carl, mixed with relief and said, “Oh, the poor man.”
Ike squinted one eye at her and said, “Don’t give me that shit, Julie. I know you’d like nothing better than to get Carl in your bed. You’ve had a hankering for him ever since we worked your case in LA.”
She understood that she had mixed feelings about the bad news Carl had received, but temporized as she said, “I won’t deny that I’ve liked Carl for a long time, but I can still feel bad for him. Can’t I?”
Ike hoped the warning tone in his voice got through to her as he said, “Sure you can. Just go slow, Girlie. That wound of his is still open and it’s going to be raw for a long time. Carl takes things a lot more seriously than people think he does. Just because he’s an Indian, that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel things like everybody else.”
Spreading her hands palms down, she moved them up and down placatingly as she said, “Okay, Ike. I want him to get over this as much as anybody else.”
“Remember, I know what your lifestyle was like in Hollywood, Girlie. Carl’s not another pretty-boy you can just toss away when you’re done with him. He doesn’t need to be hurt anymore.”
Hotly, she said, “I know, Ike! Let it alone! I wouldn’t do that to Carl!”
Stepping past her, he moved toward the stairs, saying, “Just remember what I said, Julie.”
* * *
Sitting in his truck, an old 54 GMC left to him by his father when he died, Carl waited as the receptionist connected him to Nelson’s office. The lone crewman on Nelson’s yacht had just left the boat with his duffel bag on his shoulder, obviously going to a Laundromat, as testified to by the box of laundry detergent under his arm, and Carl thought this would be the best time to do a survey of the boat.
Nelson’s assistant came on the line then, “Nelson Aerospace, Mr. Nelson’s office. How can I help you?”
Carl was banking on the office staff not knowing the names of the lower-level supervisors in the various shops and so, gave her a fictitious name. “This is Whittaker in the Fabrication Shop. I’d like to make an appointment before he leaves for the day this evening. I really need to speak to Mr. Nelson about the specs he sent over to me.”
There was a pause and the assistant said, “I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Nelson has a late meeting today and there’s no way of knowing when he will be free. He has an hour tomorrow morning. Will that be soon enough?”
Carl paused as though thinking it over, then said, “Yeah, okay. I’ve got other work I can put the boys on tonight. What time tomorrow?”
“Is nine okay?”
“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.”
“Very well, Mr. Whittaker. I’ll pencil you in for nine in the morning.”
“Goodbye.”
Closing his phone, he watched the crewman out of sight and exited his truck, walking easily toward the yacht. He had learned long ago that if you acted as though you belonged somewhere, people usually didn’t ask questions unless they knew you didn’t belong. When that was the case, it was better to beat a quick retreat to avoid standing out in the person’s mind at a later date.
Making his way to the steps leading up to the boat, he climbed them quickly and went to the bridge or whatever it was called. The keys Mrs. Nelson had given him got him inside quickly and he began his search of the boat. He bypassed the galley and a quick look at the staterooms was all he needed to discount them. When he backtracked to the bridge and walked into the lounge, he saw that a laptop had been setup near one of the expansive windows that looked directly on the shore near Harborview Heights.
He thought, “What are you doing, Nelson? Are you trying to blackmail someone? What is so interesting about this view that it keeps you away from your pretty wife late at night?”
The laptop was sitting on a low coffee table and he gave the table a good going over. It contained drawers on all four sides and as he pulled out the drawer nearest the pc, he saw a small array of the exotic switches, receivers and servos that Nelson had purchased with his credit card. Most were still in their packages, but from intimate knowledge of the switches, he knew that even the plastic they were wrapped in would not protect them much longer from the humidity. The backs of the packages were plain pasteboard and they would absorb moisture
pretty quickly. Whatever Nelson was using the equipment for had to be a short-term job. The stuff wouldn’t hold up in this climate.
Picking up one of the packages, he turned it over and saw a bit of mold already growing at one corner of the pasteboard. Turning it back over, he held the package close, looking at the hair-fine wires of the switch and saw a bit of corrosion on one of them. The paper of the body of the switch was already slumping within the case and he put it back.
Turning to the laptop, he booted it up and cursed silently as he saw that the thing was password protected. Oh, well. Most computers of any kind were these days. He knew it had been a long-shot to begin with. Sighing, he powered the thing down and flipped it over. He set about opening the case. Finding the connections to the USB ports, he removed a device from his pocket and used the little clips provided to attach it to one of the ports. Once it was secure, he closed the case and replaced the laptop as he had found it.
He rose and moved to the hatch leading back out onto the deck. Glancing out, he saw that no one was within sight and he quickly opened the door, stepping lively to the side and back down the steps to the dock. Walking to the nearest lamp-post, he removed another device; a receiver, and peeled the film from the double-faced tape on its backside. He stepped up onto a cleat and stretched upward, pressing the receiver to the post high enough that most people wouldn’t notice it. Stepping back down, he continued on back to his pickup.
As he started the truck, his phone rang and he glanced at the screen on it. Another ‘Out of Area’ call. He flipped it open.
“Hello.”
Ghostly hisses, pops and crackles. Then a female voice said, “A few more days.”
The connection was broken and he removed the phone from his ear, frowning at it in exasperation. This was getting to be too much. Whoever was calling him was getting on his nerves. He resolved to contact his phone provider and get the calls’ routing traced. He wasn’t sure if they could do much since the calls had been outside his calling area, but he was willing to bet they had more information than he was given on his caller ID.
Chapter Four
Perplexed at his partner’s refusal to call Michaelson or Thomas, the only two police officers they felt they could depend on, Carl carried the coffee cup half full of whiskey and put it on the desk beside Ike. As his partner reached for it, DeeDee, holding ice cubes wrapped in a towel on the back of his head, used her other hand to push the cup away from her husband. Across the room, Julie leaned back in a desk chair and watched the small group with interest.
Carl said, “They’ve been working the case since the beginning, Ike. This might give them a lead on who raped and beat the woman before she killed herself. It could even be the rapist behind all of this.”
Stubbornly, Ike said, “I know. It just bugs me that someone was able to sneak up on me that way. Me! Oh, I know I’m not an Indian, like you, but I was well on the way to becoming a real ‘snake-eater’ before I let you talk me into getting out of the Army when my enlistment was up.”
Glowering, Carl said, “If I remember correctly, it was you who wanted to get out and get into private security. ‘There’s a ton of money to be made, Carl!’ that’s what you said. You were the one who wanted out!”
Julie said, “I think you’re both getting away from the subject. Do we call Harry and Steve, or not?”
Ike threw her an irritated glance. He had managed to get Carl onto another subject and she dragged them right back to it. She obviously wanted to call the cops and this was her way of letting them know what she wanted. As if that wasn’t bad enough, now DeeDee tossed her two-cents’-worth into the conversation and he knew he had lost the argument.
“Ike, we’re calling Harry and Steve. Their forensics guys missed the gooey stuff you found on the ceiling and they need to know about it. They need to know about all of it. Somebody is out to get Webster in some way or other and they’re not above beating your head in if you get in their way.”
Taking DeeDee’s words as permission to call the two policemen, Julie removed her phone from her pocket and dialed Harry’s number. After a moment, she heard him answer the call.
“Harry, this is Julie. We’ve got some information about the Webster vandalism and possibly, the suicide. Can you meet us at our office?”
She noted the glower that Ike was giving her and mugged back at him, sticking her tongue out at him after a few seconds before breaking into a smile.
“Okay, Harry. We’ll be right here when you get here. ‘Bye!”
Breaking the connection, she said, “Fifteen minutes.”
As the discussion ended on that note, the silence in the office became a palpable thing until DeeDee asked, “Carl? Did you make any headway on the Nelson case?”
Still staring almost angrily at Ike, he answered, “I’ve got a ‘snooper’ on the husband’s laptop with a receiver less than fifty feet from the boat. The wife is supposed to call me when he goes to the yacht next time. I’ll pick up the receiver the next morning. Maybe with the ‘snooper’ we’ll get some answers about what he’s up to.”
“Okay. Why don’t you go on home and get some rest? We can handle talking to Harry. You don’t need to be here for that. Besides, you probably need to send some flowers to Marta’s funeral.”
Irritated at being dismissed so easily but also feeling guilty at being thought unable to concentrate on the business because of Marta’s death, Carl rose and walked to the door. Turning, he sighed and stood, staring at the others for a moment before exiting the door.
Julie asked, “Do you think someone should be with him for a while?”
Ike shot her a warning look and would have spoken but DeeDee said, “No, leave him be. If I’ve learned anything about Carl, it’s that he feels the need to be alone and whip himself for a while before he’ll be fit company for other people.”
Julie frowned. “Why would he need to beat himself up about Marta’s death?”
Ike said, “You were there, so you saw it. When she got hurt, that is. He said he froze when her sister attacked. He said he could have shot her before Marta got into the action. Instead, you had to take the shot.”
Julie said, “That wasn’t his fault. It all happened so fast!”
Shaking his head and wincing at the accompanying pain, Ike said, “That doesn’t matter to Carl. Carl never freezes. That’s what’s got him so bummed. I’m pretty sure he’s played that few seconds out in his head a million times since it happened.”
She said, “I could have taken the shot earlier. If he looks at it the way you say he does, it’s just as much my fault.”
Putting a hand up to take the ice-pack from DeeDee’s fingers, he rose and walked to the door of his office.
“Self-guilt isn’t logical, Julie. Carl will continue to beat himself up about it and that’s all there is to it. In time, he might be able to forget it. He might even be able to forgive himself. It won’t be any time soon, though.”
DeeDee looked at Julie and shrugged. “We can just hope he doesn’t hurt himself too much thinking about it. The best thing for him right now is to get involved in a case. I’m glad he took the Nelson case; it’s simple and straightforward. He can get wrapped up in it without investing any of himself with the principals.”
Gathering up her purse again, Julie turned toward the door and stopped.
“What are you and Ike doing this evening?”
“I’m taking him home, putting a salad and steak on the table for him and then I’m going to put my feet up.” She patted her stomach. “This little guy is getting bigger all the time. I swear I’m going to have fallen arches by the time I pop! And if he doesn’t quit sitting on my bladder, I’ll leave puddles everywhere I go!”
“Well, I’m taking Harry to dinner this evening. I imagine that he’ll be late since he’ll have to talk to Ike about today. He can take my statement at the restaurant.”
“Okay, Julie. Be careful with him. Harry likes to be in the driver’s seat, if you know what I mean?�
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Nodding, Julie exited the door and headed for home to freshen up before dinner.
* * *
The stop at the barbecue joint on Lydecker didn’t take as long as Carl thought it would and in no time at all, he was at home with several to-go containers full of smoked pork tenderloin, sausage and brisket, beans and potato salad. He didn’t often indulge in so many carbs and fat, but felt that today had been a minor success and had decided to get his dinner at his favorite place. The older couple who owned the place migrated from Oklahoma many years before and had brought the old man’s father’s recipes and expertise with them when they moved to the Pacific Northwest. They spent all day smoking the meat in a big, steel smoker that took up half the parking lot behind the restaurant, and used a sauce that the old man claimed was nearly half beer. Despite the claim, Carl opened a bottle of his favorite brew to have with it and was just digging into his meal when the phone rang. He wiped his hands on a paper towel and picked up the phone. A young woman’s voice greeted him after he said, “Hello.”
“Mr. Tanner? This is Michelle at WestPac Cellular. We’re your home and cell phone provider. You called earlier today about some calls that you had received on both your lines and the IDs didn’t show up on your phones.”
“Yes, I did. Did you have any luck getting the identities of the callers?”
“In a way, sir. We didn’t get the identities, but we got the locations. The first call originated at a public phone across the street from Rand Private Rehabilitation Hospital in Port Elizabeth, South Africa, while the second call was made from a public phone in the lobby of the Wisconsin Hostel in Cairo, Egypt. Does this information give you some idea of who may have called?”
Carl scratched his cheek, noticed that an overlooked smear of barbecue sauce still adhered to one finger, licked it quickly and sat up straight.
