by Chris Orcutt
“Attracted to me…like, physically?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “You’re a beautiful young lady.”
“Really?” She fidgeted on her towel. “Like what about me? Most guys think I look geeky.”
“All right, I’m only going to say this once. Ready?”
She nodded enthusiastically.
“First of all”—I ran my hand down her hip and thigh—“your legs are stunning.”
“Stunning?”
“Shush,” I said. “I love how your ears stick out a little bit, your wonderful high cheekbones, and that prominent forehead of yours. It’s like you’ve got an alien brain in there.”
Smiling, she wriggled off her towel onto mine. “Yeah? You know what I like about you?”
“I’m not finished,” I said. “Finally there’s that lower lip of yours—how it’s always pouty and shimmering, begging to be kissed. That lip should have a poem written about it.”
She laughed. “It is begging to be kissed, Dakota.”
Before I could resist, Sally threw her leg over me, shoved me on my back, and straddled me. Dipping her head, she dragged her lower lip up across my chin stubble and kissed me.
“I like how you’re like classically handsome,” she said. “Like…the star of an old-timey movie. And strong—a real man’s man.”
“Actually…I like to think of myself as the man that man’s men look up to. A man’s man’s man.”
“Stop fooling around.” She caressed my cheek. “You’re strong. I feel safe with you. You’re smart, too. Even if you aren’t a Ph.D.”
Still straddling me, she kissed my neck and rubbed her chest against my shirt.
“So,” she said, kissing me, “since we find each other so attractive…once this case is over…maybe we could—”
“No way.”
“Why not?” She sat up and thumped her fist on my chest. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Nope. Broke up a few days ago,” I said.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“Well, for starters,” I said, “your father is friends with the FBI Director, and I’m just starting my private detective business.”
“So what?” She rolled off me and back onto her towel. “Why’s that matter?”
“It just does,” I said. “There’s also the difference in our ages.”
“Oh—you’re too old for me, is that it? Because you don’t look old, Dakota. At all. Seriously, you’re better-built than any of the guys in my dorm.”
“Thank you, honey.” I smiled and touched her cheek. “No, the issue isn’t my being too old for you. The issue is, you’re too young for me.”
Her face scrunched up. She stomped a heel against her blanket.
“That’s a stupid double-standard,” she said. “For you to—”
“Sally, you’re a bright girl with a lot of potential, but you don’t know what you want yet. You’re definitely not ready to have a committed relationship with a grown man. If you and I got involved right now, I’d give us about a week. Some other guy would catch your eye, and you’d leave me in the dust.”
“No, I wouldn’t!” She scooped up a fistful of sand and slung it behind her.
“Listen,” I said, “I don’t think you’d do it intentionally. You just can’t help yourself. In every way—academically, socially, sexually, emotionally—you’re figuring out what you want, what you like and don’t like. I also think you’d wear me out. I bet you’re an insatiable little minx in bed.”
Looking coyly at me, she spoke with that breathy, ingénue voice again.
“No…but with the right man…I could be.”
“See?” I said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“The coy, come-hither looks, the breathy, baby-girl talk. I’m a grown man, Sally. I want a strong, smart, independent, beautiful woman, not some Lolita-esque flibbertigibbet. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
She stared at her blanket. After a tense couple of seconds, she finally nodded.
“Do you?” I said.
“I’ve never read Lolita, but I understand the reference,” she said.
“Listen, Sally…you’re young. Trust me…you don’t want to be tied down to a guy—any guy. In fact, I suggest you take a break from boys for a while. Enjoy your girlfriends, maybe make up with your roommate Megan. And when you do decide to date again, date some boys your own age.”
“Boys my own age don’t like me,” she said.
“I seriously doubt that. I bet you only think they don’t like you because they’re standoffish. They’re probably intimidated by you.”
“Maybe.” She shivered and put on her skirt and top again.
“You’re not going for a swim?” I said. “After two hours and two bad guys to get here?”
She looked at the water and shook her head.
“Sally,” I said, “the most important thing for you right now is to stay away from Malone. Those men were bad news. Did Malone ever say anything about Montreal?”
“Yeah, he invited me to go up there with him,” Sally said. “In a few days. I wasn’t sure I could do it because I have classes. He asked if Megan might want to join us.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Sally, I need you to do me a favor.”
“What could I possibly do for you?”
“Two things,” I said. “First, we need to talk to Megan. I think the two of you are in danger. Here, look at this.” I handed her the photo of the list of girls. “That’s a photo of a page from Malone’s day planner. Look at numbers five and eight. Sound familiar?”
As she studied the photo, her face morphed from confusion into shock.
“These sound like me and Megan,” she said. “But why are they crossed out?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I think it’s because that’s a wish list of girls he’s looking for, and when he found you and Megan, he crossed them out. By the way, do you know any Asian girls who fit the description of number two on the list?”
“Mm…nobody really. Oh, wait…maybe Jade. You know, from tennis intramurals?”
I thought back to the other day, when I was coaching the girls and Malone was watching them from the stands with binoculars.
“Sure, I remember her,” I said.
“What about the ‘buxom blonde’ mentioned here?” Sally asked.
“I think that was Teller’s daughter. I’ve seen her picture, and she looks like the girl described on the list.”
“Teller was the man found killed this morning?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She handed the photo back to me. “This doesn’t prove anything. Certainly not that Geoff is involved in human trafficking.”
“Maybe not,” I said, “but two things I discovered the other day are very suspicious.”
I told her about the test tubes of blood and the encrypted flash drive of photos—photos of girls who had disappeared.
“I need to ask you something, Sally,” I said. “What’s your blood type?”
“A-B negative. Why?”
“Ah-hah,” I said. “What if I told you that all of those test tubes of blood were A-B negative, and that the young women in those pictures—the ones who’ve disappeared—they might be A-B negative as well?”
Sally shivered and drew her knees into her chest. Her eyes gaped.
“I…I can’t believe this is happening.”
I put my arm around her. “Sally, I need you to stay away from him. No more working at the lab, no more Malone period. Which brings me to the second part of the favor. You need to let me take you home to Connecticut.”
“Home? No way.”
“You’re not safe in Cambridge, Sally—even after Malone leaves. Most of the young women at the other colleges disappeared a month or so af
ter Malone folded up the tents on his study.”
She continued to clutch her knees to her chest and stare out at the ocean.
“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” she said. “Honestly, I’m kind of overwhelmed by all this, Dakota.”
“That’s understandable.” I stood, offered her a hand and helped her up. “Come on, we’ll walk on the beach for a while, and talk about this some more. Then we’ll go back to Cambridge.”
She put an arm around me and we strolled down the beach on the wet sand, just above the hissing foam.
* * *
When we returned the bicycles to Provincetown, I hired a cab to take us to the garage in Boston. The Mercedes didn’t appear to have been disturbed. The engine was slow to start, but after a few tries it turned over and I drove us back to the Charles.
There, I installed Sally in the room next to mine, leaving the connecting door open so I could keep tabs on her. When she put on a movie, I called Svetlana. Muzak played in the background on the other end of the line.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Saks, in Boston,” she said. “Shopping.”
“Did you have a chance to—”
“So far, everything Mr. Teller told us appears to be accurate,” she said.
She explained how she had spent her day calling the parents of the missing girls.
“All of them corroborated his story, Dakota,” she said.
“I was afraid of that.”
“Perhaps when you speak with the FBI next, you could share this with them.”
“Actually, I already heard from them.”
I told her about the call from Special Agent Suzuki. I gave her the name of the Saudi-bankrolled organization that funded Malone’s research, and how Agent Suzuki had found Kevin Teller dead in his van this morning.
“That is very distressing,” she said. “But perhaps now the FBI will get involved, yes?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll discuss all of this with the Director the next time I talk with him, but I’m not sure it’ll make a difference.”
“Dakota?” she said.
“Yeah?”
“I am standing at a register with an armload of clothing. Is there anything else?”
“What about the girls’ blood types?” I asked. “Did you—”
“A-B negative,” she said. “All of them.”
“Wow,” I said. “That can’t be a coincidence. This has really turned into a case now. Mind if I call you tomorrow? In the afternoon, maybe?”
“Certainly,” she said.
“Have a good night.”
“You as well.”
After I hung up, I checked on Sally. She was asleep on her bed with the TV playing. I shut it off. I draped a blanket over her, sat in an armchair and watched her breathe for a while.
25
A Gentle, Avuncular Squeeze
At five o’clock the next morning, I rolled out of bed, worked out in the fitness center, and swam thirty laps in the hotel pool. Once showered and dressed, I woke Sally, waited for her to get ready, and ate a quiet breakfast with her in the restaurant downstairs.
Afterwards I escorted her to her first class—Professor Cantor’s “psychos” class, as Sally termed it. She had her arm around my waist during the entire walk. Passing faculty gave me the stink-eye, but I ignored them. Sally’s sense of safety was more important than what other people thought about me.
“Hey,” she said. “Maybe going home isn’t such a bad idea. When were you thinking?”
“Tomorrow morning?” I said.
“So soon?’’
“I’ll feel better when you’re home with your parents, Sally. Tell you what—we’ll take our time driving. We can stop for lunch someplace, maybe go to a movie or something. What do you say?”
“I’d love that!” She hugged me with both arms. “Okay, tomorrow morning then.”
I glanced at my watch. “Let’s get you to class.”
In the amphitheater, Sally sat next to a strapping young man who shook my hand with an adamantine grip.
“Dakota,” Sally said, “this is my friend, Darryl. He’s on the hockey team. I’ll be fine for an hour.”
“Darryl,” I said, “you’ll watch out for Sally?”
“You bet,” he said. “Anybody messes with her, I’ll knock their teeth down their throat.”
Sally smiled crookedly.
“Okay then,” I said.
Confident Sally would be safe for a while, I slipped out and went hunting for a pay phone. I needed to talk to Director Reeves.
Pay phones, and especially phone booths, were becoming scarcer by the day. I sensed the time was fast approaching when I’d have to bite the bullet and get a cell phone. Miraculously, I found a wall-mounted pay phone in the lobby of the building next door. As I dialed Director Reeves’s number, the lobby doors kept opening and banging shut behind me.
Once he got on the line, I explained that I’d successfully taken Sally out of Dr. Malone’s clutches, that I’d installed her in the room adjoining mine at the Charles, and that I would drive her home to Connecticut tomorrow morning.
“Fine, Stevens,” the Director said. “Put it all in your report. Tomorrow, then, we’ll consider the case officially closed.”
“But actually, sir, it isn’t,” I said. “I believe Special Agent Suzuki emailed you about this. At least fourteen young women have been abducted by Malone’s people and—”
“I’m going to stop you right there, Stevens,” he said. “I’m extremely busy this morning, but I want to be very clear about what’s going to happen. Are you listening?”
A door banged shut behind me. “Yes, sir.”
“You will deliver Miss Standish to her parents in Connecticut,” he said. “You will return to New York and hang out your PI shingle—I might even be able to throw you a few cold cases to get you started—and you will forget about this business with Doctor Ma—” Another door banged shut behind me. “What is that racket? It’s very annoying.”
“Doors, sir,” I said. “I’m in a lobby, on a pay phone. But what about all the evidence I’ve uncovered?”
“What evidence?”
“The list of girls? The photos of girls and the test tubes of A-B negative blood I found in Malone’s apartment? Mr. Teller’s testimony, the photos he showed me, and the fact that he was murdered? The fact that a Saudi prince backs the nonprofit that bankrolls Malone’s research? Sir, there’s way too much evidence to ignore.”
“Stevens, I’m not arguing with you about this,” he said. “The reality is, all of your so-called evidence is circumstantial at best, and none of it has been legally obtained—there’s no chain of custody. You know it, I know it. As for the photos and Mr. Teller’s testimony, well…the man is dead and there wasn’t a speck of evidence in his van. I have my best agents working the missing persons cases you’re referring to and—”
“Your ‘best agents’?” I said. “Like who?”
“That’s none of your business, Stevens,” he said. “It seems I need to remind you—you are no longer a Bureau employee. Listen carefully. Unless you want to be charged with obstruction of justice, I expect you to immediately drop this matter regarding Teller, get Miss Standish home safely, and refocus on your PI career. Are you hearing me, Stevens? Is this getting through?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ll inform Mr. Standish of your success with Sally and tell him you’ll have her home tomorrow.”
“Fine.”
“Before I go,” the Director said, “there’s one thing I’m curious about.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“What did you say to Sally to convince her to leave Malone?”
I knew that saying what I was about to say was a bad idea, but the Director’s condescension had gotten my blood up, so I
decided to let it fly. When the lobby door opened and banged shut again, I turned and winked at a couple of coeds walking in.
“I didn’t say anything to her, sir,” I said loudly into the phone. “I seduced her.”
The girls gaped at me and hurried past.
“What!” the Director shouted. “You…you couldn’t have! To have sex with Harold’s daughter—an innocent and vulnerable young lady! Stevens, I’ll—”
“Relax, Director…I didn’t have sex with her. I just charmed her. Have a nice day, sir. Goodbye.”
I hung up.
When I met Sally after class, her hockey friend Darryl tried to crush my hand again shaking me goodbye. I was tempted to retaliate, but I let it go. I was pleased that at least one young man Sally’s age was concerned about her welfare. Sally and I said goodbye to him and crossed Harvard Yard together.
“Darryl’s nice, isn’t he?” Sally said.
“Seems like a good kid,” I said. “Why? You like him?”
“Mm…maybe.”
“God, you’re fickle, you know that?”
She giggled.
“Hey, I’ve been doing some more thinking,” she said. “I’m done with Geoff. You’re right—he’s treated me really badly. Besides, if he’s actually behind the abductions of those girls…”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
I led us past the newsstand in Harvard Square and headed down J.F.K. Street toward my hotel.
“Where are we going now, Dakota?”
“Back to the hotel,” I said. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Mm, I like surprises.”
A matronly woman at the front desk gave me a scornful look when I walked by with Sally literally hanging all over me. I replied with a boyish exaggerated shrug and led Sally to the elevator.
As soon as the doors closed, she jumped into my arms, wrapping her arms and legs around me, kissing me like I was a soldier just returned from war. The rational, adult part of me knew I should put the kibosh on this mischief before it got out of hand, but the impulsive teenager in me was enjoying it.
Sally made little “mming” noises as she kissed me, like a starving person sampling items at a buffet and being overcome because everything is delicious. Her behavior reminded me vaguely of a girl in college, a reputed nymphomaniac, who’d been interested in me, but whom I’d regrettably ignored. When the feelings of guilt started bubbling up again, I reminded myself that Sally was almost 20 years old; she was of legal age. Besides, it was only kissing.
