"It is. I would love to help."
"What do you actually do for a living?" Jane asked.
"As I said, I'm a contractor working for the government and private clients. I do investigations, interviews, track down people, and gather information. Those kinds of things."
"Sounds interesting. Hopefully it's not dangerous?"
"Not really, as long as you know what you’re doing," I wasn't being entirely honest.
"Are you like James Bond?" she was seriously curious.
"Jeez, no, of course not. My work is much more commonplace. It does require travel and meeting a lot of people though."
"You said you don't have to work. Why do you work then?"
"I need to do something to kill time, literally," I explained. "Moreover, I had a troubled childhood," I said not knowing why. I was not a talkative person, but Dr. Lockerby was very engaging and pleasant to interact with.
"Sorry to hear that. Tell me about it."
"Perhaps next time. Besides, I want you to fix the kids, not me," I laughed. Jane laughed heartily too. This caused her boobs to go up and down slightly, which I duly watched. "Here's my business card with my phone number."
"Invitation accepted," Jane said, quite enthusiastically. "I don't have a business card. Give me another one of yours, I'll write my phone number for you."
"Cool."
Lunch arrived. I had a decent steak. Nearly as good as I used to have in London in Covent Garden. This one was a good size, which I honestly didn't mind. I was doing some heavy weightlifting to keep fit, so some extra protein would be good for muscle recovery.
"That was a lovely lunch. Thanks for the company," I said.
"I enjoyed it too, thank you for taking me out," Dr. Jane responded and added, "I don't have too many opportunities to go out these days."
I paid the bill and we went back to the hospital to interview Lauren Wimbledon, whose husband, Carter, was killed in the shooting.
10.
SOME TIME AGO.
Ron Morgenthal knew Lauren's car very well. He was quite intimate with Lauren. Ron Morgenthal and Lauren Wimbledon had been dating for a few months, and Ron would often meet her after Lauren had dropped her kids at school. They would then go to Lauren's house and get very intimate. In fact, they had been getting so intimate that Ron knew nearly every nook and cranny of her sensuous body. Carter, Lauren's husband, wouldn't approve, no doubt.
Their extramarital activities took place in a number of locations, but their favorite spot was the master bedroom in Lauren's house. This was the place where Ron Morgenthal would meticulously caress every inch of Lauren's pristine body. Carter Wimbledon, Lauren's husband, would be amazed at how skilled his wife was. He wouldn't particularly fancy the idea of his wife copulating in their marital bed though, but that wasn’t really relevant any more.
Lauren was a stay-at-home mom. Saying that was a slight understatement. She was in fact looking after their children, John and Karrie, and loved them more than anything else. And that was a lot of work, a job in itself. She was an exemplary mother, there was no doubt about that, but most would agree she wasn't an exemplary wife. Well, you couldn’t argue with the last statement considering she was in bed with Ron Morgenthal regularly. On the other hand, from a different angle, describing Lauren as a stay-at-home mom was an understatement because she lived in a large four-thousand square-foot house on an acre of land. It was an understatement because the cleaning and cooking was taken care of by the dedicated staff. Lauren made arrangements to have her house cleaned every second or third day, and that person also prepared a meal, so she had to do a meal only once or twice a week. This circumstance came in handy, as she could meet Ron every second day without the housekeeping staff being present. It was also an understatement because a large part of her time Lauren spent shopping and meeting her friends for a chat. You could call her a ‘lifestyle & fashion shopping stay-at-home mom’, but such a term didn’t really exist; she was still a stay-at-home mom, although most stay-at-home moms would be very envious.
Lauren Wimbledon would have been very faithful to her husband had he not been cheating on her. He wasn't cheating on her in the usual sense of the term. He was simply very engaged in his business, whatever he was doing, but Lauren interpreted the lack of her husband's attention as cheating. Well, feminine logic was often beyond the mental capacities of the male brain.
The cries in the parking lot had not abated. Ron approached the car. He knew the car very well, it was the same she used to drop the kids at school every day. Lauren was very faithful in relationships, but she usually got bored quite rapidly, and then her faithfulness subsided. It seemed that Ron’s exploration of Lauren's body, however pleasant for both of them, had become a chore and Lauren let Ron know that she still liked him but their relationship had no future, and then she broke up with him. Or perhaps she felt some remorse. Or perhaps he was unstable, or simply not the man she imagined he would be. Whatever the reason, she dumped him tactfully.
Ron shot a few more bullets towards the car and was just about to shout “Don't you ever fuck with me again,” but noticed the person behind the wheel didn't look like Lauren. He approached the car, trying hard to look through the shattered windscreen. A closer inspection showed that there was a guy behind the wheel. What's more, the guy behind the wheel looked exactly like Lauren's husband Carter.
"Shit," Ron uttered. "Why the fuck did he collect the kids from school?" he pondered.
Ron saw two school-age children in the back of Carter's car.
"They'll be fine," he reassured himself and added: "I don't like fucking surprises, but one dead body is better than no dead bodies."
He thought some more about everything that had happened and came to the conclusion he'd better go before the cops showed up. He might pay a surprise visit to Lauren when the dust settled and it would be safer to do so, but he seemed to have experienced a truly cathartic event and seemed to be satisfied with the death toll for the next few days. Furthermore, he didn't feel any immediate urge to vindicate the wrongs he had suffered from Lauren, being satisfied she would be punished by the death of her husband, at least for now. Ron could be magnanimous on occasion. But his magnanimity was usually short lived.
11.
AFTER LUNCH WE went back to the hospital. I followed Dr. Jane along the long corridors of the Children's Hospital with which I had already become familiar. The swaying of the pretty doctor's ass hadn’t lost anything of its attraction. I admit I was enjoying the view a lot.
Lauren Wimbledon had already woken up and was with her children in their room talking on the phone. When she stopped, Dr. Jane introduced me. We left children's ward and all three of us went to Dr. Lockerby's office, Jane swaying her hips again.
"Lauren, this is Mr. Mike Greystone. He's investigating the shooting at the school."
"Hi Mr. Greystone," Lauren Wimbledon greeted me.
"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Wimbledon," I said.
"Thank you, it's a difficult time for me, as you can imagine."
"Yes, I won't take too much of your time. I'm investigating the shooting and the death of your husband. Do you have any suspicions who could be the killer?" I asked.
"I have no idea, Carter didn't have any enemies that I know of. I didn't have any enemies either."
"Sorry for asking personal questions, but have you had any extramarital affairs recently?"
"Sorry?” she became alert. “What are you suggesting?"
"Your daughter, Karrie, identified the shooter as a person they’d seen at your house. From what they said, it must have been your lover. Obviously, they didn't put it that way, they're still too young. Needless to say, I didn't tell them what it was about so they’re not aware, don't worry."
Lauren was visibly perturbed.
"I need his name to track him down, capture and interview him to determine if he had anything to do with the shooting."
Lauren's face turned white.
"So you know everythi
ng," she despaired. "I don't believe it, it couldn't have been him. He was so nice and gentle," she started sobbing.
"I need his name."
"Ron Morgenthal," Lauren revealed the name while trying to overcome the emotions. I typed the name into my phone. Lauren continued, "I can't believe it. He couldn't do that."
"Were you still meeting each other recently?" I asked.
"No, we parted company a month or so ago."
"Who initiated the split?"
"I did, I suppose. I told him I liked him a lot, but it had become too risky, and we simply couldn't continue, so we needed to stop seeing each other," she explained, "in truth I got a little bored, and he didn't seem stable enough for me, if you know what I mean. But he surely wasn’t a bad guy."
"Did he know your daily routines? Did you meet him often?"
"Yes, once or twice a week,” she was looking down as she was talking. “We weren't too intimate mentally. It was just about sex, really. And he was really pleasant company. But we did have to agree to strict logistics so that my husband wouldn't find out. So he knew my daily schedule quite well."
"I think he was trying to kill you, not your husband," I said.
"Why would he, how can you know that?"
"You would normally have been driving kids to school that day, is that right?"
"That's correct," Lauren answered.
"He knew you would do the school run. The bullet was meant for you."
She stared at me for a long time.
"My god, I killed my husband," she said. She was covering her face with her palms in despair. Quiet sobbing broke the silence in the room.
"Don't blame yourself. He may have been charming, but to me he seemed to be either a crazy freak or professional. Not many people have access to hand-propelled grenades. He would have killed either you or your husband anyway, so don't blame yourself. Be grateful that your kids are safe and sound."
I paused a moment to allow Mrs. Wimbledon to recover.
"He might try to make another attempt on your life," I warned her. "Do you have anyplace away from home you could move to for a week or so until we find him? Preferably friends rather than family. Family members are in general easier to track down."
"I'll have a think about it. I can’t think straight right now," she was still sobbing.
"For now, I'll tell the police that you may require their protection while in hospital," I said.
"Thank you," she said looking into my eyes. She had very nice eyes, and the rest of the package wasn't bad either. I know what you’re thinking, that would be taking advantage of a vulnerable person. Mike, you bastard. Of course, I wouldn’t approach her with that purpose. I could control my body, but my thoughts were beyond control. You see a nice ass, your eyes wander, no cure for that.
"One more thing. Dr. Lockerby said that Karrie and John will require specialist therapy to recover from the trauma of the shooting and watching their father's death. This is apparently quite expensive."
"We have some small savings, but I need to keep those to maintain the house. I’m not working. Will have to find a job. Cannot sell the house, it’s in negative equity. Not sure how much we’ll get from insurance, but that’ll take months to get it. It’s not a pleasant situation we’re in. But I want do to my best for my children," Lauren said.
"I spoke with Dr. Lockerby and offered to arrange a sponsor to finance the therapy," I informed her. I didn't mention that I was the sponsor. I didn't want to go into too many details. "Dr. Lockerby will select the psychotherapist and monitor the treatment while acting as a liaison between the therapist and the sponsor. Are you okay with this arrangement?" I asked.
She was equally surprised as Dr. Lockerby was.
"I don't know what to say. I’m quite surprised. Who is the sponsor? Why would they help us?" Lauren inquired.
"I know a few people, but they keep a low profile and don't reveal their identity in such circumstances. They help to help, not for show. Have a think about it and let Dr. Lockerby know if you’re happy with this offer," I added.
"Thank you Mr. Greystone," she said. She was discreetly wiping her tears with the tissue I’d given her earlier.
"Thank you Mrs. Wimbledon. I think that's all I wanted from you today. Just mind what I said. I think this guy Ron Morgenthal may be trying to kill you."
We left the office, Lauren Wimbledon went back to her children.
As Dr. Jane was walking me back to the exit, I watched her buttocks floating left and right. Such a peaceful sight.
"I’m flying back tomorrow morning, are you doing anything tonight? Would you like to have dinner with me?" I asked Dr. Jane.
"I have a yoga class today, but I don't mind skipping it just this one time," Jane answered.
"Great, I'll pick you up at eight from your place."
She gave me her address and I left the hospital thinking about her perfectly proportioned buttocks. And the shooting as well, of course.
12.
"HI MARTIN," I called my intelligence unit. "Any news?"
"Hi Mike," Martin Keenan said on the other end of the phone line. "It's been a bit slow, but I may have some clues. I called our contacts in the Italian Five Families. They said even though Pittsburgh is not strictly their jurisdiction, the shooting looks pretty much unrelated to anything they do. Such antics are not professional, this must have been a freelancer, which, when you look at it, seems obvious, even though the execution was fairly professional. He escaped, after all. They called me later and nobody from their organization knew anything about a hand rocket launcher. They said it could've been somebody working for the Chinese or Russians."
"I'll pay a visit to both of them. I actually interviewed the children of the murdered guy and his wife. It seems it was just a revenge attack by a former lover."
"That would make sense. A shooting in a school is either done by a freak or as revenge. It's never a typical crime job, they don't waste their time and resources. Do you have a name?"
"Yeah, can you run background checks on a person called Ron Morgenthal? That’s the name I got from the main victim’s family."
"Sure, give me a few hours."
"And I'll check other possibilities in the meantime."
"Which one do you want to start with?"
"I'll start with the Chinese."
"Their boss is Zhao Xiang. Remember, it's Mr. Zhao, they put their family name first. Xiang is his given name."
"Thanks, I made that faux pas a few years ago when I first met him," I admitted.
"I know, he was furious, it was quite expensive to appease him, but you have a good relationship with him now, don't spoil it," Martin warned me.
"Don't worry. Anything else?"
"I do worry, Zhao is in the top ten of Chinese surnames. There are still seven more common surnames, but assume it's nearly like Mr. Smith here. The only difference is, there are 2.4 million Smiths in the US, but ten times more Zhaos in China. You wouldn't make the mistake of swapping Mr. John Smith's name with his surname, would you? Mr. Zhao expects the same," Dermot explained.
"Got it. Anything else?"
"In fact yes. Lilith called."
"What, Lilith?" I was quite astonished.
Lilith was a valuable source of information. She was a medium or psychic, whatever you call it. She would never tell you exactly what you want to know, but her hints are helpful, and occasionally very precise. Not that she didn’t want to tell, she just didn’t have all the answers. The problem was, it was not always easy to get in touch with her. She might or might not answer the phone. Or she might call you unsolicited out of the blue. Martin thought she took drugs and drank a lot and went on frequent binges, so was just unavailable most of the time. I had a different explanation. I spoke to her more often and sometimes even visited her (a rare privilege), and I often thought she was just exhausted and shut herself out of the external world. I was not her only client, she had a select number of high-profile customers who wanted insights into various thin
gs (e.g. if their wives had cheated, or if their children wanted to kill them to cash in on an insurance policy, if they were going to win the elections, etc.). Anyway, Lilith could be useful, and I thought she liked me. In fact, she was quite openly trying to get me into bed. I was sure she also liked me for the ten thousand dollar check I sent her after each piece of information we got from her that turned out to be useful. Martin was also sending her a Christmas card every year, allegedly from me, saying something like “call me when you need me” or “always at your disposal,” just to tease me. He knew she had a crush on me.
"Yeah, Lilith. As usual, she didn't say what she wanted. She said you should call her. Either she knows something, or she wants to fuck you again," Martin laughed.
"I haven't fucked her, that's her imagination. You know that." Not entirely true, but I was a gentleman and I wasn’t going to discuss my sexual conquests on the phone with Martin.
"Ok, joking. Call her when you have a moment."
"Sure, I will. By the way I'm flying back tomorrow morning."
"Yeah, I re-booked your flight," Martin confirmed.
"One more thing, can you arrange 24-hour police protection of the Wimbledons’ room at the hospital?"
"No problem, I’ll need a few hours to get it sorted. Will talk to Dermot to arrange it."
"Good, talk to you soon," I ended the conversation.
I went back to my hotel and freshened up with a shower. I checked the fridge, grabbed some bourbon to chill out. My phone rang. It was Dermot Clenaghan from Research & Execution (I would never get used to this name, sounds geeky, they do some research indeed, but they preferred somebody else executing without leaving a trail, which was what I did, among other things).
"Have you caught this motherfucker yet," Dermot asked in his usual business-like manner.
"Calm down, Dermot. Work in progress," I said. "I have some leads that I’m investigating."
The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1) Page 5
