Lasting Doubts (The Red Lake Series Book 2)

by Rich Foster

  Once the door closed, Parks turned to Harry with fire in his eyes.

  “Don’t ever do that again!”

  “Or what?”

  “I’ll fire your ass!”

  “Sorta funny being fired by the last guy to be seen with Alison Albright!”

  “When?”

  “The night of the party. You were dragging Alison toward the woods, she was having trouble keeping up. People say she was wearing a letter jacket and nothing else. Not the sort of company an aspiring politician is supposed to keep.”

  Parks’ good looks developed an unflattering tic.

  “I hired you to kick the can down the street, not tie it to my tail!” Ill contained rage roiled his words.

  “So far, there is nowhere to kick it. You are the dead end!”

  “Well, someone else saw her.”

  “Who?”

  “How the hell should I know? But I didn’t kill her so there has to be another person!”

  “Convince me.”

  Parks exploded. He came up out of his chair and poked Harry in the chest, for emphasis, “Convince you? I’m your fucking client! I don’t have to convince you of anything! You better get on the right page!”

  While he spoke. Grim grabbed the wrist, turned it over, stepped aside, pushed his other hand against the backside of the elbow, and drove Travis to his knees.

  “Let’s get two things straight. You don’t poke me, and I don’t take orders.” Grim leaned a bit harder on Parks’ arm to drive his message home. “You brought me into this. There is no way you can get rid of me now.”

  Grim let go. Parks almost uttered another threat but wisely thought better of it. Instead, he pushed himself up and slumped back into his chair.

  “Tell me about that night,” Harry ordered.

  They were interrupted by a knock at the door. It swung open and the bald aide pushed his head in. “Everything all right? I heard shouting.”

  Travis waved him off. The man hesitated until he locked eyes with Grim, that sent the man packing.

  Harry leaned against the conference table where he held the position of power over his client who sat in the chair. Slowly, Travis recounted the events surrounding the party. His story agreed with that of the others Finally, Parks came to when the party broke up.

  “I was with Alison when the cops showed up.”

  “You mean you were bonking her on the dining room table in front of your friends when they showed?”

  Parks grimaced. “Yeah.”

  He looks like he's in serious pain. “So, what happened?”

  “Somebody yelled, Police!”. We could see the red lights flashing outside. That’s when Alison hissed in my ear, ‘You just fucked a fifteen year old!’ The way she said it wasn't congratulatory; it was a threat.”

  “She was a blackmailer and a liar, but actually she was sixteen.”

  Parks rolled his eyes, finding little comfort in the fact.

  “I assume you got one of her notes?”

  “You know about those, too, huh?”

  Harry nodded.

  “Yes. Bright and early Monday morning. I looked around for her but I couldn’t find her. She’d disappeared. I sweated for a while but after a couple months I forgot about it. I figured she was just messing with our minds.”

  Harry silently studied the carpet. The ornate design reminded him of a puzzle with one piece missing. “Why did you take Alison with you?”

  “Hell, what was I suppose to do, leave a stoned chick for the cops so she could say I raped her?”

  “Did you?”

  “Hell no, she was eager and willing!” Travis snarled. He shook his head in disbelief of his own actions. “I was accepted at Harvard for the fall of '92. Do you think I wanted some little slut to screw that up? I needed to get her away from there.”

  “So, let's take it from where you’re leading her into the woods as you pull your pants up. She’s running beside you wearing just Frank Danby’s letter jacket.”

  Travis looked surprised. “You have been working haven’t you?”

  Harry nodded. “But the trail still stops at you. You sure you didn’t try to convince her to keep her mouth shut?”

  Travis swore softly and shook his head. “You think I killed her, don’t you?”

  “The DA could make a good case for it, I reckon. He might not get a conviction, but your political career would be toast.”

  Travis rubbed his face as though his skin was a too tight suit.

  “We got into the woods. It was almost a full moon and that helped us see. I heard the others running. We stopped, once after were away from the cops. Alison dropped the jacket and put on her skirt and blouse. She was jack naked in the moonlight and didn’t seem to give a damn if I watched.”

  “Well, you just had sex with her.”

  “That was nothing.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it. It sounds like it might ruin your life.”

  “God! You don’t quit do you? I told you I didn’t kill her!”

  Harry frowned and raised his hands helplessly then waited. After a lengthy silence Travis resumed speaking.

  “She began to make this choking sound. I thought she was crying. But when she moved into the moonlight, I realized she was laughing. That little twat was laughing, at me! At me!” Parks repeated incredulously. “Who was she? Nothing!”

  “How many times did you hit her?”

  Travis’s face snapped up. Choking with fear he asked, “How did you know about that?” He swayed in his chair like a cornered animal. All semblance of being in control had fallen aside.

  “I didn’t. But I figured you might. How many times?”

  “Just once. She grab the jacket and took off running. I lost her in the woods.”

  “Anything else you have not told me?”

  Travis shook his head.

  “You better hope I find someone who saw Alison after that because this is not going away.”

  Parks suddenly leaped up and dashed over to the waste paper basket where he was literally sick.

  There was nothing else to say. Harry left the candidate to make up explanations for his staff.

  *

  The sun was racing for the western horizon before Harry got home. He found Paula brewing a new concoction at the counter, beside a row of exotic liquors, an empty ice tray and the Bartenders Handbook. She agitated the shaker, tapping out a mental tune to which she wiggled her hips, then poured the pale green mixture through a strainer and into a fluted cocktail glass. She held one out toward Harry. Having noted the green tea liquor, Midori Melon liquor and mango juice on the counter, he shook his head no and found a beer in the fridge.

  Harry took a seat on the deck. Some evenings he sat for hours, stirring only to refresh his drink as he watched the sun set, the sky explode in a riot of color, only to fade into a purple bruise and finally become the black velvet of night, speckled with diamonds of light. It gave him contentment to listen to the call of the loons, the hoot of a barn owl, or the slap of water as an unseen fish broke the lake’s surface in the night.

  The sun nipped the top of the Lazarus Mountains in the west. Harry mused about his case. Paula joined him sipping her weirdly colored drink. The aroma of nutmeg, mint, and melons wafted to him. He eyed her drink suspiciously.

  “Dreaming of Zen,” she said.

  “Me?” he asked puzzled.

  “No, the drink. You were wondering what the hell this is.”

  Harry was loath to admit how well she could read his thoughts.

  “I could use a little Zen,” he muttered.

  “Problems?”

  As he relaxed, he told her about his day as the buzz of motorboats died out on the lake and shadows crept across the water.

  “My client was the last person seen with Alison Albright. But it seems unlikely he killed her or why should he hire me? He would know there was nowhere to kick the can”

  “Now what?”

  “Find someone who was seen with her after him.” />
  “Maybe it was a dodge? He hires you and if it becomes a big story, people would most likely come to the same conclusion.”

  “Too many ways that might end badly. I could find something that could put a noose around his neck.”

  “So, why you?”

  “He’s a politician who’s worried about his future and thought I might help.”

  “He fired you, didn’t he?” Paula said, her blue eyes peered over the rim of the crystal flute at her lips.

  “Yep.” Harry killed his beer and went for another.

  “Have you ever noticed your problem with holding onto clients?”

  “It’s been mentioned before.”

  Paula smiled. “You won’t quit will you?”

  “Not yet. Maybe when the money runs out or the trail is dead.”

  Later, that night, after Paula fell asleep, Harry slipped out of the house. He paused to enjoy the night noises. Beside the house the trash can clattered to the ground. Harry turned his flashlight on and saw a raccoon scurry across the driveway and disappear under the skirt of a pine tree. He put the lid back and got into his truck.

  Red Lake was quiet. A few lights were still on in windows but most houses were dark. He parked two blocks away from Oliver’s office and casually walked up the street. He turned at the first corner and circled the block. Oliver’s office was on the corner. A streetlight lit the front yard, but the tall elm on the side street left that side in dark shadow. Harry skirted the picket fence and then stepped over it when he was in the deepest shadow.

  He crossed the backyard and spot checked the windows. They were wired to an alarm but it was not much of one. He courageously bypass it, the alarm evidently being more for show than for security. Harry slid behind the bushes that lined the house. The basement window well was deep, probably an old coal scuttle that someone boxed in. In the soft glow of his flashlight he saw the window was not wired. From his pocket he pulled a pair of latex gloves. The wood window was old and painted shut. Cobwebs draped the glass and the thumb latch was barely turned. He ran a putty knife around the frame, cutting the layers of paint. With a tap from the butt of his hand the window began to wobble in place. His blade slid under the window trim, between the frame and the window and the tip pushed against the edge of the latch.

  Harry slid through the window. His feet found the floor sooner than he expected. The ceiling was low, the room slightly musty, but warm. From the corner came the soft hum of a dehumidifier’s motor. Blue metal racks lined two walls. The shelves were filled with file boxes alphabetically labeled with a black felt tip. Elsewhere the basement was cluttered with the usual detritus that should have, but never did, make it to the dump.

  The fourth file box was Akana-Alpert. Harry lifted the cover off with the tips of his fingers under the edge, being careful not to disturb the even layer of dust on the lid. He found the folder marked Albright, Alison. It was thin.

  The first of page was an intake form. The date was two months before she disappeared. Harry ran his eyes down the sheet. Alison was sixteen and in good health when she first saw Dr. Oliver. She suffered from hay fever. The line for her reason for visit was left blank. The next sheets were Oliver’s medical notes from the exam. In his conclusions he wrote:

  Patient is in good health. She claims to have irregular periods and suggested perhaps the pill might regulate them. I suspect she is sexually active and afraid to go to her family doctor.

  Follow-up scheduled to see how she does on the pill.

  The next page was an invoice for April 1992, with an unpaid balance for the month. The totals continued to grow in May with weekly visits duly recorded but no payments made. There was another invoice for June 1992. Someone had written paid in full on it, the initials squiggled at the end were double O’s.

  The last item was a manila folder. The flap sealed. Harry ran the tip of his knife under the paper and teased it open. Inside were two business envelopes. One was dated April 14,1992. Inside were frontal, dorsal and lateral views of Alison Albright in the nude. The fourth was a portrait view. Something bothered Harry about the picture but he could not put his finger on it. As for the other three it seemed strange for Oliver to take naked pictures of a patient unless she had scoliosis of the spine or some other anatomical disorder.

  The second business envelope contained eight photos of Alison lying naked on an examination table, but these photos were not clinical, they were crude and sexual.

  I guess I know how Alison got her money!

  The pictures reminded him of cheap porn. Alison looked as though she were trying too hard to be seductive and lascivious but she was still more girl than woman, the breasts, small, high, and pointed. Her hips were narrow and boyish still. She never had a chance to be more than this. The thought left him melancholy. The last photo was nothing more than a crotch shot, it showed the pink labia spread by two fingers, the nails painted opalescent white, above the pudendum was a thin bush of black hair.

  Harry looked in the manila folder to see if there was anything else. He found a small plastic sample bag. “Alison” was written on it with a felt pen. He held it under his light; inside it contained a tuft of black kinky hair. He pocketed some of the photos. Then he realized what troubled him about the portrait.

  He closed up the file and carefully placed the box back on the shelf, neatly aligned with the dust shadow on the metal.

  Out of curiosity he found a box marked Kalen-Kourick, the Kalen was crossed out and under it was the name Kabe. Harry ran his finger over the file folders. He found three files labeled Kershaw, one was marked Kerri. The file covered dates going back a dozen years, the most recent being the previous year. Harry thumbed through the pages but did not find any incriminating pictures, only two portrait shots that were several years apart. Perhaps Oliver takes patient photos so he will recognizes them? The newer of the two photos was certainly not that of an eighteen year old.

  Harry found he grossly disliked Dr. Oliver. Thoughts of what he might do if they were alone flashed through his mind, like dark demonic shadows. He shrugged them off. On an impulse he took down the second box marked with an ‘S’. Inside he ran through the files, but there was no Stanton. For a moment he had thought he had found a trail, but Red Lake was small, two women seeing the same doctor was not unexpected. He was about to leave when he stopped and opened the lone box marked with a ‘T’. Toward the back was a file, Turlock, Judy, Stanton. Someone had misfiled it.

  Again Harry found a snapshot of a smiling woman. She appeared twenty or a bit older. Blond hair framed an attractive face, her cheekbones were high, the complexion rosy. He didn’t bother to read why Judy Stanton visited the doctor; he wanted to get out of there. Two dead women and a kidnapped girl left him worried about tampering with evidence. If it came to light his actions could get the case thrown out of court. On the other hand, if he did nothing it might never see the light of day. Harry knew what Dirk would do in this situation, but he was uncertain about his own convictions.

  He had propped the window open with a stick. When it swung closed behind him the majority of the spider’s web remained unmolested, the dirt on the glass undisturbed. There was nothing he could do about the latch, but it was unlikely anyone would notice. By morning the spider would repair his web.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning Paula found Harry sulking on the rear deck. When she leaned over to kiss his cheek, his head barely turned. Not even her loose kimono robe stirred him. She let him alone. When he fell into one of these moods he simply needed time.

  Instead, she started the coffee and went off to shower. When she came back down Harry was in the same place but now held a cup of coffee in his hand. She poured one of her own and joined him.

  “Where were you? I woke up alone last night?”

  “No you didn’t.” he said flatly.

  “But I…” Paula paused. “I see.”

  She sipped her coffee then added., “If anyone asks, you were here all night, correct?”

>   Harry looked at her. His eyes were calm, but an impish quality lurked within them. “That’s right.”

  “You haven’t been up to anything that might make me an accessory have you?” She fluttered her eyelashes dramatically.

  Harry grinned.

  “Talk to me,” she said, and moved over next to him on the rattan sofa.

  Harry slipped his free arm around her shoulder.

  “Sometimes I think the whole world is dirty.”

  “It is Harry. That’s just the way it is.”

  “Both Oliver and Holland like young girls.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Harry looked at her without comment.

  “Right,” she said. “You were here all night.”

  He gathered his thoughts. “At least one and possibly both were having sex with Alison. And they either paid her willingly or unwillingly. According to Oliver’s former nurse, the girl left the doctor in a foul mood, so I would guess at least part of the time it was for blackmail.”

  “Matches her M.O.” said Paula.

  “But that’s what makes it hard. Anyone knows once you start to pay it will never end, so why start? That puts the ball back in the court of her classmates.”

  “Or someone else completely.”

  “Sure. Anything is possible, but I have to follow the leads I have.”

  “Which are?”

  “I need to talk to Alison’s mother and the sheriff.”

  “Keep this up and you might as well hire on down here.”

  Harry laughed. “Not me! I have issues with authority.”

  A boat tore by on the lake. The wake slopped up with a crash against the shore and sent deflection waves back out, crisscrossing and confusing the water. It reminded him of his case.

  *

  Harry stopped by Carole Albright’s house. He was tempted to call if only to avoid her prating on about her daughter, but he decided it was best to see her face to face. She opened the door.

  “I don’t have much time, Mr. Gibb. I have a beautician’s appointment.”