Hunt for a Phantom

by Stephen L Brooks

“Suicide can be faked, you know,” Grayson said.

  Banning nodded. “It looks like a murder-suicide, but I’m not buying it until we identify the other guy.”

  “Think this is the alleged abductor?” Grayson asked.

  “Yeah. We’ve got nothing on him so far, Link, so keep me posted with whatever you find.”

  “Look,” Grayson said, “I’m doing this as a favor for Ed, not for you. And on top of that, I’m going to have to call in Homicide to take over. City homicide. It’s our case now.”

  Banning had a hurt look. “Aw gee. And I thought we were getting along just swell in the bar.”

  “Easy, Mark,” Taylor said, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “That’s all right, Ed. My skin is thicker than that. Just remember this, Link. You guys have authority here in the city; and that’s fine. Ed and Peggy only cover Baltimore County. But my license is from the state, so if this moves all the way west into Garrett, I can still track down the bad guys who are responsible for this.”

  Grayson smiled sardonically. “What if they flee out of state?”

  “Ed and me got friends in low places in a lot of states. Don’t we, Ed?”

  Ed’s “Yeah” was slightly less than enthusiastically affirmative.

  “So we have ways of dealing with this.” He turned to Taylor. “Ed, I’ll be in touch.” He left the room.

  * * *

  Banning entered his office where Betsy sat at her desk.

  “Did you find the girl, boss?”

  “Yes,” he answered grimly. “And the father. Both dead. And looks like so was the guy who abducted her.” He described the scene at the hotel.

  “Do you think he killed the abductor and then his own daughter because she ran off with him?”

  Banning shook his head. “It’s too early to make any guesses. We’re working in the city, so I don’t have Ed to rely on.”

  “But you told me he had called in friends from the city police.”

  “Yes, but that’s all it is: friendship. That doesn’t mean they’re going to share anything with him. Not unless it moves out of city jurisdiction and into the county.”

  He checked his phone for Fleming’s home phone and realized he only had his cell. He took out the business card Fleming had given him and saw no home number.

  “Betsy, ask 411 for Fleming’s home number and patch it into my phone. I’ve got to give his widow the bad news.”

  “If you want, boss, I’ll tell her.”

  Banning considered only a second, sighed and shook his head. “No. I was sitting right there in the hotel when it happened. I feel some responsibility for this. I’ll tell her.”

  As Betsy picked up her phone she said, “You know, it’s not your fault.”

  “Fault, no; responsibility, yes. You see, I discovered something else when I checked my phone just now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I called Fleming before calling Ed. I thought I had hung up on Fleming, but I didn’t.

  “I pulled up my call record too. It shows a conference call between me, Ed, and Fleming. He heard what I told Ed; information I had withheld from him, so he wouldn’t take matters into his own hands.” Banning frowned darkly. “It looks like he did.”

  “Then, why didn’t he shoot the man who abducted Grace?”

  “When we find that man, we’ll know the answer to your question.”

  * * *

  Marge Fleming hung up the phone in a slow, dissociated motion. Rick had just gotten home from school, letting the screen door bang as he usually did. It brought no reaction from his mother, though it usually elicited a standard boilerplate shouted reprimand.

  Rick, though not the brightest bulb, was not lacking in warmth. He saw his mother standing by the table where she had laid the phone, her eyes staring widely in a vacant terror, frozen in time and space. He quietly came over to her.

  “Mom?” There was no reaction. “Mom? What’s wrong?” Still there was no response.

  He took her by the arm and she yielded to his guidance over to the couch, where she mechanically sat down. He sat beside her. “Mom?” She didn’t seem aware of his presence. He rose and then knelt in front of her, deliberately placing himself in her path of view. “Mom? It’s me, Rick. What’s wrong?”

  “Rick!” Still vague, but showing sudden recognition of him, she said: “When did you get home?”

  “Just now. What’s wrong? Did you get a phone call? Is it about sis?”

  Marge nodded slightly.

  “Did they find her?

  Marge nodded again.

  Rick knew from the shock her mother was suffering that it only meant one thing. A shiver ran through him, and he was emptied of all that sustained him.

  “That detective your father hired; he and his assistant want to come over.” Marge paused, gathering courage to continue. “From the sound of her voice, it’s bad news.”

  “She isn’t...” It couldn’t be; not his sister. But the drop of her mother’s head was a confirming nod. He took her gently by the shoulders, his voice a mere hoarse breath. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  His mother collapsed into him, and his young arms enfolded her, as he sensed the faint whimper of three words: “And your father.”

  He was holding her, but he needed someone to hold him. They therefore held each other, though their flesh had lost its strength. They wept, misery and fear and sorrow flowing through and out of them. Yet there was more, and it welled up inside and flowed through their bodies and out in their tears.

  Rick closed his eyes in prayer. They had never been regular church goers, though they always listened to church broadcasts on Sunday morning, and took turns reading a few chapters from the Bible after Sunday breakfast. In recent years, he and Grace had done this more as a custom than something of any meaning; but he drew on that now as they huddled for comfort.

  Rick knew something else; though barely over fifteen, he was the man of the house now. He had to see to his mother’s needs. He had to take care of the both of them.

  “You need to rest, mom,” he said.

  “No. I have to go to the city. That’s where it happened.”

  “Not yet. There’s plenty of time to go to the city. First you need to rest.”

  She disengaged herself from him and started to get up, falling back onto the seat. Rick steadied her.

  “You see? You can’t go anywhere yet. Try to rest.” He helped her lie down on the couch in the back den, and propped her head with throw pillows. He felt her hand; it felt as though it had been kept in the freezer. He took the afghan from the back of the couch and began to cover her.

  “What are you doing, son? It’s warm. It’s springtime.”

  “Yes, mom, but you’re cold. Please, it’ll make you feel better.”

  She murmured her thanks as he tucked it around her.

  “I’m just going in the other room, mom. If you need anything, just call.”

  Through a wan smile she said, “You’re a good son.”

  He held her hand until she closed her eyes. Exhaustion and shock were taking over, and she soon slept.

  Rick went to the front room. He guessed the detective would be here soon and he wanted to meet them, keep them at least for now from his mother. He dropped into a chair, his head fell into his hands, and his body shook with sobs. He hadn’t cried since he was little; but if a guy’s sister and dad die suddenly, isn’t that reason enough?

  When a knock came at the door he pulled himself together to rise and answer it. A man and a woman were outside.

  “Rick Fleming?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Mark Banning, Private Investigations. This is my assistant, Miss -----. May we come in?”

  “Yes, of course Mr. Banning.” He opened the storm door and stood aside for them. “Mom told me to expect you.” He offered them seats on the sofa and sat opposite them on a chair. “Mom said you have bad news.” His fists clenched on his lap in a reflexive attempt at calm. />
  “I’m afraid it is, son,” Banning began. “We found your sister; and your father. They were in a cheap hotel in the city.” He reached out and was able to touch Rick’s arm. “I’m sorry, Rick, but they’re both gone.”

  “I’m so sorry about your dad and sister,” Betsy said consolingly.

  “Thanks. My mother is sleeping. She’s really scared.” After a moment he admitted, “I am too.”

  “I understand, son. And I want you to tell her that there are men both in the city and here in the county who are going to find out why this happened.”

  He drew in a breath. “What happened? How did they... Why were they in some city hotel?”

  “You know your father hired me to find your sister after she disappeared.”

  Rick nodded.

  “I traced her to the hotel; someone had lured here there.”

  “To kill her?”

  “I don’t know; and the police are investigating. Rick, some of this is my fault. I called your father from the hotel but didn’t tell him where I was. But when I called the police afterward, I guess I hadn’t fully disconnected your father. It was like a conference call; your father heard what I told my detective friend.”

  “And that’s how dad came to the hotel?”

  “Yes. He overheard the room number I gave my friend and when he got to the hotel he must have gone right upstairs.”

  Rick was silent a while, absorbing and processing. “And then what happened? Do you know how they died?”

  Betsy knelt beside him and placed a hand on his knee. “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “I want to know everything; tell me everything you know.”

  “All that’s certain is that your sister, your father, and another man who has yet to be identified died of gunshot wounds.” Betsy tried to say it as gently as possible.

  “Another man? Who? Did he shoot them?”

  “We don’t know,” Banning said. “We believe he’s the man who lured your sister to the hotel, but we don’t know. My friend Detective Taylor has a hunch this isn’t over yet, and he’s been a detective and before that a patrol cop for a number of years.”

  “So you’re saying somebody else might have shot all three of them?” Rick’s mind started creating scenarios, movies in his mind of all the variations of their deaths he imagined possible.

  “There are homicide detectives in the city who are working on the case,” Banning said. “We’ll know something soon after they do.”

  Rick sighed. “Guess that’s all we can do.”

  “How’s your mom taking it?” Betsy asked.

  “She’s in the other room, resting. I closed the door so she might have some peace and quiet.

  “I know you want mom to come downtown. She told me that. But she can’t come yet. I don’t know when she’ll be able.”

  “Of course. Is she in shock?”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Do you have a doctor? A primary care doctor?”

  “Yeah, sort of.”

  “Then call him next. He really ought to see her. And you as well.”

  “All right.”

  “Do you have any relatives who can come and stay with you, or close family friends?”

  “There’s the Mitchells. Mitch, their son, is Grace’s boy friend.”

  “Good. You need to have other people around right now who care for your family. When we leave, first call your doctor then call the Mitchells.”

  “All right. Thank you, Mr. Banning.”

  “You’re welcome, young man.” Banning and Betsy rose. “You take care of things as best you can. I’ll be in touch when we need you again.” He handed Rick his card.

  “Thanks.” He showed them to the door and closed it behind them. He looked about for the phone and found the doctor’s number on speed dial. He remembered his parents talking about a thing doctors used to do that was known as a “house call.” He hoped Dr. Vega would do one for them.

  * * *

  Dr. Vega, though in his forties, was of the old school. He had partnered with two other physician friends to form a clinic out of an old house in the neighborhood. They provided the kind of medical care that hadn’t been seen in more than a generation. Yes, he did make house calls. He came right away, examined Marge, and with Rick’s help took her to her bed. He had brought along a small vial of sedatives, and had made sure she took a dose of them.

  The Mitchells came just after Dr. Vega, and while the good physician was tending to Marge, Rick told them what had happened. Mitch’s tears brought fresh ones to Rick, and the two sat on the couch mourning their loss together. Mitch’s parents could only mutely lend support, and let the boys alone knowing that teen boys don’t like to be seen weeping.

  Dr. Vega returned and stood silent a while until Rick noticed him. He rose and went over to the doctor. “Your mother is sleeping quietly now. I gave her a mild sedative,” he added, handing Rick a bottle that contained about a half dozen pills. “I don’t want to leave more here than that, for now. They’re a sample pack from a dealer; no charge. Only give them to her if she cannot sleep. They’re not habit forming, but still I don’t want her to depend upon them.”

  “I understand.” Rick took the small bottle. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Of course. Again, I’m so sorry about your family.” He nodded to the Mitchells and left.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Joe Mitchell asked Rick.

  Rick had never been in this situation before. Other than grandparents, who had all passed when he was small, he had never experienced a loss in the family.

  “I don’t know. When mom’s up to it, I guess we have to go downtown. That’s where... that’s where dad and sis are.”

  “You want us to stay with you and your mother for a while?” Jennie asked, placing a hand on Rick’s shoulder.

  He sighed and smiled. “Yeah. That would be nice. Thanks.”

  “Is there any family to call?” Joe gestured to the phone.

  “Yeah. Dad’s brothers and mom’s brother and sister. I guess I should call them.” He started toward the phone.

  Joe picked it up and held up a hand. “I’ll take care of it, Rick. Are their numbers in the speed dial?”

  “Yeah. All you do is...”

  “I’ll figure it out. Mitch, why don’t you take Rick out on the back deck? The fresh air might do you both good.”

  “What about mom?” Rick asked, looking toward the stairs.

  “I’ll sit with her,” Jennie said. “Don’t worry. But first, either of you want something to drink? Rick, I know you keep a pitcher of lemonade in the fridge.”

  Rick and Mitch looked at each other. “No, I think we’re all right.”

  “How about you, Joe?”

  “No, no lemonade for me.”

  Jennie smiled. “I know what you want. Rick, is it all right if I make a pot of coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  “I know where to find everything. Your mom and I have morning coffee together quite often. Go on, go outside and we’ll take care of things in here.”

  “All right.” The two boys went out and sat on the built-in bench on the deck. Rick heard Joe’s voice as he made the first call.

  “Hello, is this Carl Fleming? My name is Joe Mitchell, I’m a friend of your brother’s.”

  Both boys were silent for several minutes, the drone of Joe’s voice humming through the screen. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee began to reach them. Both boys had tried it, Rick’s heavily tempered with milk and sugar and Mitch’s a fancy latte at Starbucks, just to see what the fuss was about. Neither had an interest in anything to drink or eat right now, hot or cold.

  “How did...” Mitch began. “How did they say it happened?”

  “They were shot. That’s all mom said.”

  “Who told her?”

  “The detective dad hired to find sis.”

  “Didn’t he tell you anything more?”

  Rick shook his head. “No. I don’t even know if he s
aid anything more to mom.”

  “They probably won’t until they know more. That’s how it works.”

  “Why do you think Grace ran off?” Rick asked.

  “Well, we had a fight.”

  “What about?”

  Mitch told Rick what he had told his father the day of Grace’s disappearance.

  “Grace cussed me out for coming in her room one time when she was online.”

  “Guess she was afraid you’d tell your dad what she was looking at.”

  “Unh uh. No, we were like cats and dogs sometimes but we kept each other’s secrets.”

  Mitch frowned, looking toward but past the neighbor’s yard to his own memory-image of Grace. “But she didn’t trust you with this one.”

  “Maybe this was spur of the moment.”

  “Maybe.”

  Rick was also now gazing at his mental picture of his sister.

  Though the images were of the one they had both known, they were not of the same person.

  * * *

  Retired, though only in his late fifties, Joe had stayed overnight at the Fleming house. He had slept on a fold-out bed and Mitch had used Rick’s sleeping bag on the floor of the latter’s room. When Marge woke up at about two he and Rick gave her another dose of the tranquilizer.

  Joe got up at about 7:30. Both boys stayed home from school. Joe called the school for him and his own son, explaining the circumstances and quietly made a pot of coffee as he waited. Rick and Mitch soon came down, attracted by the aroma, though they didn’t ask for any.

  “How’s your mom?” Joe asked.

  “I peeked into her room. She’s still asleep.”

  Joe nodded. “Those pills will give her the rest she needs. When she’s ready to get up, she’ll come down.

  “Anybody for breakfast? Mitch can tell you that I make a pretty mean omelet.”

  Rick glanced at Mitch and both managed smiles. “I guess so.” He found some sausage, onion, and green pepper and gave them to Joe.

  Joe started to work, trying to remain quiet. When the eggs were done Rick poured orange juice and they sat down to eat. The boys were nearly ravenous, having skipped supper. Even so, Rick ate slower than usual. They were nearly done when they heard footsteps on the stair and Marge came down in her robe and slippers.