Haze

by E. R. Torre

I bit my tongue and suppressed a gasp. Did Deputy Livingstone change his mind and not tell the Sheriff about his relationship with Karl?

  “—and yet you hold back information that might be critical for us to find his murderer. What kind of man are you Mr. Towne? You saw what they did to Karl. Don't you want us to catch his killer?"

  “How do I know who I can trust, Sheriff? I saw—”

  The Sheriff's response was quick.

  "What? What did you see?"

  A ghostly image, John Robinson arguing with you, Sheriff Chandler.

  "I heard," I said, correcting myself. "That you didn't get along with John Robinson. I told you that already."

  “We’re back to that to that bullshit? If Karl had a laptop before he was killed and now it’s gone, then we’ve got our motive for his murder. It may not be as glamorous, but it makes a hell of a lot of sense. Karl was a victim of a robbery, and that’s that. Now, do you have anything else to give me?"

  “Nothing,” I lied.

  Chandler smirked.

  "Do I scare you that much?"

  "This whole town scares me, Sheriff."

  "Then why don’t you leave?"

  Sheriff Chandler pulled at his hat and walked back to his car. He started it up and drove back to Viktor. When he was gone, I climbed into my SUV and stared at the road ahead. After a while, I hit the ignition.

  When I reached town, I was surprised to find Lewis Sinclair’s silver Mercedes parked where Karl’s car had been the night before at the Green Manor Inn. I parked beside his car and entered the lobby. Sitting there was Lewis Sinclair. Across from him and behind the counter sat Mrs. Borg. She was cleaning up and oblivious to the elderly actor’s presence.

  "Hello, Mr. Towne," she said as I walked in.

  Lewis Sinclair said nothing. He stared at Mrs. Borg and hurried to my side.

  “Could I talk to you?” he whispered. “Outside?”

  We walked to Sinclair's silver Mercedes. Though it was close to noon and the sun was out in full, the air was bitterly cold. I kept my distance from Sinclair, who was oblivious to the fact that he stood right where I found Karl’s body. He smiled and tried to lighten the mood, but was having trouble doing so.

  "I should have told you this at the Robinson estate," he said. "I've been having problems."

  He sounded beaten, though with him it was hard to measure his sincerity.

  "Financial problems," he clarified. "You see, John Robinson and I had a relationship, a business relationship, that was mutually profitable. Ever since his death, his assets have been frozen, and so too have my investments."

  “Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “Why should I care?”

  "You’ve been with Judith Robinson a couple of times now. You’re developing a good relationship with her, right?”

  “There is no relationship, Mr. Sinclair.”

  Sinclair ignored my comment and plowed on.

  “All I need is for you to talk to her, to plead my case. She's a stubborn girl and I fear she's not thinking this situation through. I don’t know how well you know her, Mr. Towne, but she was very rebellious in her teen years, even self-destructive. It’s the reason her Grandfather had her assets frozen through her twenty fifth birthday."

  "So I heard."

  Sinclair’s face lightened up. He probably figured I was on his side, that there was no need to air any more dirty laundry in order to convince me.

  "Look, this isn't a one way favor I’m asking. I'm willing to give you a percentage of whatever we get from this."

  The raw vulgarity of his proposal was overwhelming. Sinclair read the expression on my face and reacted accordingly. His face softened, his voice sweetened.

  "Don't get me wrong. What I’m suggesting is neither improper nor illegal. I’m not trying to take advantage of Judith or of you. I just need someone to talk some sense to her.”

  “You need someone else.”

  “There is no one else,” Sinclair said. His head dropped down and his hands came to his eyes. “Don’t you see? I’m desperate. I’m begging you.”

  He was a good actor, but not good enough. He was unable to complete his performance with a showing of tears. After a while, my silence proved too loud. Sinclair gritted his teeth. He was no longer desperate or sad.

  “John Robinson was my best friend, but he destroyed my career,” Sinclair said. “He knew this. That’s why he helped me out as much as he did. Not that I wasn’t useful. When you lead as high a profile life as his, any big scandal can destroy you. It was my job to keep them quiet. And I did, even after he was gone, I did.”

  "You blackmailed him, didn't you?"

  Sinclair stepped back as if stung and incredulous by these words.

  “Watch your tongue, young man!” he blustered. But by now his act was both stale and obvious. I wondered if anyone had ever seen the real Lewis Sinclair, the one he tried to hide behind all those cheap masks. I thought back to that sinister smile he flashed during that roadside walk with John Robinson all those years before. Perhaps that was the true face of Lewis Sinclair: The man who made John Robinson pay for his own failures.

  Now that John Robinson was dead, where could all that rage go? He tried to transfer it to Judith, but despite her rebellious past, there was nothing he could use against her. By trying to recruit me into his schemes, his desperation was showing.

  "You never were a friend of John Robinson," I said. "You have only one true friend, the one that stares at you in the mirror.”

  “Fuck you.”

  It was refreshing to see Sinclair’s act fade away.

  “You’ll leave Judith alone.”

  “Why the hell should I do that?”

  “Because she’s on to you, Mr. Sinclair. It took me only a few conversations to figure you out. She’s had years.”

  The anger in Sinclair’s face turned to ash. There was nothing more to say.

  I left Sinclair beside his beautiful chariot and returned to the Inn.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  When I re-entered the lobby, it was impossible to hide my anger from Mrs. Borg.

  "Don't let him get to you, dear," she said in an even, maternal tone. "The people of this town are familiar with Lewis Sinclair. He isn’t worth it."

  "You’re right."

  I tapped the counter, walked the length of the lobby floor, and climbed the stairs. I paused for a second before Karl Walker’s room. The police tape was still in its place. No one had entered the room since it was put there.

  “You poor bastard,” I muttered. The words could have just as easily described me. I shook my head and walked to my room.

  For close to a half hour I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. By then the anger was long gone, replaced with sadness and loss. The smile on Judith’s face lingered in my mind’s eye, something I would never see again.

  After a while I sat up in the bed. I looked to my right, at the night stand and the telephone. I needed to talk to someone, even if it was to sister’s fucking answering machine.

  I grabbed the phone and dialed "0". It took Mrs. Borg at least seven rings before she answered.

  "Can I help you Mr. Towne?" she asked. She sounded out of breath.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to rush you. I suppose you do get away from the front desk now and again.”

  “Now and again. What was it you needed?”

  "I'd like to make a call. The number is—”

  I stopped. Fresh ideas raced through my mind, ideas I hadn't considered until now.

  “What’s the number?”

  "Mrs. Borg, do you have Wi-Fi?”

  “Wi-Fi? What’s that?”

  “It’s a way to wirelessly connect to the internet,” I said. My voice rose with excitement.

  “Mr. Towne, I’m afraid I don’t understand any of that—”

  “Never mind,” I interrupted. A voice from not so long ago echoed in my mind.

  This place is an electronic black hole.

  “It�
�s OK, I didn’t think you did. I’m coming down.”

  I hung up the phone, rose to my feet, put on my winter coat, exited the room, and literally ran down the stairs. Poor Mrs. Borg leaned back as I approached. From the look on her face, she thought I had lost my mind.

  "Did Karl Walker make any outgoing phone calls?" I asked. My body was buzzing with adrenaline. Maybe Karl was killed by a robber that wanted his laptop computer. Then again, maybe not. But even without his laptop, there was one sure way to figure out what KarlsKube meant.

  "Yes, he made a few phone calls. The police have the list."

  "Do you have any copies of that list?”

  Mrs. Borg hesitated.

  “It's very important.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “The police told me any information—”

  “Please,” I begged her. “It’s very important you tell me. Very important.”

  Mrs. Borg stared deep into my eyes and, after a while, relented. She knew I wouldn’t leave her alone unless she gave me what I wanted.

  Mrs. Borg got out of her chair and walked to the left edge of the counter. She stopped before the filing cabinet in the corner, opened the middle drawer, and pulled out a thick folder. From within that folder she grabbed a few sheets of paper and presented them to me.

  "Is this what you need?"

  The sheets had a printout log of incoming and outgoing phone calls. There were very few listed, but I didn’t expect many. Karl and I were, as far as I could tell, the Inn’s only tenants. I spotted my sister’s phone number toward the end of the list. Surrounding it was only one other number. It was dialed four times daily for the past three days and not once since Karl died.

  "This is it," I said. “Can I borrow a pen and a piece of paper?”

  Mrs. Borg reached under the counter and gave them to me. I copied the number on the call log.

  “Why do you need this number?” Mrs. Borg asked.

  "Karl had a laptop computer, but in Viktor he wasn’t able to use Wi-Fi. Whenever he needed to go online, he had to use a phone dial-up.” I pointed to the number on the paper. “This one. It’s slow as hell and a real pain in the ass, but by using that number, he was able to get on the internet. Depending on what internet service he used, I might be able to find out what Karl was up to. If I’m very lucky, this number may lead me to Karl's killer."

  Mrs. Borg was dumbfounded.

  Poor thing, I might as well be talking to her in Chinese.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a computer, would you?” I asked, already sure of the answer.

  “No,” Mrs. Borg muttered.

  I reached forward and kissed her on the forehead. With paper in hand, I exited the Inn and ran to my SUV. Lewis Sinclair's Mercedes was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. I didn’t give it any more thought.

  I entered my truck and drove off.

  As I headed down Viktor's main street, I thought about stopping at the police station and sharing my discovery. But, as before, I wasn't sure who in the department I could trust. It was still very possible Karl Walker was killed in a robbery gone bad, but what if he wasn’t?

  What if this was about John Robinson’s death, after all?

  I thought about where I could find a computer and an internet connection.

  Did you see any cyber café’s? No? That’s because there aren’t any. Did you know that even Viktor’s library doesn’t have a computer?

  In the end, there was only one option. I drove on, past the Police Station and to the Robinson Estate.

  I came to a stop in front of the Robinson Estate's ornate outer gate and repeatedly pressed the intercom's button.

  "Yes?" came an impatient voice. It was Carol, the house keeper.

  "Hello Carol,” I said. “It’s Mr. Towne. I came to see Judith."

  "I’m sorry, Mr. Towne, she left."

  "Carol, it’s urgent you let me in. I need to use Judith’s computer.”

  “Mr. Towne, I’m not permitted to let anyone in unless Ms. Robinson authorizes it.”

  “Please,” I begged. “I’m not a stranger. You know Judith and I are friends.”

  “Mr. Towne—”

  “Look, I wouldn’t be here unless it was very important and couldn’t wait. You heard about the man that was killed in the Green Manor Inn?”

  “Yes?”

  “Perhaps Judith told you I discovered his body. If you let me use her computer, I might be able to figure out who did it.”

  “Why don’t you go to the poli—” Carol stopped in mid-sentence and added: “Oh.”

  Without intending to, she gave herself away.

  “You overheard my conversation with Judith, didn’t you? You know why I can’t go to the police.”

  “Mr. Towne, I—”

  “It’s fine, Carol,” I interrupted. “That’ll be our secret. Just please let me in. Please let me use that computer.”

  Carol didn’t say anything and for a second I thought I lost her. Then the gate buzzed open.

  “Thank you!” I yelled.

  I drove as fast as possible into the estate. My SUV came to a screeching halt in the exact spot I parked a little over an hour before. I hurriedly exited the vehicle and made my way through the slush of the driveway and to the front door. Carol was already there, standing before it.

  She looked unsure of her actions and more than a little worried about letting me inside and estate full of treasures without Judith's say so. I tried to dissolve her million dollar fear with a cheap smile.

  "Thanks,” I said. “This won’t take very long at all. Do you know when Judith will be back?"

  "I'm not sure,” Carol said. “She took her truck. She might have gone skiing."

  Of course, I thought. After telling her about Nick’s apology and his obvious feelings for her, where else would she go? She was probably in Nick's arms this very moment. Though it hurt to think about it, it was for the best.

  I stepped past Carol and entered the house. She closed the door behind me and followed me up the stairs. At the top of the staircase I looked back toward where I had last seen the vision of John Robinson.

  Nothing was there. No smells, no unease. It was all gone. The rest was up to me.

  Carol and I walked into the library. She hung back while I fired up the computer.

  “This thing works, doesn’t it?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Carol said.

  I shook my head. You never know with these older models. After a few seconds, the screen displayed some characters. The computer issued a low ‘beep’ and continued its start-up process.

  “Looks good so far,” I said. I bent down on my knees and checked the computer’s rear panel to see if it was connected to a phone line or DSL or cable. The area behind the computer was filled with dust, but I found the phone line connection. I rose back up and sat before the computer.

  “We’re good to go.”

  Carol leaned over my right shoulder. She was curious, naturally, to see what I was up to. I tried to ignore her as the computer started up, but it was difficult and I was feeling really impatient.

  The computer took forever to reach the operating system’s main screen. When it did, Carol and I found ourselves staring at a very old and very outdated main screen. The icons were big and clunky, the colors were dull. Among the options available was a word processing program, a disk utility, games, and, most important for what I was looking for, several internet providers, including the USOnline service, one of the largest computer networks on the web.

  “Now what?” Carol asked.

  “We’ve got the software for a few internet providers on the computer’s hard drive,” I explained. I pulled out the paper with the phone number. “We can check each one and see if the dial up connection they use is the same as the one I have written here. It’s the number Karl Walker, the guy that was killed at the Inn the other day, was dialing to get online.”

  “So if any of these providers use that number…”

  “We can go onli
ne.”

  “Then what?”

  “First things first. I need to make sure we can even get to the online services with these older programs.”

  Carol was practically falling on top of me. I was weary of her intrusion and didn’t want to spend any more time explaining myself to her. I headed for the largest service first, double clicking on USOnline. At the center of the screen were the log-on utilities, which consisted of blank spaces for your screen name, your password, and the connection options. The colors and design of the page were almost unrecognizable.

  “Forgot you used to look like that,” I said.

  At the bottom of the sign-in page was a small statement which read:

  USOnline is Trademark and Copyright of OCTI CORPORATION TECHNOLOGICAL SERVICES.

  I stifled a triumphant yell. Octi Tech was the company Karl Walker worked for!

  “What is it?” Carol asked.

  I forced myself to calm down. I no longer wanted Carol here. The computer and software were slow enough without her constant intrusions.

  “The software is too old,” I said. “We’ll need to download upgrades.”

  To prove the point, I logged in as a “Guest” to the service. Before asking for a password, a screen popped up which read:

  Upgrades are available. Download now?

  I could click on either the ‘yes’ or ‘no’ option, but I moved fast and, before Carol said anything, clicked ‘yes’. A countdown bar appeared and slowly, very slowly, began ticking off the percentage of download. One percent…two…

  “This is going to take a while,” I muttered. I looked and sounded disappointed. Lewis Sinclair had nothing on me.

  “How long?” Carol asked.

  “See for yourself.”

  Carol leaned in to look at the screen and frowned. To her, it must have looked like watching grass grow.

  “If Judith had a faster service, we could have everything downloaded in a couple of minutes.”