Instrument of the Devil

by Debbie Burke

  “I guess so.” She never thought she’d need an alibi for not being someplace.

  When the video ended, the lawyer mused, “OK, she never spoke more than a whisper so there’s no way to get a voice print. Smart.” He reached over and replayed the part where the teller handed the check to the imposter. “But not that smart. She just received a worthless piece of paper. The bank undoubtedly put a hold on the funds until the feds seized them.” He pulled on his chin. “Did you see any physical characteristic that proves it’s not you? A mole, a scar, some telltale flaw?”

  Tawny shook her head. “She’d fool my own mother. Except…” A detail chafed in her memory. She ran the video back again. After the woman signed the receipt for the cashier’s check, she slid it toward the teller with her left hand. Tawny hit pause then zoomed in. The picture enlarged, growing grainier. Yes! “Look, no wedding ring.”

  The lawyer’s lower jaw jutted to one side. “So?”

  She held up her left hand. “I broke this finger and the knuckle stayed swollen. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t take my wedding ring off.”

  Rosenbaum’s face split into a grin and he high-fived her. “Bingo! OK, email this to me.” He gave her a business card.

  She carefully typed his address and sent the video, while he chattered happily about subpoenaing the signed receipt and contacting handwriting experts to compare signatures. “Whoever it was at the bank that gave this to you, they did you a helluva favor.”

  Tawny remembered how cowed and fearful poor Lupe Garza looked. “I’m not going to tell you the name.”

  He stared down his nose at her. “Newsflash, Tawny, any I.T. geek can figure out whose computer this video came from, surer than a fingerprint.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You can’t let anyone. Please. I promised. The person could lose their job.”

  Rosenbaum snorted. “He or she could lose more than a job. Could be charged with a federal rap for interfering in an investigation.”

  Her fists clenched. Lupe had risked even more than Tawny realized. Had she ruined the woman’s future by trying to save her own?

  Rosenbaum rattled on, “You wouldn’t believe how the regulators can strangle banks. The feds treat them like revenue agents, raking in money for them. Yet, if a bank employee tipped a customer off about the investigation, the feds would stomp the bank into regulatory hell. Now I don’t have any particular affection for financial institutions but they’re getting shafted just like the rest of us citizens. We’re all guilty till proven innocent under that goddamn Patriot Act.”

  Tawny rubbed her temples. She’d heard enough sermons today from this lawyer.

  Rosenbaum must have noticed her eyes glazing over because he changed focus. “Now, about this phone guy.”

  She cringed at Kahlil being called a “phone guy” despite the sharp sting of betrayal. “His name is Kahlil Shahrivar. He’s helped me a lot, not just with the phone. He offered to pay the ransom for my son.”

  Rosenbaum’s snapping dark eyes narrowed. “Have you seen this money?”

  “He’s got it available. From his accounts, I guess.”

  “If you haven’t seen the long green, he’s full of shit. I can tell you I have three billion bucks in my left sock but if I can’t put it in your hand, it’s smoke. Same as your son’s alleged kidnapping. Don’t you see? Your son is pretend kidnapped, ransomed with pretend money.”

  Tawny pondered his words. “But why?”

  “Ask your phone guy.” He took a swallow of scotch. “On second thought, don’t ask him. Stay the hell away from him.”

  The pain of betrayal corrupted the sweet memories of their time together. But she had to ask Kahlil why. “I can’t.”

  Rosenbaum rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Of course you can! And don’t start defending him to me. He’s poison.”

  Tawny’s back stiffened. She sat as straight as she could, staring up at the lawyer. “Wait a damn minute, here. I’m being punished like I’m already guilty without ever having a chance to face my accuser or defend myself. You want me to do the same thing to Kahlil? Pronounce him guilty without giving him a chance to explain?”

  Another eye roll. “Don’t get all righteous and noble on me. I can smell this dude across the state without ever laying eyes on him. Your problem is, you’re nice and honest and good-hearted, so you think everyone else is too. Well, lady, it’s bubble-busting time. The world is full of assholes preying on the weak, the naïve, the nice. Do unto others before they do it unto you.”

  His insults stung but she was starting to get used to them. “No matter what you say, I owe Kahlil a chance to explain. Otherwise I’m no different than the bank or Maximillion Grosvenor treating me like I’m guilty until proven innocent. I can’t be like that.”

  “‘I can’t be like that,’” the lawyer mimicked in sing-song, “as Bambi said to the hunter who’s pointing a four-fifty-eight magnum at his head.”

  “If the world is full of assholes, and you admit you’re one of them, why should I put stock in what you say?”

  He grinned, lower jaw jutting. “Because I’m your asshole.” He downed the last of his drink. “I’ll get my investigator on this tomorrow. In the meantime, don’t be calling this guy, got it?”

  Tawny didn’t answer and pressed the chilly tumbler of ginger ale against her forehead. Ice didn’t stop the dizzy throbbing.

  Rosenbaum seized her arm, slamming it and the glass on the table with a dull thud. Ginger ale slopped over her hand. “Listen, Tawny, forget about debating me over who’s more righteous and fair-minded. I’ll kick your butt around the block and I’ve got case law precedents to prove it.” He bent his head and leaned in so close the scotch vapors assaulted her nose. “You need to avoid this guy like Ebola. He means danger to you.”

  Chapter 13 –Death of Illusion

  Tillman Rosenbaum left at 3 p.m. to drive back to his Billings office. Tawny decided to spend the night in Helena, not daring to return to Kalispell where Kahlil waited for her. She found a cheap old motel orphaned by the interstate. After checking in, she changed into jeans, a long-sleeved tee-shirt, and sneakers, desperate for exercise to release the tension thrumming inside.

  As she walked the historic streets of Last Chance Gulch, she struggled to suppress her emotions over her muddled confusion. Kahlil had targeted her from the start. He wooed and romanced her with his empathy, his almost psychic ability to read her thoughts. Played to her vulnerability, uncertainty, and loneliness after Dwight’s death. Flattered her while exploiting her weakness.

  How desperately she’d craved what he offered. He shared her burden of loss, relieved the crippling emptiness, and offered the nourishment of hope.

  How foolish she’d been. How gullible. Rosenbaum had pegged her in under five minutes—a patsy. No matter how insulting, his judgment of her was spot on. He’d immediately recognized the truth, so obvious to him, so invisible to her.

  Rosenbaum seemed convinced Neal’s kidnapping was phony. The texts Neal supposedly sent didn’t sound like her son. But he could still have been abducted. How badly she needed to hear his voice.

  She sat on a park bench and tried Neal’s number again. This time, it rang eight times, then went to automated generic voicemail. Finally. “Neal, it’s Mom, please call me. As soon as you can. I love you, son.”

  Well, that didn’t solve the mystery. The number could belong to anyone. If only there was a way to pinpoint the phone’s location. Kahlil had said no.

  But, if Kahlil had lied.

  She retraced her steps on the uneven pathways, clambering down the hillside, trying to remember where she’d passed a cell phone store. Maybe someone there would help. Then she spotted the Lewis and Clark County Library.

  Old fear settled in the pit of her stomach, the fear of words she couldn’t read, books she couldn’t finish, knowledge that smart people took for granted but, like clouds in the big sky, floated beyond her grasp. She desperately needed to grab that cloud now. Knowledge, facts, truth were
the only way to sort out what was real and what was illusion. Or delusion.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Tawny entered the building, comparatively new in contrast with surrounding historic sites. The librarian directed her to their technology guru, a pale, unsmiling girl named Sierra with stringy hair, black glasses, and tattoos climbing up her neck. Tawny asked about tracking Neal’s texts.

  Sierra ran through various screens on the smartphone. Tawny noticed her fingernails, with chipped black polish, were bitten down to the quick but her familiarity and deftness rivaled Kahlil’s. After several minutes, she said, “There’s, like, some unusual apps on here.”

  “Unusual? What kind?” Tawny asked.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t seen anything like them before. Where did you say you got this phone?”

  “I thought my son in Afghanistan sent it to me.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  How could Tawny explain? “Now I’m wondering if it came from someone else, someone who’s maybe playing a trick on me.”

  Sierra blinked hard several times while peering at Tawny. “It’s totally weird. There’s, y’know, functions on here that aren’t regular consumer-type apps. Maybe military or something. They’re, like, password protected so I can’t get into them.” She offered the phone to Tawny. “If you want to enter your password, I can try to see what they do.”

  Tawny took the phone, stared at the unfamiliar screen. The only password she’d ever used was the one to access the bank. She laboriously tapped in the complicated sequence of letters and numbers.

  Password error. She repeated the entry. Same message. “This is the only password I know and it’s not working.” She gave the phone back.

  Another strange look from Sierra. These days, it felt like a lot of people gave Tawny strange looks. “I can’t get any farther.”

  Tawny brought up Neal’s messages. “Can you just tell me if these texts came from Afghanistan?”

  Sierra worked the phone for several seconds. “Not really. There’s apps you can install, y’know, for parents who want to know where their kids are, or like if you wanna find out if your husband’s cheating on you.”

  Tawny shook her head. “No, no, he’s dead. And he never cheated.” She caught another strange look from Sierra. Stop babbling. Shut up about your life story and focus on the problem. She squinted through her glasses at the display. “You can’t trace where the texts came from?”

  Sierra’s face scrunched. “That’s, like, a whole ginormous controversy, y’know, with the NSA and cops and everybody. Yeah, the location can be traced but the carrier won’t release it without a subpoena. Privacy and all that crap.”

  “What if it’s an emergency, like a kidnapping? Can’t the cops find out a location to save someone?”

  Sierra shrugged. “Probably. But you’d have to ask them. Me, this is all I can do.”

  Tawny leaned against a work station, weak with disappointment. No way to find Neal. No way to verify if the kidnapping was real. Unless she went to the feds, who were busy trying to build a criminal case against her. She felt as if gravity pulled her down through the floor.

  “Hey, you OK?” Sierra asked, peering close.

  “Yes. Yes, thank you very much for your help.” She took back the phone and started to leave but stopped. “Sierra, could you do one more thing for me?”

  The girl did her hard blinking but appeared willing.

  Tawny asked, “Can you make sure the location tracking is disabled?”

  “Sure.” As if that was the easiest task anyone asked Sierra to do all day. She held the device so Tawny could watch her actions. “Go to settings, then to this screen, see? Just slide the switch from on to off. Done.”

  “Is that all?” Tawny remembered Kahlil had taken several minutes to disable it, making the steps appear complicated and difficult. “Wait a second. Was the tracking on or off?”

  Sierra gave her another strange look. “On.”

  Kahlil had not disabled the tracking after all. Not only could the feds trace her, Kahlil could also, a thought that frightened Tawny.

  Sierra added, “Another thing. This location tracking is just, totally, lame. Y’know, it’s used to report the weather where you are, what restaurants and malls you drive past, all that data Google and Apple and those guys collect for advertising. Even if you turn this tracking off, 911 and cell towers still know where the phone is. If you want to make absolutely, positively sure nobody can find it, just pop the battery out. Then you disappear, like totally, invisible.”

  “Invisible?” Tawny repeated, as if in a dream. “Would you show me how to do that?”

  “Sure.” Sierra thumbed the back off and used a ragged black fingernail to pry a flat battery out. She held it up for Tawny to see. “If you want it to work again.” She clicked the battery into its slot and replaced the cover. “That’s all there is to it.”

  When Sierra handed her the phone, Tawny felt as if she’d accepted a poisonous snake. The feds—and Kahlil—had known her location all along, no matter his reassurances.

  The girl cocked her head to one side. “Y’know, if you need to figure out more functions, there’s plenty of tutorials on You Tube. Just type in the model and your question and you’ll find all kinds of answers.” A few more blinks, then, “Good luck.”

  Stunned by Sierra’s revelations, Tawny left the library and walked briskly down the street, as if being pursued. She forced oxygen through her lungs, trying to counteract the feeling of strangulation that constricted her throat.

  Kahlil knowingly left her wide open to be found, by the authorities or himself.

  She’d allowed her fear of technology to intimidate her into helplessness. She put herself completely in Kahlil’s hands because he performed magic. Yet Sierra just showed her how simply she might have found solutions by herself, instead of being mystified and controlled by Kahlil’s expertise. He’d taught her only basic tasks, keeping her ignorant of what went on behind the curtain, from where he manipulated her.

  While Tawny pondered, she turned a corner and ran smack into the bank branch where her evil twin had deposited the cash into her account. She stopped at the entrance, thought about walking inside to see if employees recognized her. No, with the revolver in her waistband, she didn’t dare. No sense getting herself arrested now. That was all too likely to happen in the near future.

  Instead she crossed the street and bought a bottle of water from a store. She sat on a wall, sipping, and watched cars move through the drive-up, imagining the lookalike Jeep pulling in and the imposter stacking cash in the drawer. The money hidden in her coat felt heavier than ever.

  How she longed to talk to Dwight. He’d know how to figure out the crazy mess.

  The desire to hear his voice again welled up inside her. She called her home number to listen once more to his last cherished message saved on the answering machine. The familiar words repeated, weak and raspy, “Hey, love, I’m done with the infusion. If you come pick me up, I might be persuaded to take you out for an ice cream cone.”

  Listening gave her comfort and anguish at the same time. She closed her eyes and imagined Dwight’s face.

  Then, the machine announced, “New message.”

  Damn. Probably another bounced check.

  “Mom, sorry I missed your birthday,” Neal said. “Been on a mission and couldn’t call. Just got back. I owe you a birthday dinner next time I’m home. Don’t forget to ask for the senior discount. Love you, Mom.”

  Tawny gripped the phone tightly, pain stabbing her swollen ring finger. Could it be? She repeated the message.

  Yes!

  Neal’s voice. Neal’s blessed, beautiful, teasing voice, date stamped at eleven-fifteen this morning.

  Like flash cards, realizations cascaded in her mind.

  Neal. Alive. Safe. Not kidnapped.

  Neal had missed her birthday.

  He hadn’t sent her Lucifer, after all.

  Tawny stared at the smartphone.

&nbs
p; The events of the past few weeks replayed. Connections jarred into place like cinder blocks dropped from the sky. The chance meeting with Kahlil. Fate and destiny whirling her into a romance with him. The mysterious deposits and withdrawals at the bank. The seizure of her money. The text messages supposedly from Neal that didn’t sound like him. The phony ransom demand. The disconnected number for Rear Detachment. The calls from Rosenbaum that didn’t come through.

  Kahlil had set her up.

  She’d welcomed him into her heart and body…memories that now made her flinch. If she ever saw him again, she didn’t trust herself not to cry. How could he treat her with such tenderness, yet cause her unimaginable misery? Why did he choose her? And for what?

  As afternoon sun extended shadows, she stared at the instrument of the devil in her trembling hand. She wanted to fling it into traffic, let the tires of cars and semi-trucks crush it into dust. Destroy every trace of connection to the handsome, charming, treacherous Kahlil.

  No. She had to be smart. As much as she longed to get rid of it, the phone might be evidence to prove her innocence. Instead, she opened the back, as Sierra had demonstrated, and removed the battery. Relief flooded her veins as if she had dismantled a bomb.

  * * *

  Kahlil pressed the accelerator harder. The rumbling police interceptor engine of the dark blue Ford Crown Victoria easily passed slower vehicles on the uphill grade.

  If Tawny’s conversation with the Jew attorney had ended after the first few minutes, as it should have, the original plan could still have worked. By employing a combination of endearments and technical jargon she did not comprehend, her suspicions could be mitigated. But when she did not answer Kahlil’s call and the lawyer proved to her that his number had been blocked, the damage turned irreversible.

  While he listened to the attorney’s relentless barrage, months of methodical planning eroded away. The precise but delicate framework on which he’d built the myth to ensnare Tawny had shifted, folding in on itself like the slow-motion collapse of a building, floor by floor. The attorney was smart and cynical. Formidable.