Dead Ringer

by Allen Wyler

  He padded down the hall to the small guest room that doubled as a home office. On one wall hung a framed black-and-white poster from Casablanca, the one with Bogart leaning on a café table with an almost empty bottle of booze touching his right hand. It brought to mind the line, “You played it for her and you can play it for me.”

  He settled into the rolling chair and started the small CD player. Albert Collins started singing about not being drunk.

  For a moment he studied Josh’s framed high school graduation picture. His son had inherited Laura’s nose and eyes. From Lucas he’d inherited persistence. Now he lived in an apartment with two other students on the other side of the mountains at Whitman College as an economics major. Lucas shook his head. What do you do with an economics degree? Business, well, that was pretty obvious, but economics? He’d never mentioned these doubts to Josh, believing instead that what really mattered was for Josh to do whatever fulfilled him and gave his life purpose. Economics seemed to do that.

  Lucas missed having him around, even if only for Sunday dinners. He would prefer him closer at the UW or even Seattle University, but Josh claimed the huge UW campus made him feel intimidated and insignificant. So after touring several West Coast schools, he opted for the family feel of Whitman. At least he wasn’t 3,000 miles away at some East Coast school.

  Lucas debated calling Trish, Andy’s ex. Far as he knew, she was the only one Andy ever listed as an emergency contact. He dreaded talking to her because she’d always resented him. Never understood why exactly, but suspected she held him partially responsible for Andy’s self-destructive behavior. As if Lucas could’ve made a difference. Sure, he’d talked with Andy about it numerous times, but addictions were impossible to change with only words.

  Reluctantly, he dialed Trish’s number. She picked up after the third ring.

  “Hello, Trish. Lucas.”

  “What do you want?”

  Great. “Just got back to town and haven’t been able to reach Andy. Have you talked to him recently?”

  “No.”

  Figures. “Ah, how long since you talked to him?”

  “Why?”

  “Like I said, I haven’t been able to reach him. I was wondering if something was wrong.”

  “Like?”

  “I don’t know. An illness, maybe.”

  “The world should be so lucky. But if Andy had a problem, he’d call one of his girlfriends, not me. He knows better. That’s it? I have to run.”

  “Okay, well, thanks. Good-bye.”

  Lucas stared at the phone, wondering what to do next. Had to do something.

  Lucas pushed through the front door to Andy’s condominium building and entered the lobby. The doorman looked up from behind the counter, asked, “May I help you?”

  Lucas didn’t recognize the man and assumed he was a temp for one of the regulars who was either ill or on vacation. “Dr. McRae to see Mr. Baer.”

  “Is he expecting you?”

  “Yes,” Lucas lied.

  The doorman put the phone to his ear and dialed. Then started drumming the eraser end of a yellow pencil on the granite counter. After thirty seconds he hung up, said to Lucas, “He’s not answering.”

  “That’s strange. He’s expecting me. Did you see him go out?”

  “No.”

  “Have you seen him during the past couple days?”

  “Dr. McRae, we’re not allowed to give out personal information.”

  “I’m just asking if you’ve seen him. That’s not personal.”

  The doorman returned an icy stare. “Anything else I might help you with?”

  Lucas trudged along First Avenue wracking his brain for another place to look or call. Nothing came to him. This was Saturday and if Andy took one of his girlfriends on a trip, he might not be back until Monday. He’d go nuts waiting until then.

  The diffuse uneasiness in Lucas’s gut returned, but this time he knew what was causing it. Before leaving for Hong Kong, he’d signed out of the office for ten days of vacation when he got back. He and Laura planned on visiting friends at their weekend cabin at Black Butte Ranch in Oregon. But he couldn’t very well leave now. Not until he found Andy. To say Laura would be pissed about it would be a gross understatement. Well, it couldn’t be helped.

  A need swept over him—not a want, but a soul-wrenching need—to see Josh and do something simple, just the two of them, like share a meal. He dialed Josh’s cell and waited for an answer, visualizing his son frantically rummaging through his rucksack for the phone.

  Josh answered, “Hey, Dad. Back from Hong Kong already?”

  “Got in about a couple hours ago. You free for lunch tomorrow?”

  “Guess so. Why?”

  “Thought I’d come over, see how you’re doing. That fit your schedule?”

  “What’s wrong?” Josh sounded alarmed.

  Aw, man, was it that apparent? The last thing he wanted was to upset him. “Nothing. So, it’s okay to come?”

  “Not unless you tell me what’s up.”

  “I’ll tell you when I get there. Noon? Your favorite place?”

  “Okay.”

  Lucas hung up and began rehearsing ways to explain to Laura. No matter how carefully he chose the words, she’d never understand.

  16

  MAGNOLIA NEIGHBORHOOD, SEATTLE

  GERHARD SAT BEHIND HEAVILY tinted windows watching the front of McRae’s house. He’d parked the black Chrysler across the street and down one lot to appear as if he were visiting a neighbor. He knew the tinted windows made it impossible for an observer to tell if anyone was inside, much less see well enough to provide a description. Sure, some nosey Neighborhood Watch asshole might jot down the license number of an unfamiliar car, but he’d switched to bogus Montana plates, something he should’ve done that night with the fucking Suburban. And that one, it turned out, had been a spur-of-the-moment opportunistic catch. Which, in retrospect, was really stupid.

  He watched a Volvo station wagon turn onto the street and slow as it approached McRae’s driveway, then turn in. It stopped while the door to the double garage opened, then went forward to park beside an Audi.

  Gerhard was out of the car, trotting across the street, timing his move.

  The garage door started down. He hesitated, out of range of the car’s rearview mirror, before hunching down and stepping under the closing door without triggering the safety beam, between the driver and the Audi. He ended up hidden underneath the German car’s rear bumper. The garage door motor stopped groaning a second before the car door slammed. Then he heard footsteps slap cement followed by the thunk of another door closing. The steps had been quick and light like a woman’s.

  Minutes later the garage went black as the door light timed out. He smelled concrete and motor oil, heard the ticking of a cooling car while waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark.

  His butt cold from sitting on concrete, arms wrapped around knees, Gerhard catnapped as the hours ticked slowly by. Having familiarized himself with the garage, he was now positioned in the spot least likely to be seen if someone opened the door from inside the house. Sporadic sounds came from inside, but these diminished over time until finally he heard only the occasional creak of cooling joists.

  He stood and waited for his legs to come back to life before pulling on disposable exam gloves. After flicking on a tiny Maglite, he carefully made his way to the interior door, put his ear to it, and listened for sounds from inside. There were none.

  He tried the doorknob. Unlocked.

  Then he was in a kitchen, looking around. Enough streetlight angled through windows that he didn’t need the flashlight.

  Fuck a duck, what luck! A purse and key ring sat on the kitchen table. The ring held a car key, one that looked like it could be for a locker, and a Schlage. The last one had to be for the house.

  From his pocket he pulled a wad of clay and folded it over the key and came away with an impression good enough for a locksmith. After putting the key r
ing back on the table, he left the kitchen to explore the rest of the house.

  Gerhard stood at an open bedroom door listening to the soft snores of two people, thinking if McRae turned into a real pain in the ass, this was an excellent way to quickly and quietly take care of him, no problem. He pointed his finger like a gun, thought, Pop, pop. All done.

  He crept down the stairs and out the front door.

  LUCAS AWOKE WITH A start, aware of something wrong. He sat up in bed, careful not to disturb Laura. To his shock, he detected the faint odor of formalin, the embalming fluid, something he hadn’t encountered since medical school. The nebulous dread congealed into fear. He reached for the phone to call 911. This is stupid.

  Instead, he slid out of bed and edged to the door to the hall.

  Nothing.

  At the head of the stairs he looked down to the first floor, saw only familiar shadows in the weak streetlight through the windows, the house deathly silent. With the lights out, he went downstairs, checked the doors. Locked.

  Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of something wrong, that someone had been inside.

  17

  APPLEBEE’S, WALLA WALLA, WASHINGTON

  LUCAS FIGURED WALLA WALLA was about as far as you could get from Seattle and still be within Washington State. It hugged the Washington-Oregon border in an area rich with wineries.

  Lucas was up, showered, and out the door by five thirty wolfing a breakfast sandwich and sipping a grande latte from a downtown Starbucks before hitting the I-90 interchange and heading east toward the Cascade Mountains, the navy Audi A6 on cruise control three miles above the speed limit and his iPod blasting Albert Collins, Freddie King, and a raft of other serious blues players on the car stereo. He sang along to Collins’s “Master Charge” while blowing past North Bend, the sun in his eyes.

  Figured four to five hours each way with maybe an hour for lunch and he’d be back in time for dinner. Josh, as much as he loved his dad, couldn’t sit still for a conversation much over sixty minutes. Even that was pushing it. The kid got restless easily. But so had Lucas at that age.

  After Snoqualmie Pass he nudged the A6 a hair past seventy-five, the highway patrol thinner on this side of the mountains. Eventually he left I-90 to cut down through Yakima and Pasco, the synthesized GPS voice constantly reminding him which exits and turns to take. The first time he used the GPS, he named it Maddie and wondered if the voice was 100 percent synthesized or modeled after a real person’s voice. The best thing about Maddie was she never got angry if he missed a turn. She just recalculated.

  Stopped once for another coffee and to recycle the first latte, topped off the tank, and was off again.

  He rolled into Walla Walla, took Plaza Way, and parked facing the front of Applebee’s. He’d made it with time to kill.

  Lucas was already in a booth waiting when Josh walked through the front door, army surplus rucksack over his right shoulder. His son’s face lit up as soon as their eyes met. He slid out of the chair to hug, said, “Great to see you, son.”

  They hugged each other tightly and as they released, Lucas looked him over, making sure he seemed well and fit. Josh had on a black T-shirt, olive cargo pants, Converse tennis shoes. “You look good, Josh,” he said, patting him on the back.

  “So do you, Dad.”

  They slid into their respective seats.

  Josh pushed away the menu, having memorized it more than a year ago. Lucas had already decided on a cheeseburger, figuring screw the cholesterol worries. At least for this visit.

  Josh looked down at his hand while unrolling the paper napkin and freeing his flatware. “What’s going on? You and Mom getting a divorce?”

  “What?”

  “Well, that’s what’s coming, isn’t it?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  “No, seriously, why would you say such a thing?”

  “Well, duh, it’s clear you guys aren’t all that happy together.”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  Josh averted his eyes and started curling and uncurling one corner of the place mat.

  After a few moments Lucas cleared his throat. “You’re right. That wasn’t really a question. And yes, we’ve talked to a lawyer about it. Just not sure exactly how this is going to play out. I’m still hoping we can resolve things with a marriage counselor.”

  His son met his eyes. “I hate to say anything mean about Mom, but she hasn’t been herself lately.”

  Not so long ago Lucas would have automatically defended Laura, especially after a remark like that from Josh, but this was interesting. “In what way?”

  “Aw, jeez. You know. She’s constantly pissed at you. And me. At the world, really.”

  He’s right, Lucas admitted. He just hadn’t considered her in quite that light. Which was sad because she was no longer the woman he’d married. Did she think the same of him? Had he changed that much too? He must have changed, but the question was how much? Organisms react to stimuli. Change doesn’t occur in a vacuum. And that begged the question: What was driving her personality change? Him or did it come from within her? It was so easy to shrug it off as depression, but was it totally? Why wouldn’t she see the psychiatrist he’d suggested? He wished she would, but that was something he couldn’t force her to do. Whichever, he desperately wanted back the woman she used to be. “I think she’s depressed.”

  Josh shook his head and kept fiddling with the place mat. “She doesn’t seem depressed to me. She seems, I don’t know, nervous or something.”

  “She is. But there’s a form of depression in which agitation is a major part of the problem.”

  Josh stared at him.

  “It’s called agitated depression. What’s unusual about your mom is she’s a little younger than what’s typical. It’s seen more often in elderly people. But that’s what I think she’s got, and that’s why I want her evaluated by a psychiatrist. She won’t go.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she’s afraid.”

  Silence.

  The waitress appeared, ready to take their order. Both ordered cheeseburgers and Cokes.

  After she left, Josh asked, “You never answered my question. You’re not getting a divorce, for sure?”

  Lucas shook his head. “Thought I said, we’ve contacted a lawyer.”

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “We haven’t formally filed. But I have to say, it’s not looking good.”

  “Then why’d you drive all the way over here? I can’t believe it was just to have lunch. Something’s bothering you. What?”

  For a moment Lucas sat back to admire his son. Josh had Laura’s canny ability to read people that Lucas lacked. Laura was intuitive, making decisions from a few facts. In contrast, Lucas gathered and weighed as many facts as possible before reaching a decision. Not to the point of extreme, but to the point of feeling informed. The other way seemed so impulsive.

  “Guess the only way I can explain it is I have this feeling that something’s not right. It’s making me uneasy. So”—he shrugged—“I just need to be with you for an hour.”

  “Need to be with me?”

  “Yeah. That’s how it felt.”

  Josh paled. “Oh, shit, you’re not, like, dying, are you?”

  So much for tact. “No, no … nothing like that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Lucas sighed, raked his hand through his hair, and started in with, “When I was in Hong Kong, I had this really crazy experience.” He told Josh about seeing what looked like Andy’s head and now being unable to locate him by phone.

  “Did you call the cops to see if there’s a missing persons report on him?”

  “See, that’s where I’m having a problem. I’m not sure anyone would even know he’s missing. Or care. Much less file a report.” He told Josh about his phone call to Trish.

  “What about work? If he doesn’t show up, won’t someone start askin
g questions?”

  “Maybe.” Andy’s problem had spilled over to the office, resulting in a couple warnings from HR to knock off hitting on some of the secretaries and using the work computer for viewing porn. Sure, Andy made good money for the company, but it would tolerate only so much before dropping the hammer.

  “What are you saying?”

  When Lucas didn’t come up with an immediate answer, Josh said, “Tell me. It’s something more than that, isn’t it?”

  Lucas sucked a deep breath and decided to include the part about the run-in with Gerhard in Hong Kong. “You know about Andy’s problem, don’t you?”

  “What? Keeping his dick in his pants? Who doesn’t?”

  “It’s an addiction. Just like an alcoholic has to struggle with drinking, he doesn’t have a lot of control over it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Josh gave a dismissive wave.

  Lucas elected to press on rather than defend Andy. Truth was, he’d long ago tired of defending him. “Part of his problem is risk taking, which includes being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Usually with a hooker.” Or a couple hookers together. Andy had once suggested they do a group thing with a few girls. Lucas declined.

  “So, he screwed himself to death?” Josh said.

  “No, I’m worried that …” Lucas found it more difficult to explain than he’d anticipated. He swallowed. “Maybe … maybe he was murdered.” There! Finally said it for first time.

  Josh seemed puzzled. “Why tell me? If that’s what you think, why not tell the police?”

  “Because I can’t be 100 percent sure it was him.” Soon as the words were out, Lucas realized he’d left out a crucial part of the story, so he explained how the head had been shipped and that Gerhard denied it was Andy.

  When he finished, Josh asked, “And you believe this dude Gerhard?”

  “Absolutely not. He’s lying. I know he is.”