Lost By The River

by David Moynihan

  “What is it… Mr. Drake?”

  “I ain't believing your story, Doc.”

  “I—well.”

  “And I don't think anybody else is gonna buy it neither. Cops know who you are?”

  “Err, well, you understand, I lacked identification. After. My wallet, you see. It's just not the sort of thing one brings with you to these... delicate encounters. I'd've had a hard time explaining the credit card charges should anyone bother to look for them.”

  “Anyone looking at them, Doc?”

  “No, Mr. Drake. No one… currently. But tomorrow is another day, after all. And... well, surely… when you meet someone… you take it upon yourself to look at their financial records?”

  “Yeah, surely. Right after asking where they went to school and if they'd ever been with another woman. Really helps to set the mood.

  “I...”

  “Never mind. What about the car? The Feds give you Metro tickets, I'm sure. But you're 20 miles from the subway at that point, and it's the part of town that only allows buses twice a day, so the maids from the city can get in before dawn and leave at dusk.

  “My car is not parked... close to the scene. You must understand… Mr. Drake, a man in my position—”

  “Wouldn't rate. And it ain't as though guys like you ever get fired—be it for incompetence, malfeasance, or annoying a very bored and tired man who's sick of the whole thing. OK, no ID, no fingerprints on record?”

  “I, well, those must be somewhere, only, Mr. Drake—you understand, my hands are bandaged.”

  I looked down. They were.

  “How'd the cops get there, anyway? You call 'em?”

  “I-uh, no. No, I certainly wouldn't have… called anybody.”

  “So who did? How'd they find you?”

  “I—they said I was… in a daze. Walking about, inside the home. I was—”

  “Nude. That's over the airwaves. They do a tox screen on you? Some kind of drug in your system?”

  “I—”

  “This it, here?” I reached over towards a folder at the edge of his desk.

  “No, it's not there. Mr. Drake, you see, I—”

  “What? Amyls? They must think you're short of breath with that tube in your mouth. I don't take you for a coke guy, but hey, back in the day you studied hard for the exams, right? Still got connections? Heck, probably got a drawerful of samples from reps, right? So what was it, Doc?”

  “An... enhancer, Mr. Drake. A… prescription one. It may have impacted my blood pressure. You see, I—”

  “Hopefully didn't have a condition that lasted more than four hours.”

  “Right. It... didn't last quite that long. But I was... somewhat winded.”

  Great. Either a thug had taken Eveline's house in a rampage and smacked him up in passing. Or this jackass had been so light-headed he sent himself tumbling down the stairs while she sought foie gras for her next appointment.

  “Mr. Drake,” Hannigan was saying. “Mr. Drake… what are you thinking about now?”

  I looked at him, sighed.

  “How to get you out of here? I don't really want to. I'm even less inclined given your inability to pay for my services...”

  Hannigan reached around, grabbing a non-existent wallet. I saw the fluid in his nebulizer had vanished.

  “... But it's a pro bono day, your breath meds are gone, and your company might be an improvement over where I've been hanging.”

  “Where was that… Mr. Drake?”

  “I'll tell you later. Or not. It's a little too embarrassing and involves handcuffs.”

  He didn't walk the part, but I slipped Hannigan into a surgeon's garb, added nametags, skipped the stethoscope after he said “my mother's dream come true” too brightly. Resisted punching him, somehow, and watched the front desk for a lull.

  One came an hour or so later. Hannigan was getting antsy but nurses or other personnel had come by to trouble us. My charge wondered aloud why that might be, but I didn't want to get into a discussion of staffing levels as a result of federal intervention into the medical field just then. One staffer up front split toward the restroom; the other jumped after an infant's shrieks brought an anguished mother's wails in what was no doubt a lower Castillian dialect.

  I let Hannigan saunter ahead of me tiredly, kicking at his feet to keep the man's head down. Eye contact avoided with the un-served habituants of the ER lobby, we hit the glass doors and started running.

  “That was, easy, Mr. Drake.”

  “Yeah, there's a window between visiting hours and the onset of stabbing time; roughly matches up with shift changes at the police force. Remember it next time you come in under similar circumstances. And if it happens again, Hannigan, don't forget the most important thing.”

  “What would that be, Mr. Drake?”

  “Don't call me. I'm not into repeat clients.”

  “Right.”

  He said little after that, thereby improving his standing in my eyes by a considerable margin.

  We got caught in the snarl of activity by the fair maid's house, so I sat with Hannigan for a time, checking his status in the police logs on a leeched neighborhood wifi connection. No arrests, no name, lousy description of him. They'd be searching for a white male, age 30-65, slight injuries to a completely different set of limbs. No worries if we could avoid the officers on the scene.

  Hannigan grew antsy, wanting to head to his car. I was all in favor, but I pointed out he lacked the keys to it. Beyond the obligatory “computers and laptops seized” photos, there'd been no boxes of clothes, documents and chains in the ruckus, so I knew where we had to go to get the man his pants back. Hannigan couldn't figure out why they'd be traceable, and I didn't feel like telling, so we sat in silence for a while.

  I called Execgal, she indicated the Doc remained... in position. While she'd watched the fun in their private chamber.

  “I'm taking names!” she said happily. “Want to hear them?”

  “I'd just be jealous of your management abilities. Kicking ass too?”

  “Well, not me, but I've been helping. Here!

  I listened as the slapping sounds in the background grew more intense.

  “What's that?”

  “Oh, a man's demonstrating handmade floggers. They make plenty of noise, but the feeling on your skin is like fingertips.”

  “Now I know what to get you for Christmas. Did you demo them?”

  “I—”

  “Right. At least we've found you another career. I'm waiting to see if one of the Doc's friends slips back into her house for anything. Or some sign of where she might have gone.”

  “Do you think it's important, Drake?”

  “I don't think anything's important. But it's a good way to pass the time.”

  “Your professionalism is duly noted.”

  “So's yours. Get back to flogging.”

  Hannigan eyed me curiously during this exchange. I wasn't feeling indebted so I said nothing, lit a cigarette, opened the window.

  Near midnight I got sick of waiting and his quiet fidgeting next to me. The crowd before Eveline's house had thinned, but not vanished entirely. I didn't know who was inside and I didn't really care. So I reached into the back and pulled a windbreaker. It was blue and cop-like. Matched with a camera bag I looked official.

  “Stay here,” I said to Hannigan, who'd zoned out. “I'll get your clothes.”

  He looked back at me sharply, but pulled back an arm that of its own volition wanted to touch me. A quick snarl was enough to keep him from saying anything stupid.

  A single cop stood near the house, not guarding, but not friendly. I walked past, taking superior strides, and years of deference to authority left him nodding lightly in my direction. I pulled the camera at the door, asked if anyone had wiped for prints.

  “No,” said the cop. “Figured there'd be too much traffic to try and sort out who was who.”

  “That ain't how they do it on the forensics shows,” I said.

>   We both laughed.

  “There's a subpoena in for her phone records. All of 'em. Might just be some good customers 'round here.”

  “Right,” I replied and moved in.

  Eveline's home was now a fashion designer's nightmare. Her furnishings were strewn about and some of the more delicate items had found there way onto a Greek statue in the foyer. I didn't bother to ask whether anyone believed art could truly be improved by having black lace panties thrust over-top the sculpture.

  Similar marks of professionalism were in place throughout. The amused police had a penchant for satin mesh in their redecoration, but a quick perusal of the toilets showed the investigators were willing to use leather, or even terrycloth, when it suited their aesthetic needs.

  I considered pointing that the open, gossamer nature of the fabrics, even unshredded, rendered them relatively useless as protectors of marble tile. But the finer points of home and fashion are generally wasted on the lower classes.

  Noise from the upstairs indicated a certain lack of professionalism from Eveline's bedroom. It also blocked me from getting Hannigan's pants. I headed away from the noise.

  Chains uncoiled in a pile by the at the base of the stair. Really, I thought to myself, a lady had keeps her bondage gear separate. Electronics gone and the filing cabinets emptied, I dug through a few sheets of paper that lay about, but most were receipts, years old. Hotels, massage services, extended makeup treatments, and an animal spa; one cat, three nights... same time as her trip to the Caribbean. She paid? Why would she pay? Something must have gone very wrong. Or else that's where she did her banking...

  No good way of chasing down off-shore accounts suggested itself. Nor did I catch any sign of a cat. So I took what I was given, wondering if DC clientele were the sort who feared any animal. Bunch of allergy dweebs, probably. Just wouldn't do to have a guy go all anaphylactic during a session. But an independent woman does not give up her pet so easily, or if she does, she keeps track of the creature afterward. Or dumps the creature off and never thinks of him again save for quiet nights of solitary binge drinking.

  I had to stop projecting. Animal shelter was a few miles away and open late. I didn't have anything else planned for that night, so I grabbed my bag from the floor, headed upstairs, listened as the noise from the bedroom grew louder, shrugged at the cop outside and returned to my car.

  Hannigan wasn't there.

  This was a problem for me. It's one thing to go and snatch a lazy scientist from the hospital, breaking more laws than usual in the process. But if they don't then do you the courtesy of hanging around while you wait...

  I tapped the DMV records on Hannigan. It showed he lived in a townhouse some three miles from his work. Smaller homes in what was becoming, with tear-down mansionization, an exclusive neighborhood, and close enough to take metro or bike. One car to his name, an outdated Range Rover that wouldn't win any points with the colleagues at bragging time but suggested outdoor hobbying.

  It was only in the parking lot of the closed pet boarding house that I remembered how near the river was to Eveline's house. Water smell, they'd call the place in beach listings. He'd looked fit enough to kayak. Or crew. Or whatever it was they called rowing at good colleges. I zipped back, running every light, but I had to drive 10 miles while Hannigan, shoeless and all, needed to go a couple thousand feet. Wasn't much of a race, and I wasn't sure where he'd head out from.

  At the riverfront, there were miles of shaded coast. No kind of moon this evening. I could hang here all day, but if Hannigan was a kayaker, he could've coasted down current and made the Virginia side in a few. This wasn't public parkland by any means, but an old Range Rover, so preferable to the more modern, arriviste SUVs, wouldn't have drawn much attention.

  In my truck, the first thing I wanted to do was give his name, address, phone number to the cops. Tell them where he'd be, and when. I scratched that idea, thought of ways to cross the river. If I half-swam, half-floated, it wouldn't take me more than 20 minutes. But the Potomac this time of year had an undertow that held you like tax season, and some of the dead they pulled out of it hadn't been completely stupid.

  Well, you can never underestimate the stupidity of a Washington resident. But I didn't feel like drowning in a coldish, shallow river right then. I had a scientist to pummel. Two of them, actually…

  Ten minutes went as I envisioned numerous horrifying, painful, public deaths for anyone who'd been pissing me off lately. It was enough time to remember the ferry was only 12 miles away, albeit closed. Enough time to consider running for a bridge, the nearest one only 17 miles, give or take. Heck, it was enough time for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and see the motionless legs peering out of some bushes next to the stream.

  I approached cautiously. It was a little too cold for sex, and most kids these days do it inside the home, but you never want to disturb anyone under those circumstances. Nope, just one pair of legs. No hair on them, so I thought for a second I'd found Eveline after all. Not her. Further up, I saw the legs end in a pair of shorts, and realized I was looking at the body of a male, 35-40, Asian-Pacific Islander. Probably Chinese. Probably Chinese that I knew. Fang, the under-sized apparatchik.

  Thinking he was sleeping something off, I slid the back of my hand against his nose, felt no breathing. Uncertain, I dug through the truck, got a plastic bag from one of my many fine dining experiences, wrapped my hand in it, checked for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  There wasn't any blood on him, so I wondered if he'd been changed recently. I was thinking I knew a guy who'd missed his clothes. And I knew that guy's address. And he was right behind me with a gun.

  “Hello, Mr. Drake.”

  “Hi there, Hannigan.” I looked him over. New set of jogging clothes. Didn't fit him worth a damn. Pistol a 9 mm, held like he knew what he was doing with it.

  “Odd, seeing you here.”

  “Yeah. Odd. I figured you'd be across the river by now.”

  “Oh, not for a while yet. You know how these things go.”

  “Actually, Hannigan, I really don't. And I'm wondering what happened with our friend there.”

  “Oh, him. He paid a visit to the wrong place today.”

  “So did you, as I recall.”

  “Well, you recall what I wanted you to.”

  “Where's Eveline?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “What, the hooker? How's that important to anything?”

  “I have this lingering attachment toward women I've seen naked.”

  “You, and half the scientists in this town.”

  “Yeah. But I didn't pay for the service.”

  “We'll celebrate your prowess another time, Mr. Drake. For now, I think we're going to get back in that vehicle of yours and go for a ride.”

  “Where'd you get the gun?” I asked, not moving.

  “From the last idiot who got in my way and played games. Mr. Drake, I don't think a wound to your thigh would hurt you over-much, but the bleeding might wreck your upholstery and leave you cranky while you take me where I need to go. I suspect you don't really want that. Men like you are so attached to material things.”

  “OK,” I said, opening my door quickly.

  “Easy, Mr. Drake,” said Hannigan calmly. “If given time to peruse my records carefully, you'll discover I'm something of a capable marksman. Rare, I know, for this state. But, then, past experience.” Never keeping his eyes or his weapon off me, Hannigan moved around, sat on the other side of the cab.

  “Now, Mr. Drake,” he said calmly. “You're going to drive this car to wherever it is that Dr. Ansbach is staying. You will approach the roads deliberately, yet cautiously, maintaining speed of traffic and never exceeding 60 miles per hour. I note that this vehicle has airbags on both sides. You will note that I am more than capable of firing a bullet into your temple, surviving the crash, and fabricating something about struggling for a gun after being kidnapped by an uncouth, poorly educated killer. No doubt in your home there e
xists some sort of Ayn Rand paraphernalia that would confirm my story in the eyes of the police. Understood?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wonderful. Now, to pass the time, you can again regale me with your splendid wit and intellect. I find it... quite amusing.”

  “Surely. How about some limericks?”

  “That would do nicely.”

  “You know, this is a well-executed plan, Hannigan,” I said as I began driving. “But...”

  “Flattery is pointless. I've made numerous mistakes along the way. Some of which you might have even noticed.”

  “Apart from the dead CEO, the missing hooker, the freaked-out Chinese. Naw, come on, Hannigan, whatever it is you're up to has gone smooth.”

  “You're still the charmer, Mr. Drake. And what else is it, in your opinion, that I've done wrong?”

  “Nothing you've done. But Dr. Ansbach's in kind of a public place.”

  “Yes, you've chained him in a mall or something. Correct?”

  “Actually, I think he chained himself.”

  “Well, I see the wit begins. Let's take a moment, Mr. Drake, and listen to the news for accounts of exploits of the day.”

  And he tuned in. Local basketball team scored a bunch of points. Lost. Stock market shifted for some non-quantifiable reason that the reporters somehow managed to identify absolutely. Schools needed money. New road planned would take ship in 15, 20 years tops. No direct mention of Eveline. Feature about some neighbors in the Potomac area expressing ambivalence that anything in the slightest might be going wrong in the vicinity of their 6,000-square foot fortresses and horse camps.

  Hannigan looked frustrated. Toughest part of my business was when the customer found him or herself wanting that picture in the paper. But there was still the chance he'd get it.

  “You look down, there.”

  “Oh, not really.”

  “Well, they'll figure out your name eventually.”

  “That remains to be seen. Also, you are giving me considerably more credit for the recent goings-on than I deserve.”

  “Yeah, I'm a simple man. Usually, the one with a gun is the guy you gotta hold accountable when people get shot. Any particular reason you took out Agate's CEO?”