Authors: Donna Simmons
Mourning Dove (21 page)
“And Ross’s threat to
you?” she asked.
“Near as I can tell, he
was setting up false evidence to discredit my reputation in your eyes, Robert.
Then, I believe his plan was to replace me as CFO. We’ve been looking at the
phone and email logs in both San Francisco and here. Louise unearthed an
interesting set of calls made from this office and Sara’s at two in the
morning. Most during the time Ross was in residence at this division. That’s
why I wanted to review the logs again. Sara, can you retrieve that file for me
now?”
She looked at her watch –
it was already three fifteen.
Ten minutes later she’d
rifled through every file she had. The logs were missing.
“Louise, can you come
into my office, please?”
Louise walked through
with a pile of printouts in her arms. “What’s up?”
“The phone log seems to
have walked away. Do you know anything about it?”
“I left them in the
upright on my desk last night. With all the hubbub of Jonathon’s return, I
haven’t spent more than a minute or two in my chair today. He asked me for them
just before the department meeting and they’re gone. I thought you re-filed
them since we worked on the orphan numbers together.”
“Nope, I made copies of
the dates in question and returned the file to your desk. Where’s Steve? Maybe
he’s got the file?” Sara looked down at the time on her wrist.
“He left for a dentist
appointment right after you and Jonathon went into executive session with Mr.
Starr.”
“Check Steve’s desk for
me and his files. I’ll call his cell and see if I can reach him.”
After a last minute
search, Sara walked back into Jonathon’s office with her overstuffed briefcase
in her hand and her coat over her arm.
“Jonathon, Robert, we’re
unable to locate that file at this time. Louise and I searched the office and
it’s nowhere to be found. We checked Steve’s desk. It’s not there either, but
his file drawer is locked. I tried to reach him by phone but ended up leaving a
message in his mailbox.”
“Where is he, damn it?”
Jonathon’s patience had finally run out.
“He broke a cap at
lunch. He’s at the dentist getting it repaired. It’s okay Jonathon. Just
pull up the log through security. It won’t have the justifications, but you’ll
have the dates, numbers, and phone locations. They’ll also have the email logs
– but you already know that.”
“Go ahead,” he looked at
the time and shook his head. “Get out of here, Sara. I’ll see you
tomorrow."
***
In the car her phone rang
again. “Sara, where are you?”
“Ron, I’m on the
turnpike. I’ll be there by twenty-five after. You’ll make the appointment,
don’t worry.”
“I worry about your
safety every time you’re late – which happens almost every night.”
“I’m okay, just very,
very busy.”
“Sometimes I worry about
the Brit and you. Is he the reason you’re late today?”
“I’m not late, damn it!
We misplaced a file at the office and it took a few extra minutes to come up
with an alternate solution. And, no, Matthew was not the cause for the delay.
He left Tuesday night.”
“You didn’t tell me
that.”
“When did I have time? My
boss is back from California and we’re trying to get all the pieces put
together for Chicago.”
“I thought you were going
with the Brit?”
“Jonathon Pierce, Robert
Starr, Matthew Farrell, and I are all going to be there at different times.
It’s business, Ron! Wait a second; I’m going through the toll.” She slowed down
through the EZ Pass booth.
“Okay, where was I?”
“Your mind is in Chicago and your body is driving south on the Maine Turnpike.”
“I’ll be at my place –
not yours – by Sunday night.”
“I don’t know why you’re
staying in Chicago for the weekend when you told me the conference will be over
on Friday.” He was whining again.
“You can reach me by
phone if anything happens and I’ll let you know if Matthew discovers anything
earth shattering.
“He’s sure been
mysterious since he left here last week. How come we haven’t heard from him?”
“He’s busy, Ron. He
doesn’t have to brief us every time he finds another piece to the puzzle.”
“We’re Carl’s parents, he
better well tell us what’s going on.”
“Calm down. I suspect
when we need to know, we will. In the meantime, I expect to see him in Chicago, I’ll ask him then. I just got off I-95. I’ll be there in five minutes. It would
help if you were dressed and downstairs when I get to the house.”
“I’m downstairs already,
watching Mrs. Murphy from the front window. Every time I look she’s standing
just behind her curtain snooping. I swear she doesn’t have a life.”
“You’re a fine pair, Ron,
both snooping on each other. Okay, I just turned on Blue Heron.”
Two minutes later, she
swung into the drive and shoved the gearshift into park. Glancing across the
street, she smiled as the lace curtain swung back into place. Sara wondered if
Mrs. Murphy had seen anything strange going on in the last few months. Sara was
going to have to bake an applesauce cake for her, the only one she knew how to
make, and pump Ron’s neighbor for information. Wouldn’t it be cool if they had an
eyewitness to the bad guys and their bugs?
No, Mom. It would be
dangerous for all three of you.
Now is not the time,
Carl. I’m late.
Sara walked up the front
steps and opened the front door to find Ron propped up on his crutches behind
the door.
***
At the orthopedic clinic
twenty minutes later, the technician, a statuesque brunette, called from the
doorway, “Mr. Stafford, we’re ready for you now.”
Sara stood to help Ron up
and he snapped, “I’m not an invalid. I can do it myself.”
Mr. Macho now, but that
wasn’t his tune twenty minutes ago. She shrugged and shifted her purse strap to
her left shoulder. Her cell chimed. It was a number she didn’t recognize.
Watching Ron hobble off with the technician, Sara pushed the talk button.
“Hello?”
“Sara, Matthew here. How
are you doing?”
She walked out the clinic
door and across the parking lot, away from eavesdroppers in the waiting room.
“I thought we were
meeting this morning at the office?”
And you have no idea how much it hurt
to see you gone.
“I had to leave. I’m
sorry. When I called your office, they told me you left early. Is anything
wrong?”
“Ron’s appointment to get
his walking cast was moved up. I’m his transport at the moment.”
“Are you still going to
be able to make the conference on time?”
“I’m looking forward to
it.”
“Look Sara, this line
isn’t secure. If anything comes up, you know what I mean, don’t confide in
anyone at your office. I’m close to finding the leak. I believe it’s someone
you work with. Call and talk to me only; do not use the office line. You
understand what I’m saying?”
“Do you know anything
about the phone logs at the office? They turned up missing this morning.”
“I used them last night.
They’re between the wall and Louise’s desk.”
“Was that intentional?”
“I didn’t want the wrong
people to get a hold of them before I had a chance to trace them.”
“Is it okay to find the
logs now?”
“Leave them there for a
while. I’ll let you know.”
“What about the bugs?”
“The bugs are gone, Sara.
I neutralized all of them but mine.”
“Do you think that’s
wise? Won’t they get suspicious?”
“We’re beyond that now.
Stay on your toes.”
“It’s really beginning to
scare me, Matthew.”
“Love, it’ll be over
soon. You just have to stay strong a little longer. Chicago will be a break for
us both.”
He said love. Did he mean
it?
“Jonathon’s back,” she
said.
“I thought he might be.
Remember don’t confide in anyone there.”
“Can I use the number you
left with Catherine?”
“It’s a secure line but
you’ll have to leave a message, I’ll get right back to you.”
“Won’t leaving a message
be a risk?”
“Just leave the name
‘Mourning Dove’ and I’ll know it’s you. I have to go now. Remember, trust no
one.” He hung up and as she turned back toward the building she saw a black
Jeep parked on the edge of the road above the parking lot. Someone was sitting
in the driver’s seat, she could see him smoking. God! Now she was paranoid
about every SUV she saw.
***
In the waiting room on
one crutch and a hard booted foot, Ron watched his wife through the window. She
looked exhausted.
He stumped out the door.
“Sara?”
“Oh, you’re back.” She
replaced the worry with a mask of cheer. “And, you’re walking on two feet.
Awesome!”
She broke into a smile
and he wondered if the strain over the investigation was wearing her down.
“Sweetheart, let’s go get something to eat, my treat.”
“I am so tired, Ron. All
I want to do is pack up my cat and dirty laundry, drive home, and crash. Can I
take a rain check?”
“I owe you a lot more
than a good meal at your favorite restaurant. I would really like to do this
now. You probably have no more than an ocean of caffeine in your stomach. Let’s
fill it with a good hot meal then you can go home to sleep.”
“You’re right about the
contents in my stomach. Okay, you owe me at least one good meal. Then, I’m
gathering up my things and going home. You can surprise the heck out of Mrs.
Alvarez in the morning by showing up for work.”
“The surprise is probably
going to be mine. She’s a worse neat nick than you. God only knows what she’s
done with my office while I’ve been gone. Allen just smiles every time I ask.”
“Okay, let’s get you out
to the car.”
“Sara, I really can do
this myself.”
“Otto, I gave you ten
grand and you gambled it away,” The boss man said. “Now you want fifty. The
answer is no.” They stood facing each other in the evening darkness under the
entrance ramp of the Million Dollar Bridge that connected Portland to Cape Elizabeth. There was a chill in the air and it wasn’t all weather related.
Otto hunched over in his
black leather jacket. “You owe me, Mr. Bigshot. I’m doin’ all your dirty work.
I want a ten percent deposit for the job.”
“You do something worthy
of it and I’ll consider a loan.”
“If I don’t have fifty
grand by Friday a certain somebody is gonna know my connections.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m explaining the
repercussions.” He shrugged his shoulders and jammed his hands into his jacket
pockets.
“Otto, have you ever
studied badgers?”
“Yeah, a college
basketball team, they’re a lousy bet.”
“No you idiot, the
animal. A badger attacks when he’s threatened. He doesn’t back down; he
eliminates the threat. One of us is a badger and it isn’t you.”
“I’ll need to disappear
for awhile without that money. I’m gonna need some cash and a place to hole up
in.”
“One word from you about
our connection to anyone and what the loan sharks do to you will seem like a
tea party in comparison.” The boss man spun around in a round house kick
jamming the heel of his right foot into Otto’s gut. Otto folded into a groaning
heap on the edge of the construction gravel below the ramp of the bridge.
“You’re getting soft,
Otto. I thought you could take more punishment than that.”
“Fuck you.” He spit
blood.
The boss man squatted
down a safe distance away. “Your belly gives like a pile of bread dough.”
“You’re the second baker to
punch it down this week.”
“Well I guess you’ll have
to lay low until you stop spewing blood. I have an easy job for you, first. Not
all the kid’s stuff is in his daddy’s garage. He may have stashed some of it at
another location, at a strip mall in Greenland. The place should be quiet by
Saturday night. Be thorough; make it look like a break-in. Then I’ll set you up
where you can toughen up your breadbasket.”
He tossed down a white
business card banded with a small bundle of greenbacks. “The location is on the
front. A new number where you can reach me is on the back. Call in when you’re
done; then we’ll find you a hole to heal in.”
The boss man stopped
Otto’s reach toward the bundle with a foot on his wrist. “Stay away from the
casinos. There are many ways to die.”
***
“L E A T H E R, the L is
on a triple word. That’s thirty-three.” Cass placed the letters on the board
and pegged her score.
“”You took my spot, you
shit!” Sara turned the scrabble board around for another look.
“You want to finish the
wine off?” Cass held the bottle up to the light while Sara studied her options.
“No, the tiles are blurry
enough as it is. Aha! I got it. You’re going to lose this one.” Sara scooped up
her last tiles and plugged them in: E X O T I C. One and eight, that’s nine,
and one is ten, eleven, twelve, and three on a triple letter. Nine and twelve
is twenty-one and double word makes forty-two. I win!”
“That’s it, Sara. Next
time they have to be all four-letter words.”
Westminster Cathedral
chimed from the coffee table. “Woops, there goes your phone again.”
“Cass, clear the board. I
know more four-letter words than you do.” Sara reached over the table for her
phone.
“Remember who taught them
to you!”
“Ron, it’s kind of late.”
She answered the phone with a laugh. “What’s going on?”
“I might ask you the same
thing. Sounds like you’re entertaining, you having a celebration? Or is it just
a party for two?”
“Oh for God’s sake, Ron;
put a sock in it! Cass and I are playing Scrabble. She was just about to
challenge me to a rematch. What do you want?”
“We have a problem, Sara.
I’m down at the office with the police.”
“The police! What
happened?”
“We’ve had a break-in. I
know it’s late but I’d like you to come down.”
Sara disconnected. “Okay,
what’s happened?”
“Ron had a break-in at
the office. I have to go down there.” Sara snatched her purse off the counter
and headed for the closet to get her jacket.
“You’re going now? Sara,
we’ve just polished off a bottle of wine.” Cass threw the orange angora shawl
over her shoulders and snagged her keys off the kitchen table.
“It’s important, Cass, or
I wouldn’t attempt it.”
They were both in Sara’s
garage when Cass grabbed her arm. “Then, I’m coming with you. I may be slow but
I’m not in kindergarten. First there was the break-in at Stacey’s; then she’s
dead. Next, a break-in at Jordie’s, conveniently blamed on the cat. Then, some
guy from the government starts romancing you. And let’s not forget Ron’s
accident. Now, we have a break-in at Ron’s office? Nobody, no matter how
unlucky, has that much happen to them in a short period of time. Hell, Sara,
most people don’t have that much happen to them in a lifetime. My son is
involved in this. I have a right to know!”
Sara stared into Cass’s
anxious eyes. “It started with Carl’s death. And it’s not over yet. I have to
go now. I’ll fill you in later.”
“I’m still going with
you. You can explain in the car.”
“Then we’ll have to go in
your wagon. My car’s bugged.”
“BUGGED! Jesus, Sara.
What the hell is going on?”
***
“Excuse me,” the
patrolman called to her. “This is a crime scene; you can’t just walk in here.”
“I’m Sara Stafford, a
partner in this company. We were asked to come down.”
“By whom?”
“By me,” Ron said. “They
can help me figure out what’s missing.”
The cop closed his
notebook. “We want to come back tomorrow and see if we can find some clear
tread marks. We’ve roped off the area; don’t break the police tape.”
With his right foot
throbbing from his drive to the office, he waited for Sara and Cass to walk
around two upended ficus plants and a blanket of potting soil covering the
carpet in the front room. He watched them scan the devastation. Stuffing spewed
from the chairs in the waiting area looked like a set of twice-baked potatoes;
two of Jordan’s originals were slashed and broken against the wall; and the
computer from his bookkeeper’s desk was in pieces on the floor along with paper
and file folders from the desk drawers.
“Hi, Ron, are you sure
you’re all right?” Cass asked.
“Yeah.” He turned to Sara
with eyebrows raised.
“She had less wine.”
Cass looked at the two
black filing cabinets with their drawer fronts twisted into a piece of modern
art. “I take it they were locked?”
“They would still be in
one piece if my bookkeeper didn’t insist on locking everything up.”
“You always have a way of
blaming Mrs. Alvarez, Ron. She shouldn’t show up on Monday without warning.”
“I know, Sara. I’ll call
her first thing in the morning. There’s no use all of us losing sleep.”
“Anything obviously
missing, or is it just trashed?” Sara asked.
“Two very expensive
speakers were taken. But he didn’t cart them off on a bike. Allen found them in
the dumpster out back. The cash box is gone. It’s hard to tell about anything
else until all the mess is cleaned up.”
“Ron, I see a lot of CD
cases on the floor in the front room. Where are the disks?”
“Good question, Cass.”
“Well, this is an
entertaining night,” Allen said as he walked into the front office from the
back room. “Reality TV in downtown Greenland. What do you think, Ron? Ladies?”
“I think I need to call
Matthew?”
“I think you’re right,
Sara?” Cass added.
“Not so fast,” Ron tried
to halt any movement in that direction.
“Who’s Matthew?” Allen
asked.
“The feds,” Cass said.
“The CIA,” Sara said.
“Sara’s lover,” Ron
finished with a smirk.
“Wait a minute, did one
of you say, CIA? As in spies and stuff?” asked Allen.
“Ron, that’s uncalled
for.” Sara was steamed now.
“Time out you two.” Allen
held his hands up in a T. “Bickering isn’t going to help.”
“We need to work together
here. Sara, if you can reach him, you better.”
“Thanks, Cass.”
Sara pulled out her cell
and punched in a number, then waited what seemed like an eternity.
“Mourning Dove,” She said
and disconnected the call.
“What kind of a phone
conversation is that?” Ron asked.
“It’s a message center.”
“Oh great, now we wait
around for this guy to check messages while we sit on our thumbs. Sara, I’ve
told you before this guy is just...”
Sara’s cell chimed.
“Hi Matthew, we have a
problem. Ron’s office was robbed...The police just left...Ron, Allen, Cass and
I are all sitting in the middle of the trashed office. We thought we better let
you know. Not much was taken but it appears every disk in the place is gone.
Allen says the guy escaped out the back when he walked in the front. The
burglar was riding a dark motorcycle...nothing beyond what I told you.” She
closed the phone.
“What did he say,” Ron
asked.
“He’ll be here in the
morning, early. He wants to go over everything with us.”
“Well, we might as well
go home and get some sleep,” Cass said.
“Do you mind going back
alone? I’d like Sara to stay. We need to talk,
alone
.”
Allen and Cass were out
the door before Sara turned back to him with fire in her green eyes. “That was
rude!”
“Do you think there’s
still a bug in here?”
“I think if there is,
it’s moot point now!”
“Come here.” He rose from
his seat. “I want to show you something.”
On the floor by the
window in his office, he pushed several catalogs aside with the tip of his
crutch and unearthed the two-foot monolith. “The tip is cracked,” Ron said,
“and the base looks like a set of stairs have been added. It appears that the
stone fell to the floor when he broke in. He stepped over it without checking.”
Sara lifted the broken
monolith onto the desk for a closer look. “Something is wedged inside the
base.”
“Go ahead, pull it out.”
She removed a black
leather black bi-fold wallet from inside the base and opened it. With heads
together they read the secret identification of their son: ‘Carl Stafford,
Field Agent, Central Intelligence Agency, Department of Justice, United States of America.’ Her hand was shaking when she offered it to him.
“Oh my God! I’m not
hearing things,” she said.
“Son, I am so very sorry
I ever doubted you,” he whispered.
I love you too, Dad.
“Sara, did you hear
that?”
“Hear what, Ron?”
“I think I’m losing it,
Sara.” Ron shook his head. “We have to hide this where no one can find it.”
“What about Matthew
Farrell?” she whispered.
“Don’t say anything to
anyone about this. Not even to Farrell.”
“Here, wrap it up in your
jacket; we’ll take it to the house.”
“Sara, we are dealing
with something way over our heads here. And, I don’t completely trust the
Brit.”
“I wish you would stop
calling him that. He’s a CIA agent for God’s sake.”
“And, that’s another
thing. Have you seen his ID? Where’s his chain of command? Maybe we should just
pick up a phone and call the CIA. Maybe they’ve never heard of him?”
“Please don’t do that,
Ron. There’s a leak in the agency. You might tip off the wrong people.”
“Did he tell you that?”
He waited for her reply. “Your silence confirms it.”
She shook her head at his
suspicions. “You’re wrong, Ron. He’s not the only one who’s warned me.”
“Then who, Sara? Give me
another name, someone to corroborate what he’s feeding you.”
“I can’t, you won’t
believe me.”
She turned her back to
him and laid the stone on its side on top of his desk. “For the first time in
the existence of this office, your desktop is completely clean.”
“Margaret snuck in here and cleaned
it while
I was convalescing.”
“Help me put this base
back together,” she whispered. “Do you think we should put Carl’s ID back in?”
He picked up the black
leather case again, stared at his son’s identity, and closed his eyes at his
loss. Tears tracked rivulets down his cheeks and suddenly they were holding
each other tight in the desperation of renewed grief.
***
Frost coated the field
behind the Stafford offices. Matthew Farrell had been there since first light.
Tread marks from a man’s boot put him at around five-foot ten and stocky. The
bike was a Suzuki – light and fast. He saw a shiny disk in the early morning
sun half beneath the rubbish container. Crouching down, he pulled it out with
the tip of his pen. Across the top it was marked as a backup disk from
yesterday. He slid his pen through the middle hole and dropped the disk into a
plastic bag pulled from his pocket.
An engine cut off and a
car door shut in the front parking lot. A second door slammed shut and he
waited for the sound of voices.
“No I won’t, Ron. If you
don’t trust him
you
ask for his ID. I trust him and, when he gets here,
I’m going to tell him that.”
“Come around back, I want
to see where this guy broke through the window.”
Farrell walked to the
corner of the building to meet them. “You two are loud enough to wake the dead.
Be careful where you walk.”