Remember Me (19 page)

Grab a pen and paper."
“
Sure, hold on a sec…alright, go ahead.”
“The bulk of my estate will go to my wife and son. Regan’s money will go into trust, until his mother determines that he’s responsible enough to use it wisely. Five hundred thousand, and the family vineyard, will go to Edoardo and Gianne Spano. To my mother-in-law Jocelyn Ames, I want to bequeath two million. To my aide, Malcolm, you know his last name, one million, and my late father’s vintage car collection, which as you know, is in my possession. You already have a list of charities I donate to regularly, see to it that they’ll always receive the same amount annually. My mother has stocks and bonds, and she can have the family estate, but make it ironclad that she’ll never be able to sell it. When she dies, it goes back to my son, and he can do with it as he pleases. The rest of the property and homes go to Cassandra. I also want you to draw up a Power-of-Attorney for Cassandra to act on my behalf in case anything ever happens to me, something that will prohibit my running the family businesses. The living will: I want to Cassandra to make all future medical decisions on my behalf, if I‘m incapacitated. Got all that?”
“Yes, every last bit.
But Granger…." the voice hesitated, “…are you sure about all this?
Why, just this morning your mother came and spoke to me about how fast you could get a divorce. She said you were ready to move on.”
“You listen to me, and you listen to me good. My mother isn’t the one that pays your hefty retainer,
I AM!
Furthermore, I’ll remind you that what I discuss with you is private, and
will remain that way.
You are not at liberty to discuss it with anyone else, and I mean
ESPECIALLY
my mother." he replied in a cold voice.
“Granger…I …I’ve never discussed any of my client’s personal matters with anyone, that would be unethical. Your mother was simply making small talk, that‘s all! I would never violate the trust you‘ve placed in me.” he stammered.
“Well, I’m not making small talk. I want that will and power of attorney drawn up, like, five minutes ago.”
“It…it may take more than one day if you want it, you know, uncontestable.”
“You have forty-eight hours. If it’s not done by then, I’ll find someone who CAN get it done quickly. Someone who will appreciate a monthly fee equal to what most blue-collar workers see in an entire year.”
“You can count on me. No matter what it takes, it will be done.”
“Good.
Just one more thing."
“Yes?"
“
I’ll also be needing the best criminal defense attorney your firm can find. Money is no object.” he replied, taking the final plunge.

“Defense lawyer?” Alex replied, the shock in his voice evident. “Is there something you wish to discuss? I’m sure whatever it is, I can take care of the problem myself.”
“No, just put him on retainer, and have him call Malcolm to set up an appointment to meet with me as soon as possible.”
“But what…”
“That’s all.” he answered, and flipped the phone shut.
Going back to the table he sat slowly, and began forcing himself to eat.
Just keep it together a little longer…
he thought.

                                               Chapter 16
Charlie stood quietly, closely studying the tall young man who was strolling out of the hospital. Waiting until the man was a only a few feet away, he stepped out of the shadows and said, “Excuse me.”
Startled, Raidon stopped dead in his tracks and looked him and up and down, taking note of the old, worn clothing, and ragged, oily box he was carrying. Pulling some loose change
from his pocket, the man‘s strong, steady voice caught him off guard.
“I don’t want your money, young man,” he said.
Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he took a step back in preparation to defend himself, if necessary.
“You won’t be needing that gun you got strapped behind you either.”
“Who are you?“ he asked suspiciously, thinking that in spite of the man’s frail appearance, there was still considerable strength in the way he simply carried himself.
“People call me Box Charlie.” the man replied, and nodded towards the old box he had nestled underneath his right arm. Reaching inside the box with his left hand, he withdrew a brown folder and handed it to him with a knarled, but steady hand. “Before you dance with the devil young man, know the song. Doctor Parker comes from a long line of dangerous kin, and he’s not one to be taken lightly.”
Still wary, he took the envelope from him without answering, opened it, and withdrew several old newspaper clippings. The first to catch his eye was a clipping that dated back twenty years, taken from
‘The Bluefield Carrier’,
a long defunct newspaper from Bluefield West Virginia. At the top of the article there was a photo of a handsome, middle-aged couple, and the headline read,
Local Couple Found Dead By Son
Quickly scanning the rest of the article, his frown deepened. From what he gleaned from it, Doctor Vincent and Sharon Parker, Brett Parker’s parents, had been found dead in their kitchen, by him. It seemed the couple had accidentally ingested poisonous mushrooms, ones he later told police they had all picked together, several days prior. Although he was present in the house at the time of their deaths, no suspicion fell upon the clean-cut young boy, who had been hysterical when the ambulance and police had arrived. After discovering the bodies, he had been briefly hospitalized for psychological trauma, then sent to Virginia to live with his Grandmother.
Flipping through other, even older newspaper clippings, his alarm grew as he discovered that only months prior to that, the deceased couple had lost their young daughter in a swimming accident, one that took place as she swam with her older brother, Brett Parker.
Did the little bastard off his own parents, and sister?
He
wondered as he made a mental note to check to see if the grandmother was still alive. “How di……” his voice trailed off as he looked up only to see the old man had vanished. “What the fuck?” he muttered, a little spooked. It had been a very long time since anyone had escaped his watchful eye so easily.
Looking back down, he began flipping through the articles again, and discovered follow-ups to the initial articles and investigations. It seemed that later the police actually did suspect him in the poisoning deaths of his mother and father, but lacked enough evidence to charge him. “So the little shit started killing at a young age.” he mumbled.
Reaching back inside the envelope, he pulled out more documents and read in silence. One
document was a court order to seal all the juvenile records on Brett Parker.
Yet another newspaper article about the death of a young, African American female, Shelly Harris, fourteen, whose body had been found in a wooded area near the Parker residence. She had been a friend of the family, and a childhood friend of Brett’s.
Flipping out his cell phone, he dialed a friend of his who worked with the Attorney General’s Office. “Hi Allie, how’s it going?” he chirped hopefully when the female voice answered.
Please, don’t let her still be pissed at me…
he prayed silently as he walked to his Hummer, opened the door, got inside, and placed the envelope and clippings on the passenger seat. Closing the door, he waited with baited breath.
“Well well, if it isn’t the great Raidon Bishop, gracing little ol’ me with a phone call. You’ve got a lot of nerve, you know that? The last time I’m with you, you rock my world, I wake up thirty minutes later, and you’re gone. And never return my calls.”
Sighing, he didn’t think it would be prudent at the moment to remind her that he had told her time and time again that he wasn’t the settling-down type. Clearing his throat, he tactfully replied in a smooth, silky voice, “Come on now, don’t be like that.
Look, next time I’m up your way I’ll not only holler at you, but we can go out dancing and…stuff."
“Yeah, well…that
stuff
better be an all-nighter, if you get my meaning.” she purred.
“You’ve got it!” he breathed, relieved, yet still amazed at how quickly she always gave in to him. “Listen, think you can get some information on a sealed juvenile record, one for a Brett Parker? He lived in Bluefield West Virginia, until his parents passed, then he was sent to live with his grandmother, who lived in Virginia. The Hall County family court approved the order. Also, if you could give me anything on his mother and father too, that would make our next little get together an all weekender, whaddya‘ say?”
“Geez, you don’t want much, do you? I’ll call a friend who I’m sure can get that information. I‘ll call and let you know when I have something. And Raidon, dear? I’ll be calling in a lot of favors for this one. And I expect A LOT in return.”
Smiling to himself, he replied, “Don’t you worry, I’ll be UP for it. Thanks, you’re a doll.”
After bidding her farewell, he flipped his phone shut and frowned, thinking about the mysterious old bum who called himself Box Charlie.
What’s his game? What would a homeless man’s stake be in this entire ordeal? How much does he know, and more importantly, WHY does he know?
He
wondered.
Glancing back down at the large envelope on the seat, he decided to have it dusted for fingerprints and see if anything turned up.
Can’t wait to find out exactly who this mysterious, homeless helper of mine is. But I’ll bet you one thing, he’s certainly no bum….
he thought grimly.
The ringing of his cell phone interrupting his train of thought, and he glanced at the caller
ID and saw it was one of his own operatives. Flipping it open, he said, “Bishop here.”
“She’s back at her apartment, all safe and sound.
I’ll stay put, and keep a eye sharp eye out." the voice answered.
“Good.” he replied, breathing an audible sigh of relief. “At least that will keep Granger from losing his mind. And you’re right, stay put until one of us gets there. In the
meantime
, if she leaves, you bird dog.”
“Will do.” the voice said, and hung up.
Dialing Granger’s number, he waited impatiently.
“Yes?” the man’s tense voice answered a moment later.
“Your wife is back at her place, she seems fine, and my associate….” his
voice
trailed off as he realized the line was dead.
Cursing under his breath, he quickly he dialed Malcolm’s number.
“Yeah?” the man’s breathless voice answered. It sounded as if he had been running. Hard.
“Bishop here, I just spoke to Mr. Mortensen, to let him know his wayward wife was back at her place. But he cut me off.”
“I know, he told me that even as he was bolting out the door. The elevator wasn’t fast enough, so he took the stairs, eight fucking flights…that‘s why I‘m out of breath. Cynne’ and Jocelyn are with me, we’re having hell playing catch-up to him, but we’re on our way.”
“Alright, but listen, I want to meet you, Cynne’, and Mrs. Ames at the coffee shop in an hour, you can’t miss it, it’s the one that’s only two blocks down from her apartment.”
“We’ll be there.” he promised, then hung up.

                                                           Chapter 17
Charlie checked the narrow street, making sure the area was clear before making his way across to the giant warehouse. Quickly, he unlocked the steel gate out front, then quickly made his way to the main entrance.
Stepping inside, he turned to a small keyboard mounted on the wall and punched the series of numbers needed to deactivate the state of the art motion detector and alarm.
Walking quickly across the spotless floor, he sprang up the flight of stairs that led to his large office space, which also doubled as his living quarters.
Placing the ever-present oily box he carried around on the desk, he stripped off his tattered
army jacket, folded it neatly, and laid it on top of the box. Pulling the holstered nine-millimeter from behind his back, he laid it on top of the jacket.
Releasing a tired sigh, a muscle ticked in his jaw as he stared angrily up at his board, the board that had consumed him, had become his obsession. The board displayed a series of photographs, in the shape of a growing pyramid, and all but one of the photographs were of females. Victims, in his eyes. Women who had had the misfortune of falling prey to Brett Parker. It was something he knew, but had been unable to prove. Yet. At the top of the pyramid was a photo of Brett Parker himself, who always seemed to be smirking at him in smug satisfaction, taunting him, tormenting him.
Looking down at the desk, he picked up the picture of Sammy Byrd that had been faxed to him earlier, and looked at it gravely for a moment. Her lifeless body on the sidewalk, her life’s blood running down the sewer drain. “Rest in peace, at least he can never harm you again.” he muttered.
Walking to the board, he pinned her photo up with the rest. That done, his eyes settled on one photo in particular, one that he didn’t want to look at yet again, but seemed unable to help himself. The lifeless eyes looking back at him, the spark gone. All signs of her love of life and laughter gone from her battered and broken body. His daughter. The terrible emptiness and futility washed over and through him for the thousandth time, and suddenly, he found himself in the grip of a blinding rage unlike anything he had ever felt. Slamming a fist against the wall in frustration, he screamed, “All this death, by
ONE
sick bastard! I should kill him, right
GODDAMN NOW!!!”
Stepping away from the wall, he closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, all in an effort to not only keep from crying yet again, but also to stave off the insanity he felt could overtake him at any moment. He wanted nothing more in the world than to destroy the man. He wanted to be the one to put a gun between his eyes and blow his brains out. Then dance and urinate on the monster’s grave afterwards. “Truth is the only safe ground to stand on…Elizabeth Stanton.” he muttered as his erratic breathing slowly dissipated. It had always been a favorite quote of his, and at times had been useful in keeping himself focused.
Reminding himself that his own lust for vengeance shouldn’t outweigh the victim’s rights to justice, he said aloud, “I’m going to prove to everyone, especially those who refused to listen to me, that that fucked up, evil family of his paid people off to keep quiet, paid people off to lose evidence.
The ones who believed I had simply lost my mind with grief will have to deal with and face the family members of his victims.”
Feeling centered again, he quickly slipped into another one of his routines. Looking at the office clock, he quickly stripped down and went into the bathroom to get showered.
Afterwards, he put on a pair of dark, tailored slacks, white shirt with a tie, expensive Italian shoes, and jewelry. Putting his holstered weapon back in place behind his back, he slid the expensive jacket on, looked in the mirror, made one last adjustment to his tie, then grunted with satisfaction. “Transformation complete. From Box Charlie, to successful businessman.” he muttered.
Grabbing his Blackberry, he dialed a number he had gotten from the police report on the death of Sammy Byrd. After several rings he glanced at his Rolex apprehensively, knowing he would have to leave soon, or be late.
“Hello….” a woman’s voice finally answered in a weak and tremulous voice. The tone suggested she had been crying.
“Yes, I would like to speak to Mrs. Bryd. I’m calling concerning Sammy.” he said as he walked to the desk and picked up his briefcase and keys.
“Sammy is, I mean, WAS my daughter.” she replied with a choked sob.
Closing his eyes, his heart went out to the woman as he did his best to keep his own acute sense of loss at bay.
“You still there? Who may I ask is calling?”
Opening his eyes, he walked to the office doors and looked around, making sure everything was in order. Turning the lights off, he stepped out and shut the doors behind him, then locked them as he resumed the conversation. “Mrs. Byrd, my most sincere and deepest condolences go out to you and your family. I’ve called to let you know that I’ve made arrangements with the funeral home in your town, and have paid in full for your daughter’s ...arrangements. It was my understanding that you live on disability, and that you don‘t have the means to afford it. I also sent a
cashier’s
check to you, by FedEx, to help you through this time. I know money can’t replace a beloved child, but I simply didn’t want you worrying about money while going through such a terrible ordeal.”
“Wha…who…why? Were you close to my daughter?” she asked in obvious confusion, then wailed,
“Who ARE you?”
There was no way he could explain that what he was doing was out of guilt, that he felt haunted by the fact that if he had only been able to stop Brett Parker sooner, her daughter would still be alive. Stopping to set the alarm, he punched in the code, then stepped outside and locked the doors. “I’m very sorry, but I simply can’t tell you, not at the moment, anyway.” he said.
“But why?”
Making his way to his parked Jaguar, he opened the door and slid inside. “Mrs. Byrd, I didn’t know your daughter personally, but you just have to believe me when I say I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there myself.
“
“Please, I MUST know!"
“Goodbye ma’am." he interrupted.
“God bless you and your family.
My thoughts and
prayers are with you." he finished, then clicked the phone off.
                         
*****************************************
“Sir, Mrs. Mortensen is here to see you.” Alex Caldwell’s secretary announced through the intercom.
Fussing with his thinning hair, he stood quickly and pulled his jacket on, then buttoned it, hoping it would adequately conceal his gut.
“Sir?” the secretary’s voice asked uncertainly.
Stabbing the intercom button with a pudgy finger, he replied with the slightest hint of impatience. "Well, show her in.”
At that moment the door opened and Grace came gliding into the room.
From the timing of her entrance, it was obvious to him that she hadn’t waited to be shown in by his secretary. But he didn’t care. Watching her, he felt his stomach flutter with excitement, as usual. It amazed him still that despite her true age, she had always managed to retain her lovely, youthful appearance. She had always possessed that most rare kind of beauty, the kind that seemed to defy the laws of physics and time. If he didn’t know her from Adam, he would have
sworn
on a stack of bibles that she was her own son’s slightly older sister, rather than his biological mother. Looking at her perfect, hourglass figure encased in a low-cut, cream-colored dress, he felt his manhood begin to stiffen painfully. He wanted her so badly he ached.
Smiling at him sweetly and innocently, she was very much aware of the effect she was having on the pitiful man. Had
always
had on him. “Alex, darling!“ she purred as she went to him, grabbed both his hands in hers, and kissed his sweaty cheek, leaning forward in a manner that would ensure he would get an eyeful of her ample cleavage. “I was pleased you called. My son, well, while he IS an adult, he still needs his mother’s guidance.”
Still spellbound by her bosom, it took a moment for her words to register in his mind.
“Alex, are you listening to me?" she pouted, then released his hands.
Hips swaying seductively, she walked to the expensive leather sofa and sat, making a production of crossing and uncrossing her legs. Slowly.
Catching a brief glimpse of her silk panties, his breathing became erratic and he began to perspire more heavily than usual. Forcing himself to peel his eyes away from her silky thighs, he stammered.
“Would you like something to drink?
A coffee, or tea, perhaps?”
He prayed she didn’t notice the raging hard-on he was sporting, certain that a perfect lady like her would be very offended by his obvious lust.
Waving a hand dismissively, she declined the offer. She wasn’t here to socialize with the
fool, she just wanted to know what Granger had told him. Giving him a seductive smile, she patted the cushion next to her. “Come and sit! And please tell me about my son’s plans to divorce that horrid
woman.”
Like a well-trained pup, he sat down beside her, and tugged at his tie nervously. “Well, the thing is….actually…he doesn’t want a divorce.
And he…he had his will changed."
“What?"
her voice cracked like a whip, making him flinch.
“There was nothing I could do! I tried to talk him out of it, but he got angry and…and…well, threatened to get someone else to do it if I didn’t.” he whined desperately.
Grace sat in stunned silence. Her son was actually doing what her husband had predicted he would do.
He’ll toss you away when he finds a woman he loves….
his words rang in her head. But still, a small seed of hope was there. She knew that Granger wouldn’t want the secret of his father’s death to come out. It was still a powerful bargaining chip.
“He also wanted me to retain a defense lawyer, but refused to tell me why. I thought it could have something to do with his wife. Maybe she’s in some sort of trouble.” he said, both expecting and hoping that she would know the reason why. When she said nothing, his heart sank, and he continued. “So, I hired one of the best, Satin Johnson. She’s an evil, insufferable little bitch, but one of the best, no question about it.
In court, I have personally witnessed her breaking hardened detectives down on the witness stand."
Her eyes grew wide, and her face clouded with uneasiness. Panting and putting a hand to her heart, she looked faint.
“Grace, dear, what’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly alarmed. Trying to take her hand in his, he flinched again when she snatched it away.
Oh! God he’ll find out!
Her
mind screamed in a panic.
Not giving the dumbfounded man so much as a glance, she bolted from the couch and ran out of the room.
          
*********************************************************
“Doctor Parker, I’m glad I caught you. Can I have a word?” Detective Rhodes said as she stepped in front of Brett, blocking the path to his car.
Brett didn’t want to deal with the silly woman, nor had the patience for it at the moment. He had gotten a call several minutes earlier from Cassandra, and knew she was at home. He wanted, he needed, to get there before Granger and her mother found out and beat him to the punch.
Not bothering to conceal his annoyance, he snapped, “I just got an important call from a patient of mine who needs me, so if you’ll excuse me."
“
Well, I have some distressing news concerning someone in your employ, doctor. And from what I understand, you were her doctor also. Sammy Byrd. She took a swan dive from her apartment balcony, but not before she made some interesting comments to someone about you and your patient, Cassandra Mortensen.” she replied grimly.
“Yes, I found out about it earlier, very sad. She was a very troubled young woman, detective, and had been in and out of treatment facilities for most of her life. I had thought I had gotten her stabilized with medication.” he replied, letting the words hang.
This callous son of bitch!
She
thought, her gut instincts, which rarely failed her, telling her that he couldn’t care less. “She told someone
you
were planning on skipping town with Cassandra Mortensen, something I don’t think her husband Granger is going to let happen.” she said, throwing Granger’s name in the mix just to gauge his reaction.
To her disappointment, he never batted an eye. If he was surprised by what she had said, he certainly hid it well.
Looking down his nose at her, he spoke with utter contempt. “Detective, I know you’re doing the best you can, and I’m sure you would love to be able to brag that you’ve solved the odd crime here and there in your…lackluster career, but even
YOU
can tell from her medical records that Sammy was unstable, and quite delusional. Now, while I flatter myself that I’m among the best at what I do, I’m not God, and I’m not perfect. No one can possibly know what goes on in
ANYONE’S
mind at any given time. Like any healer, it breaks my heart that she took her life, but I did the best I could.”
“Delusional?
That was your own diagnosis, wasn’t it, doctor?"
Narrowing his eyes, he leaned so close his nose was nearly touching hers.
Even though she hated having her personal space violated, she refused to back away, and returned his glare impassively.