The Many (22 page)

17

“Everything all right?” Dr. Reynolds asked when she’d returned to her seat.

“Yeah, Dad’s visiting from Seattle this weekend and he wanted to go through our itinerary. You know how parents can be. Everything’s got to be organized.”

The doctor’s eyes thinned. “But you offered to go out with
me
this Saturday.”

Dawn only hesitated for a moment. “Oh, he’s going to the Blazers game with an old friend on Saturday night. I’ve got him the rest of the time.”

“Right. I’m not much of a basketball fan.”

“Me neither. I prefer baseball,” Dawn said, feeling proud of her quick save. She didn’t even know if the Blazers were playing, but she figured an elitist like Dr. Reynolds wouldn’t follow sports.

She was getting good at this.

The doctor’s appetizer arrived and he dug in without asking for permission, making comments in between mouthfuls about his favorite French restaurants around the world. Dawn was only half listening – she was more concerned about how much wine he could drink without taking a leak. If he didn’t leave the table, the plan was ruined. He was already looking regularly at her glass, waiting for her to take a sip.

This was always going to be the tricky bit – if Dr. Reynolds didn’t see her drain her glass, he wouldn’t take the next step. She and Karl assumed he’d take at least one bathroom break during dinner, but Dawn was starting to wonder if he had a freakishly large bladder. He’d already polished off half the red wine and a glass of water. How much more could he pour in?

Despite complaining that his duck breast salad was dry, Dr. Reynolds ate every forkful and wiped his plate clean with a chunk of French bread. Dawn held her breath when he removed the napkin from his lap and stood up.

“Let’s hope the main courses are an improvement,” he said, draping the napkin over his seatback. “Please excuse me.”

He left in the direction of the restrooms, his tall, impeccably groomed frame turning a few diners’ heads as he passed. Dawn waited until he’d disappeared down the hallway before frantically looked around for a spare waiter.

Just her luck – they were all hovering over tables, taking orders and setting cutlery.

She spotted a young waitress hurrying to the kitchen with a stack of empty plates. “Excuse me,” she said, breaking the girl’s stride.

The waitress stopped, looking down at her resentfully. In a less expensive restaurant, Dawn would’ve probably been told to wait her turn. “Can I help you?” she asked tightly.

“A fly just flew into my water. Could I have a fresh glass please?”

The waitress looked at her.
That’s the big fucking emergency?
“Fine, I’ll send the wine waiter over,” she said with a slight shake of her head. Dawn watched her walk by the unmanned bar area and hip open the door to the kitchen.

That was a mistake
, she thought grimly.

The waitress now hated her, and she’d purposefully neglected to tell the wine waiter about her request. Dawn didn’t have time for petty goddamn waiting staff. Dr. Reynolds would be back in a couple of minutes – guys didn’t fuck around in there. She looked around for another waiter to hassle, but the dining room was now completely absent of staff.

Jesus, the whole plan was going to be wrecked by a precious fucking waitress!

Just then, the wine waiter came through the kitchen door with his water jug. He looked directly at Dawn, eyebrows raised. She nodded tensely.
Just get over here.
He stopped to retrieve a glass from behind the bar and held it up to the light, checking for dust. Satisfied, he ambled over to Dawn’s table.

“You require a new glass?” he asked in his syrupy French accent. He was middle-aged with oiled black hair and droopy eyes. Every movement was slow and precise, even if it was just pouring iced water.

“Yes,” Dawn said with an urgent smile.

He placed the fresh glass on the table and tilted the jug from an unnecessary height, dragging out the process. When he’d finished pouring, he lingered over the table, making no attempt to leave. Dawn was careful not to make eye contact – the last thing she needed was a conversation.

“That’s all,” she said dismissively, snatching the glass and taking a long sip.

The wine waiter made a phlegmy sound in his throat, clearly offended, but he got the message and moved to another table. 

Dawn’s eyes flicked towards the restrooms. Still no sign of the doctor – maybe he was taking a dump or snorting a line. The important thing was, she’d executed the hardest part of the plan with time to spare. Now all she had to do was drink the water and pretend to feel sleepy…

Suddenly, her stomach dropped.
Shit.
There were now two identical glasses in front of her. Thanks to her rudeness, the wine waiter hadn’t bothered to take the tarnished water away. She looked around for the Frenchman, but he was busy taking orders from a large table of businessmen. Calling him over would only start an argument.

Out of options, Dawn rushed over to the bar. Not caring how it looked, she leaned over and poured the spiked water down the drain tray, leaving the empty glass behind.

When she turned around, two elderly women were staring at her from a nearby table. She ignored them, hurrying back to her chair. They wouldn’t say anything, she assured herself, and even if they did, the staff would hardly confront her about it. They might look at her strangely, but at the end of the day, all she’d done was tip a glass of water down the drain.

She settled into her seat just in time to see Dr. Reynolds emerge from the restroom hallway, looking incredibly pleased with himself. The elderly women were still staring at her, but the doctor didn’t seem to notice, sitting down with a satisfied sigh and immediately refreshing his wine glass.

“You look a little hot,” he observed.

“It’s quite warm in here,” she said, feeling her cheeks.

“Drink some more water. It’s free, you know.”

“Good idea,” she smiled, bringing the glass to her lips.

18

McElroy remembered that Virgil had recently changed premises, and it took a call to directory assistance to get his new address in Chinatown. The heavens opened midway through the fifteen-minute drive downtown, turning a normal winter’s night into an utterly wretched one. McElroy struggled to read the street signs as his car’s wipers worked feverishly to clear the rain streaming down the windscreen. He wasn’t familiar with the area at the best of times, so he drove like a confused out-of-towner – slowing at each corner to make sure he didn’t miss a turn.  

The office building was on a narrow, sparsely lit street behind the main avenue. The neon sign for an adult bookshop flickered across the road, but the dark front windows suggested they were closed for business. It was quite a comedown from Virgil’s previous office in the CBD where he’d shared a floor with lawyers and tax accountants. He used to get a lot of referrals from his work neighbors – rich pricks were always paranoid about the faithfulness of their wives. Virgil used to say it served them right for marrying girls thirty years younger.

McElroy knew Virgil’s business had fallen on tough times recently, but he hadn’t expected the new address to be on skid row. Wealthy professionals wouldn’t dare come to this end of town. Even McElroy was on alert when he left the stuffy confines of the car – checking for movement in the blackened doorways, listening for scuffling sounds above the hiss of rain. But the weather appeared to have killed off any lingering signs of life, or at least pushed them deep into the shadows.

The rain trickled down his neck and back as he hurried to the building entrance, glancing up at the drab brick exterior. A single light glowed behind closed blinds on the second floor.

Virgil – it had to be.

There was no outside intercom. McElroy pulled on the entrance door, feeling it rattle loosely in its frame. He stepped back and planted a stomping kick right over the keyhole. The door flew open and the glass fell out of the frame, shattering over the lobby floor.
Shit happens
, McElroy thought, crunching through the glass. His entrance triggered a security light, revealing a staircase in the corner of the lobby. A handwritten note on the wall informed him that Central Investigations was on the second floor. McElroy didn’t hesitate, hauling his two-hundred-and-forty pounds up the staircase two steps at a time.

Reaching the second floor landing, he fumbled on the wall for switches before giving up and making his way in the dark, guided only by a smear of light at the end of the corridor. As he drew nearer, he noticed a foul smell in the air. Something had been burning, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

McElroy had to will his feet forward as the stench steadily worsened. Shit and sweat and rotting meat. Especially shit. He knew what that usually meant.

Pausing outside the door where the light leaked underneath, McElroy braced himself. He knocked once, not expecting an answer. Then he took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

Virgil was sitting behind his desk – slumped back in his chair, arms dangling by his sides. The top of his head had come apart and a spray of blood and glistening matter decorated the blinds behind him. His eyes were half open and for a chilling moment, McElroy thought he might still be alive. But it was just the way he’d died – like he’d fallen asleep in his chair after a heavy drinking session.

McElroy said a silent prayer for Virgil before stepping inside the office. He’d spent five years in homicide, and he calmly reverted to the familiar checklist – murder weapon, time of death, initial thoughts.

He found the murder weapon on the threadbare carpet beside Virgil’s chair, just below his right hand. A Glock 9mm.

Time of death? McElroy guessed the night before. He’d seen bodies in worse states of decay, but the green-gray color of his skin suggested he’d been dead at least twelve hours. The smell should’ve alerted the other tenants, but maybe they were reluctant to get involved. It wasn’t the sort of building that inspired feelings of camaraderie.

Virgil’s desk was empty apart from a closed laptop, an empty bottle of whiskey and a glass tumbler. All signs pointed to suicide. Virgil was a known alcoholic, he had two failed marriages behind him, and his business was on the brink of collapse. Just another ex-jock who’d failed to adjust to the real world – that’s what people would say.

But something didn’t add up.
There was no suicide note, for one. Plenty of suicides didn’t bother leaving a note, but Virgil had been drinking whiskey at his desk, and he was a pretty talkative drunk. The temptation to write down his final thoughts would’ve been strong, even if it was just to say sorry to his kids. 

McElroy tried turning on the laptop, but was immediately blocked by a password request. He searched the desk drawers, finding only stationery, business cards and a few old files. Nothing relating to Virgil’s current workload.

McElroy’s eyes fell on the metal trashcan in the corner of the office. The wedge of wall behind it was stained black, reaching up to the ceiling. He went over to the can, peering inside. The bottom was piled with gray soot and flakes of ash.

So, Virgil had held a mini bonfire in his office just before he shot himself. Now why the fuck would he do that?

McElroy glanced back at the laptop. Even if he knew Virgil’s password, he was willing to bet the hard drive had been wiped.

His heart thudded hard in his chest. Protocol required him to report Virgil’s dead body and secure the crime scene, but McElroy didn’t want to be held up by a police investigation. He needed to leave the building. Everyone connected to Dr. Reynolds and Maxine was winding up dead… 

Fuck,
McElroy thought with a sudden gasp of air. He whipped out his cell phone, hitting redial for directory assistance.

Virgil wasn’t the only loose end.

19

Karl slunk back into the gallery doorway opposite Le Canard. He’d taken a second walk around the block to avoid the stares from the parking valets across the street. One valet, in particular, had been eyeing him distrustfully, like he was a mugger-in-waiting. Karl wished he’d mind his own goddamn business. He wasn’t dressed scruffily – just Levis and a hooded coat. Karl had been tempted to go over and ask what his problem was.

He was glad he’d held his tongue. On returning to his doorway hangout a second time, the valet congregation had dispersed. He guessed rush hour was over, with most diners seated by 9:30pm. A valet occasionally came out to collect a car, but they were too busy ducking from the rain to glance over the road.

The rain was falling like a bead curtain now, drenching the streets. Karl slipped off a glove and dug into his coat pocket for a cigarette. Buying a pack of Marlboros had been a good idea. Not only were the cigarettes soothing his nerves, they made him feel less conspicuous. He was just another banished smoker, forced to feed his disgusting habit in the cold.

Holding the warm smoke deep in his lungs, he trained his eyes back on Le Canard’s front window. The restaurant was well lit, making it easy from him to see Dawn’s table. An annoying, constantly guffawing woman in the front table sometimes blocked her head, but the doctor was always in plain view. And he was the one Karl needed to keep an eye on.

It had been tense viewing so far. The plan was still on track, but Karl’s nerves had almost come apart when Dawn was struggling to get rid of her spiked water. She’d recovered amazingly well. In fact, Dawn had been amazing all around. Karl guessed her blushing was involuntary, but it really helped the act. She looked like a shy young woman out with a rich older guy – exactly the image they were going for. He was almost certain the doctor had no idea he was being played.

Karl’s eyes sharpened as the waiter poured Dr. Reynolds the last of the red wine. They had to be leaving soon – the entrée plates had been cleared, and Dawn was starting to yawn, right on cue. Soon, she’d complain she was tired and ask Dr. Reynolds if he’d mind dropping her home. He’d graciously oblige, helping her out the door because she was a little unsteady on her feet. She’d give a bogus address in Laurelhurst and promptly fall asleep in the passenger seat.

But he was getting ahead of himself. First, Dawn had to make a convincing show of being sedated. He worried about this part more than he’d let on. Dr. Reynolds was a doctor, after all, and he’d presumably seen the drug at work many times before. They were only guessing at the symptoms. That’s why Karl had told Dawn to keep it simple – don’t worry about slurring or giggling or seeing strange lights. Just yawn a bit, sway when you stand up, and close your eyes as soon as possible.

Karl flicked his cigarette into the gutter and stepped out from the doorway. The rain had eased, but the roads were slick and the air was thick and murky. Not great driving conditions, especially if you’d just finished a bottle wine in less than two hours. Jesus, was that another variable they had to contend with? The doctor didn’t appear drunk, but he had to be feeling the effects. And what if he got pulled over by the cops? He was a big guy, but he was surely over the limit.

The stupid fucking wino
, Karl fumed. The plan was ruined if Dr. Reynolds was done for DUI. They wouldn’t even get him for drugging a minor…

Before he could finish the thought,
Welcome To The Jungle
started playing from his hip pocket. He quickly pulled out his cell, preparing to get rid of whoever it was.

“Hello?”

“Karl, it’s Detective McElroy. I need to see you right away.”

“Detective McElroy?” Karl said distractedly. In the restaurant, Dr. Reynolds was making the check sign to the waiter. “I’m kinda busy right now. Can I call by the station tomorrow?”

“No, it needs to be now. Where are you? I can come to you.”

Karl frowned, looking sideways at his cell. It was pretty late for the cops to be calling. “What’s this about?”

“Virgil’s dead, Karl. Shot himself. Or that’s what it’s been made to look like. I think it’s because he was investigating Adam Reynolds.”

“Fuck,” Karl said, his mind scrambling to keep up. “So Leach killed him?”

“Leach?”

“Yeah, Ivan Leach. He’s behind everything.”

A long beat passed before McElroy responded. “Did Virgil tell you that?”

“He told us Leach was the connection between Dr. Reynolds and Maxine, and we figured out the rest ourselves. He’s kidnapping women for his sick experiments.”

Another long pause. “Where are you?” McElroy asked.

“I’m out with friends,” Karl said, switching his attention back to the restaurant. Dawn was on her feet, about to visit the restroom.
He needed to get off the line.
“Look, I’m sorry to hear about Virgil, but I can’t talk right now.”

“Karl, wait. Whatever you think you know, there’s a lot more to it. Ivan Leach isn’t the only person involved. All of us are in danger…”

“–Sorry, gotta go.”

Karl hung up before McElroy could say another word, keeping the phone in hand. Dawn had disappeared around the back of the restaurant, leaving Dr. Reynolds at the table to settle the bill. She would be calling any second….

He answered on the first jagged guitar note. “So, are you all set?”

“What’s going on?” McElroy rumbled. “Are you hatching some….”

“
Fuck,
” Karl cursed, cutting the line. Fucking McElroy – what a time to start doing his job. He hadn’t even known about Leach, so he was obviously way behind the curve. Karl was right to blow him off. Getting the cops involved now would ruin everything.

His cell rang again and this time he checked the number before answering. Softening his voice, he said, “Hey, are you okay?”

“
Jesus
, Karl,” she hissed. “Did you have your phone switched off?”

“No – a friend called and I had to get rid of him.”

“Don’t do that to me,” she said. “I thought you’d ditched me.”

“I’m not ditching you, all right? I’m sorry – it won’t happen again. You’re doing great, by the way. He’s totally buying your act.”

“I hope so. I’ve been yawning and blinking a lot, like we said. And I just told him my stomach felt funny.” She paused. “It kinda does, actually.”

“
Shit
. Really?”

“Nothing like that, don’t worry. It must be the rich food.”

“Okay. Maybe drink some more water before you leave. So he’s dropping you home?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great, Dawn,” he said, sensing she needed encouragement. Her voice had lost its earlier purpose. “Don’t forget, I’ll be right behind you. In your poo-brown Civic.”

She laughed once through her nose. “
Mud
brown. And you better keep that fucking phone on, too.” She drew in a nervous breath, letting it out slowly. “I’d better get back.”

“All right. I’ll see you soon.”

The line clicked. Karl lingered on the sidewalk until he saw Dawn re-enter the dining room and walk slowly to her table. Satisfied, he hurried up the block to where he’d parked the car.