Brainstorm (11 page)

I opened my eyes just after 7 a.m. Somehow, I’d drifted off
on the sofa and was thankful for the sleep, even though it had only been a
couple of hours. At eight, I called Jack and told him about Carl’s call. “Can
you come over?” I asked.

“I have to testify in court this morning,” he said, “but
I should be out by lunch.”

“I’m pretty much of a mess,” I said, hearing a tremble in
my voice. “I can’t believe he called me.”

“Keep your doors locked. Meet me at Heid’s at noon,
okay?” he asked, referring to a popular hot dog stand.

“I’ll see you there.”

I showered, and did what I could to make myself
presentable. I looked tired and drawn in the mirror; my skin so pale that the
blush I dusted onto my cheeks looked like blood stains in snow. I re-washed my
face; pale was better than looking like a clown.

When my cell phone rang, I saw Tony’s face smiling up at
me. “Hey! How are you doing?” I asked.

“A lot better. I’m actually getting out of here later
today.”

“Seriously? You’re okay to go home? Is Rose going to stay
with you?”

“Rose and everyone else.”

“Listen, Tony,” I said, “I’ve spoken with the GMs of your
stations and…”

“No need to say another word. There’s no way I’ll be in
shape to fly for a long time. I know they can’t wait for me.”

“You’re quite a guy, Tony.”

“I also wanted to give you a heads-up,” he said. “I met
with the sketch artist and he wants you to take a look at my version of what
that guy looked like; compare it to the one Mike did. They do look different.
He’ll probably call you today.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You take care. I’ll be in touch.”

I wanted to run away. The number of police who wanted
something from me was only going to grow. Maybe looking at another sketch of
Diner Guy wasn’t that big of a deal, but how long would it be before the FBI
agents who’d captured Danny Stearns and more members of Rochester law
enforcement would be knocking on my door?

Not five minutes after I’d hung up from Tony, my cell
rang again. This time it was the sketch artist and I agreed to meet him in half
an hour; it beat sitting here, hiding behind locked doors. It looked like rain
so I grabbed my umbrella and headed outside. As I unlocked Nelly, I wondered
what would happen if I just drove away and kept going. How long would it take
for them to find me? Harley had disappeared, why couldn’t I?

At the police station, the sketch artist, who introduced
himself as Officer Fields, offered me coffee, but I declined, remembering how
Jack had referred to precinct coffee as swill. He showed me the sketch of the
man Tony had described, and I saw immediately that his description differed
from Mike’s. While the man’s hair was shaggy, as it had been in Mike’s sketch,
and the mustache and glasses were similar, the eyes, nose, and mouth were
different enough to make me stare at the image. A dark something wiggled in my
stomach.

“Do you mind if we change this up a little?” I asked.

“Let’s do it,” he said, “what did you have in mind?”

“Can you get rid of the glasses?” I asked.

He erased the lines from around the eyes and across the
bridge of the nose. “Anything else?”

“How about the mustache. Can you get rid of that?”

He worked for a minute or two and then asked, “How’s
that?”

“The hair,” I said, and I realized my voice had gotten
louder. “Get rid of the hair.” Heat built inside me and my arms prickled.

“How’s that look?”

“Make the lips a tad thinner.”

When Officer Fields was done, I found myself looking at a
somewhat skewed picture of Ferdy. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it was
him. “I know who this is,” I said.

Officer Fields stared at me. “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “It’s not dead-on, but it’s him. It’s Ferdy.
Fergal Finnegan.”

He waved over another officer and asked him to locate
Matt, who arrived within ten minutes. “You’re saying you can positively
identify Mr. Finnegan from this sketch?” he asked.

“The eyes and nose were different enough in Mike’s
version that it didn’t click before. But seeing Tony’s version, it was obvious,
once Officer Fields made the changes I asked for.”

Matt called a detective over to the desk and introduced
me to him. “Miss Dory has just identified the man in this sketch as Fergal
Finnegan. Put an APB out on him right now. I don’t believe he was kidnapped. I
think he made himself disappear after he drugged Tony Bravada. And I want him
found
yesterday
!” The officer turned
and left, walking fast, excitement clearly hastening his pace.

“What about his brother, Sean?” I asked. “He held that
press conference and offered the reward – he’s tortured thinking Ferdy has been
kidnapped. Shouldn’t he be told?”

“No, no, no,” he said. “Sean could warn his brother if he
hears from him. If Mr. Finnegan saw the press conference, he’ll think we’re
still looking for him as he appeared in those pictures. If he finds out we
suspect he disappeared on purpose, and that he’s using a disguise, he’ll go
deeper underground, change the disguise, and make it that much harder for us to
find him. So keep it zipped until I tell you otherwise.”

“Jack can know, though, right?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

I looked at my watch. “Are we done here then?”

“Yes, we are. Thanks for coming in. Good job.”

I headed for Nelly, having just enough time to make my
lunch date. Old Liverpool Road took me along the shores of Onondaga Lake, the
scene of Tony’s crash, and I began to wish Jack had chosen another place to eat.
The image in my head of my friend being floated to shore and loaded into an
ambulance, his plane in ruins, depressed and saddened me.

Noon wasn’t the best time to go to Heid’s, the lines
would be long – but standing with Jack would take the sting out of it. I
thought about the feel of his skin, the color of his eyes, the touch of his
hand. Yum. He was already in line when I arrived. “Why don’t you tell me what
you want,” he said. “I’ll get the food and you go get a table before they’re
all taken.” I gave him my order and then, because the rain clouds had
dissipated, headed toward the picnic tables instead of the inside seating area.

As soon as he put the food on the table I brought up
Carl’s call. “My phone doesn’t have a record feature so I couldn’t capture it
for you,” I said. “But he was mad as all hell and he’s sure I know where Harley
is, which I don’t. If he calls again, can I report him?”

“Depends on if he threatens you, or if he calls often
enough for it to be deemed harassment – but with his history of abuse, he may
not do that, if only to keep from calling attention to himself. Abusers are
basically cowards; they know where the legal lines are drawn and they’ll go
right up to them, but not over.”

Between bites, I described how I’d had the sketch artist
make changes to Tony’s description of Diner Guy, and how that had turned the
picture into something I could positively identify as Ferdy.

“That’s great news, Audrey. Now we need to see if we can
tie him to Danny Stearns.”

“First we have to
find
Ferdy,” I said.

“They’ll find him, don’t worry. And remember, we don’t
know for sure if he has ties to Stearns. We can only be suspicious because he
worked at the bank. Right now they’re chasing Ferdy down in connection with
Tony. But my gut tells me that he’s in the robbery up to his neck, even though
he didn’t seem to be living a lavish lifestyle.”

“He didn’t, I mean, you saw his house; it’s in a very
nice neighborhood, but a mansion it’s not. He ran a successful business. He
made legitimate money from his patents and had a new one ready to go. If he
was
in on it though, maybe he and Danny
split the money after the robbery, and they’ve each been sitting on their half,
waiting a good long time before they dare spend any of it.”

“I can’t imagine anyone having the patience to sit on
that kind of money for a decade,” he said, “but then I can’t imagine being
stupid enough to rob a bank and believe I could get away with it.”

“Well, it took a whole ten years to arrest Danny. And he
still has to be convicted. I know from TV that he could go through a trial and
still go free.”

“I think once we get both of them in custody, one of them
will sing if, in fact, they were in on it together. And you, Audrey, watch
entirely too much TV.”

“Will I see you tonight?” I asked, as we tossed out our
paper plates.

“Sure. I’ll bring dinner.”

“Actually, I have a barbeque meal in the fridge that was
supposed to be my dinner last night. There’s plenty for two.”

“So I’ll bring wine.”

“Stay over?”

“As long as you don’t try and ply me with my own wine and
take advantage of me,” he smiled.

As soon as I arrived home I checked the mail and found a
small bubble envelope amongst the bills and junk mail. I tore open the top of
the package and found a single key inside. There was a piece of paper with
Warners Post Office Box #281 printed on it. No indication of why the key was
sent to me or who it was from. I put it on the kitchen table. The more I looked
at it, the more I wanted to try it out. Finally, I put the damn thing in my
pocket and drove to the post office, a tiny two-room building which was only a
five-minute drive from my apartment.

I started to call Jack, but then decided to keep the key
a secret for now. Well-meaning or not, he’d dragged me into the Danny Stearns
case when I confided in him, and I had no idea what this key was for, or where
it would lead. I pulled into the post office driveway, wondering what I would
find.

I entered the tiny room of mail boxes and looked at the
rows and rows of them. Most were rented by normal people who simply received
their mail here. But what about the others? Like the box for the key I had? How
many of these innocuous little boxes held secrets, surreptitious messages,
covert instructions, or even facilitated illegal goings-on? With shaking hands,
I opened the box and found something so unexpected, it took me a minute to
comprehend what I was holding. A letter from Harley. I tore it open.

Dear Audrey,

First, please don’t
tell anyone I’ve contacted you. Not even your Jack. I really need to speak with
you. It’s time I explained some things. I will try and Skype with you at noon
on May 3
^rd
E.S.T. Hopefully you will have read this letter before
that date. I can’t tell you where I am, but I can tell you I am NOT in New
Orleans, as the postmark on this envelope suggests. Forgive me, but I have to
keep my location a secret.
 
H.

I stuffed the letter and the key into my purse and headed
for home. Jack would be there shortly and I would have to act like nothing
amazing had happened. I had heard from Harley! She was apparently fine, just in
hiding.

I wanted to tell her all I’d learned about Ferdy and how
Danny Stearns had been arrested, although depending on where she was, she may
have already heard about it on the news. I could tell her I was in love with
Jack, that I’d moved back to my apartment, and about the call from Carl. I
envisioned our Skype as two old friends on a catch-up call, but I knew it would
be way more serious than that. I was almost exhausted from the excitement that
was pinging around inside of me and the trepidation that was pounding away at
my brain at the same time.

When Jack knocked on the door at 6:30, I had the table
set and the food warming. “I’m a little later than I thought I’d be,” he said.
“It smells good in here.”

“Did you bring the wine?”

“Right here,” he said, as he held up a bottle. “It’s okay
for you to have wine when you’re taking medication?”

“I haven’t taken any today,” I said, keeping to myself
the fact that last night I’d doubled the number of pills I was supposed to
take.

“Okay then,” he said, and he proceeded to remove the cork
from the bottle and fill the glasses I had set out. Over dinner we talked a
little more about Ferdy and bet each other a nickel on how long it would take
to catch him. “I’m stuffed,” he said, as he got up from the table and began
clearing. “Your landlord makes a mean barbeque. It’s some of the best I’ve ever
had.”

“I know. This apartment always smells like great food. It
makes me want to eat all the time. Really, it’s a miracle I’m not having
trouble squeezing through the door.”

Jack continued to clean up, scraping and rinsing the
dishes. “Just leave it,” I said. “I mean it. I’ll take care of it later.” He
smiled at me. “Or tomorrow’s good,” I added.

“Want to watch a movie?” he asked. “It’s still pretty
early. We could go for a drive, or a walk if you want.”

“I’ve been waiting to be alone with you all day,” I said.
“I want to stay right here, if you don’t mind.”
Don’t sound desperate. You’ll chase him away
.

“You have a little TV in your room, right?”

I shook my head. “It’s still at the office.”

“Well, I could tell you a bedtime story. But we’d have to
be, you know, in bed.”

“I don’t know if I should trust you,” I laughed. “I think
you’re just trying to take advantage of me.”

“No, seriously,” he said, as we walked into the bedroom,
“I think you’ll like it. It’s the story of this Swedish guy, Hans Downerpantz.”

I laughed at the ridiculousness of it. “So?” I asked.
“How does it go?”

“The real question,” he said, “is how would one
illustrate the title in a game of charades?”

Who needed a TV? Jack and I spent the entire night in
each other’s arms. His powerful hands explored, massaged, until I felt like the
most desired woman in the world, instead of the craziest woman in Camillus.
Exhausted, we faded into a drowsy bliss. “Night Audrey,” he murmured, as he
cuddled close.

I smiled and cuddled right back. “Night, Hans.”

No horrid dreams invaded my sleep. Jack’s steady
breathing regulated my own, and even though my bed was small for a man of his
size, neither of us tossed and turned. We fit together perfectly, and sailed
through the night, waking wrapped in each other’s arms, just as we had started.

“I could get used to this,” he said, as he smoothed the
hair away from my face. “You’re so beautiful in the morning.”

Never one to take a compliment graciously, I gave my
usual, “Oh, sure.”

“I hate to move, but I have to get up,” he said. “Mind if
I shower here?”

“Not at all, if I can come too.”

We soaped each other up and Jack washed my hair. He
leaned down so I could do the same for him. His hair was so thick it took a
while to rinse out the lather. “I’ll use less shampoo next time,” I laughed. We
dried each other off and I wondered how long couples did this kind of thing;
how long before they showered separately and even slept in different bedrooms.
I couldn’t imagine feeling any differently about Jack than I did right this
minute, as I finished toweling off his muscled back. “I don’t want you to put
your clothes on,” I whispered. “I love looking at your body.”

“Oh, God, Audrey, you’re going to make me late for roll
call, aren’t you.”

He swept me up and carried me back to bed and I closed my
eyes as he brushed his lips over my stomach. “Absolutely,” I breathed.