Expiration Date (51 page)

But this was vindictiveness at a level beyond his comprehension.

Perhaps Bill was alive but severely handicapped. Or disfigured. Perhaps he was nursing a bitterness that had grown into demonic proportions. What lengths of reprisal would Clay go to if a friend had pushed him toward his death?

A sudden scraping sound told Clay the front door was opening.

“Junction City Police! We’re coming in.”

He turned to see a pair of policemen entering the apartment, side arms drawn.

“Officer Kelso.” Clay held his hands up. “I’m in here.”

“Keep your hands up, and don’t move!”

A beam of light cut across the living room into the kitchen. Officer Kelso came to stand over Clay while his partner moved down the hallway. He called back that the rest of the place was clear. Clay knew it would be useless to mention the note or the Osaga’s past owner. He would sound nearly as crazy as he felt.

“What’re you doing in here, Mr. Ryker? We received a call that someone was breaking in.” Officer Kelso flipped the switch on the wall, but nothing happened. His flashlight combed the table, counters, floor. Paused, then moved past the old shoe.

“The door was open,” Clay said.

“And that gave you the right to enter?”

“I was trying to find out who was up here. I wanted to talk with him. I, uh … I might’ve gone to school with him.”

“With Mr. John Doe? You’re the first person who’s claimed to know him.”

“John Doe? He could’ve picked a more original name.”

“It’s far from humorous, Mr. Ryker.” Kelso aimed the light at Clay’s face.

“That hurts, Officer. I can’t see.”

“Apparently not. You may have the ability to see into the future, but you certainly can’t see into the past. This place hasn’t been lived in for months. Not
since the unsolved homicide of our John Doe, which happened here on this very table. Those aren’t grease spots on the wall, you might be interested to know. We found a knife, but no prints, no solid leads. As if a ghost slipped in and carried out this savage act.”

Clay’s mind reeled.
A ghost is right! I thought my friend was dead
.

Bill Scott couldn’t be the victim, John Doe. He would’ve been identified.

Bill, however, could be John Doe’s killer. No one would ever suspect it.

This was lunacy. Who would believe such a theory? How, Clay wondered, would he stop a man who was able to murder with impunity? As far as this town was concerned, Bill Scott was in the grave, dead and gone. Twelve years and counting.

In the research forest north of Corvallis, Dmitri Derevenko was target practicing with his Maksalov cell phone. Lacking any barrel to speak of, the weapon was built for short range. Accuracy was paramount.

“I cannot let you go alone, comrade.”

“You do not need to worry.” Dmitri said. At his back Oleg’s car lights provided illumination for the impromptu firing range. “Josee is small woman.”

“I do not worry about Josee Walker. I worry about you.” Oleg poked his joined and steepled fingers into Dmitri’s chest. “If true, if she has a Fabergé egg, how do I know you will bring it back to me?”

“It is not for you, Oleg. It’s for the Brotherhood and for Gertrude Ubelhaar. We want her to speak, to tell us where to find the Tsar. Or have you forgotten this?”

“You’re right, Dmitri. But this one treasure, it alone is worth millions of rubles.”

“You think I might steal it?”

“The Brotherhood is concerned. They’ve asked me to keep an eye on you.”

This lack of trust incensed Dmitri. He fired a shot into the paper target on the tree. “Oleg, you are
neudachnik
!” He triggered a second shot.

“I am a loser?”

“Da. I work for a new day in Mother Russia, the same as my father,
grandfather, and great-grandfather. It’s a deep insult that you carry no trust. When I go with Josee on Friday, I will bring back the Fabergé egg. It will provide finances and bring about Ms. Ubelhaar’s cooperation. That’s more valuable than millions of rubles.”

“What if Josee tries to stop you? You have not killed a woman before.”

“It is no different. If necessary, she will die.”

The headstones faced Clay with insolent indifference. He stared back.

“You with us this morning?” Digs asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I dunno, Ryker. Gonna take a little more convincin’ than that.”

Clay used a pick to peel lettering from the marker on his bench. “Digs, how would you handle it if you could foresee bad things?”

“Still wrestlin’ with God, eh? Wonderin’ about his plans in this world?”

“It’s only natural, isn’t it?”

“There’s your problem in a nutshell. It ain’t about natural. It’s supernatural.”

“Just trust and obey, you mean? Blind faith and all that.”

“You tried doin’ it the other way yet? On your own agenda?” Clay nodded.

“Me, too,” Digs said. “Took years in the state pen to cure me of it. Let’s hope you learn faster than this white-haired fool. Don’t always got the answers, don’t even understand, but I do know God is good. That’s money in the bank.”

Since the discovery in the apartment a few nights back, Clay’s racing mind had caused him to sleep restlessly. What was the latest note’s meaning? Would August tenth be a day of disaster? How should he intervene? Was Jenni now a target too?

Thankfully, Officer Kelso had released him with a warning to avoid further late-night escapades. The officer knew nothing about a Mr. Bill Scott and laughed when Clay tried to indict Henna for visits to the same unit.

“Henna Dixon? We’d expect to find her up here,” Kelso had said. “She’s the one who first found John Doe. She does the majority of cleaning at the complex.”

“She’s a maid?”

“ ‘Interior overseer’ is her official title. The whole thing shook her pretty badly.”

“Yeah. I bet.”

Clay left it at that. He had nothing incriminating to present. Some vaguely threatening notes, yes, but little to suggest malevolence on Henna Dixon’s part.

“If we get split up,” Josee said, “just hit Highway 101 and head down to Florence, Bank of the Dunes. It’s on the north end of town.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Dmitri agreed.

“Hope you’re not wastin’ my time. I’m ready for some answers.”

“I know much about the Fabergé creations. You’ll be pleased.”

Josee’s turquoise eyes considered him from beneath a tuft of chopped black hair. Her fingers twiddled at her eyebrow ring. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Dmitri watched her climb into a red VW Bug with original hubcaps. The rear bumper dragged on the passenger side, creating occasional sparks as it struck the pavement. Keeping track of Josee would be easy. He set his cell phone on the seat of his rental car, followed the VW into early lunch traffic, and adjusted his mirror while trying to determine which car Oleg was using to tail them.

Horses, snakes, and skulls. The dream images returned.

Dmitri pictured Oleg’s choirboy face and his criminal background. The man was a walking mystery. Superb organizational skills, yet questionable allegiances.

In the forest Dmitri had feared Oleg might lash out at him for his words. Neudachnik? Da, it was the truth for any man who did not trust him. He was a man appointed by the Brotherhood of Tobolsk, by the Almighty himself.

Be careful, Oleg. Try to stamp on my head, and a snake will strike!

At that moment Dmitri spotted his comrade in a Chevy pickup, three cars back and one lane over.

“Did he take the note, A.G.?”

“He did, but he left the jogging shoe.”

Henna peered into the kitchen where the Osaga remained beneath the table. “Those shoes always did stink. No offense, but it’s the truth.”

“I refuse to take the blame.”

Henna folded herself into a lotus position on the living room carpet. She closed her eyes, her nostrils inhaling the aroma of sandalwood incense.

Asgoth admired her beauty but suspected her thoughts were somewhere else. On someone else. From the start he’d known of her obsession with Clay Ryker and used it to his benefit. Full of scorn cloaked as independence, Henna acted as though she had no more feelings for the man; yet all these years later, her willingness to take this course of action suggested a strong undercurrent of emotion.

“If given the choice,” he asked her, “would you select Clay over me?”

“What?” Henna’s eyes popped open. Her trance was broken.

“Forgive my insecurities, Henna. I shouldn’t push.”

“You always want more. That’s my main complaint. When it comes to a woman’s spirit, it’s better to simply enjoy what she gives you.”

“I’m impatient, it’s true. It’s a fault of my species.”

“Yeah, why is that so?”

Asgoth pondered. “We’re afraid you’ll see through us, I guess. We’re always concerned that you’ll close us off if you catch a glimpse of who we really are.”

“One little glimpse. Is it really so horrifying?”

“You tell me.”

“You’re a gentle spirit, A.G. You have your dark side, but who doesn’t?”

“Are you ready to tap into yours? We have only a few days until Jenni Ryker arrives. I’m sure you’d love to arrange something special for her.”

“It’d be my delight. What about Monde? Have we heard from him?”

“He says not to worry. He’s stirring up troubles between Dmitri and friends. It’s always fun to watch havoc ensue. Of course,” Asgoth said, “we’ll have to include Clay in Jenni’s ‘welcome home’ plans. We’ll wait until after
the tenth, though. Clay’s been visiting with the JC police, and I think he’s enlisted their help in protecting the targets. Poor officers. They’re going to be very disappointed in him.”

Against the natural backdrop of windswept sand dunes, the Bank of the Dunes looked small. Josee parked off to the side, but Dmitri selected a spot near the entrance, ready for a getaway. He clipped the cell phone to his belt.

“Come on.” Josee knocked on his window. “You look pretty enough already.”

Dmitri gave an obligatory smile.

Together they entered the bank. To the left, wing chairs faced an accounts manager at a polished desk. Near the doors, a hefty security guard greeted customers on their way in and out.