The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1) (5 page)

8.

Before Carmela arrived
I had to do some shopping. I’d promised to buy her something nice. I was thinking about buying an evening dress for her. I took a cab to the nearest shopping mall. I went from shop to shop looking for something suitable. Eventually, I found an elegant, tightly fitting dress in a color that I would describe as black (although I'm sure there's a fancy name for it). I visually inspected the sizes and decided on the one that would look best on Carmela. The shop assistant at the cash register commented that it was excellent choice, which is probably what they tell everybody. But I felt flattered anyway. It looked really cool, with a low neckline, which I hoped would expose quite a lot. And with an even larger, gently curved V-shape at the back going nearly to the waist. Hopefully it wouldn’t reveal the inter-gluteal cleft, or butt crack for you and me.

Carmela's plane arrived on time. I was waiting for her in the hotel lobby.

"Hi Michael," Carmela greeted me with a broad smile.

"Hi Carmela," I answered. "How was your flight?"

"It was all right, quick and on time."

"Did you miss me?"

"Jesus, Mike, you pay me to be with you, have you forgotten? Of course I missed you."

"Yes, I know, but let's make it a little bit more romantic," I laughed.

"Sure, let's play a little game if you want," she laughed too.

"I have something for you. I promised you a little present last time. I hope you like it, baby," I smiled with confidence and handed her the gift.

"Thanks Mike," she gasped. I watched her while she was unpacking it. She had a beautiful slim neck, a perfectly proportioned chin and a beautiful face with enticingly protruding cheek bones. Her neck was really something to die for.

"It's lovely, Mike. Thank you."

"I knew you’d love it," I said, very content.

"Yes, it's lovely, you have quite a taste, I admit," Carmela applauded. "But you have no eye for size."

I froze.

"This is a size twelve, I’m an eight, Mike. Do you really think I’m so fat?" she asked rhetorically.

I was speechless for a moment.

"Sorry about that, good that I kept the receipt," I said with a lack of anything better to say.

"Mike, that's two sizes too big. How come you didn't spot the difference?" she laughed.

"Sorry, I'll do better next time, I promise. Give me another chance," I tried to laugh too, although it wasn't too convincing.

"Regardless of that, we have some business to finish, don't you think?" An alluring smile appeared on her face.

"Yeah, we do."

"Let's go then."

Upstairs in the hotel room I forgot about the earlier blunder. Carmela was a first-class professional, but she was not artificial. She gave great sex without the porn. No shouting, nothing like that, just classy sex with a top-rate courtesan. This was what I love about her, but obviously this was just about sex and a few nice moments with a perfectly mannered lady.

"I forgive your earlier sins, Michael. You were great as usual," said Carmela.

"Thanks, I’ve had some good training in my time," I responded. "And good teachers, including you."

A broad smile graced her face.

"How about another round, Mike?"

"The idea sounds very appealing, but let me recharge for a few minutes."

"Sure, take your time," said, and asked: "How's your new job? Have you found your target yet?"

"Without going into too much detail, I’m still working on it."

"You've been in your business for a good few years now. Are you ever going to retire?"

"Yeah, it's been good few years now. I suppose I enjoy the thrill. No plans for retirement so far. But you never know. I do think about it every now and then."

"You'll find it difficult to settle down with your lifestyle. That's why your wife left you."

"Gudrun, yeah, she wasn't happy about my lifestyle, that's for sure. But she was unstable too, it’s hard to explain. Not crazy, but unstable in a hot-tempered way. She would probably gladly kill me if she could," I joked.

"When do you think you'll find this guy you're chasing?"

"In a week or two, I hope," I answered, and added, gently stroking her stunning, slightly protruding cheek bone: "But let's not talk about my work. Let's talk about yours."

"Have you recharged yet?"

"Yes, I have."

The rest of the evening was equally satisfying.

9.

I woke up
very early the next day. I kissed Carmela goodbye, as I would be heading back to Philadelphia after a visit to the hospital to see the victim's kids.

"Take care Carmela. See you next time."

"Take care Mike, call me any time."

"Sure. I'll get you something really nice and in the right size next time we meet," I promised.

"Yeah, I want to see that," Carmela laughed.

"I know, I know, that was very awkward yesterday, I’ll improve next time, promise."

"Okay," she said. Her tone of voice told me she wasn’t convinced.

"See you then," I said as I was leaving the Omni William Penn Hotel in Pittsburgh en route to the Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh.

The drive was only 10 minutes as it wasn't very far from the hotel, less than 4 miles away.

Dr. Jane Lockerby was waiting for me in the lobby. I followed her to her office, watching her nice hips sway left and right along the long corridors of the hospital. The Wimbledon children were having some injection or another procedure done, so we had to wait a few moments in her office.

"How do you like Pittsburgh, Mr. Greystone, I mean Mike?" Dr. Lockerby asked.

"Nice city, I haven't seen much to be honest, but they hotel was good," I said. I didn't go into detail how I spent the previous night and who was with me.

We had a short chat about the hospital and her work, and she turned out to be a very pleasant and warm-hearted person. But there was no denying that what I liked most about her was her ass, and her amazing hips. The rest of the package was equally good, I thought to myself, confirming my observations from the day before.

"OK, let's go," Dr. Lockerby said. "Karrie and John should be available for interview by now."

Dr. Lockerby led me along the long corridor to the patients' rooms, her hips moving gently left, right, up and down; there was no better sight on Earth. We entered John and Karrie Wimbledon's room.

"Hi guys," Dr. Lockerby greeted both kids. "Are you feeling any better today?"

"My arm hurts," John said.

"I know John, we gave you an anesthetic, but it'll hurt a little for a while. It’ll pass soon, you're recovering well," Dr. Lockerby said.

"I can't move my leg, Dr. Lockerby," Karrie complained.

"Don't worry, your leg is still under local anesthetic, a ricocheting bullet hit your thigh. You'll get better even sooner than John," Dr. Lockerby explained. "You’re both very brave after what you've been through."

"Where's my mom?" John asked.

"She's in the guest room. She had to get some sleep as she’s been with you the whole time since the shooting, in between police interviews. She'll come back in a few hours."

"I miss my mom," Karrie cried.

"It's okay Karrie, your mom will be here with you soon," Dr. Lockerby assured her and explained who I was. "I would like to introduce Mr. Greystone, who is investigating the shooting and the murder of your father. He'll ask you some questions. His job is to track down your father’s killer."

"Hi, I’m Mike," I introduced myself. "The investigation is in full swing, and I need you to tell me everything that happened on that day with all the details. Even if you think the details are not important, still do tell me."

John started the story, and Karrie interrupted every now and then. There wasn't too much new detail there, unfortunately.

"Has your mother or father been meeting anybody unfamiliar recently?" I asked.

"I think some guy was visiting our mom sometimes in the last few months. He had a strong accent," John said.

"Like German, or Spanish?"

"Not Spanish, I don't know about German, more like the crew on the submarine in 'The Hunt for Red October'."

"Russian, or East European."

"Yeah. That must be it."

"So he was visiting your mother? What were they talking about?"

"Don't know, she always asked us to go to our neighbors as she said she had to sign some mortgage documents."

"That must have been a lot of documents," I said, thinking he was obviously her lover.

"One more thing," said Karrie, "this man who was visiting our mom looked a bit like the shooter at the school."

"No he didn't, you stupid," interjected John.

"I’m not stupid, you’re stupid!" Karrie shouted back. "He looked similar, but had completely different hair and beard."

"That's interesting," I said. "Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I’m sure, I never forget faces," Karrie said indignantly.

"That's true, she always remembers faces," John added. "But it wasn't him."

"It was, you moron."

"It wasn't, you, you..., you... she-moron."

"John, Karrie, please calm down, you can't get agitated now, you need to rest," Dr. Lockerby intervened.

“That's interesting," I said, "anything else you noticed?"

"No," John said, and Karrie added: "Nothing else, but my brother wouldn't know even if he saw something."

"I would!" John protested.

"You wouldn't," Karrie teased him.

"I would, you... you... you...," John was in vain searching for the right word.

"You stupid, you wanted to say?" I helped him. "Of course, I didn't mean to direct it at you, Karrie," I added quickly.

"I think the children are getting tired and agitated, we should finish the interview," Dr. Lockerby said, smiling at the corners of her month.

"Okay, thanks Karrie, thanks John, I hope this information will prove helpful in finding your father's killer. One more question, can you recall what kind of car he was driving, the registration plate perhaps?" I asked.

"No, I didn’t see the car," John answered.

"I didn’t either," Karrie added.

"All right, that's all for today. Get well soon," I concluded and we left the ward.

I thought that since I still had to interview Mrs. Wimbledon, and this could take longer considering she was not available as she was exhausted after a two-night vigil at her children's bedside along with police and FBI interviews, and surely organizing her husband's funeral, I decided to stay one more day, since I still didn't have a decisive clue on how to proceed with this whole affair.

I called Martin to reschedule my return flight for tomorrow.

"Thanks Dr. Lockerby, I mean Jane, for arranging the interview," I said and added, "I'll be staying in Pittsburgh one more day to talk to the kids’ mother, especially in light of the new circumstances. I was meaning to drop by her house today, but you said she's still at the hospital?"

"Yes, she was absolutely exhausted. She has to sleep for at least a few more hours. You could probably get some more information from her, if any, once she’s rested."

"Great. So I'll hang around for a few hours nearby and will call you every now and then to check if she’s woken up.”

"Sure, no problem," Dr. Lockerby said.

"Or, perhaps, I could invite you to lunch and perhaps get some additional intelligence about the case from you? Have you eaten anything yet?" I asked, hoping to strike up a new friendship.

"Not sure what else I could add," Dr. Lockerby responded, "but I’d gladly join you for lunch, I'm actually starving now."

"Great, let's go then. I'll have to rely on your local knowledge. Do you know any nice places to eat around here?"

"Yeah, there are a few good spots to have lunch," she said.

Dr. Jane Lockerby led me along the long corridors of the Children's Hospital, and I once again enjoyed the hypnotizing sway of her buttocks and hips. Before we left, she changed her scrubs for fresh ones, which must have been straight from the wash and a little tight, and which highlighted the beautiful feminine proportions of her hips and waist even more. To be honest, I didn't think such a tight-fitting garment was at all useful for day-to-day medical work, so I thought she would only wear them when going out for lunch or something.

She led me to a nearby restaurant. A quick glance reassured me they did have steaks. I loved experimenting with food, but often, out of habit, I ended up eating a steak. The waiter approached us and we placed our orders.

"Can I have the risotto with a chicken and vegetable salad, please?" Jane ordered her meal.

"And the fillet steak for me. Medium-rare, please," I ordered mine.

"A fine hospital you have," I started the conversation.

"Indeed, a very busy place. I love working with children, that's why I chose this profession. It’s certainly not as depressing as working in geriatrics, or terminal illnesses, or the brain injury ward," Jane answered.

"How are John and Karrie recovering?"

"I put on a smiley face today during the interview. Physically, they’re fine, the wounds are serious, but under control. What's not easy to heal is the mind. This takes a lot of time, and a lot of money."

"Can their mother afford it?"

"They are, or rather were, a decent middle-class family, but the husband was the breadwinner. She'll surely get some insurance, but the house is expensive to keep, and she'll need all that money to raise the children. I’m not sure how much will be left for psychological care or therapy."

"I can pay for psychological support for both of them," I offered.

Dr. Lockerby was surprised.

"Well, that would be very nice of you, but you really don't have to. There are most likely hundreds if not thousands of children in similar situations all over the country. We probably have at least one such kid at any time in our hospital. You can't help everybody. Besides, it's expensive. It's very expensive."

"I can afford it."

"With all due respect, you being a government employee, I'm not sure how you can afford it?" she was puzzled.

"I'm not a government employee, I'm a government contractor. That is, many of my jobs are for the government. But it's freelance. Moreover, I don't work for money, I got enough from my parents."

"Still, we’re talking between 200 to 300 hundred dollars per session for a really good therapist, at least once or twice a week for a few months. Times two kids."

"That's okay for me. I would just have one condition."

"Yes?"

"I would like you to choose the therapist and oversee the treatment until they’re healthy again."

"Well, that would work for me. It would have to be discussed with their mother, Lauren, before I could proceed any further," Dr. Lockerby said.

"Sure, I'll talk to her."

"I'm really impressed with your proposal, Mike." said Jane. "But I hope it's really within your means."

"It is. I would love to help."

"What do you actually do for a living?" Jane asked.

"As I said, I'm a contractor working for the government and private clients. I do investigations, interviews, track down people, and gather information. Those kinds of things."

"Sounds interesting. Hopefully it's not dangerous?"

"Not really, as long as you know what you’re doing," I wasn't being entirely honest.

"Are you like James Bond?" she was seriously curious.

"Jeez, no, of course not. My work is much more commonplace. It does require travel and meeting a lot of people though."

"You said you don't have to work. Why do you work then?"

"I need to do something to kill time, literally," I explained. "Moreover, I had a troubled childhood," I said not knowing why. I was not a talkative person, but Dr. Lockerby was very engaging and pleasant to interact with.

"Sorry to hear that. Tell me about it."

"Perhaps next time. Besides, I want you to fix the kids, not me," I laughed. Jane laughed heartily too. This caused her boobs to go up and down slightly, which I duly watched. "Here's my business card with my phone number."

"Invitation accepted," Jane said, quite enthusiastically. "I don't have a business card. Give me another one of yours, I'll write my phone number for you."

"Cool."

Lunch arrived. I had a decent steak. Nearly as good as I used to have in London in Covent Garden. This one was a good size, which I honestly didn't mind. I was doing some heavy weightlifting to keep fit, so some extra protein would be good for muscle recovery.

"That was a lovely lunch. Thanks for the company," I said.

"I enjoyed it too, thank you for taking me out," Dr. Jane responded and added, "I don't have too many opportunities to go out these days."

I paid the bill and we went back to the hospital to interview Lauren Wimbledon, whose husband, Carter, was killed in the shooting.