Aphrodite

22

“Here are the choices,” Justin said. They’d been on the road for five minutes. Deena was in the front seat, looking at him with a dubious expression, as if she’d lost some confidence in his decision making. Kendall, on the other hand, had nothing but hero worship in her eyes. Good to know, Justin thought, I haven’t lost my touch with the grade-school set. “Boston. Or just outside Boston. Marblehead. It’s where Helen Roag is.”
“We just show up there?” Deena asked. “What if she’s …” She glanced back at her daughter. “What if she’s gone?”
“You mean dead,” Kendall said. “Like Grampy-gramps.”
“Stop calling him Grampy-gramps,” Deena said back. “You didn’t even know the guy.”
“We can call first,” Justin said. “See what we can find out.”
“I’ll do it,” Kendall volunteered. When Justin grinned at her, she said, “I mean, I was so good the last time.”
“What are the other choices?”
“New York. We try to get into the Ellis Institute and find out what the hell’s going on there.”
“Is there a third one?”
“I’m sure there is. But I don’t have it yet.”
“I vote Boston,” Kendall said.
“And why’s that?” Justin asked her.
“The Red Sox,” Deena said. “She loves Pedro Martinez.” She glanced over to her right as they passed a gas station. Then she looked back at Kendall. “Honey, do you have to—”
“Mom,” the little girl said sternly. “Do not ask me again if I have to go to the bathroom.” She looked up at Justin, embarrassed. “I mean, ladies’ room.”
Deena sighed. “I vote for Boston too.”
“Why?” Justin asked.
“Because it’s closer. And New York’s scary enough without people trying to …you know.”
“Kill us?” Kendall finished.
“Nobody’s trying to kill us, honey,” Deena said. “You mustn’t even think something like that.”
“They are too. Aren’t they, Jay? Aren’t they trying to kill us?”
He looked helplessly at Deena.
“If they’re not, why are we running?” Kendall asked, insistent.
“We’re not running,” Justin said gently. “We’re trying to solve a problem.”
“What problem?”
“Some bad people have done some bad things. We’re trying to find out why.”
“Who are they?”
“We don’t exactly know that, either.”
“I think you need some more help from me on this one, Jay. You don’t sound like you know too much.”
“Will you do me a favor?” Justin said to the girl.
“What?”
“When you’re thirteen, will you call me up and remind me to stay away from you for the next six or seven years, because you are going to be some killer pain-in-the-ass teenager.”
Kendall frowned and made a kind of “huh” noise. Then she sat back and pouted.
They’d been on the road for seventeen minutes.
When they’d been driving for twenty-two minutes, Justin flicked around the radio dial until he got to the news. They caught the end of the sports report and a quick traffic update. Then the anchor came on and they heard: “The top story of the hour. A man was found murdered in a Weston, Connecticut, motel room just a few minutes ago, shot twice in the head. He’s been identified as Edward Marion, a Weston local. Police have not revealed why he had checked into the motel or if there are any potential suspects. The man’s wife has been notified and police say she is not a suspect. We will update this story as more information comes in. We repeat: A local resident was found murdered in a Weston, Connecticut, motel room. …”
Justin turned off the radio. Breathing heavily, he pulled the car off to the shoulder of the highway. The choking sensation was back, the almost unbearable weight on his chest. He sat there until his breath came slowly and easily. Then he waited another few moments until he was sure he could speak without throwing up.
He turned to the girl in the backseat. “Hand me a cell phone, will you? There’s one in my jacket pocket.” Kendall passed the phone forward. The expression on Justin’s face was all she needed to tell her that she should keep quiet. He punched eleven numbers into the phone, waited until Gary answered at the East End police station.
“It’s Justin,” he said.
“Jesus—” the young cop began.
“Don’t say anything. Just listen. And just answer my questions yes or no. Is Rollins there?”
“No.”
“Did he go out right after I called?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
“Did he make any calls after I hung up on him?”
“Yes.”
“Did he try to contact a local Feebie bureau?” There was no answer. “Gary, I think you’re either nodding or shaking your head. That doesn’t do me any good.”
“No. I don’t think so. I don’t know for sure.”
“Did he call in since he’s been gone?”
“Yes.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“No.”
“He talk to Jimmy?”
“Yeah. Listen, I gotta tell you something.”
“Can you say it so nobody hears you?”
“Yeah.”
“All right. What is it?”
“When Rollins called Jimmy,” Gary said, his voice a harsh whisper, “he said that you killed the guy in Connecticut. They’re putting out a warrant for your arrest. You’re wanted for murder.”
“Listen to me, Gary. I want you to call me later, when you can get away and can talk freely. Okay?” No answer on the other end. “You have to trust me one more time, kid. Don’t tell anybody I called. Don’t tell anybody you’re gonna call me back. Use the cell number I gave you earlier. Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Gary, I know it’s confusing but you can trust me on this one. Call me back later and don’t tell a f*cking soul.”
He hung up, slipped the phone into his jeans pocket, wiped a line of sweat that had gathered on his neck.
“You said the f-word,” Kendall said.
“Yeah,” he acknowledged. “I sure did.”
He pulled the car back on the highway. They’d been on the road for thirty-one minutes.
Deena was twisted in the front seat so her back was to the windshield. She was watching her daughter squirm in the back. Kendall squinted and bit her lip and looked altogether miserable and Deena shook her head.
“Mommy, don’t yell at me.”
“I told you to go when we were back at the Home. And do you know that you only call me Mommy when you think I’m going to get angry at you?”
“I didn’t have to go then. I have to go now.”
“For God’s sake, Kenny, we’ve passed a million gas stations since we left. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I didn’t have to go!”
“Well, you can’t go now!”
“Stop it!” Justin said. Lowering his voice, he said to Kendall, “Can you wait a few minutes until we hit another gas station or a restaurant?”
“No,” she wailed. “I have to go!”
Justin pulled the car over to the shoulder, put the car in park. “The bushes are all yours,” he said.
“Mommyyy …I can’t.”
“Then you’re going to have to wait.”
“But I can’t! It’s getting dark!”
“It’s fun to pee in the bushes,” Justin said. “It’s my favorite thing. Even when it’s dark.”
“I’ll go with you,” Deena said. When the little girl’s eyes welled up with tears, she softened her tone and said, “Don’t worry. Jay’s right. It’s fun.” She stepped out of the car, opened the back door. She reached in and unbuckled her daughter, lifting her up and out of the car. Taking her hand, they marched together into the brush and out of sight of the highway.
Justin picked up his cell phone, unfolded a piece of paper, squinted at his own handwriting, then dialed one of the numbers that Gary had given him for Helen Roag. First he called her office, got her voice mail, and hung up without leaving a message. Then he called back and this time, after listening to the mechanical instructions and a woman’s voice say, “Helen Roag,” he said, “Ms. Roag, this is …it doesn’t matter who this is. I think you’re in a lot of danger and you need to disappear. I’m going to say three words to show I know what I’m talking about. Kransten. Newberg. Aphrodite. If you haven’t heard, Ed Marion was murdered today. Be careful of the police, be careful of the FBI. They can’t be trusted. I’ll try to get in touch with you somehow. But please, in the meantime, take this very seriously and please try to protect yourself.”
He tried her cell phone next, got another recording telling him to leave a message. He left basically the same message he’d just left at her office.
He hung up, dialed the number he had for Helen Roag’s home. A woman answered and he said, “Helen?”
The woman’s voice quivered as she said, “No. Who is this?”
“A friend of hers,” Justin said. “My name’s Jay. May I speak to her?”
There was a pause and Justin sensed that the woman on the other end of the phone was about to burst into tears. “Helen’s not here,” she said.
“Do you know where she is?”
“Nobody knows where she is,” the woman said. “She’s missing.”
“Who am I talking to?”
“This is her sister. Kathleen.”
“Have the police been called in, Kathleen?”
“Yes. But so far—”
“How about the FBI? Has anyone from the FBI contacted you?”
“Yes. Do you have any information, Jay? Do you have any idea what’s happened to Helen? If you do—”
Justin clicked off the connection, leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes. He opened them when he heard the sound of a car slowing down. A black American car, some kind of Ford rental, had pulled up alongside. From the passenger seat, a blond man, around thirty, stuck his head out the window. The guy’s hair was perfectly coiffed, dipping slightly over his forehead, and he was handsome in a boyish, asexual kind of way. Justin couldn’t see the driver.
“Need any help?” the blond asked.
Justin shook his head and said, “Pit stop,” and jerked his thumb in the direction of the bushes.
The blond man smiled knowingly. Then he looked at his watch, turned back to Justin, and said, “Bye-bye.” With a jerky motion, the man pointed straight ahead down the highway and the car took off, burning rubber, tires screeching, the accelerator pressed to the floor. It was like watching a drag race. They had to be doing eighty in no time, and within seconds they were out of sight.
Justin closed his eyes again, leaned his head back. People are f*cking crazy, he thought. He couldn’t help but give a rueful smile. There I go, using the f-word again.
The smile faded as he thought of Helen Roag. Missing and, he assumed now, dead. Ed Marion, murdered. Susanna Morgan, broken neck. Lewis Granger, smothered …
There has to be a connection, he thought. There has to be a pattern.
It’s just another puzzle. And all puzzles can be solved.
And then a picture came into his mind: the man in the car, looking at his watch.
Justin’s eyes flew open but the picture didn’t fade.
A blond man.
Handsome.
Robert Redford hair.
Smiling.
Somebody knew we were going to see Granger.
Which means somebody knows we’re here now.
Looking at his watch.
Speeding away.
Bye-bye …
Smiling.
Looking at his watch …
Deena and Kendall emerged from the bushes just as Justin grabbed for the door handle and threw the door open. He tried to leap out of the car, forgot he was strapped in, that Kendall had insisted he use the seat belt. He fumbled frantically to release the latch, finally got it off, and rolled out of the car. When he was upright, he saw Deena and Kendall, just a few feet away now, and he began screaming, “Get away from the car! Get away from the car! Run!”
They both froze, looked at him like he was insane. He didn’t bother to try to run around the front, just leaped onto the hood, scrambled over it. With one motion, he scooped Kendall up into his arms, held her as tightly as he could, grabbed Deena’s arm and yanked her forward. He ran as fast as he could, practically dragging Deena behind him, and he was screaming the whole time, “Go, go, go! Faster, faster, faster!”
He got them into the woods, maybe twenty, thirty yards away, when something told him it was time. He was still screaming, and Deena was still resisting, and Kendall was still squirming, crying in his arms, when he dove to the ground, covering the little girl with his body, pulling her mother down beside him. He heard Deena scream at him, “What the hell are you—” and then he didn’t hear any more because that’s when the explosion came.
It was as if a wave of flame rode over him. He did his best to shield them both. He felt Kendall struggle. Somehow he knew she was screaming but he couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t really feel anything now except the heat. He felt a searing pain in his left shoulder, the one that was exposed to the air, and then the heat was over. It had passed. He waited, used his weight to keep the woman and the girl pinned to the ground, then he let them go, and he sat up.
Kendall was crying, wracking sobs, and so was Deena. Their clothes were filthy and their faces were covered with dirt and scratches. Deena reached out for the girl, who rolled over into her protective arms. They hugged each other and stayed on the ground, crying. They didn’t try to speak.
Justin stood up. The pain in his shoulder almost brought him back down to his knees, and he saw that a two-inch shard of glass had embedded itself in his skin. He looked back at the road, and what he saw didn’t make sense. The car was intact. He’d expected it to be demolished, but except for a bulge in the roof, nothing much seemed to have happened. He stepped closer, went another twenty feet or so nearer to the highway, and saw that the car’s windows were gone. It had to be window glass that was embedded in his arm. The force of the explosion had sent it through the air as if shot out of a rifle. Another car was in the middle of the highway. It had been driving by at the moment the bomb went off and the driver had careened into the highway divider. Two men were struggling to get out. They looked dazed but relatively unhurt.
And then he saw, coming down the highway, driving back from the direction in which it had sped off, the black rented Ford.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” he said. Deena started to argue, but he shook his head and just insisted, “We’ve got to go. Now!” He reached down to help her up, and her eyes widened when she saw his arm. “It’s okay,” he told her. He grabbed the small piece of glass with his right hand, clenched his teeth, and yanked. It felt like a carving knife being removed from the soft center of a well-cooked turkey. Justin thought he was going to faint from the pain and the spurt of blood, but he didn’t. His legs buckled for a moment, then they were strong.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” he told Deena. “It’s okay.” He looked down at Kendall. “She’s okay too.”
He took the girl from her mother’s arms, told her to put her arms around his neck and wrap her feet around his stomach. She giggled—a weak, halfhearted giggle but a giggle—when her feet wouldn’t touch, and that was when he knew she’d be fine.
“We have to get out of here before anyone comes,” he said to Deena. When she looked at him, still vacant, still in a state of shock, he said, “It’s okay. It’s really okay. I know what to do now.” He began marching them through the woods, went another hundred yards or so until they were completely obscured by the greenery, then turned and began walking parallel to the highway.
“I told you someone was trying to kill us,” Kendall said, her words muffled by Justin’s chest. “Didn’t I?”
“Yes, honey,” he said, shifting her weight in his arms so she’d be easier to carry, “you definitely did.”
“I was right, wasn’t I?” She lifted her head a few inches and her words were easier to hear now.
“Yes. You were definitely right.”
“Are they going to kill us?” Kendall asked.
“No, honey, they’re not.”
“Are you going to stop them?”
“Yes,” he told her.
“How?” the little girl asked, and she didn’t seem frightened now, just curious.
“Yes, how?” This was from Deena. She was curious too. But she was also very afraid. “How are you going to stop them?”
“I have a plan,” Justin Westwood said. “It needs a little more work, but I have a plan.”