Amnesia (35 page)

“I would assume the company would shut off the service, and pretend it never existed,” Lissa voiced.

“They do, but it isn’t always that clear cut. You see cell phones aren’t like landlines, where they tie the service to the location, instead they tie the service to the number. Once the number is activated, the service is established. The phone itself is irrelevant. That way you can reuse the phone when you start a new service, instead of buying a new one, or even just tie the same number to another piece of hardware if you upgrade.”

“Isn’t that what they do in the case of a missing phone?” cut in Lissa.

“Yes and no. In the case of someone stealing a phone, you had to cut the old account off entirely, because you can’t have two phones with the same number, and since you can’t reprogram the missing phone, you just turn it off.

“Scrubbing is finding one of these old phones, and turning it back on, with no record of it anywhere. That’s what a lot of drug runners will do in cases just like these, when someone finds them or their phone. Basically, the phone, the number, and the account don’t exist on paper, so they don’t exist. One of the ironies of our new information age.”

“Let me get this straight,” Robbie queried, “all they had to do was find a stolen phone, and somehow get it reactivated at the cell phone company. Isn’t that difficult?”

“Not with the Internet and some unscrupulous hackers,” answered Bill. “There’s actually a pretty big business with this type of thing, especially with drug trafficking as it is today.”

“But why don’t they just buy a pre-paid phone from the local Wal-Mart without any paperwork at all?” Robbie went on. “Sure seems a lot easier.”

“That’s pretty common too,” Jack chimed in. “Only there is never such a thing as no paperwork. We can still trace that back to the store it was bought from and when they bought it, then we check the surveillance video and find a picture of the person who did it. For small time crooks that works great because no one really knows them. But in this case it is probably someone that might be recognized.”

“Like Scardoni with that obvious scar,” Bill added. “So the higher end and more public or obvious people go with scrubbing instead.”

“So what do we do now?” asked Lissa, growing more uneasy as the conversation proceeded.

“You go back to my house and get some rest,” Jack answered. “I have a couple of ideas that I need to get checked out, and I want you safe. Robbie, you may as well go home as well. I’m not convinced that you are entirely safe either. In the meantime, Bill gets to earn his salary running a few errands for me. I’ll see you all tomorrow morning at my house at, say, 10:00?”

They all muttered their acquiescence and turned to leave. Lissa and Robbie had almost reached their rented car before Jack called out to them. “Robbie, I did have one last question for you.”

“Sure, Jack, what is it?”

“Did you ever figure out exactly how you ended up in Lake Cascade?”

Robbie wracked his head, trying to remember something, anything that may be a clue as to what happened, but all in vain. “Sorry, Jack. No idea.”

“That’s fine. Do
either of you know how
Robbie was
found
?
”

“Yes,” responded Lissa, “the ambulance driver said that a fisherman pulled him out of the water, and then called 911.”

“Any idea who this fisherman is?”

The couple looked at each other, the implication dawning on them, but shaking their heads.

“An interesting thing about 911 calls,” Jack said as he turned to leave, “they are all recorded and traced.”

*
             
             
*
             
             
*

The ball was a mighty success. Echoes of music rang in the air, gowns swayed from twirling dancers. The roar of jubilant chatter nearly drowned out the words of the handsome man standing at the dais at the front of the room, the placement specifically chosen for this purpose.

“Friends, friends, please,” Gregg Windham called loudly, though still unintelligible over the din. A few of the people directly in front of the speaker turned to face him and quieted their conversations. The room was filled with beautiful people dressed in their most elegant, showing off their wonderful appearance, exquisite taste, and preponderance of wealth. Each gentleman wore a slick tuxedo, tailor fitted to enhance the beauty of both the clothing and the wearer. The ladies standing beside them wore gowns contrived by the most famous designers and produced in the most elite shops. Even their footwear was of the most exclusive brands worldwide. Money was flaunted and massaged by this crowd; no expense was spared to show them in the greatest possible light.

Slowly the silence rippled through the crowd until finally the noise was low enough for the orator to be heard. The only sounds remaining were the tinkling and scurrying of caterers busily cleaning away dirty plates and glasses, and refilling drinks for the multitude in attendance. Satisfied that every word and nuance could be received, the man continued his speech to the captive audience.

“My friends, thank-you for coming to our little shindig. It has been a great success— despite the presence of the governor.” A ripple of laughter coursed through the room at the politician’s expense, the crowd enjoying the poke of fun. “Next time we have one of these, we’ll have to have it at the Governor’s Mansion. At least that way the tax-payers can pay for it directly, instead of me having to vote for another raise for myself on the hill.” Again the laughter rose from the crowd, the senator their favored son, proving his wit and skill as their spokesman. He waited for the laughter to subside before continuing.

“Now I hate to end this wonderful evening on a sour note, but I wanted to tell you all personally that I have called a press conference for ten AM tomorrow morning, where I will be announcing my decision to withdraw from the senatorial race coming up next November.” Cries of protestation and disbelief rose up from the listeners, forcing him to pause until they again quieted at the urging of the pacifying gesturing of his upraised arms.

“I know this is coming as quite a shock to all of you, but recent events have shown me that I need to redirect my focus. My family means everything to me, and I almost lost my only child….” He paused a moment, a hard lump forming in his throat at the reminder. The room turned oddly silent, the people accepting the emotion of a distraught father. Momentarily he regained control of himself enough to complete his message.

“Of course this doesn’t mean you’ve seen the last of me. I hear the vacancy of a judgeship is forthcoming, and I might need to dip into your bottomless pockets for a little extra support.” His small joke broke the tension of the moment, and a gracious chuckle filled the room.

“Once again, thank-you for coming tonight, and thank-you for the last sixteen years. God bless Idaho, and God bless America!” Shouts of “hear-hear” and other sounds of approval echoed in the large chamber as the crowd drank to the toast, and then chaos again reigned as the party broke up and the attendees began to file slowly out of the door.

Tawny stood numbly at the door, bidding her visitors farewell, wondering what they must think of her family now. She was in too much shock to feel anything, and mechanically accepted the well-wishes of Idaho’s political elite. Before she awakened from her stupor the large home was conspicuously empty and completely silent, save the cleaning of the crew hired for the occasion.

She stood woodenly next to the door, uncertain what she was to do at this point, wondering what a woman stripped of her crown was supposed to do. There were occasions in Europe that the royals had abdicated the throne, but she had no idea what became of them afterwards.

She slowly walked through the house and out into the back garden overlooking the lights of the city, feeling devoid of life, as if there was nothing left to her now but broken dreams. She had lived her entire life in the production of her fantasy. It was just coming into her reach when Gregg had taken it all and thrown it away.

The thought broke through her stupefaction with a sudden rage at the man that had done this to her. He had no right to do this to her after all she had done for him. A simple little backward hick molded into the perfect statesman with the ability to gain the White House by the time he was in his early fifties. She had shown him a glimpse of the world, and he had thrown it away like yesterday’s garbage.

She paced around the patio, fuming at the injustice. What on earth had he been thinking? Was he really so selfish that he took no thought of her needs before doing something so rash? Just who does he think he is doing this to her? Maybe she should throw him out and find someone else. Someone like Darrion Stanton. Now that was a man that understood these things.

Bringing up Darrion in her thinking reminded her of the conversation they had shared earlier about him getting together with Beverley. Perhaps that would be a way of still living her dream. Now that would be a good match for them all. Only Beverley was hung up on that nasty Peter Frindle.

Once again bile rose in her throat as she thought of the work she had put in to separate those two. Her daughter was just as selfish and backward thinking as her father. If only she would listen to reason and get rid of that little Mormon boy, and get together with a real man like Darrion. Oh, but she knew she wouldn’t, the ungrateful little brat.

Her pacing picked up as her anger grew, her lovely legs crossing the width of the garden, her usual attractive face drawn up into an ugly angry scowl as she thought of Beverley and her recent antics. Her precious little daughter; so headstrong and stubborn, unwilling to even consider someone else’s perspective. You’d think that being kidnapped, and who knew what else, by that evil man would have brought her to her senses. But not Beverley, oh no, she had to become even more bullheaded than before. Maybe it would have been better if something worse had happened to her. Maybe it would all be alright if she had just died instead of coming home at all.

Tawny stopped short at the realization of what she had just thought. She was shocked she would ever even think such a thing. Was she really so caught up in her own little world that she would rather have her only daughter dead rather than jeopardize her trivial dreams? She reeled in horror as she realized she would.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she admitted her follies to herself, and she dropped down to the newly watered grass, oblivious to the wetness or the stains to her expensive dress. Sobs wracked her body as she revisited all she had done to her daughter, unadulterated selfishness in the name of parenting.

She relived the confrontation when she had destroyed the religious book and tracts, ostensibly to protect her daughter, but in reality, to protect her dream, a dream that was beginning to appear more nightmarish than euphoric.

Then there was the episode in Peter Frindle’s hospital room. Was she really so low she was willing to pay a man to not see her daughter. In her heart she knew that was exactly the type of person she was.

That thought was quickly replaced by the memory of the argument they’d had, including the accusation of being pregnant, just moments after Beverley had returned home from the worst nightmare of her life. Or was it the worst? Could it have possibly been worse than the horrors of living with a mother like her all of these years?

These and many other memories raced through Tawny’s mind as she sat wracked with sobs, rocking back and forth on the lawn. It was like someone had pulled away a veil of forgetfulness from her mind, forcing her into a bright recollection of all her guilt, and the pain felt like it would rip her apart.

Then she caught hold of another memory, one of a beautiful young woman in a pink terry robe kneeling before her, pleading with her to listen to her heart, later holding her and declaring her love, despite all her mother had done to her. She could clearly see the intensity and sincerity in her lovely daughter’s eyes as she begged her mother to simply love and accept her.

New sobs broke out, her hurting ribs heaving again with their intensity, feeling as if they would pull themselves free of the constraining chest from the force of the wailing. Yet she couldn’t stop the torrent if she wanted, and she had no desire to curtail the experience, unconsciously knowing that it was necessary if she were to ever receive any sort of absolution from her sins.

Suddenly she felt the overwhelming desire to see Beverley and plead for forgiveness, knowing she didn’t deserve it, but yearning for it with every fiber of her being. She decided right than that no matter what her daughter wanted for her life, not only would she not stand in her way, but also she would gladly throw her entire self into ensuring it happened. Whether it be wealth, political savvy, emotional support, or simply all the love a mother could generate for her offspring, her daughter’s welfare would forever be her utmost concern.

She jumped up from the grass and ran through the house to the stairs. She bounded up the stairs as quickly as she could in her present outfit, and burst through her daughter’s door, belatedly wondering if she should have knocked. She raced over to her bed, and placed her hands gently on the sleeping girl’s shoulders.

Beverley woke with a shock, fearing her abductor had returned, but calmed quickly when she recognized her mother. That feeling was quickly substituted by concern as she noted the tear and mascara stained face, runny nose, disheveled hair and winded breathing.