Bay of Deception (18 page)

During a visit to his grandfather in England while a boy, he’d tried to stay awake till 4:00am when, according to the old man, the wolves would howl loud enough to wake the dead.  He hadn’t lasted much past midnight, yet his grandfather had sworn the following day the wolves' howling could be heard for miles.  Many years later on stakeouts around the Los Angeles area, he’d passed the wolf’s hour with little noise and even less howling.  Yet if he was awake during that ungodly time, he never failed to think of the old man.

He threw his robe on now, found his slippers and made his way into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.  Despite being awake for close to forty-eight hours, he’d stayed with Jenny through her three hour surgery, dozing in the waiting room until a Dr. Grant had woke him. 

“She’ll probably remain unconscious well into the morning, Detective Peidmont,”  Grant’s voice had held that busy quality to it, as if he was economizing each phrase. 

“I wouldn’t stop by till at least noon tomorrow.  She won’t be up for visitors for several days but you can at least check in on her.” 

Oh God, Doc, that’s great, really!"  A fifty pound weight had seemed to lift off his chest at that moment. “Thank you!” 

The doctor turned to go, but Oliver reached out and touched his arm. “What kind of long term damage is she looking at doc?”

For the first time the weary doctor smiled.

“Not much in the long run, Detective.  Her body's healing powers will throw everything it can to deal with her damaged abdomen and stomach.  As long as the infection is dealt with, she’ll be back on her feet in a couple of weeks.”   

Oliver frowned. “Infection?  An infection’s set in already?”

"Yes," the doctor nodded reluctantly.  "Unfortunately when the bullet pierced her stomach, small amounts of food entered her system and have brought about a mild infection.  But she’s young, Detective, her body can fight off a mild infection easily.”

He’d been permitted to go in then, having made sure both policemen were stationed at the door before allowing himself the luxury of sitting at her bedside.  She’d looked like hell, no two ways about it; her blonde hair still matted with blood and her face a patchwork of bruises and cuts.  Jenny’s recovery, he understood, would be a long slow process. It was then the tears had come, spilling onto the hospital bed until a young nurse had arrived and gently sent him home. 

Now, as the Hour of the Wolf passed, he poured the steaming black coffee into a marginally clean Monterey Aquarium mug, then stirred in milk and sugar to make it palatable. Hooking a nearby chair with his right foot, he pulled it closer and rested both legs, watching the digital clock atop the microwave blink 4:14am several times before it clicked over to 4:15am. He took a sip of coffee and felt the liquid burn all the way down.  Setting the mug down, he rubbed his eyes and thought about the last several days.  He took a smaller sip and this time, enjoyed the stream of heat as it worked its way downward. 

This is my first real chance to make sense of it all,
he thought,
while not being chased, shot at or beaten.
  He settled back against the chair in the semi-darkness of his small kitchen and began this process, slowly going through four more cups of coffee before the sun made its presence known throughout the house.

Two miles away, in a run-down Cannery Row motel, Collin McKenny sat watching the sunrise over the bay.  Try as he might, he could not remember where he lived or who with.  His driver’s license listed the Pacific Grove address, which he had found sealed by the police, pending their investigation.  That had forced him to spend the night here.  He’d slept well enough and the previous day's angst seemed distant, even foolish. What he’d been so uptight about really was lost to him, he was who he was and there was no fighting that. 

The closer he’d come to JenelCo, the more disoriented he’d become until finally in the elevator with Peidmont, his skin had felt as if it might crawl off of him.  He was just lucky Peidmont had run out towards the crying, and he’d quickly rushed the elevator back up.

A girl in the parking lot named Veronica, who he’d obviously known before had offered a ride into town where he’d picked up a cab.  Now, a few hours later he was here, paying tourist rates for a room which lacked any sense of style or taste, only blocky furniture, pale, faded drapes and an abundance of brochures for outdoor activities of all kinds: from kayaking, sailing and biking to a tour of locations filmed on or around the Monterey Peninsula.

Reaching over to the night stand, he picked up the sorry looking remote and aimed it at the television that seemed to deal only in red, green and brown colors of the spectrum.  Settling back, McKenny began channel surfing through some of the local news shows.  It wasn’t long before a neighboring Salinas station featured the Peninsula’s top news story: the murder of JenelCo’s founder and the cop, Cory Hana.  He lay hearing the words, yet nothing touched him until Jenel’s photo appeared at the right corner of the screen.  

“What the...”  McKenny squinted as the announcer’s face grew blurry and a sharp pain lanced through his head.  “Ahhhhh!”   He dropped the remote and gripped his head with both hands.  Just as suddenly, the pain lifted as his old self thrust to the surface of his mind, while his newborn conscience slipped once more below the surface.

McKenny looked at the screen and blinked a final time, seeing what seemed like the best Christmas gift anyone could ask for: the death of his boss.  Memories of the last two days swept over him as his mind made sense of it, all while he basked in the sweet knowledge of Jenel’s death.

“That bitch did it!"  he said, giddily.  "She really did it!  In a single day I’ve gotten rid of my wife
and
my boss!!!” 

His laughing took on the sound of a kid on Christmas morning, but then the messy business of breaking the cop’s neck came to mind. 
Oh well
, he thought,
they can't arrest me if they can't find me.
  He spun around and picked up the phone and dialed Courtney’s number. 

Surprisingly, she answered the phone on only the fourth ring.  

“Hello?”

Her voice sounded odd, distant. “Courtney, it’s Collin.”

“Collin?”  There was a pause, then, “I don’t believe this!”

He ignored her tone and began planning off the top of his head.

“Courtney, get packed, we’re heading to L.A.  I’m at a cheap motel on Foam Street so I’ll need you to pick me up.”  He looked at the one page breakfast flyer and found the motel’s address but didn’t get a chance to read it to her.

“You fucking idiot!”  Her husky voice started low, but soon began to rise.  “Your last early morning call got me hauled into the Monterey Police Station for five hours.  Five hours while some low life cop kept asking me why a wanted felon called my house at six in the morning.”  Collin held the phone away as her voice continued its climb into the higher octaves.  “They found my drugs, my supplier’s names and it took all of my father’s influence to just get me out.  I go before a judge in a month and daddy says I’ll have to probably do community service for six months!!!” 

She was screaming now. “On top of that, I have to get a job!  A
fucking
job
!  Because of
you
, Daddy’s cut me off for a whole year and if I get into any more trouble, that’ll be it!” 

Her breathing had become ragged now and as she took a deep intake of breath, Collin couldn’t resist a final dig.

“Cheer up, Courtney!  Down on Fremont Street, there’s lots of guys looking for your
special
kind of talent.”  

He laughed as her shouting grew hysterical just before the sound of breaking glass and the line went dead.

“Oh, Courtney,” he chuckled as he settled the phone into its cradle.  “You really have no idea how much a decent cell phone costs.”

Paul Jeffers sat facing the telephone, staring as if at some kind of hypnotic cobra.  As Vice-President of JenelCo, the sudden death of his boss had assured his own promotion to President of JenelCo, with approval from The Consortium.  That his success came from the demise of another, hadn’t bothered him at all.  Indeed, he’d felt a certain satisfaction that Jenel had died of a heart attack, brought on by a solid kick to the balls.  A silly kid-like grin spread across his face as he thought of Jenel curled up, gasping for breath, but then the crumpled sheaf of papers had fallen at his feet.

Not wanting to wait till morning for a duplicate set of keys, it had taken Jeffers nearly a half hour to pry Jenel’s sturdy antique desk open.  Once the drawer slid free, the weathered document had fallen before him like a bad omen.  When he’d spread out the wrinkled pages, a detailed outline of The Consortium faced him.  As he'd read, a growing sense of unease coursed through him.  Sweat trailed down his long brow when he’d finished reading what should have never existed.

The unwritten code, according to Jenel, had always been the chief principle of The Consortium and meant
nothing
connected the companies,
in any way
.  What Jeffers' had just read was not new to him.  What caused the knots in his stomach however, was the number 47 on the top page of the pile.  Where were the previous forty-six pages?

He’d ripped apart the remaining drawers and spent the entire night dissecting Jenel’s files in hopes of finding them.  Once he’d gone through the desk and adjoining file cabinets, he had turned to Jenel’s computer files, files which only top members of The Consortium could grant access to, now that Jenel’s body lay in the city morgue. 

Reluctantly, as if calling angry parents, Jeffers dialed the priority phone number which called the seven members of The Consortium to the video conference, something he'd never participated in and yet would now convene.  Vague to the point of paranoia, Jenel had given him only the phone number to summon the others and a password to initiate the video software program. 

One by one, all eight members of The Consortium logged on, each registering surprise as his unfamiliar image appeared on their own computers.  Seeing that a stranger had just crashed their syndicate, reactions were interesting.  A raised eyebrow, a flushed face, an amused tight-lipped smile and one balding, red-faced man who refused to make eye contact. 

Jeffers wondered what city or state each member called from.  He saw only well dressed professional men and women before him.  The layout seemed familiar but eluded him until the old Hollywood Squares game show came to mind, and he couldn’t help but smile seeing that it was his face occupying the center square. 

The individual faces, stacked in three rows on his monitor, lacked only a laugh track and an announcer.  Then his realization that these six men and two women controlled untold billions of dollars in government contracts snuffed out his smile and he got down to business.

“Gentleman and ladies, my name is Paul Jeffers and I am Senior Vice President of JenelCo.” 

Even on a computer screen, his was an imposing figure and he felt a familiar confidence.

“I have," he stated flatly, "the unfortunate task of informing you all that Mr. Jenel is dead."

Allowing time for this news to sink in, all eight members appeared flabbergasted, registering shock, fear and on one squat rounded man, a pleasing smile.  After a moment had passed, the more attractive of the two woman spoke from the lower right square.

“Mr. Jeffers, my name is Ms. Thompson.” Her voice had the warm touch of a debutante.  Her eyes, however, were those of a shark.  “Could you explain how you know of our little...
club
?”

Jeffers smiled at her.

“Mr. Jenel brought me into this circle several years ago once he realized I could be trusted.  He foresaw this possibility and left instructions on how to continue The Consortium’s work in Monterey.” 

“Bloody hell!”

A pudgy red-faced man exploded at the screen’s top left.  “If you think you can step into Jenel’s shoes just like that, you’ve rot in your head.”  

“Conley,” Ms. Thompson hissed at the man. “Quit jumping to conclusions!  I think it was brilliant of Jenel to take precautions against this event.” 

“You would, Barbara,” the other woman of the group commented from the bottom center square.  She resembled a hard version of actress Sharon Stone.  “You’ve wanted control of the Monterey Branch since Jenel brought you in seven years ago.” 

“Perhaps, Cecily," Thompson responded icily.  "But it seems control only comes to you, in liquid form.”  Her face grew larger as she leaned toward the camera.  “Is that your good friend, Jack Daniels with you?” 

Jeffers watched the tip of a whisky bottle disappear below a mortified and from then on, very quiet Cecily.

Ms. Thompson didn't bother to hide her smile.  “Go on, Mr. Jeffers, tell us what happened.” 

He proceeded to give his version of Jenel being shot by Mrs. McKenny, embellishing the story with a love affair gone wrong between the two of them and ended by telling them of the unfortunate death of Detective Hana and her condition in intensive care.  When he finished, the man with salt and pepper hair in the middle left of the screen spoke.

“I believe Jenel was unmarried, so I’ll dispense with the pleasantries.  My name's Richard Caldwell, Mr. Jeffers and what we need to know is what kind of position is JenelCo in now?  Has our operation been compromised?” 

Jeffers recognized Caldwell’s Harvard-generated accent and guessed the Blue Blood had been Jenel’s heir apparent.  Jeffers also suspected that his answer to Caldwell’s question would determine whether he would be promoted or left to languish in his old position.  He released the Consortium summary, pushing it away like an unwanted child. 

“Other than the ongoing investigation and the arrest of Mrs. McKenny, all is well. The police see this as a crime of passion which caught one of their own in the middle. In addition, I have several key sources in and around Monterey to steer undue attention away from JenelCo, should that occur." 

“
Very good
, Jeffers!” Caldwell beamed. “
Very
good.  Members, I propose a closed conference to determine our next course of action.”  Heads nodded and one by one, the squares on the screen blurred and grew silent until only the image of the Thompson woman remained.

“Please stand by, Mr. Jeffers, we’ll be with you shortly.” 

She too faded to an unrecognizable blur and he sat in silence, finding with a start that the summary was back in his hand somehow.  As if they could bite, he threw the pages onto the floor and returned to brooding over their existence for the next ten minutes.

“Mr. Jeffers.” 

Caldwell’s voice pulled him back to the present and he found that six of the eight members were now absent.  Only Ms. Thompson and Caldwell remained, both larger now as they shared his screen.  Surprisingly, she seemed even more stunning while Caldwell, his creased forehead and crow’s feet now visible, appeared markedly older.

“Yes,” he said, focusing on the Blue Blood.

“We’ve decided to make you temporary CEO of JenelCo while we confirm your report.”  Caldwell paused. “You understand the need for such confirmation?”

Jeffers nodded. “Completely, in fact I expected it.”

“Mr. Jeffers," Ms. Thompson smiled carnivorously at him.  “Do not do anything out of the ordinary, simply conduct business as usual.  We are sending you a package via express mail and should arrive by the end of the business today.  Wear this communication device at all times and have it near you when disrobed.  No exceptions, is that clear?”

“Yes, perfectly. Business as usual.”

“Very Good, Jeffers, we’re counting on you and we’ll be in touch soon.”  Silently the two faded from his screen.

Jeffers sat back and sighed.  Caldwell’s fatherly confidence struck him as odd and had he imagined the chemistry between Ms. Thompson and himself?  He was left with these questions, along with the incomplete summary of the Consortium and had little idea of what to do about any of them. 

“Mrs. McKenny?”

My body is gone, Jenny thought.  It’s been replaced by a large collection of dull aches.  She heard her name called again and, without thinking, turned her head.  This proved a poor decision as the pain in her belly found an equal partner somewhere between her still closed eyes.

“Mrs. McKenny?”  The disembodied voice responded to her movement.  “My name is Agent Benson.  I’m with the FBI.”   Jenny hoped the agent didn’t expect a response.  “I was the boss of a friend of yours, Carol Montoya.” 

Jenny forced her eyes open and stared at the stranger next to her bed.  She gathered what little strength remained, opened her mouth and uttered the only word she could.  “What?”  Even then it barely amounted to a whisper.

Benson nodded.  “Carol was working undercover at JenelCo before she was murdered.” 

She blinked once, then again as unwanted tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Mrs. McKenny.”  He placed his hand on hers lying immobile on the bed.  “I am determined to find her murderer and I believe the answers are at JenelCo.” 

A heavy-set nurse walked through the door, stopped abruptly at the scene before her, then bustled up to Benson. 

“Mister,
what
are you doing in here?”  Her voice had an excitable edge. “It’s another three hours before visitors are allowed.  You need to leave right this minute! 

“I’m with the FBI.”  He waved a badge at the nurse.

“Wanda,” as her name tag read, was unimpressed. 

“Tell it to my supervisor, James Bond.  This nice lady’s about to have a sponge bath and I don’t care if you’re with the FBI, CIA or the PTA, you won’t be here for
that
.” 

She turned her considerable girth toward the flustered agent and began herding him through the door, past the two policeman standing guard.  Both snickered openly at the agent, who’d threatened both their jobs trying to gain entrance.  Even so, it had taken a call from Chief Dawson before they’d let him pass.

“Mrs. McKenny,” the agent said as he stumbled out the door, “I’ll come by later this afternoon.” 

As the door shut, the nurse answered for Jenny.

“Don’t bother, 007, she’ll be asleep for the next day or so. Better yet, write a letter.  You’ll find a nice selection of cards in the hospital gift shop.”  Wanda’s tone communicated just how serious she was and told Jenny she’d found a friend. 

Collin stepped free of the small hotel lobby and into the morning air as the cab pulled up.  His head had begun to ache again and forced him to dig through his pockets for the remaining aspirin delivered to his room.  The throbbing headache had affected his vision, robbing him of television.  Only when he allowed his mind to drift did his eyesight return to normal.  He popped the small tablets in and swallowed them dry. 

He climbed into the cab, gave the address and shut the door as quietly as possible.  In his fifties, balding and fairly thick around the middle, the seamy-looking driver turned without comment after hearing the address and steered his vehicle through the littered parking lot.  Collin rubbed his temples and hoped relief would come soon.  He’d never experienced a migraine before but suspected that his first was making itself known.  He leaned his head against the head rest and closed his aching eyes.

“Morning, Ollie,”  Williams looked up as Peidmont entered his office.  Williams closed the manila folder and took off his ancient reading glasses.  “I just finished Willy’s report on what happened, at least from his end of things.  Can I expect something similar from you today?” 

“Yeah, Chief, no problem,” Oliver said, distracted.

Williams cocked an eye at him. “It should shed some light on our friends over at JenelCo. Maybe even tell us what’s so important about those documents Willy was searching for.” 

Oliver nodded, quietly staring out the window. 

“I know about those papers Chief,” he said after a moment.  “Right now, I’m more concerned about Jenny.  What evidence are we looking at?”

Williams set Willy’s report aside and pulled another identical folder from a pile to his right and passed it over. 

“Ballistics confirm that the weapon which had Mrs. McKenny’s prints all over it was also used to kill Jenel and Hana.  The bullet taken from Mrs. McKenny’s stomach matched Hana’s service revolver, as well.”

“Pretty damning on the surface, I’d say.”  It was worse than Oliver had feared.

“Yes and no.”  Williams swung his glasses like a pendulum.

Oliver looked at his boss.  “Tell me about the 'No' part.” 

The Chief rocked back in his chair for a minute, his glasses continuing to swing in time by their delicate arms. 

“In the last three days, no less than four people have been murdered, all of them connected to JenelCo in some way.  Something mighty big must be stirring over there to cause that kind of carnage.”  Williams' eyes narrowed.  “Something to do with Fort Ord and the government contracts they rely on, perhaps.”  Williams stopped rocking.  “Is that what those papers were all about?”