Finder's Fee

May 12, 9:30 a.m.

A phone rang.

Not quite a ring.

More of a chirp.

It sounded muted.

Judith Find looked at her desk phone. No lights shone on any of the lines.

It chimed again.

Snapping open her handbag, she removed a thin cell phone. The display was dark and empty.

Again she heard the tones.

“What — ”

She let her ears lead her, turning her head slightly. The sound came from the top of her desk. She pushed over a neat stack of padded envelopes. She always had padded envelopes on her desk — fabric samples, videos of her television ads, samples of paints, finishes, and more. It was part of being America's interior design diva. She glanced at the labels. Two she recognized from furniture design firms she worked with. One package had been marked PRIVATE. It bore her name and company on a plain three-inch-by-four-inch adhesive label. There was no return address.

The ringing stopped.

Judith stared at the package. Why would someone put a cell phone —

The sound resumed, pushing its way through the paper and plastic that sealed it in.

“This is nuts.” She lifted the package. It felt light. Without another thought, she ripped open the envelope then stopped. Her mind raced back to that guy who sent bombs to people in the mail. What was his name? Kuzy … Kinsey … Kaczynski. That was it. Theodore Kaczynski.

Thoughts of biological contaminates, bombs, and worse flashed on her mind. She should have been more careful. The world held a lot of nutcases who hated the successful and wealthy, some enough to wish someone like her bodily harm.

But the deed had been done. The open package rested in her hands. No dust emanated from the ragged opening, no fire started, and thankfully, no loud boom announced the loss of her limbs and life.

Again the phone sounded.

Judith peeked in the package and saw a small flip cell phone. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” She extracted the noisy device.

Ring!

The small monochrome screen read, Unknown.

Ring!

She snapped the phone open and held it to her head. “Who is this?”

Silence.

The vague hum of an open line wafted from speaker to ear. “I said, who is — ”

“If you hang up, then he will die.”

A pause.

Judith's gut twisted and squirmed as if filled with wriggling worms.

“What? I don't — ”

“This is not a gag. This is not a prank. If you hang up, he will die. If you do not do exactly as I instruct, then he will die. If you understand say, ‘Yes.' ”

“I demand to know who is speaking.”

Pause.

She started to speak again when —

“This is not a gag. This is not a prank. If you hang up, he will die. If you do not do exactly as I instruct, then he will die. If you understand say, ‘Yes.' ”

Word for word, the same message. Even the inflection remained consistent. No sign of annoyance. A recording. A computer-operated recording with voice recognition like those used by the phone company and other businesses.

“This is not a gag. This is not a prank. If you hang up, he will die. If you do not do exactly as I instruct, then he will die. If you understand say, ‘Yes.' ”

“Yes.”

“February 27. You know the date. You know what you did. If you understand say, ‘Yes.' ”

Judith's stomach stopped turning. It seized as did her heart and lungs.

“February 27. You know the date — ”

“Yes.” She snapped the word like a knife thrust.

Pause.

“At precisely 11:00 a.m. you will drive alone to Hutch's Diner. You will order a bowl of chili. A man will meet you. Wait for the envelope. If you understand say, ‘Yes.' ”

Judith melted into her chair, her legs no longer able to support her. “Yes.”

“I know your secret. If you defy me, then the world will know. If you go to the police, then he will die. If you talk to the media, then he will die. If you talk to anyone about this matter, then he will die. If you understand then say, ‘Yes.' ”

She did. Questions flew through her mind. Who would die? Why her? How did the person who set up this call know
her secret? Why go to such elaborate means? Asking questions was useless. She wasn't talking to a person; she was listening to a machine. Nothing of heart and blood there. The same could be said for whoever thought of this game.

A game. In the center of her mind she knew this wasn't an amusement.

“You have a gas fireplace in your office. Place the phone and envelope in the fireplace. Close the glass screen. Turn on the fireplace gas and igniter. If you don't, then he will die. If you understand — ”

“Yes.”

The connection dropped.

Judith rose from her chair feeling as if she had gained five hundred pounds in the last sixty seconds, retrieved the envelope, dropped the cell phone in it, and walked to the fireplace.

She felt stupid obeying an electronic voice as if the man behind it were standing in the room with her. Was she being watched? She stopped and looked around the office. Every-thing looked in place, but then again, if a professional industry spy had infiltrated her office and planted a camera or listening device, she wouldn't be able to tell. What did she know of such things? Still, she forced her eyes to trace every foot of the expansive room. If she was being watched, then she had better comply.

Compliance did not come easy to her. Independent most of her life, she had developed a stubborn streak, something only her late husband had been able to control.

A sense of defiance rose within her and she felt the heat of anger radiate from her face. For several long seconds she considered returning to her desk and calling the police, despite the vile warnings. But something — intuition? — warned her not to.

She finished the last few steps to the fireplace and set the package down on the marble hearth, pulled open the glass shields, and pushed back the chain-mail screen. The shaking of her hand surprised her. At the moment she felt only fury, but fear had not let go.

Lifting the envelope, Judith studied it, looking for any clues she might be destroying and found none. She set the package with its cargo of cell phone on the simulated wood logs. The logs were made of concrete but looked as real as anything found in a forest.

Judith closed the metal link screen and the glass doors and stepped to a control panel mounted on the wall to the right of the fireplace, then punched two buttons: HIGH and IGNITE. The soft hiss of natural gas reached her ears then the snap, snap, snap of the electric igniter. Two seconds later, flames erupted from the burner and lapped at the concrete logs and the envelope they supported.

Judith watched, stunned into inaction, as the fire ate at the edges of the package. The paper burned in odd colors, green and blue, then erupted with enough force to rattle the glass screen.

It had been no ordinary envelope. Within a minute's span, the envelope and cell phone were engulfed in a furious blaze that burned hotter than it should. Three minutes later all that remained were ashes.

And the day had started off so normal.

May 12, 9:10 a.m. — twenty minutes earlier

The brass-clad elevator doors parted and Judith Find poured from its compartment. Unlike the elevators others used in the Find, Inc., building, this conveyance carried only
her or one of her three vice presidents. That perk came with owning the ten-story building. Ten stories might be small compared to other office structures in the megalopolis of Los Angeles thirty-five miles to the west, but here in Ontario, California, it stood proud.