Matters of Doubt (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-nine

The man came around to face us in the dim light. Anna sucked a breath. He wore a black knit cap, and his eyes were shadowed in their sockets, but I recognized that angular face and sharp chin. Howard Krebbs grinned out at us, light reflecting off the barrel of his gun.

He said, “Okay, we're going to go back to the parking lot. Just turn around slowly and walk. And keep your mouths
shut
. If you try anything
,
I'll shoot you both.” He stepped in behind Anna. “Starting with Doc here.”

Fear tightened around my throat like a noose. I tried to push down the sense of panic and think clearly. There's no question why we're being kidnapped, I told myself. The only question is—when will he kill us? If it's when we reach the parking lot, then I should make a desperate, probably suicidal, move right now. But if he wants to know how much we know, then we just might buy some time. I decided to wait, hoping against hope for the latter.

As we started toward the lot, I thought about Archie. If Krebbs marched us past my car, I might be able to call him out and create a distraction. Were the windows down? I wasn't sure. But that's stupid, I told myself. He's no attack dog and wouldn't go after Krebbs on my command. And by the time he figured out what was going on, it would be too late for him and us.

Krebbs took us to the opposite end of the lot, so the opportunity never presented itself. I was filled with fear but felt a sharp stab of sadness. What would become of my dog?

We stopped at a weather-beaten Chevy Malibu parked in the shadows. I was sure it was the second car I'd spotted that had been following us on our way here. Someone in the car must have been watching my apartment while Krebbs waited here in ambush. The door opened, and the tall blond waitress with the tough demeanor from the poker club got out, carrying a roll of duct tape. Her face was pulled into a kind of eerie half-smile, and when she glanced at me her eyes seemed glazed, like she was high on something. They exchanged the revolver and the tape, and while she held the gun on us, Krebbs crossed my wrists behind my back and taped them tightly before shoving me toward the Malibu.

The blond woman muttered, “Cell phones and keys.” Apparently, she wasn't that whacked out.

“Right,” Krebbs said. He patted us down, and after taking both phones and sets of keys, popped the trunk, looked at me and said, “Get in.”

Anna said,
“
No, Howard! He can't breathe in there.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he shot back, glaring at her. Then he pushed me again. “Get in the trunk, or I'll hurt her. And listen, Claxton, Doc will be riding in the backseat with a gun in her side. If you make as much as a peep in there, she'll pay for it. Are we clear?”

I nodded, lifted one leg tentatively, then balanced a foot on the lip of the trunk and leaned forward. From behind, Krebbs lifted then shoved me hard with an audible grunt. I tumbled in face-first with my hands locked behind my back. The trunk lid came down with a thud. My face wound up jammed against the wiry carpet covering the floor of the trunk. It smelled like grease and dust, and it chafed my skin. Anna was right—I couldn't breathe, at least at first. Fighting to control the panic of near asphyxiation, I turned my head just enough to free up one nostril. Breath rhythmically, I told myself. Calm yourself.

I was terrified at this point, but anger dwarfed my fear.

The Malibu eased out of the parking lot and turned left, which meant we were headed north on Sixth
Avenue. Desperate to control my fear, I tried to concentrate on where the car was taking us. We took another quick left, which must have been onto Glisan, then went ten or twelve blocks before heading north again. This had to put us on the west side of the 405. After another long stretch, we turned left and pulled into what felt like a driveway, made a right turn and stopped. I guessed we were somewhere in the light industrial area near the far corner of Northwest Portland, where the 405 intersects Route 30.

The car rocked slightly as the doors opened and thumped shut. I tensed up, waiting for the trunk lid to open, but nothing happened. I strained to hear what was going on outside but didn't pick up anything except perhaps the closing of another door. More time passed. It seemed an eternity. Bent at an awkward angle, my neck began to scream with pain. Sweat streamed into my eyes. I feared they would leave me locked in that tomb. Then my fear shifted to Anna. Now she was alone with that bastard. I felt a wave of shame. How could I have been so careless?

Anger and frustration seethed in me, and I narrowly beat back an urge to start flailing and kicking in rage and panic. Breathe! I told myself. Stay centered!

Another eternity passed. The pain in my neck was close to unbearable, my breathing more ragged with each breath. Hot tears of pain mingled with sweat and dripped from my eyes. Suddenly I heard the scraping of feet. The trunk lid popped open and cool, fresh air rushed in. Krebbs yanked me up and helped me out of the trunk while the blond held the gun on me.

They hustled me into the back door of a brick building, some kind of industrial site. A tattered sign at the door read, Bridgetown Roasters. Deliveries Only. I was pushed into a large room with two high windows on each exterior wall. The room was bare except for a small table and several chairs. I could see the outline of where machines of some kind had been bolted to the floor. The aroma of stale coffee hung in the room like a fog.

Anna was sitting in one of the chairs. Her hands were pulled back and taped to the chair stiles, and her feet were taped together, as well. Our eyes found each other, and I mouthed, “I'm sorry,” as Krebbs slammed me down in a chair facing her. I expected to see fear in her eyes, but what I saw, instead, was cold Viking anger.

Krebbs taped me to the chair like Anna. Our two captors left the room and locked the door.

I looked at Anna, then closed my eyes, scowled, and shook my head in a gesture of self-directed anger and apology. She said, “Cal, this wasn't your fault. Howard, or whatever his name is, seems deranged, and that woman, my God, she's high on something.”

We heard Krebbs' voice in the hall. Anna put a finger to her lips. “Shhh. Sounds like he's talking to someone on the phone,” she whispered. We both strained to hear the barely audible words that followed.

“…okay, okay, but now what?” There was a long pause followed by, “Alright, I've got his keys. I'll go there and get his computer and anything else that looks interesting. Yeah, you already told me about the dog. If it makes trouble, I'll kill the fucker. Yeah, I hear you. I'm as anxious to get this over with as you are.”

A chill rippled down my spine. Anna gasped and lost some color in her face. It was pretty clear to both of us what he meant. I whispered, “At least Archie's not in the apartment.” Anna nodded and managed a weak smile.

We sat in stunned silence for a while. Finally, Anna whispered, “Who do you think he was talking to?”

I shook my head. “I don't know. I thought he was working for Vincent, but he's dead. Someone else must be involved, too.” I had my suspicions but didn't say anything to Anna. We'd know soon enough, I figured.

The Chevy started up and backed out of the driveway. I said, “He's going to search my apartment, yours too, maybe. He'll be back.”

“What should we tell him?” Anna asked.

I shrugged. “We don't know anything except that his real name's not Howard Krebbs. So, I guess we just tell the truth.” Not that it matters, I told myself as a sense of utter futility washed over me. They had kidnapped us. There would be no letting us go, no matter what we knew or didn't know.

Chapter Forty

The room fell silent. My hands and feet were bound so tightly to the chair that I had lost all feeling. I wiggled in the chair, trying to use what little movement I could generate to loosen the tape. Anna looked at me expectantly. I rocked and strained as hard as I could, turning, I'm sure, several shades of red and triggering a dull ache above my right eye. Finally, I slumped in the chair, defeated. I looked up at Anna. “Try yours.” She struggled for a few moments, but she was taped as tightly as I was.

We sat there for a while in that awful silence. Anna's head was cast downward. The overhead lights played off the gold streaks running through her hair. I felt a catch in my throat as the memory of the first time I saw her rushed back to me, lifting for a moment, at least, the threat hanging over us. Something about her hair. So damned endearing. No, not really her hair, which was beautiful, but her careless disregard for how it looked. That strand that always seemed draped across her forehead said something about her; a woman with physical beauty but without a trace of vanity. The doubts I'd felt about Anna fell away, and sadness came over me as I glimpsed what could have been. I said, “Tell me about the fjords in Norway.”

She raised her head. The blue in her eyes deepened in that mysterious way, then closing her eyes, she smiled wistfully. “Think of the Gorge, but on a grander scale. Sheer mountains diving down, straight into the water. You get a sense there's no bottom to it, the depth is infinite, the water, the color of the ocean far out to sea.” She smiled more fully, losing herself in memory. “The views. Oh, God
,
the
views.
They go on forever. And the air, it's like crystal. The grandeur of the place, it's…it's just so humbling. All the petty things in your life just drop away.” She shook her head slowly, holding the smile. “That's what it's like.”

I nodded and smiled. For a short period of time I was there, in Norway, with Anna. I met her eyes and held them. “I can't think of any place I'd rather be than there with you.”

We fell silent again. Time passed like the slow drip of water torture. Every time we heard a noise we jumped to attention. Later—I honestly don't know how long—we heard one, possibly two, cars drive in and park behind the building. The back door of the building opened and closed, followed by conversation out in the hall too low to be understood.

A key rattled in our door. It swung open, and Jessica Armandy sauntered in. She was followed by Semyon. He took up a position in the corner of the room, crossed his arms and looked straight ahead with no expression. The right side of his face was still slightly swollen and discolored, and his jaw looked rigid, suggesting it was still wired shut.

I wasn't that shocked to see Armandy and Semyon. After all, very few people in Portland knew I had a dog. But Semyon certainly did. I guess Picasso was right about Semyon, I told myself.

With no makeup, Armandy looked at least ten years older in the harsh fluorescent light. Her colorless, collagen-packed lips were drawn up in a tight line, and patches of finely etched wrinkles nested at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She wore a thin leather jacket over a t-shirt, tight jeans, and high black boots.

She sighed theatrically, looked at Anna, then at me, and shook her head. “I should be getting my beauty rest right now,” she said, gesturing toward us, “But no, I have to deal with this freaking mess.” Her eyes narrowed, boring in on me. “You just had to keep poking around in my business, didn't you, Claxton? Saving that homeless kid was all you could think about.” Her look turned genuinely puzzled. “You know, I just can't understand why you would stick your neck out for someone like him.” She gestured with her hands, palms up. “I mean, what's a drugged-out, homeless punk to you, anyway?”

Anna said, “You could
never
understand that.”

Armandy swung her gaze to Anna and smiled coldly. “I'll tell you what I can't understand—I can't understand you imitating Mother Teresa. What a waste of a good body.”

Color rose in Anna's neck and into her face. She glanced at me and started to speak. I gave a quick shake of my head to stop her. This conversation wasn't going to help us at all. I said, “You're jumping the gun here, Jessica. We don't know what this is all about. I was just trying to locate Krebbs as part of my investigation. Let us walk now, and we'll forget this ever happened. We don't want any trouble with you.”

She pulled her mouth into an ugly sneer, “Oh, sure you'll forget this ever happened. Fat chance. You're like the goddamn Energizer Bunny, Claxton. I can't afford to let you back on the street.” She turned back to Anna and added, “And as for you, Doctor, you're just collateral damage. It's too bad. You'd go far in my line of work.”

In a strong, even voice, Anna said, “I pity you.”

Jessica attempted a smile, but it turned bitter and her right eye twitched. “Well, don't.”

I said, “Look, Jessica, we don't know anything. As far as I'm concerned, Vincent killed Conyers, and he's dead now. Let's just leave it at that. No harm, no foul.”

Her eyes narrowed. She looked at Anna, then back to me. “Well, judging from your computer and the papers in your briefcase, I agree you don't know much.” She laughed, and it came out bitter again. “But, you know I can't take that chance, Claxton. You crossed the line.

“At least let Dr. Eriksen go. She's had nothing to do with this.”

She swung her gaze back to Anna and shook her head. “You picked the wrong lover, honey. Don't blame me.”

Anna glared back at her with a fierceness I didn't know she possessed. “You won't get away with this.”

Jessica turned to leave. Desperate to keep her talking, I said, “What do you hope to gain from all this?”

She spun back around to face us, her eyes blazing. She smiled, successfully this time, clearly pleased I'd asked the question. “Ownership of all three restaurants, for starters, and a free hand to expand my escort business up and down the west coast. See, Mitch was a shitty businessman, and I wound up loaning him a lot of money and owning a good chunk of his holdings. Then he went all soft for Bambi and wanted to dump me and get out of the escort business. Well, I couldn't let that happen. Hell, my escort business makes more money than his lousy restaurants.

“So, you had him murdered,” Anna said.

Jessica looked at Anna, then me, opened her hands and shook her head. “I really didn't have a choice. I had too much invested. And when your snake boy threw that tantrum at his mom's memorial service, the perfect way to do it just came to me. I love it when that happens.”

I said, “Then all you had was Seth Foster to worry about.”

Jessica laughed and shook her head again. “Oh, so true. I thought I was going to have to marry him to get the whole package.” She paused and looked directly at me. “But then you showed me the way out of that little dilemma. I had no idea Mitch was blackmailing Larry Vincent, so thank you for that. You see, Seth has serious anger issues, so all I had to do was convince him Vincent killed his stepbrother.”

Anna gasped. “My God, you have no shame.”

She put her hands on her hips, glared back at Anna, smiling triumphantly. “
Shame?
It was my finest hour, dear. And don't think it was easy. Hell, I should get an Oscar for my performance. I cried. I sobbed. I told Seth that if he was a real man, he'd do something about it. It worked out rather well, I think. Men are wonderful. I do love manipulating them.”

I said, “You've been very clever, and it would be hard to prove any of that, but if you kill us, you run the risk of being caught for sure. Think about it, doubling down may not be your best option. You don't have to do this.” By this time, I was just throwing words at her, hoping something would stick.

Ignoring me, she turned toward the door and said in a breezy tone, “Well, I've got to run along now.” As Semyon followed her out, she said over her shoulder, “You know what needs to be done, Semyon. Make sure they don't screw it up.”

I tried to make eye contact with Semyon just as he shut the door and locked it.